Symbiosis - Chapter 3

I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. When I looked up, half my fringe was wet, droplets sliding down the black strands.

I watched the pale, thin face in the mirror and worked slowly, painfully, at making it smile.

I hoped it would help me look as normal as possible.

As normal as I had pretended to be in front of Xie Zhao years ago.

Then I turned off the tap and left the room.

I straightened my collar, carried a glass of warm water next door, and knocked on the spare bedroom’s door.

I knew what I needed to say.

“I’m very sorry, but you can’t keep staying here. It’s not convenient for me.”

I would reassure him that I would find a way to cure his throat.

Once he was cured, I would cut off all contact with him.

This time, I would never repeat the mistakes of my last life.

But when the bedroom door opened and Xie Zhao actually stood in front of me, every word I’d rehearsed vanished.

He had stabbed me to death, after all.

The pain of that knife piercing my heart seemed branded deep into my soul.

The moment I saw his face, my chest began to ache. My whole body trembled without my permission.

Then—

Crash!

I couldn’t even hold the glass steady. My fingers loosened, and it fell to the floor and shattered.

Panic left me nowhere to turn. I didn’t dare raise my eyes to his face again.

The thing standing before me wasn’t a person.

It was a ghost. A wronged soul come to collect what I owed.

Even though I’d already died once, he had no intention of letting me go.

I loved Xie Zhao. When I knew I wouldn’t survive, the last thing I wanted to do was kiss him once more.

But now I was truly terrified of him.

Terrified he would stab me again. Terrified he would look at me with that same hatred and disappointment.

Suddenly my heart hurt so badly I could barely stand. I bent over, bracing myself against the doorframe, and took a few rapid breaths.

Then I turned and ran.

I had to leave. I couldn’t keep looking at Xie Zhao.

But I’d only gone a few steps when an icy hand settled lightly on the back of my neck.

It was so cold. Too cold for a living person’s hand.

I jolted as though pricked by a needle and stopped.

Xie Zhao stood behind me for a while, then slowly stroked the side of my neck with his fingertips.

He walked around to face me.

Bending a little, he gazed straight at me and curved his eyes into a smile.

The smile was very gentle. His fringe fell softly over his brow, partly veiling his eyes.

Such a harmless, beautiful expression.

Yet it made every hair on my body stand on end.

I threw up a hand and pressed it tightly over my heart. It was pounding as though it had gone mad.

He paused, took out his phone, and tapped at it with his head lowered.

Then he handed it to me so I could read the two lines he’d typed:

[Shen Yi.]

[What are you running from?]

He blinked gently and added another line:

[Are you afraid of me?]

“Why would I be afraid of you?”

I forced myself to calm down and managed a thin smile. “I’m not.”

“I came to bring you some water, but I dropped the glass.” I lowered my eyes to the fragments all over the floor.

“I just wanted to get you another.”

He pressed his lips together and watched me without moving.

His eyes were dark and deep beneath those long lashes. His stare seemed almost solid, as if it could pierce straight through a body.

I could barely remain upright. Helplessly, I reached for the doorframe.

He took another step toward me, lowered his head to type, then showed me the screen again:

[But you look frightened to me.]

[You should look in a mirror, Shen Yi.]

[You’re as pale as a corpse.]

A corpse?

Not long ago, that was exactly what I’d been.

He’d stabbed me to death with his own hands.

I forced myself to answer. My voice shook badly as I changed the subject with clumsy desperation.

“Don’t—don’t stand so close. Does your throat still hurt? Shall I make you something to eat? What would you like?”

He looked at me and shook his head. Pointing to his throat, he typed:

[It hurts a lot.]

[I can’t eat.]

The word “hurts” seemed to stab my eyes. They began to sting despite myself.

Out of habit, I wanted to soften my voice and ask whether I could make him some snow pear soup.

Before I could say it, he switched off the screen and put his phone away.

I thought that meant he didn’t want to talk to me anymore.

But after a pause, he began signing instead.

Very slowly, as though deliberately making it easier for me to understand.

“You’re this frightened of me because I stabbed you with a knife.”

“Aren’t you?”