Iris 15

Mu Qin slept deeply for some time. He could not remember when he had fallen asleep, or why. In any case, his mind was hazy, as though he were rising and sinking in a storm-tossed sea. In his daze, he could even hear the sound of waves.

When Mu Qin opened his eyes again, he found himself sitting in a wooden chair. He had been tied up, his hands bound behind the chair, his feet to its legs, and coils of rope wrapped around his waist. The feeling of being restrained was unpleasant, making him dizzy in the way anemia did. Mu Qin shook his head, then looked around.

He was in a cramped, empty old room. There was no one else around him; bare walls surrounded him on all sides. The only thing in the room was a lightbulb hanging from the ceiling on a wire. It was old and malfunctioning, its dim yellow light flickering and plunging the room in and out of shadow, lending it an eerie atmosphere.

On the wall opposite Mu Qin was the room's only door. It stood slightly ajar, and through the gap he could vaguely make out the scene outside: a pitch-black corridor and windows along its side. Some of the windowpanes were broken, allowing him to see the starry night sky beyond. It seemed to have stopped raining. Mu Qin could not hear the rain, and the surroundings were utterly silent.

Mu Qin guessed he was still inside the apartment building. The resurrected man had carried him up the stairs, then tied him up here.

What time is it now? How long was I asleep?

Questions suddenly flooded Mu Qin's mind. He urgently wanted to know how long he had been unconscious, but there was nothing in this desolate orphanage that could tell the time, such as a clock. Naturally, he could get no answer. He moved his limbs and found that the ropes around his hands and feet were wound tight; he would not be able to break free easily.

On closer inspection, the things binding Mu Qin were not ropes at all, but long strips of cloth pieced together to resemble ropes. Yet they had so easily taken away his freedom.

Mu Qin twisted his body forcefully, trying to break free of those "ropes," but quickly discovered that the resurrected man was quite skilled at tying people up. He struggled for a long time, yet the cloth ropes did not loosen in the slightest.

Just as Mu Qin was fighting hard against the ropes binding him, he heard familiar footsteps outside again. He stopped struggling and raised his head toward the door. Sure enough, the man from before had returned. He pushed open the flimsy wooden door and entered Mu Qin's view.

The man seemed to be carrying something, though the unsteady light made it difficult for Mu Qin to see clearly. What he did notice was the man's tall, straight build; his strong arms, taut muscles, and long legs. Bandages and gauze around his neck and face covered most of his features tightly, exposing only his right eye. The outer corner of that eye tilted slightly upward, and its cold, unfathomable gaze made him seem detached and merciless.

The man noticed that Mu Qin was awake. Rather than coming over immediately, he stood in the doorway for a moment, his gaze fixed on Mu Qin. Mu Qin met his eyes without yielding.

Mu Qin had already missed his chance to escape. At a time like this, he could not afford to panic. What puzzled him was why this man had not killed him immediately. If this was a Death Game, if this stranger might be a killer, then he should have attacked Mu Qin without mercy right away, instead of tying him up here... Or did he intend to use Mu Qin as bait to draw others in to rescue him?

Of course, it was also possible that this man was not a killer. Perhaps the tarot card that could bring him back to life was only for self-preservation. After Xu Fu attacked him, he had chosen not to resist and played dead in order to escape the killer's notice. Then he could look for the exit gate key alone and escape by himself.

But if that was the case, why did he attack me?

Mu Qin could not make sense of it. Did this person think I am the killer? But Xu Fu was clearly the one who killed him. No matter how one looked at it, Xu Fu was the most likely killer. Once he noticed that I was not Xu Fu, the sensible choice should have been to calmly cooperate with me, shouldn't it?

With these thoughts running through his mind, Mu Qin planned to speak to the man. Just as he was considering how to begin, the man opposite him suddenly moved. He stopped standing stiffly in the doorway and approached Mu Qin.

Mu Qin noticed that he moved somewhat slowly, yet his footsteps were still light. He seemed like someone who had received training. Mu Qin knew special forces had such courses: stealth and infiltration training that taught people to make very little noise no matter what they did. After enduring that kind of training for a long time, people unconsciously turn that "silent" state into instinct.

The words at Mu Qin's lips slipped back down his throat. The man had already come before him and raised what he held. Only then did Mu Qin see that he was carrying medical supplies.

Mu Qin said nothing and quietly watched the man work. The man knelt on one knee beside him and placed some of the medical supplies on Mu Qin's lap. Then he dipped a cotton swab in alcohol... For some reason, though the man's actions looked normal, Mu Qin sensed an air of great caution about him. He carefully brought the alcohol-soaked swab to Mu Qin's face and wiped it over his skin. At once, Mu Qin felt a sharp sting in his cheek.

Only then did Mu Qin realize there was a cut on his face. The alcohol irritated the wound, causing it to sting so badly that he could not help frowning.

Perhaps because Mu Qin frowned, the man's hand gave a slight tremor as well.

But his movements soon became smooth again. Unhurriedly, he cleaned Mu Qin's wound with alcohol, then applied a piece of gauze to his face. Afterward, he treated Mu Qin's other injuries too, most of which had been inflicted by the man himself just moments ago. He had even found some liniment in the infirmary and rubbed it over the bruised places on Mu Qin's body.

More awkwardly, he seemed to want to apply medicine to Mu Qin's stomach as well. The man had punched and kicked him there, and it still hurt. He clearly meant to lift the hem of Mu Qin's shirt, but halfway there, his hand stopped, frozen stiff in midair.

Mu Qin looked up at the man and saw that he had a mess of tousled hair. There were still traces of uncleaned blood in his hair, along the side of his face, and on his shoulders. He was a complete mess.

Mu Qin lowered his gaze to the man's hands. They were rough hands, covered in scars. It was clear the man had undergone extensive training: his palms were callused, and his hands bore many wounds.

When this man had still been a corpse, Mu Qin had not examined him closely because there had been no time. But looking now, he noticed certain details. For instance... on the man's right wrist, Mu Qin saw a thin, conspicuous scar running vertically from the web between his thumb and forefinger to the inside of his arm.

Mu Qin stared at the scar for a second. The man seemed to notice his gaze at once and could not help drawing back his right hand.

"What are you hiding?" Mu Qin suddenly asked, catching him off guard. His black yet brilliantly bright eyes were fixed on the other man. "Did you think I wouldn't recognize you?"

The man seemed startled by Mu Qin. His reaction was slight, but he no longer knelt beside him. Instead, he rose to his feet and looked down at Mu Qin. His height gave him an inexplicable commanding presence when he stood, an oppressive air.

Yet Mu Qin was not afraid of him. Mu Qin was always calm. No matter the circumstances or the environment, he faced everything with composure.

So Mu Qin said, "I recognized you the moment you picked me up, because your movements felt familiar. Your scent and heartbeat were familiar too... But I still had doubts. I thought it might be my imagination, until I saw the scar on your hand just now. I remember it. I accidentally cut you with a utility knife."

Of course Mu Qin had used pencils as a student. Back then, he sharpened them himself with a utility knife. Once, while he was sharpening one, Zhou Yue suddenly reached out and grabbed his hand. Mu Qin accidentally left this very scar on his wrist. At the time, Mu Qin had been full of regret and self-reproach. He had even cried like a girl from grief. To him, Zhou Yue's hands had been beautiful hands, hands that played the piano. How could they be hurt?

How could they be hurt?

"What exactly are you doing, Zhou Yue?" Mu Qin nearly lost control and demanded aloud. He could scarcely believe it. In this strange Death Game, he had seen Zhou Yue... his first love, whom he had been separated from for nearly ten years!

Mu Qin did not believe for a second that it was a coincidence.

But Zhou Yue said nothing. He seemed to have become mute. After a long silence, he suddenly knelt on one knee again. This time he did not hesitate. He directly reached out, lifted Mu Qin's shirt, and rubbed medicine over his stomach. When Zhou Yue's fingers, cool from the liniment, touched him, Mu Qin involuntarily shuddered all over.

At first, Zhou Yue honestly massaged Mu Qin's stomach, the pressure neither too light nor too heavy, just right. His hands were no longer as clean, long, and smooth-skinned as they had been before. They had become rough and powerful. Having his stomach rubbed like this made Mu Qin feel strange. That strangeness brought a faint flush to his face. The situation was unbearably awkward: he was tied up, and the first love he had not seen in years was massaging his stomach. Zhou Yue's complete silence made it even more awkward.

What was worse, as Zhou Yue rubbed his stomach, both hands began to travel upward, feeling their way toward his chest. The spot was rather sensitive, and Mu Qin was so startled that he could not help calling Zhou Yue's name sharply.

Zhou Yue finally looked up at Mu Qin. His face was covered in gauze, and Mu Qin could see only his right eye. The shape of it seemed to have changed a little, unlike how Mu Qin remembered it. But memories from the past were not much to go on. They had only been high school students then, boys of sixteen or seventeen. Their features had not fully matured, and they could still grow taller. Nearly ten years had passed now; changes in appearance and a wholly renewed body were all possible and normal.

Even Mu Qin himself had changed from a thin boy whom people often teased as a pretty boy into the mature, fairly strong man he was now.

So... Mu Qin lowered his head. In the end, he still could not help asking in a sorrowful, grief-stricken voice, "...Why exactly are you here!?"