Kaleidoscope of Death

After getting the key, all there was left to do was find the door.

This was a low-level door after all—the death conditions were more forgiving. The ghouls and demons weren’t so unreasonable either.

But Gu Longming was rather quiet. He didn’t seem to be in a good mood, perhaps due to discovering that Zhou Hanshan wasn’t as innocent as he’d thought.

“Damn, if the ones Zhou Hanshan found hadn’t been us, what would’ve happened?” Gu Longming sighed. “What if Zhu Ruyuan killed him at the beginning?”

“There still would’ve been a way to finish this.”

Lin Qiushi’s hands were in his pockets, lightly flipping the key over and over. The key turned in his palm with an icy sensation. Had Zhou Hanshan died by Zhu Ruyuan’s hands at the start, there would definitely have been another method to resolve the whole situation. Whether or not it would’ve been as easy was another story.

They only had to find the door now. Though the campus was large, there were only two key areas. The next afternoon, Lin Qiushi and Gu Longming found, in a random remote corner of the library, the metal door. They opened it with the key, and the two left through the tunnel.

Before finding the door, Lin Qiushi gave Zuo Sisi a heads up, hinting that he’d already found the key, and Zuo Sisi ought to start looking for the door.

After Zuo Sisi got Lin Qiushi’s meaning, she was shocked. She didn’t broadcast it or anything though, just said, impressed, “you’ve passed a lot of high-level doors already, haven’t you?”

Lin Qiushi didn’t reply, just left with a smile.

If he were to really think about it, he could indeed be counted among the old hands. People who’d passed their ninth doors were slim to none, but thanks to Ruan Nanzhu, he’d jumped straight to his ninth door in a single breath.

The light in the tunnel washed away all the darkness staining their bodies from inside the door.

Lin Qiushi parted ways with Gu Longming inside the tunnel. When he came to, he was already back at the mansion.

Cheng Qianli was still napping next to him, and the watermelon on the table was still chilled. Lin Qiushi slowly pulled the watermelon over, and began eating them again.

When Cheng Qianli woke, he rubbed blearily at his eyes, mumbling, “you haven’t gone yet?”

He knew Lin Qiushi was going into a door with Gu Longming today, and finding Lin Qiushi still seated at his side after waking up was unexpected.

“No, I got back already,” Lin Qiushi replied.

“Hm…?” Cheng Qianli was a bit dazed. “You got back from the door?”

“Yeah. Why?” Lin Qiushi spat out some watermelon seeds.

“Nothing.” Sniffing a couple of times, Cheng Qianli tilted his head. “Just, your reactions too calm.”

Lin Qiushi blinked, and started to laugh.

“What do you mean too calm?”

“Normal people need a couple of days to adjust after coming out a door,” Cheng Qianli said. “You come out and keep eating watermelon.”

Lin Qiushi looked down at the chilled watermelon in his lap.

“Because it’s yummy.”

Cheng Qianli, “…” Yumminess was not the point okay.

“When are you going into your door?” Lin Qiushi set the watermelon aside. It was a bit too cold, and eating too much made his stomach turn.

“Soon,” Cheng Qianli replied vaguely. “My brother won’t let me say too much…”

“Alright.”

Since Cheng Yixie wouldn’t let Cheng Qianli say more, Lin Qiushi knew better than to ask. He got up, saying he wanted to go back to his room, shower, and rest.

Cheng Qianli made a sound of agreement, and watched him go.

After showering, Lin Qiushi went back to his room and took an afternoon nap. He had dinner with the others in the mansion.

The chef tonight was Lu Yanxue, so the dishes were all more intricate. Lin Qiushi’s attention wasn’t on the food though. He waited and waited, but didn’t see so much as a shadow of Ruan Nanzhu.

“Is Nanzhu not home?” Lin Qiushi asked Chen Fei.

“Went out to do something,” Chen Fei answered. “He might be back in the evening.”

“Oh,” Lin Qiushi nodded.

At night, he sat on a chair on the porch, cooling himself and waiting for Ruan Nanzhu at the same time. But Ruan Nanzhu didn’t return. Even when midnight came around, Lin Qiushi didn’t see him.

A bit sleepy, Lin Qiushi took a nap on the chair. He woke at dawn, but still could find no trace of Ruan Nanzhu.

Guess he wasn’t coming home today. Lin Qiushi sighed lightly inside, and returned to sleep in his room.

The atmosphere inside the mansion had been odd lately as well. It likely had something to do with Ruan Nanzhu’s sudden bout of business, and Cheng Qianli’s upcoming door.

Cheng Yixie was gone all the time too. They were lucky to see him once every three days.

These days, Cheng Qianli focused in a lot. He’d started to watch horror movies by himself again, curled up on the living room couch, constantly screaming like a rubber chicken being squeezed.

“Why are you watching if you get so scared?” Lin Qiushi asked him.

“I’m going into the door soon, I can’t be a burden to my brother can I,” Cheng Qianli said woefully. “They all say I’ll be fine if I practice.”

Lin Qiushi sighed, reached out, and rubbed the top of Cheng Qianli’s head. He wasn’t even eighteen yet, was only just a kid—but the things in the world of the doors didn’t go easy on you just because of your age. Before monsters and ghouls, everybody was equal.

The weather was hot. Enthusiasm was hard to muster up for anything.

Finally, four days after coming out of the door, Lin Qiushi saw Ruan Nanzhu—arguing with Cheng Yixie.

This wasn’t the first time the two argued, but it was the first time Lin Qiushi had seen Ruan Nanzhu so angry.

Ruan Nanzhu said, “Cheng Yixie, you’re putting your own life at risk.”

Cheng Yixie stood across from Ruan Nanzhu with a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. His lips were pressed in a tight thin line, like an oyster that refused to open. Ruan Nanzhu seemed at the end of his rope with the stubborn oyster, trying to smash it open with blunt force.

“Cheng Yixie—” Ruan Nanzhu gritted out his name, character by character. “Why do you never listen to me?”

Though Cheng Yixie and Cheng Qianli looked exactly the same, their dispositions were polar opposites. With downcast eyes, his only response to Ruan Nanzhu’s sharp question was a light: “Mh. Ruan-ge, I’m sorry.”

“You’re quenching a thirst with poison here.” Ruan Nanzhu said his last words, and against Cheng Yixie’s obstinacy, he finally seemed a bit exhausted, waving his hand. “Go.”

“I—” But Cheng Yixie stopped.

Ruan Nanzhu was already done talking. He turned and went back inside the house, leaving Cheng Yixie standing alone in the blistering heat. Then Lin Qiushi heard Ruan Nanzhu’s door slam loudly shut.

Cheng Yixie left too.

About the topic of their argument, Lin Qiushi already had a faint guess. But he didn’t dare say it out loud, because some things, once brought out into the open, could never be put back.

After their argument, Lin Qiushi idled for a while longer inside the house. Then he got up from his chair, going to and knocking at Ruan Nanzhu’s door.

“Nanzhu.” The door opened, revealing Ruan Nanzhu’s pretty face on the inside. Lin Qiushi said his name.

“Mh, is something the matter?” Ruan Nanzhu asked.

“No…” Lin Qiushi said. “You haven’t been around the mansion these past few days?”

“I picked up a few gigs,” Ruan Nanzhu replied. “I went over to the employers.”

Lin Qiushi still wanted to speak, but Ruan Nanzhu’s distant attitude made him a bit uncomfortable. People were greedy beings. Once they’d gotten a taste of something good, returning to how things originally were proved a difficult adjustment.

Lin Qiushi thought for a bit, and was just about to speak when Ruan Nanzhu said, “I’m a bit tired.”

Lin Qiushi, “…”

“Good night.”

The man before him shut the door, like he was shutting off the relationship between them.

Lin Qiushi stood for a long time at that door, expression quite dazed. Just… Just what was going on with Ruan Nanzhu?

October, Cheng Qianli was entering his door.

Lin Qiushi didn’t know the actual date, just that it was coming up very soon.

One day, with everybody at lunch, Cheng Yixie and Cheng Qianli suddenly disappeared. Everybody knew they’d gone into the door.

The atmosphere at the table quieted. Tension surfaced on everybody’s faces.

Ten minutes were so hard to bear in times like this. Lu Yanxue couldn’t stop looking at her watch, chopsticks pinched between her fingers and mindlessly prodding at the rice in the bowl before her.

It wasn’t until the two came out that everybody finally breathed in relief. Neither were in good shape though—they passed out immediately after. The group was ready for this, picking them up and heading straight for the nearest hospital.

Lin Qiushi was in charge of Cheng Yixie. He discovered that though Cheng Yixie was a bit taller than Cheng Qianli, he was very light. With his eyes squeezed shut and brows tightly furrowed, he looked awfully young.

Lin Qiushi watched him with a difficult feeling in his heart.

The doctor came quickly, diagnosing them both with high fevers. After a couple of shots for that, the twins’ conditions finally stabilized. Though they didn’t wake, they wouldn’t get worse either.

So the group left two people to care for them, and the rest returned to the mansion.

Lin Qiushi and Chen Fei were the ones left behind. They sat at the hospital beds, watching the unconscious Cheng Yixie and Cheng Qianli.

Lin Qiushi asked, “Nanzhu’s still not back yet?”

Chen Fei mumbled vaguely, “he’s just been busy recently…”

Hearing a touch of strain in Chen Fei’s tone, Lin Qiushi swallowed back what he wanted to say.

But then Chen Fei sighed.

“Qiushi, Ruan-ge’s situation was actually always like this. It wasn’t until you came that he got better.”

Lin Qiushi stared at him, uncomprehending.

“He was always this busy before you came,” Chen Fei explained. “He’s only recently returned to how he was before…” With exasperation, “I don’t know what’s up with him either.”

Lin Qiushi said, “oh.”

His gaze fell once again on Cheng Yixie and Cheng Qianli in their sickbeds, going once again silent.

Chen Fei started to speak, but couldn’t.

“I got it,” Lin Qiushi nodded. “Thank you.”

Cheng Yixie and Cheng Qianli woke three days later. The first thing Cheng Qianli did upon waking was cry out for his brother.

“Ge, ge… Where are you? Where are you…” Cheng Qianli wept.

Lin Qiushi rushed forward to calm him down. “Your brother’s in the room next door. Don’t worry, he’s fine.”

Cheng Qianli looked at Lin Qiushi and took in his words, eyes going wide. “I want to see him!”

Helpless, Lin Qiushi could only help him next door to see Cheng Yixie.

After confirming Cheng Yixie was alright, Cheng Qianli let out a deep breath. He stared at the ceiling, mumbling, “I thought I’d never see him again.”

Lin Qiushi rubbed his head. “Your brother couldn’t possibly bear leaving you behind.”

Cheng Qianli forced out a smile, and said nothing more. Lin Qiushi didn’t know how to comfort him either.

Once conscious, the twins recovered quickly. They returned to the mansion in a few days.

Lin Qiushi had first wanted to find Ruan Nanzhu and get everything out in the open, but somehow, Ruan Nanzhu became a damn unicorn and couldn’t be found anywhere. The few times Lin Qiushi did catch him, he was standoffish and acted like he was too busy.

Lin Qiushi was starting to get angry. It was Ruan Nanzhu who first prodded him into this, and now, after he was done, it was also Ruan Nanzhu behaving like this. What, just because he was good-looking he could do whatever he wanted?

As the two were having their fight, Tan Zaozao’s side of things sent over invitations.

December was almost upon them. Tan Zaozao also knew there was something going on between Lin Qiushi and Ruan Nanzhu, and so she invited them to attend a huge awards ceremony.

“I got you two a room. Once the ceremony’s finished, just get him over there. Two people having a little drink, a little chat… What matter can’t be resolved?” Tan Zaozao tried to persuade him with all her might. “You’re both adults. Can’t you solve your problems with a little more maturity? This kind of cold war never ends well…”

Lin Qiushi, “he’s the one ignoring me.”

Tan Zaozao, “you know how he is though. He’s fussy to begin with…”

Lin Qiushi sighed, and switched topics.

“Have you figured out your door?”

“I got someone else to take me through,” Tan Zaozao said. “Though they’re not as dependable as Ruan-ge, it’s at least still insurance.”

Lin Qiushi, “it’s really alright?”

Then, after hesitating, “if you need, I can do it…”

Tan Zaozao watched Lin Qiushi, and knew he was genuine. She only smiled though, saying, “nah, I don’t need that. Like I can afford the cost of two.”

Lin Qiushi knew she was joking, and said, “you have to come out, okay?”

Tan Zaozao nodded, and for a moment looked a bit dazed—she seemed at a loss about her own future. This was the sort of symptom shared by all door-goers.

Lin Qiushi gave one of Tan Zaozao’s invitations to Ruan Nanzhu, asking him to attend together.

But Ruan Nanzhu actually made an excuse, saying he didn’t have time. This was the first time Lin Qiushi got angry in Ruan Nanzhu’s face.

“Ruan Nanzhu, what the hell are you thinking?”

Ruan Nanzhu was silent for a bit, a piece of candy in his mouth. Without meeting Lin Qiushi’s eyes, he spoke placidly, “I really don’t have the time. I have a gig that day, I have to go in.”

“You can’t even spare one day?” Lin Qiushi asked.

Ruan Nanzhu, “no.”

Lin Qiushi, “fine.”

Then he turned and left. There was no point in hovering then.

Ruan Nanzhu watched him go. Then, slowly, he pulled out another piece of candy, peeled off the wrapper, and pushed it into his mouth.

In the end, Lin Qiushi attended Tan Zaozao’s award ceremony by himself.

But as a nominee, Tan Zaozao was seated in the front, so the two didn’t get much of a chance to talk.

Tan Zaozao’s movie this year received high praises, and was a hot contender for the award. When the announcer, for Best Female Lead, read out Tan Zaozao’s name, the entire auditorium erupted into thunderous applause. Red dress lifted, Tan Zaozao stood up with a smile, walking onto the stage.

Smile on her lips and tears in her eyes, Tan Zaozao said, “thank you everybody…”

Then she stopped. Tan Zaozao disappeared right there onstage—this was what people with doors saw. In the eyes of the majority without doors, Tan Zaozao simply froze, like she was spacing out.

At first the emcee thought she was too nervous, and took over conducting the atmosphere for a bit. But Tan Zaozao was still not speaking, eyes glazed over and simply staring forward.

The hubbub beneath the stage grew louder. The crowd was astonished by this sudden development. Lin Qiushi was a bit nervous, hands clutched into fists.

Then the scene simply wouldn’t hold anymore. Tan Zaozao standing frozen onstage was like a joke that went too far. After ten minutes of this, the emcee could only call security in aggravation to escort Tan Zaozao offstage.

But then Tan Zaozao moved. Her eyes blinked back to consciousness, with only terror underneath. From her lips came an awful wail, as if a prey animal caught by the throat.

The roar of the predator was finally descending.

Lin Qiushi heard glass shattering—the giant chandelier above Tan Zaozao’s head fell, plummeting right down onto her fragile body.

Blood fountained forth like stamen on a flower. The entire auditorium was filled with screaming, crying, roaring.

Lin Qiushi sat where he was. He could still see Tan Zaozao’s eyes, black and staring. In her pupils was pain, was opaque horror, was the question, why me?

She was dead.

Tan Zaozao was dead.

She died at the award ceremony she’d longed after. Lin Qiushi felt as if his soul was being pumped full of icy, arctic air. He couldn’t get a single word out. Even breathing was becoming difficult.

The ambulance was here. But everybody knew Tan Zaozao was already dead—nobody could survive an impact like that.

Lin Qiushi slowly bent over, covering his face with his hands. His breaths came short. In his mind was the image of Tan Zaozao’s last smile.

His phone suddenly rang. Lin Qiushi ignored it.

But the person on the other end of the line was relentless. The ringing wouldn’t stop, until Lin Qiushi thought his head would split with the noise. He slowly pulled his phone out. Saw the number on the screen was Ruan Nanzhu.

Eyes downcast, Lin Qiushi picked up. He heard Ruan Nanzhu’s voice: “Where are you?”

Lin Qiushi didn’t speak.

“Qiushi, where are you?” Ruan Nanzhu asked in anxious persistence. “Are you at the ceremony?”

Lin Qiushi kept silent. He wanted to speak, but found he didn’t have the energy.

“Qiushi, Qiushi, don’t be scared, I’m coming,” Ruan Nanzhu was saying. “Don’t be scared, I’m right here. Tell me, where are you?”

Lin Qiushi’s lips moved. “I’m at the ceremony.”

“Okay, wait for me there,” Ruan Nanzhu said.

Lin Qiushi hung up, and leaned back in his seat. He’d considered before that Tan Zaozao might die, but he didn’t think she would die so horrifically. Everybody, all her fans, witnessed this moment. Just like her character from the film, she left the world when her life was at its most beautiful… At full blossom was when a flower began to die.[1]

In the chaos of the scene, Lin Qiushi stood up within the crowd and walked out.

He felt that he was calm, but it was an odd sort of calmness. It was like his feelings were being blocked by something, and he was simply a bystander—all impact was swallowed up by a thin, screening curtain, partitioning him from all those immense emotions.

Lin Qiushi came to the road outside. Ruan Nanzhu said he was coming to find him, and Lin Qiushi didn’t know where he ought to go. So he found a random curbside to sit on, got out his phone, and began playing sudoku.

A few minutes later, a car honked in front of him. Then a shadow fell over his head. Lin Qiushi looked up, and saw Ruan Nanzhu.

It was hot, and Ruan Nanzhu’s face was dotted with sweat. He was still so good-looking though, dark eyes teeming with vicious emotion. He called out, “Qiushi.”

Lin Qiushi put his phone down, and said, “Nanzhu.”

Ruan Nanzhu reached out, and pulled Lin Qiushi into his arms. He held on with all his might, like he wanted to give Lin Qiushi strength through the hug.

Lin Qiushi obediently let himself be held, propping his chin on Ruan Nanzhu’s shoulder. He said quietly, “Tan Zaozao is dead.”

“Mh.”

“Wu Qi’s dead too,” Lin Qiushi said. “I know what you’re afraid of now.”

Ruan Nanzhu couldn’t speak. Eyes downcast, he gently pressed his lips to Lin Qiushi’s forehead. Stayed there, as he said, “I can take it. I’m afraid you can’t.”

He didn’t want Lin Qiushi to witness his death, at least not as a partner, a lover, one of a couple.

Wu Qi and Tan Zaozao were one thing; death was a daily dealing for them all. But he couldn’t bear Lin Qiushi becoming like how Zhuang Rujiao was now.

He couldn’t lose the warm and gentle Lin Qiushi before him. He just couldn’t.

And because of this, Ruan Nanzhu, who’d always braved the course and charged on ahead, chose to retreat for the very first time. If he got out now there was still time; Lin Qiushi didn’t like him like that yet.

But Tan Zaozao’s unexpected death turned all of Ruan Nanzhu’s efforts into dissipating foam.

The moment he thought of Lin Qiushi being at the awards ceremony, his heart jerked into suspension. He’d called Lin Qiushi in a panic, rushed here, all to give Lin Qiushi a hug. So Lin Qiushi maybe wouldn’t feel so awful.

Lin Qiushi looked up, and met Ruan Nanzhu’s eyes.

Those eyes that were brimming with grief, like a quiet lake deep, deep in the woods.

Lin Qiushi thought for a while, before lifting his head and leaning closer. On Ruan Nanzhu’s cold lips, he left a soft kiss, and said, “I don’t want to think about that much. All I want to think about is right now.”

Ruan Nanzhu and Lin Qiushi watched each other.

“And right now, I want to be with you.” Lin Qiushi spoke earnestly, with a touch of caution. “Are you going to keep avoiding me?”

Ruan Nanzhu knew he could no longer escape this. He didn’t want to. And so he said, “no,” and leaned down, and deepened the kiss.

Author’s Note:

I finally got to write out Ruan Nanzhu’s concerns. Very satisfying. _(:3∠)_

1. 開到荼蘼. This phrase is derived from a Song Dynasty poem by Su Shi a.k.a. Su Dongpo (as in dongpo pork, yes). The phrase itself, “開到荼蘼花事了,” means “when the túmí bloom, the flowering season is over,” and the shortened version has come into use to mean something ending.