Star Eyes Beyond the Shores of Time - Chapter 8

Qi Yuwei was tall to begin with; Tong Youxun struggled to manage her, tugging awkwardly until, with a final heave, she got Qi Yuwei under control. Qi looked utterly ridiculous — disheveled, a few strands of bangs clinging to her forehead, her rumpled jacket smeared with vomit that gave off a sharp, nauseating smell.

Guan Nuoyin stood by his newly fitted front door like someone untouched by the world’s grime — pale and composed, silent as moonlight.

He was unbearably handsome. His lashes curled, his eyes a deep black, his nose straight and noble, his lips full as if dusted with lipstick yet without a hint of femininity. The most skilled plastic surgeon could not have forged such perfection. Tong Youxun found herself staring, stunned: what sort of woman could possibly give birth to a face like that?

She wasn’t the sort to obsess over looks; she’d always accepted whatever fate had given her. But appreciating beauty was a human reflex, wasn’t it? Facing such flawless features, Tong felt she wanted to disappear into a hole.

“I’ll take her inside and wash her up!” she said, the neighborly instinct too strong to resist.

Silence answered her, only the steady, faint rhythm of breathing.

“Guan… Guan Nuoyin — is he asleep?” Tong tiptoed closer, trying to see, but her strength gave out; Qi Yuwei, glued to her shoulder, slid down inch by inch.

With no choice left, Tong set the helpless, drunk Qi Yuwei down on the floor. To her surprise, the door to Qi’s bedroom was open. She hauled her inside, panting.

Qi Yuwei’s room was nothing like her brash persona. Everything was soft and pink: a pile of Hello Kitty plush toys at the foot of the bed, cartoon curtains swaying gently. Warm. Somehow, beneath that tough exterior, Qi Yuwei was still a little girl.

Perhaps she’d only ever pretended to be fierce.

Tong boiled water and began to clean Qi Yuwei, replacing her soiled camisole with a simple white short-sleeved nightshirt. Just as she tugged it on, Qi Yuwei suddenly convulsed, curling her hands and feet into claws. A spray of bl00d burst from her mouth, splattering her chest, staining the white shirt and pink sheets a shocking red. Tong’s heart plunged.

“What—what’s wrong with you?” she cried.

“It hurts… it hurts so much…” Qi moaned.

“I’ll get someone—”

“No—no, don’t. It’s the alcohol… it burned my stomach… I’ll be fine after I sleep… huuh…” Her voice cleared a little; the pain sharpened her mind.

“Then let me change you—”

“No. I just want to sleep. Don’t bring anyone. Not anyone but him… Guan Nuoyin…”

Whether from pain or desperation, Qi’s eyes brightened with clarity.

“I can’t get to him… I used him, but my love is real… I’ll make it up to him… please, just let me see him—listen to my heart… huuh…” She rambled, then, with a hiccup, forced a fragile, breathy promise: “Tell him I have my reasons…”

After tidying up, Tong stepped back into the hallway. Guan Nuoyin was gone. She hesitated before the door opposite; she raised her hand to knock—

The new wooden door creaked open. It wasn’t even locked. Tong was startled; if Qi had said it was so hard to open, how had this door yielded so easily? Luck, perhaps.

“Hello? May I come in?” she called.

The room was dark; no light, no answer.

Tong groped in the dim moonlight for the switch and, misstepping, felt her foot land on something soft. She hadn’t expected a body. Instead of the person making a sound, she tripped and banged into the wall. “Ouch,” she blurted.

By the moon’s pale light she saw him on the floor — it was Guan Nuoyin. She leaned over. “Are you alright?” she began, then froze; her hand hovered midair, unsure whether to reach.

“Mmm…” He stirred, not fully awake, before slipping back into sleep.

“Should I turn on the light?” Tong asked, rising to her feet.

A hand seized her suddenly and she found herself crouched back down beside him.

“What happened to you?” Her panic edged her voice.

“Nothing. I fell asleep…” Guan murmured, his tone low.

Tong sat, watching him. His face was almost hidden beneath a curtain of black hair; moonlight washed over him, but his features remained half-obscured.

“Qi Yuwei was awful—she drank too much and threw up bl00d. She told me to tell you she loves you and that she has reasons…” Tong explained.

“Not my problem,” he said coldly, rolling over.

Something about his face nagged at Tong — an unease she couldn’t quite name.

“You… I—” she stammered.

Guan rolled onto his back and said three words, flat as a thrown stone: “Scared, are you?”

Tong, bewildered: “Yes! I’ve never seen that much bl00d from Qi… My heart was pounding so hard!”

He understood, and in a clipped voice told her, “Turn on the light.”

She fumbled at the switch by the door. With a click, the small parlor sprang into light.

Before she could take in the room, his face filled her vision.

A ripple of sorrow washed through her. Only then did she realize what he meant by frightened. Half of his face was covered by a mask of human skin, the edges raw and distinct. The exposed half was mottled, its color grotesque, like an old burn. Anyone else might have recoiled in horror. Tong felt only pity — immense, aching pity.

He’d been disfigured. Even under the mask, his bone structure and features were exquisite.

Seeing her stunned expression, Guan smiled — but there was no warmth in it.

“It’s not scary at all. Not scary,” Tong blurted, entranced.

At her words, Guan tore off the other half of the mask. The revealed half of his face was flawless and pale. The two halves together were jarringly mismatched, a discordant patchwork.

“You came to see me?” he asked with the same thin smile.

“She wants to see you,” Tong said.

“And why should I see her?” he asked.

“She’s plastered, throwing up bl00d, and she keeps calling your name…”

“I’m a terrifying, disfigured face. Are you sure someone who worships looks would want to see me?” Guan asked, lounging and tossing the question like a barbed coin.

“Let’s take her out and see what she does!” Tong suddenly announced, a ridiculous metaphor popping into her head. “We’ll find out if she’s the mule or the horse!”

Guan’s faint amusement turned on her an even drier retort. “Then you’re a meddling dog stealing a rat!”

“Ah!” Tong laughed awkwardly and tried to play it off. “Sorry to bother you. I know love can’t be forced…”

Guan scoffed. “Life is a closed circle. Before you’re reborn, you read your script. Why, then, do you still come to act it out? Because cause and effect bind us. This ending is the best she could get from the scripts available to her.”

“Deep,” Tong muttered, lost.

“Fate decides life and death. Struggle as you might, you cannot fight destiny.”

Tong bowed, embarrassed and baffled. If he refused to see Qi, that was that. He might be cryptic and aloof, but she couldn’t stand by and let someone die.

“Sorry. I’ll go.” She started to leave, the weight of the conversation heavy on her shoulders. But something struck her — she suddenly remembered countless details but couldn’t piece them together into words. “How did your face become disfigured? It’s such a pity…”

Before Guan could reply, a cultured voice came from the doorway: “The door wasn’t closed?”

The speaker entered at once — gold-rimmed glasses, a crisp suit; refined and unruffled — it was Gu Xichen. He closed the door behind him on his way in.

“Hello, young miss. You’re here?”

Tong stammered, “Yes. Hello, Mr. Gu… thank you for helping me find a job.”

Gu Xichen’s lawyer instincts flared. “Did you sign an employment contract with the Tuo family? Discuss compensation and statutory holiday pay? Working hours and vacation?”

“No, no, none of that,” Tong admitted.

“You’re naïve,” Gu Xichen scolded with mock outrage. “I’ll go to the Tuo household tomorrow and sort out your pay and benefits.”

Tong nodded eagerly. Then, cheeks reddening, she blurted, “Will your fee be more than my monthly salary?”

“Of course,” Gu said, enigmatic and smiling, not detailing costs.

He wandered to Guan’s side and bent to look at him, sighing. “What happened, Nuoyin?”

Guan shrugged, flaunting that strangely handsome face. “I don’t have to come when asked. I was dealing with her matters.”

“Not working and playing with beauties instead?” Gu Xichen teased.

“Of course I still work. A man must enjoy life.” Guan’s smile never touched his eyes. “How long is a life? An instant? A day? A year? Decades? Eternity? When is one dead?”

Gu Xichen blinked, baffled by the philosophy. “You impress me. You work six or seven jobs and still have time for other things. Aren’t you afraid of dropping dead?”

Guan patted his friend’s shoulder. “I have no end.”

Tong surveyed the small parlor more thoroughly and realized how much it matched her own rented place — same curtains, same sofa. She wondered, with the faulty optimism of a newcomer, whether his bedroom had an enormous bed.

Gu Xichen, reading her thoughts, joked: “This used to be my rental. I moved out to make room for you, and that unfeeling person kicked me out.”

Guan cut him off: “Why waste a large flat? Small apartments suit people who need them. Rational distribution of resources.”

“True,” Gu Xichen laughed. “You even saved that influencer next door a lot by taking this small suite. Don’t you ever watch her livestreams?”

He turned to Tong: “Do you?”

Tong shook her head. She was new to the island town and hadn’t even learned its rhythms. She spent her time learning poetry and watching silly soap operas.

“There’s a keyboard warrior called Achen who secretly likes her. He was in her livestream earlier. He’ll probably be outside her place at this hour. When this reaches a breaking point, Nuoyin will be drowned out by noise. This building might not hold up under the chaos. I recorded the stream; those who spread rumors or try to ruin Nuoyin’s reputation will pay the price.” Gu Xichen’s analysis was clinical.

Tong’s head spun. “You mean on the Qixi festival, Qi Yuwei will confess and, if he rejects her, she’ll kill herself? You’ll gather evidence to protect him?”

Heavens, Tong thought. Isn’t saving life the first duty? Aren’t people supposed to be rescued first? She turned to Guan, disbelief written on her face.

Guan looked at her coolly. “And if not?”

Tong shook her head fiercely. “I can’t stand by and watch her die. I’ll go tell Qi to see reason.”

Gu Xichen offered a cold, practical counterpoint: “Perhaps you can only persuade her not to kill herself. But Mr. Guan has no obligation to accept her confession. That would be unfair to both my client and Miss Qi.”

“No,” Tong said firmly. “I won’t let her die.”

Guan watched her retreating back until she disappeared.

“You fool,” he murmured once she was gone. “How can you change an ending heaven intended?”