Chapter 9: Rule One

The clip of Ji Hao's confession had forty thousand views before the team bus left the car park.

The first comment said, "THANKS BRO."

The second said, "Tang Zhiyuan has never been so oblivious in his life."

Tang read it aloud in the back of the bus and laughed until Luo Bin hit him.

Fu sat beside him by the window and did not laugh.

He said nothing for the whole ride back to Chengdu.

At the stop on Phoenix Lane they got down into a cold, wet night.

The neon sign of the hot pot restaurant was reflected red in the puddles.

The road was empty, except for the delivery scooters.

They had to cross it to reach the flat.

"Crossing," Tang said, without thinking, out of habit, as he stepped to the kerb.

Fu took his hand.

It was a quick, dry, firm grip, and it pulled him back a pace as a scooter cut across the junction with its horn going.

"Rule three," said Fu.

"Rule three," Tang agreed.

They crossed, and the scooter was long gone, and the road was clear.

On the far kerb, Tang stopped and waited for the hand to let go.

It did not let go.

They walked to the next lamp post like that, in the rain, three steps, four, five.

Tang's own hand felt oversized and too warm in Fu's, and he looked down at it.

At the lamp post, Fu released him.

"Habit," he said.

"Sure," said Tang. "Habit."

Neither of them mentioned it again.

In the flat, Fu pointed at the sofa.

"Shirt off. Face down."

"It's fine, Lingchen," said Tang.

"You swam a final through a grade-one strain. It isn't fine. Face down."

Tang pulled off his hoodie and T-shirt and lay on the sofa with his cheek on a cushion.

Behind him he heard Fu wash his hands in the kitchen and dry them carefully.

Then there was the click of a bottle, and a warm smell of arnica and camphor, and Fu's fingers were on his shoulder.

They found the knot at once.

Tang hissed through his teeth.

"Rule five," said Fu. "Swearing."

"What?"

"A massage has to include swearing. You wrote the rule."

"I'm not..." Fu pressed, hard, and Tang said, "Fuck."

"Better."

"That's evil. That's actual... fuck, Lingchen. Fuck."

"Good," said Fu, and his voice, behind him, was not entirely steady.

The hands moved down the muscle slowly.

They were a doctor's hands, thorough and unembarrassed.

They came down the edge of his shoulder blade and then along the length of his spine.

Tang had been touched by Fu a thousand times.

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