Chapter 48 I Allow You to Disobey

Outside the window, the bitter wind howled, while inside, the room was warm and dry—two entirely unrelated worlds separated only by a pane of glass.

Qu Yan turned over on the bed, half of his cheek sinking into the pillow. Ever since Yan Zhuo had brought him back, he had completely entered a life where he was dressed without lifting a finger and fed without preparing a meal, spending the vast majority of every day asleep.

Occasionally, Yan Zhuo had to take people out on missions. Whenever that happened, the door would be locked, and Qu Yan’s only pastime would be staring blankly into space.

He let out a sigh and slowly curled himself back into the covers.

"Tap, tap—"

Something knocked twice against the glass window. Qu Yan tilted his head and met a pair of bright, yellowish eyes.

It was a sparrow, no larger than the palm of a hand. Seeing that Qu Yan had noticed it, the bird eagerly fluttered its wings a couple more times, its sharp beak continuing to peck at the glass.

After the apocalypse, the population of all living creatures had drastically plummeted, birds being no exception. Catching sight of a sparrow was a true rarity.

Qu Yan propped himself up from the edge of the bed into his wheelchair, then wheeled over to the window. The moment he pushed it open, the sparrow darted inside like a small cannonball.

Showing no fear of humans, it hopped twice across the pot of coral pea before landing on Qu Yan's lap, chirping away.

Qu Yan noticed a small wooden tube, about the thickness of a little finger, tied to its leg. After a brief moment of thought, he untied it.

Tucked inside the wooden tube was a thin strip of paper. Qu Yan unfolded it, and dense lines of handwriting instantly leapt into his view:

"Brother Qu, did that guy Yan Zhuo from the Twin Cities Base kidnap you? I knew he was no good, full of bad intentions! Brother Qu, don't worry, I'm coming to pick you up right away..."

It was a message from Cheng Ran. A second later, Qu Yan remembered that Cheng Ran’s superpower was communicating with animals.

The entire slip of paper was filled with writing. If Qu Yan wanted to reply, he would have to write on the back. He looked around and, sure enough, spotted a pen holder on the study desk. Just as he pulled out a mechanical pencil, a voice sounded from behind him:

"What is A-Yan looking for?"

Yan Zhuo had entered without making a sound, moving so quietly that Qu Yan hadn't noticed him at all.

Animals possessed an innate sensitivity. Before Qu Yan could speak, the sparrow resting on his knees suddenly shrieked, spread its wings, and flew straight toward Yan Zhuo.

The disparity in strength was far too great. Before it could even touch him, it was caught. Yan Zhuo's large palm enveloped the tiny sparrow, looking as though the slightest application of pressure could crush it to death.

The note in Qu Yan's hand was also snatched away. Yan Zhuo examined it before letting out a light chuckle. "I'm no good?"

"I'm full of bad intentions?"

He was smiling, yet there wasn't a trace of amusement in the depths of his eyes. Qu Yan felt a rare twinge of tension—a strange emotion to feel because of Yan Zhuo, which he found quite absurd. "I can explain..."

"I really am no good. He's right," Yan Zhuo interrupted, tearing the note to shreds. He then lowered his gaze to the sparrow in his hand and said, "Go back and tell your master to mind his own business."

With that, without caring whether the sparrow could understand him or not, he raised his hand and tossed it out the window.

Paper scraps fluttered to the floor, two pieces landing on Qu Yan's slippers. He remained silent for two seconds before asking, "Are you angry?"

Yan Zhuo had returned in a rush and was still wearing the outfit from his mission. Fearing he might dirty Qu Yan, he exercised restraint, merely brushing his fingers lightly against Qu Yan's cheek. "What was A-Yan about to reply to him? Telling him to come pick you up?"

Qu Yan shook his head. "I didn't want to leave."

"Good. Then I'm not angry either."

His mood seemed to improve abruptly. After taking a shower, he came over to rub against Qu Yan again, transferring the damp mist of water all over Qu Yan's body. "A-Yan, I've prepared a gift for you."

Qu Yan had a gut feeling that this gift wouldn't be anything normal, but Yan Zhuo gave him no room for refusal. In high spirits, he dressed Qu Yan in a thick outer coat, promising, "A-Yan will definitely like it."

What kind of gift required going outside to see it? Qu Yan truly couldn't fathom it. Successfully wrapped up like a ball, he finally saw the light of day after many days indoors.

On the street, a few vendors were peddling scattered goods, accompanied by shouts and bargaining. Despite it being winter, it still carried a certain lively bustle.

Such a scene had never appeared at the Crossing Mountain Base. From this aspect alone, the difference between the two bases was obvious; judging by everything before Qu Yan's eyes, Twin Cities was far freer than Crossing Mountain.

Thus, although their scales were similar, there was a reason why Twin Cities was the most popular among the various bases.

The wind was strong today, and Qu Yan sitting in a wheelchair was already eye-catching enough—let alone the fact that Yan Zhuo kept reaching out to adjust the scarf around his neck with deeply affectionate gestures. Many people who knew Yan Zhuo greeted him and couldn't help casting a few curious or assessing glances at Qu Yan.

Qu Yan turned a blind eye to these gossipy or puzzled gazes. If he still couldn't tell by now that Yan Zhuo was doing it on purpose, he truly would have been a fool.

Yan Zhuo pushed him past the long street, turned into a deserted alley, and finally arrived in front of an exquisitely decorated apartment building.

He was very familiar with the place. Twisting the third brick by the door, he retrieved a key from beneath it, turned around, and explained to Qu Yan, "It's too troublesome to carry it around."

No one had lived in the apartment for a long time, and it was almost as cold inside as it was outside. Yan Zhuo had even put gloves on Qu Yan's hands, so not only did Qu Yan not feel cold at the moment, but he even felt a bit warm.

He was led to the door of a room, and a hint of eagerness laced Yan Zhuo's voice: "We're here. Let A-Yan guess what it is?"

There was a light gleaming in his eyes, identical to how they had looked two years ago.

Qu Yan fell silent again, somewhat flustered as he averted his gaze.

The door was gently pushed open, and long-settled dust particles drifted in the air. Qu Yan's eyes widened slightly in astonishment, and he blurted out, "This is... a piano?"

A black piano stood right in the center of the room, with no other furnishings whatsoever. Sunlight fell in patches, leaving only a profound stillness.

Qu Yan's heart was gently plucked by an invisible hand, trembling with a sound known to no one.

Yan Zhuo brushed the dust off the piano lid, his expression sincere. "Would A-Yan play a piece for me?"

He bent down to await Qu Yan's answer, then added, "Just for me."

He remembered everything about Qu Yan, including a promise he had casually tossed out.

The trembling heart calmed down after a few minutes, and Qu Yan finally gave his answer: "Alright."

After many years, he sat before a piano once more. The moment his fingertips touched the black and white keys, his soul seemed to vibrate.

He pressed a key gently, and the deep piano notes instantly dispersed into every corner of the room. Qu Yan lowered his hands. "The tuning is off. It needs to be tuned."

Yan Zhuo looked blank for two seconds before saying with annoyance, "I don't know anything about this."

Qu Yan tested a few more notes. "It doesn't matter, but it might not sound good. I hope you won't mind."

Winter should be paired with *First Snow*; it was the piece he practiced most frequently when he first started learning the piano, so even after many years, he still remembered the score clearly.

The tuning was a major issue. Qu Yan remembered the sheet music, but the movements of his fingers were much rustier. To anyone's ears, it probably wouldn't sound pleasant.

Yet Yan Zhuo stood a mere step away, gazing at him with burning eyes, as if he were listening to heavenly music.

Qu Yan abruptly recalled the photograph he had seen two years ago; the Yan Zhuo in that picture had gazed at him on stage with this exact same look.

His heart began to beat in disobedient palpitations.

The piano music stopped abruptly. Qu Yan said dejectedly, "I can't play it well, Yan Zhuo."

What wasn't good about it? The rebuttal on the tip of Yan Zhuo's tongue went unspoken as he heard Qu Yan say instead, "I'm very sad, so I might need you to comfort me."

"How should I comfort you?" Yan Zhuo's voice seemed to have swallowed dust, turning dry and hoarse.

Qu Yan looked as though he were pondering. "Kiss me, or make love?"

He was quickly scooped up into an embrace, his body suspended in mid-air. When he was set down again, the piano let out a sharp clang—he had been placed right on top of the piano.

His legs rested where his fingertips had just touched and coaxed out the music. The realization made Qu Yan shudder involuntarily, his eye rims turning slightly red. "Kiss me, quickly, Yan Zhuo."

He urged him on.

They exchanged a passionate kiss, a purely carnal kiss between two men lacking the slightest tenderness, like two wild beasts attempting to conquer each other, biting and licking at one another in a clash that was both offense and defense.

When the kiss ended, it was thoroughly satisfying, and by the end, it was impossible to tell who had won over whom.

Qu Yan panted, his lips slightly swollen, his arms looped around Yan Zhuo's neck without loosening. "This is very good, Yan Zhuo. I didn't like the way it was before."

His coat had been discarded at some point, and the hem of his sweater was pushed up to his chest. The palm Yan Zhuo pressed against him was scorching hot, calloused from constantly gripping a knife.

The friction against his skin sent waves of intense itching through him. Qu Yan shivered, caught Yan Zhuo's hand, and pulled it toward himself, pressing his flushed lips against those overlapping scars.

His lowered eyelashes made it impossible to read the emotions in his eyes—was it tender affection, or heartache? Was Qu Yan feeling heartache for him? Yan Zhuo's breathing grew heavier at the thought, yet he said coldly and rigidly, "Was A-Yan doing this on purpose? Lulling me into a false sense of security first, just to leave me again when I'm off guard?"

Qu Yan blinked slowly. "No. I want to make love with you."

His candidness was so absolute that it made Yan Zhuo feel his own suspicion was utterly base.

"But the way it was before—you forced me. I didn't like it." Qu Yan leaned backward, placing his entire weight onto the piano, his bare waist arching into a beautiful curve.

He was speaking the plain truth. He didn't reject making love with Yan Zhuo—in fact, he had wanted it since two years ago—but that didn't mean he enjoyed being forced.

As for Yan Zhuo... he thought, Yan Zhuo understood nothing at all, which meant he needed to be taught.

His weak calves hung down, his ankles slender. Qu Yan pulled off his undersweater, the skin of his back pressing against the cold piano lid. He let out a soft hum, his voice extremely faint: "So cold."

It sounded like a spoiled plea, the tail-end of his voice brushing across Yan Zhuo like a feather. Yan Zhuo's throat tightened. "A-Yan..."

The stark contrast between his fair skin and the black piano was vivid. The heat from the kissing had completely dissipated, and Qu Yan felt only the cold, making him desperately need Yan Zhuo. "To repay your gift, I grant you the right to disobey."

The midday sunlight was fierce and overbearing, occupying most of the room. Qu Yan lay flat on his back in a casual posture, the light dividing his naked body in two—half of it radiant and holy, the other half decadent and depraved.

He said, "I allow you to be disobedient."

He was also quite eager to see just how far Yan Zhuo's disobedience could go, and when it came to intimacy between the sheets, a little disobedience was its own kind of thrill.