Case File Compendium: Bing An Ben (Novel) Vol. 1

by Rou Bao Bu Chi Rou

Xie-laoshi had already grown used to his features, but everyone who saw him for the first time would gasp. Due to some unknown disease, half of his face—from forehead to neck—was covered in purple blotches, as if concealing rotting flesh. It was a horrifying sight, undisguised in its abnormality. “Freak!” “Stay away from him, it might be contagious.” “Hey! Half-and-half!”

But he persisted, even as other students mocked him, calling him an ugly freak who wrote ugly things: So rancid, even more rancid than your rotten grape face. He would smile a little and just keep writing. Now, he didn’t even have the right to do that anymore.

He paused. “Laoshi, if my disease weren’t on my face, if it were somewhere people couldn’t see, people would be a little nicer to me. How nice would that be.”

“This is the one thing I regret the most… Xie-laoshi, I’m truly sorry. My disease seems to have metastasized from my face to my heart. If there is a next life, I really want to be a normal person… I don’t want to be so sick that I don’t even have the right to be loved. Xie-laoshi…”

“There’s a Brokeback Mountain in every person’s heart…” He gave up trying to wake her up and took the remote to change the channel. He Yu really disliked homosexuality.

“He Yu! Did you use me as your muse?” The range hood was too loud. “What?” He Yu asked. “I said! Did you! Use me! As your muse?!” Xie Xue brought his laptop out. “For the Xie-laoshi in this ghost story!” “Oh.” He fell silent for a while before cracking an egg with a smile. “Yep. You’re exactly the person I imagined. Art imitates reality, Xie-laoshi.” “But you wrote that you were secretly in love with me?” “…Art is not the same as reality, Xie-laoshi.”

As for He Yu himself, not only was he not penniless, he wasn’t ugly either. He was blessed with a very handsome face, and as the son of a pharmaceutical tycoon, he had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth and attended high school overseas. But less than thirty minutes after finding out that Xie Xue had become a lecturer at Huzhou University upon graduating, He Yu applied for the institution’s School of Fine Arts. Several months later, the semester began.

He Yu couldn’t contain his mirth. He looked down as the corner of his mouth curved carelessly upward. She was just a fucking dumbass. The students in the classroom fell silent, staring at her as if she were an animal in a zoo. One student even sighed and picked up his backpack to leave.

After returning to the dorm, Xie Xue couldn’t hold back anymore and began to sob in an almost cathartic manner. He Yu had a crush on her, but he wasn’t particularly tactful and didn’t know how to comfort her properly. He actually said, “Go ahead and cry it out, then. I’ll go write in your study for a while. Once you feel better, I’ll come out and have dinner with you.” “He Yu, do you know how to cheer people up at all?!” “Do I have to finish the homework you assigned or not?” “…Just go.”

Very tyrannical, very dictatorial. He resembled the big boss of an autocratic feudal clan—all he needed was an atmospheric black fur coat to contrast against his pale face and two of those silver cloak clasp chains worn by military warlords to complete the look. In the end, He Yu smiled warmly, but there was no mirth in his eyes. “You look the same as before. You haven’t aged a bit.”

He Yu looked like a normal person on the outside. The impression he gave others was always gentle and kindhearted, and he excelled in conduct, learning, and career. However, the He family had a closely kept secret: this enviable golden child had suffered from a rare mental disorder since birth.

It was an orphan disease, with only four recorded cases having occurred throughout history. The circumstances of each patient were similar: They had congenital deficiencies in the endocrine and nervous systems. When disrupted, their personality would drastically change. Usually, they were numb to pain, but when their condition flared up, they would lose touch with reality, become bloodthirsty, and gain intense destructive tendencies toward themselves or others, resulting in a standard antisocial personality. Physical symptoms included a high fever and confusion, with each flare-up being more severe than the last.

“Why are you here?” “I…” “It’s already so late. This is the female faculty dorm.” He Yu smiled. Though he wanted to curse, “Why the fuck are you here then?!” he nevertheless responded politely, “I hadn’t seen Xie-laoshi in a very long time. We were talking for so long I forgot the time. Sincerest apologies, Doctor Xie.” “You don’t need to call me Doctor Xie anymore. I’m no longer a doctor.” “My bad. Old habits,” He Yu responded lightly.

“Tell me, how exactly did you just happen to get accepted to Xie Xue’s university, and into her exact field of study at that?” His forceful attitude from his occupation had seeped into his personal life. At that moment, He Yu felt like he was a patient at the hospital stuck with a moody doctor who asked, “Tell me where it hurts,” in a flat, indifferent tone. When He Yu thought of it like this, he found it sort of funny.

Xie Qingcheng didn’t press further, because his eyes were drawn to the “fried lumps of rice with egg and ham” that He Yu was holding. Xie Qingcheng furrowed his brow. “…What is that?” He Yu wanted to throw the plate at Xie Qingcheng’s face—a face that looked as if others owed him a fortune—then follow up with “What’s it to you?”

“Doctor, you dropped this.” He looked up at those indifferent eyes. It was the height of summer, but inexplicably, they still made He Yu, who was learning Tang dynasty poetry at the time, think of a particular phrase: “Snowfall whispers onto the neighboring bamboo grove.”8

Research had shown that the feelings between people were largely dictated by the scents on each other’s bodies. That was to say, if someone gave off a scent that you liked, then it would be easier for you to fall in love at first sight. On the other hand, if their smell made you annoyed or afraid, then you probably wouldn’t have a very promising future together. He Yu didn’t like Xie Qingcheng’s scent. It was ice-cold and unyielding—like the countless bitter pills he’d swallowed ever since he was a child, like the alcohol and iodine solution they would wipe on his arm before injections; like pale, white, ice-cold hospital rooms, devoid of human company and suffused with the odor of disinfectant. He was almost instinctively terrified of this kind of smell. Subconsciously, he frowned.

Just when he was about to look away, Xie Qingcheng paused and fixed his dark eyes on He Yu. “…So, it’s you.” The look in his eyes irrationally reminded He Yu of a surgical knife. It was abnormally incisive, giving He Yu the strange feeling that he was going to cut open his heart and put it under a microscope. “Nice to meet you,” the young doctor said. “I’ll probably be the one treating your illness in the future.” He Yu was afraid of doctors. He deeply disliked even gentle female doctors, to say nothing of this terrifying apparition emanating stern iciness from head to toe. The eight-year-old boy immediately felt unwell. He forced a smile, then turned around and left.

The composure of the eight-year-old boy in front of her always made Lü Zhishu feel a little scared, a feeling she tried to dispel with a sigh and a bit of teasing. “He Yu, we’ve signed a slave contract with Doctor Xie. If he can’t cure your condition, he’ll end up as a long-term laborer for us. He’ll never get paid or be able to take any days off. He won’t even be able to find a wife and get married. Do you know what this means?” “Not really.” “It means, if you don’t cooperate, you’ll lower the efficacy of his treatment, keep him from regaining his freedom, and leave him unable to eventually find a wife. Then, you’ll have to take responsibility for him and support him for life.” Even though he was mature for his age, He Yu was still only eight—young and gullible—and was thus horrified. He looked up at once. “Can I cancel his contract?” “No.” On her flights the past few days, Lü Zhishu had obsessively watched Republican-era dramas about torturous love and family infighting. With a fleeting thought, she added something even more cutting. “Also, he might want you to take responsibility by becoming his wife. Look at how pretty you are—you’d make a decent foster bride.”9

If not for He Yu’s strong self-restraint, he might have already blurted out a “Fuck you!” Unfortunately, he was monitored too closely. Forget about curse words—at age eight, even the word “bastard” had yet to enter his childhood vocabulary. But, in any case, through those six months of diligent effort, persevering hard to embarrass himself before Xie Qingcheng, He Yu had more or less managed an extraordinary feat: no matter how hard he strove, in the following six or seven years… No, it was longer than that. Even after he parted ways with Xie Qingcheng at age fourteen, even today, to Xie Qingcheng, He Yu was still a massive, three-dimensional, living and breathing dumbfuck with a capital D.

“Aiya, Ge, you don’t need to pay it any mind,” the dumbass replied. “It’ll be fine.”

“Do you need help?” Xie Xue asked. “I’ll let you know in a bit if I do,” He Yu said with an insincere smile. He turned to walk into the kitchen and closed the door. The moment the door shut, his smile disappeared.

Then he very calmly took out the hair dryer that Xie Xue kept in the second drawer. Without batting an eyelid, he put it into the sink and turned the faucet on. Xie Xue had saved up half a month’s salary to buy this high-end hair dryer. With a loud splash, Young Master He—whom she’d never suspect—thus drenched it into an impressive-looking but useless piece of scrap. Excellent. He Yu wiped the water off the hair dryer and placed it back into the drawer. The preparations were complete.

He simply looked like the epitome of a good person! A shining example of an upstanding young man! However, those who had done too many bad things were likely to encounter retribution.

He Yu’s almond eyes widened, but before he could prevent anything, he heard Xie Qingcheng say, “He Yu, I’m coming in to wash my hands.” “Wait—” The word was halfway out of his mouth before he heard a massive noise. The bucket of water that He Yu had intentionally readjusted on the chest of drawers rocked in a circle. Then, with an almighty crash, that full bucket of water—the bucket that should have landed on Xie Xue according to He Yu’s original plans—tipped over, its contents cascading right over Xie Qingcheng’s handsome face! Fuck!

“…Ge.” As Xie Xue looked at her brother’s extremely dark expression, she felt like her death was practically imminent. In a shaky voice, she said, “Th-the hair dryer seems to be broken…” Xie Qingcheng shot her a glance through icy peach-blossom eyes. “This is the four-thousand-yuan hair dryer you told me about?” Xie Xue nearly fell to her knees. How could she be so unlucky?!

He looked toward Xie Qingcheng. Xie Qingcheng was sitting with his back against the couch, water still dripping from his chiseled jaw. His casual gray shirt had been completely soaked through. The fabric stuck to his skin and faintly exposed the outline of his chest and his slim waist. His thin lips were slightly pursed as he stared darkly at Xie Xue, as if he were getting ready to choose righteousness over family and obliterate this failure of a sister on behalf of the world. He Yu looked at him and felt the onset of a slight headache.

According to his original plans, the person who was supposed to end up soaked and helpless was Xie Xue. She should have been the one following him back to his dorm to blow-dry her hair. How did it become Xie Qingcheng instead? He Yu was straight, and he also disliked doctors. His Elderliness Xie Qingcheng was completely unwelcome in his room.

“Give me a dress shirt.” “Tsk, sorry about that, Doctor Xie. You don’t get to choose.” He Yu’s smile was so light and perfunctory it was like gauze. Since Xie Xue wasn’t here, he could drop all pretense. His pitch-black eyes were devoid of the slightest hint of sincerity, and his tone was less than courteous when he said, “Ah, I really only have one shirt that’s in your size. My dress shirts are too big for you.”

While waiting for Xie Qingcheng to change, He Yu was struck by déjà vu… He said to the man behind the frosted door, “By the way, Doctor Xie, I remembered something all of a sudden. Remember that time when I went to your university dorm—” “I don’t remember. Get lost.”

A few minutes later, Xie Qingcheng flung the door open. It slammed into He Yu, nearly knocking him over. Caught off guard, He Yu let out a muffled groan and bent over, clutching his nose. Xie Qingcheng looked at him indifferently. “Why were you standing so close?”

Xie Qingcheng imagined the scene for a moment. With a chilly expression, he tersely replied, “Too gay. I’m homophobic.” Xie Qingcheng shoved He Yu away. He circled around him to enter the dorm and began searching. He Yu was at a loss for words. “What? That’s not what I meant. If you’re homophobic, then I’m even more homophobic…”

At that time, he thought that Xie Qingcheng was so tall. And so cold.

Who would have thought that, after a few years apart, He Yu was now the one who had to look down at Xie Qingcheng. He Yu lowered his gaze to look at Xie Qingcheng. What had happened? Xie Qingcheng didn’t seem as scary anymore.

Perhaps this was the sort of psychological discrepancy He Yu felt toward Xie Qingcheng. He Yu’s gaze lingered on Xie Qingcheng—long enough for him to notice. Xie Qingcheng shot He Yu a cold look. “What are you looking at?” He Yu was quiet for a moment. “Just seeing whether or not my clothes suit you.” Xie Qingcheng didn’t reply. “They really are too big,” said He Yu. “Xie Qingcheng, I remember you used to be very tall.” “I don’t feel the need to show off my height and build,” Xie Qingcheng said coolly.

In that instant, He Yu realized that his childhood bogeyman was merely an ordinary person—a slightly slender man, at that. He Yu’s white T-shirt hung loose on Xie Qingcheng, the dip at the collar exposing pale skin, like a gulf at the base of a snowy mountain stream, cast in shadow by the garment. Weird—why had he been so afraid of Xie Qingcheng back then?

“You’re not going back with me to Xie Xue’s?” “No,” said Xie Qingcheng. “I have other plans tonight.” “Writing papers?” Xie Qingcheng wasn’t in the habit of hiding his personal affairs, or maybe he just didn’t care. He glanced over at He Yu as he was putting his watch back on his wrist and said, “A matchmaking date.” He Yu, who was only making small talk and not paying much attention, didn’t react to these words right away. He even felt secretly happy that Xie Qingcheng finally had the good sense to leave. Several seconds later, however, his words finally registered in his brain, as if the distance from his ears to their destination was a reflex arc long enough to loop the earth.

He Yu’s head whipped around in shock, his almond eyes flying wide open. Wasn’t Xie Qingcheng married? Why was he going on matchmaking dates? Why hadn’t Xie Xue mentioned this to him before? Countless questions surged through his head. He Yu blinked as he grasped at the central thread of this jumble of thoughts. He practically gaped at Xie Qingcheng’s apathetic face, half of which was submerged in shadow. After a moment’s hesitation, he asked, “You…got divorced?”

He Yu found it hard to believe that Xie Qingcheng would love anyone. He found it even harder to believe that anyone would love Xie Qingcheng.

Skin clear and pristine, lips like red plum blossoms frosted with snow. Though He Yu didn’t like men, he was someone who appreciated beauty.

Xie Qingcheng was well aware of the reason why Xie Xue hadn’t mentioned the divorce to He Yu: it was immensely embarrassing. While it was true that Li Ruoqiu had once loved him, it was also true that her love didn’t last. She cheated on him.

She cheated on him, then told him, “Xie Qingcheng, you’re a heartless person. Even to this day, you still don’t understand. What I want is love, not just a marriage.” But what was love?

If “love” was what made someone walk into the fray, despite knowing very well that it was wrong—if “love” made them stand by their mistakes, despite knowing full well that they were stepping into a bottomless abyss, to the point that they could disregard anything, from infamy, scorn, principles, morals, to life itself—then, to him, this seemed less like a type of affection and more like some kind of disease.

Now, he was certain he would never share the rest of his life with anyone else.

“Are you fucking insane?! Let go…! You’ve drunk so much that your mind is confused! Get the hell up!” Xie Qingcheng pushed at He Yu’s chest with his hand, but the young man only clasped his own hand over it. He even went as far as to interlace their fingers.