Liuxian did not look up. "You picked them up yourself."

Guiying looked at him.

"Do not move," Liuxian said, standing. He went to the bathroom and came back with the first aid kit, crouched back down, and began treating the blisters with the same focused unhurried attention he brought to everything.

Guiying watched him work and said nothing.

Liuxian finished treating the last blister and pressed the bandage down carefully. He looked at Guiying’s feet for a moment.

"Your feet look pretty in heels," he said. "But I want you to be comfortable." He stood. "I will get you proper dress shoes."

Guiying looked at him.

"You are saying this after the blisters," he said.

"I am saying it because of the blisters," Liuxian said simply, and returned the first aid kit to the bathroom.

Guiying looked at his bandaged feet, then at the Louboutins on the floor beside the bed, then at the bear slippers sitting where he had left them that morning.

He put the bear slippers on.

The relief was immediate and profound.

He stood, tested his weight carefully, and found it manageable. He picked up one of the glasses of water Liuxian had brought and drank half of it, and by the time Liuxian came back out of the bathroom Guiying was already at the door.

"The food should be ready," he said.

Liuxian looked at the bear slippers.

He said nothing, which was its own kind of commentary.

They went downstairs together.

The dining table was set. Old Li had clearly taken the order seriously. The beef tendon noodles arrived in a deep bowl, the broth dark and rich and fragrant, the tendons glossy and yielding. The red bean soup sat beside it in a smaller bowl, sweet and warm. The cucumber salad was clean and cool and dressed simply.

Guiying sat down, picked up his chopsticks, and ate with the focused appreciation of someone who had been in heels and a white satin shirt for several hours and had earned every mouthful.

Liuxian sat across from him and looked at the food.

Then he looked up at Old Li who was standing quietly to the side.

"My usual please." he said.

Old Li nodded and disappeared back into the kitchen without any visible surprise, which suggested this was not an unusual request.

Guiying looked up from his bowl. He looked at Liuxian. Then at the untouched noodles in front of him.

"You are not eating?" he said.

"I got something else." Liuxian said simply.

Guiying looked at him for a moment, then looked back at his noodles and continued eating. It was not his business. The noodles were excellent and he was hungry and he was not going to derail either of those facts with unnecessary questions.

Old Li returned shortly after with a plain congee, lightly seasoned, accompanied by a small dish of steamed vegetables and a cup of warm ginger tea. He set it down in front of Liuxian with the practiced care of someone who had made this specific meal many times before.

Guiying looked at the congee. Then at his own bowl of rich, fragrant, deeply satisfying beef tendon noodles.

He said nothing.

He ate another piece of beef tendon.

Liuxian picked up his spoon and ate his congee with the unbothered composure of a man who had made peace with his situation.

Guiying watched him for a moment over the rim of his bowl.

"Is that all you are having?" he asked.

"Yes," Liuxian said.

Guiying looked at the congee, then at the steamed vegetables, then at Liuxian’s face, and decided that whatever this was about it was clearly not new information to anyone in this household except him.

He went back to his noodles.

They ate in the quiet of a house that had settled into its nighttime rhythm, the staff moving softly somewhere in the background, the city outside the windows doing what cities did at this hour.

Guiying finished the noodles, worked through half the red bean soup, and ate every piece of the cucumber salad.

He set his chopsticks down and looked at Liuxian.

Liuxian looked back.

"Thank you," Guiying said. "For protecting me tonight."

Liuxian was quiet for a moment.

"You do not have to thank me for that," he said.

"I know," Guiying said. "I wanted to anyway."

Liuxian looked at him for a moment.

"Get some rest," he said. "It’s late."

Guiying pushed back from the table, stood, and looked at him for one more moment.

"Goodnight Liuxian," he said.

"Goodnight," Liuxian said.

Guiying went upstairs and got into bed and was asleep before his head had fully settled into the pillow.

Shen Zihao’s car pulled into the compound at eleven forty three.

The driver knew from the quality of the silence in the backseat that tonight was going to be bad. He had driven Shen Zihao long enough to know the difference.

This silence was the airless, pressurized kind, the kind that had nowhere to go except outward.

He parked, opened the door, and did not say goodnight.

The front door opened before Shen Zihao reached it. The junior doorman had been trained to have it open before the master arrived.

Tonight he opened it and immediately wished he had been somewhere else.

Shen Zihao walked in.

He stood in the entrance hall for exactly three seconds.

Then he picked up the decorative vase on the side table and threw it at the wall.

The sound of it shattering brought the housekeeper out of the corridor. She took one look at his face and took one step back.

"Sir—"

"Shut up," he said.

She shut up.

He walked past her and she pressed herself against the wall and did not breathe until he had passed.

The sitting room was where it started properly.

The drinks cabinet went first. He pulled it open and swept the entire contents onto the floor in a single motion, bottles and crystal hitting the marble and exploding, alcohol spreading across the floor in dark rivers.

A junior housekeeper who had been folding linens in the corner let out a sound before she could stop herself.

He turned around.

"Please," she said, immediately. "Please sir I was just—"