The Ghost Seeker

Chapter 6: That Mark on His Collarbone is Highly Suspicious

Xu xiao slept like the dead. Only the blaring iPhone alarm finally dragged him back to consciousness – straight into the next morning.

Sunlight sliced through the blinds. Xu xiao squinted, grabbing his phone. Still early.

He zoned out for a few minutes before remembering: Xie Jing’s house today. No need to clock in at the PPRB.

Then, a sweet aroma drifted under his bedroom door.

He swung his legs out of bed, heading for the door, then paused. He took a step back.

The sealed jar on his desk was intact. The talisman paper was still firmly stuck to the lid. No signs of tampering.

Good. Reinforced those wards last night. No way that thing got out.

But as he reached for the doorknob, the memory of cramming that wisp of Yin energy into the jar flashed in his mind… its size then…

Was it just him, or did it seem… bigger now?

Trick of the light. Has to be.

The living room was bathed in soft morning light. Xie Jing stood by the dining table, his lean frame carefully unpacking takeout containers from a paper bag. Hearing Xu xiao, he looked up, a flicker of well-practiced surprise crossing his face.

“Did I wake you?”

Xu xiao was groggy, the lingering sleepy haze evident. He shook his head. “Alarm clock.” His gaze drifted to the food containers.

“Delivery,” Xie Jing explained smoothly. “Wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a few options.”

“Too kind,” Xu xiao mumbled, heading for the bathroom. “Not picky.” He truly wasn’t. Growing up with Zhang Daoquan meant eating what was available. Pickiness was a luxury he never developed.

After a quick wash, Xu xiao surveyed the spread. Xie Jing had mostly ordered various congee and porridge, with a couple of bagels and yogurt cups on the side.

Curiosity got the better of Xu xiao as he sat down opposite Xie Jing, who was nibbling neatly on a bagel. “You really like porridge?”

Xie Jing didn’t answer directly, nor deny it. “Good for you.” He added something else, mumbled, about needing to eat it more often. Xu xiao didn’t quite catch it.

Didn’t matter. Xu xiao didn’t press.

An unopened container of pumpkin porridge sat before him, its sweet scent tempting. Xu xiao spooned some into his mouth, simultaneously firing off a text to Song Lianzhou: Taking personal day. Private case. Won’t be in.

The reply was instant, dripping with relief: GOOD! Handle it! Don’t call me! Followed by a ‘thank god’ emoji.

Xu xiao slowly typed a “?” into the chat box. Setting his phone down, he finally noticed Xie Jing had been watching him intently, a hesitant look in his eyes.

Xu xiao: “?” He touched his chin, confused. “What?” Did I spill? Look that bad?

Xie Jing leaned forward slightly, his tone probing. “Xu… did you go somewhere else last night?”

The question was baffling. Xu xiao stared, baffled. “Huh?” He’d fallen asleep instantly and hadn’t stirred until the alarm. Where the hell would he have gone?

Seeing his confusion, Xie Jing picked up his phone, tapped the screen, and opened the front camera. He held it out towards Xu xiao.

The phone’s portrait mode automatically smoothed skin, but even through the digital beautification, the marks were unmistakable. On Xu xiao’s collarbone, just below the loose collar of his pajamas, bloomed a vivid patch of red marks. Among them, one purplish bruise, about the size of a thumb tip, stood out starkly.

Xu xiao froze.

He knew he’d buttoned the top button after washing up. Now it was undone, the collar gaping, fully exposing the evidence.

Instinctively, Xu xiao raised a finger. The pad of his fingertip pressed lightly against the purplish bruise.

It was a pure reflex, a way to confirm the mark was real, there, on his skin.

He was utterly oblivious to how the unconscious gesture made Xie Jing’s eyes darken, his throat bob almost imperceptibly.

Xu xiao’s expression turned solemn. “This is…”

Seeing Xu xiao seemed to be “recognizing” it, Xie Jing pressed his lips together, adopting an attentive posture.

Only to hear Xu xiao declare with absolute conviction the next second:

“An allergic reaction to a mosquito bite.”

Xie Jing: “……” For a split second, his carefully controlled expression threatened to c***k. An allergic… to a mosquito?!

Xu xiao was painfully self-aware of his fragile constitution.

Childhood memories were steeped in the bitter taste of Chinese herbal medicine, Zhang Daoquan scraping together funds while dirt poor just to keep him dosed. No major illnesses, but a constant parade of bizarre minor ailments. An allergic reaction to a mosquito bite leaving a red patch and bruise on his chest? Unusual, sure. But given his medical history? Not impossible.

A slight, almost imperceptible twitch touched Xie Jing’s lips. He fired off three questions in quick succession, his voice dropping into a huskier register: “An allergic mosquito? Boss doesn’t seem… surprised? Does this happen often?”

Xu xiao shook his head, calmly buttoning his pajama top. “Not often.”

…Not often?

Meaning it had happened before?!

“Mosquitoes evolving fast these days,” Xu xiao mused, returning to his porridge with the wonder of a lifelong urbanite encountering nature’s quirks. “Never had this before. First time. Gotta remember the bug spray earlier.” He took another spoonful.

Xu xiao didn’t even consider other possibilities. Two solid reasons:

First: He’d had shockingly little physical closeness with anyone in his life, friends were scarce. This was his apartment! Who would sneak in at night to… nibble on him?

Second: His bedroom door had a talisman on the back! If it had been opened from the outside, he would have sensed it. Ghosts? Ha! What spirit would be stupid enough to crash into an exorcist’s wards? It’d be asking for final death!

Xu xiao’s spoon paused mid-air. He looked directly at Xie Jing, the question blurting out before he could stop it:

“Did you… come into my room last night?”

He instantly regretted it. The question was intrusive, wildly inappropriate. Suspicion shouldn’t be voiced so bluntly.

Knowing it was improper, seeing Xie Jing freeze, Xu xiao offered a sincere, “Sorry.”

Xie Jing knocked his knuckles lightly on the table once, tilting his head. He didn’t look angry, just utterly perplexed. “Why would you ask that? Do I… look like the kind of creep who just walks into people’s rooms?”

Quite the opposite, actually.

Since meeting Xie Jing, Xu xiao had found him sociable, articulate, polite, and well-mannered. Their rapport was surprisingly easy. Xie Jing was nowhere near the word ‘creep’.

Xu xiao had asked because the moment he’d looked down, a flash of insight – call it a sixth sense hiccup – had hit him. This sudden thought, this brain fart, this wild imagination… it probably had no basis in reality.

Xu xiao winced internally. “I just… suddenly remembered a movie I saw once.” It sounded lame even to him.

Xie Jing shook his head. “It’s okay.” He saw Xu xiao’s discomfort but pressed, curiosity winning. “I don’t mind. What movie made you… think of that?” Point the finger at me?

After a brief pause, Xu xiao relented: “A crime thriller. The killer… he’d always return to the scene afterward. To admire his… handiwork.”

Xie Jing looked genuinely stunned for a moment. His gaze slowly drifted from Xu xiao’s face down to the marks just visible at the loose collar of his pajamas.

Was Xu xiao seriously suspecting him? The only other living person in the apartment?

Or was this a subtle hint? A way to say Back off, it’s none of your business, marks or no marks, we’re still strangers after one day?

Could Xu xiao possibly be… just that naive? That the thought had genuinely popped into his head solely because of some movie?

After a beat, a low chuckle escaped Xie Jing. It held a note of amused fascination. “Xu… you are truly… fascinating.”

Xu xiao’s peach-blossom eyes locked onto his. “Me?”

Xie Jing: “Yeah.”

Held in that intense gaze, Xie Jing kept his expression perfectly neutral. Inside, his tongue pressed hard against the point of an itching canine tooth.

Xu xiao, freshly woken, only hastily washed, with messy bedhead… looked adorable as hell.

Last night, Xu xiao had radiated a palpable “keep away” chill. Now, here he was, utterly trusting, sipping the sweet pumpkin porridge he’d provided, eating whatever was put in front of him.

And now… looking at Xie Jing with those bright, expectant eyes, just wanting to know if he meant it.

So damn cute.

Xie Jing’s throat bobbed again.

His teeth ached.

Last night… hadn’t been nearly enough. The itch to sink his teeth into that smooth skin again was maddening.