Reservoir Dogs chapter 39

The Innocent

Once home, Jiang Chengyuan locked himself in his study. According to Sun Xu, he had recently taken on another complex case related to corporate pollution, involving delicate relationships from all sides.

Xiao Zhou washed his hair, drying it with a towel while lifting his laptop to surf the internet.

The laptop had been a gift from Jiang Chengyuan two days ago, without much explanation. On that day, in broad daylight, Xiao Zhou had gone to the office building to borrow the firm’s computer to check some information. When he returned to his room that evening, he found a new laptop sitting there.

Every move seemed to be under someone’s watchful eye, a somewhat eerie consideration he had grown accustomed to.

Even in prison, Xiao Zhou had internet access, but the rare, cumbersome desktop computers were housed in the library, open to prisoners only during designated weekend hours with painfully slow speeds and limited website access. Apart from reading the news and playing offline games, there was little else of use.

Before his imprisonment, WeChat wasn’t as widespread; classmates communicated via QQ, and online forums were bustling. Now, with updates and changes, he felt like Columbus discovering a new continent. Yet, his primary aim online remained exploring job opportunities and educational prospects. With his current low education level, he aimed to pursue distance learning while seeking part-time employment opportunities.

He compiled all the job information he found, organized it into a table, and compared salaries, time commitments, and career prospects. Xiao Zhou was always methodical and organized; clear, straightforward numbers reassured him the most.

By the time he finished organizing, it was already past ten. He closed his laptop and went to the living room to pour himself a glass of water. Passing by the study, he noticed a yellow light leaking through the slightly open door.

Xiao Zhou stood still for a moment, then went to the living room, fetched a jar of honey from the fridge, scooped out two spoonfuls, and mixed them into warm water with a small spoon. The yellow gel-like substance dispersed into the water. Passing the study again, he raised his hand and knocked on the door. After a while, a voice from inside told him to come in.

He pushed open the door. Paintings and calligraphy hung on the walls of the study. The bookshelf along one wall was always impressive no matter when you looked at it. Inside the glass cabinet were some collections: calligraphy fans, various inkstones… Jiang Chengyuan stood behind the mahogany desk, with rice paper and ink brushes laid out. He held a brush in his hand, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and the collar unbuttoned.

Raising his head slightly, his eyes looked through the lenses with some coldness. Jiang Chengyuan had good eyesight but was somewhat farsighted; he only wore glasses when reading or using the computer. Seeing Xiao Zhou, his eyes lowered again, and he asked, “What’s up?”

Xiao Zhou thought he was working but didn’t expect him to be practicing calligraphy.

Carrying the honey water, Xiao Zhou walked over. Jiang Chengyuan was finishing up on the rice paper, halfway through writing a Buddhist scripture in neat regular script, with sharp corners and powerful strokes. They say that a person’s character is reflected in their handwriting, and Jiang Chengyuan’s characters indeed had the taste of willow style, sharp, hard, and dangerous, with a strict framework structure, exuding a sense of sternness.

“Honey water after drinking can sober you up and relieve headaches,” the cup rested on the corner of the table, Xiao Zhou said, “My dad used to love drinking, his liver wasn’t good, every time he came back from a social event, my mom would make him drink this.”

With his last erect and powerful stroke, Jiang Chengyuan placed the brush on the rack and stood up straight.

The paper stopped at the sentence, “In four phases of doing good deeds, that’s how living beings come to watch the Buddha.”

Writing calligraphy is a way to cultivate oneself and calm the mind. Although Jiang Chengyuan’s brushwork was not explicitly beautiful, the content he wrote was profound and emphasized transcendence.

Jiang Chengyuan took the cup of warm water from his hand, and the honey flowed into his throat and insides to fill his insides with a certain kind of swill. Whether it was psychological or not, he did feel his dizziness and headache easing, and his emotions calming considerably.

He was surprised by Xiao Zhou’s gesture of offering him this cup of honey water, unexpectedly comforted, countering the disturbance caused by meeting old acquaintances at the wine table.

Setting down the cup, he noticed Xiao Zhou still looking at the inscription on the stone tablet, and casually asked, “Have you practiced this before?”

Xiao Zhou honestly replied, “I practiced a bit when I was younger, choosing between Latin piano and calligraphy. I thought writing was the simplest, but I learned that writing beautiful characters isn’t easy. It takes talent and effort. Sometimes the harder you try, the worse it gets. After three years, I could only impress outsiders a bit, and then I got lazy and didn’t continue.”

Jiang Chengyuan smiled faintly, handed him a pen, and stepped aside, saying, “You try.”

Xiao Zhou took the pen and copied the characters Jiang Chengyuan had just written. The finished product showed that he had practiced each stroke carefully, with a neat and compact structure, clear yet not crowded.

“Not bad, the strokes are very good,” Jiang Chengyuan praised, already standing behind Xiao Zhou, bending over his back. His arm circled around Xiao Zhou’s chest from behind, holding the hand that held the pen. “Write it again.”

Horizontal, vertical, dots, strokes, hooks, bends—where to place the strokes, how to apply force, how to twist the brush…

Jiang Chengyuan whispered softly in Xiao Zhou’s ear, pressing down on him as if with his entire weight. His other hand traced the curve of Xiao Zhou’s waist and butt, seeming very satisfied with the indentation there, lingering for a long time. It tickled like feathers brushing over him, tingling little by little, then settling on his waist.

Being so close, feeling the breath on his neck, Xiao Zhou couldn’t help blushing involuntarily. His mind was in turmoil, and he didn’t even know what he was writing.

One stroke after another on the Xuan paper, forming a vertical composition.

With great difficulty concentrating, what he wrote on the paper was—”The innocent have no worries, and the sea has no waves.”

It was also a sentence from the same stone tablet, although the characters were not well formed due to his distracted mind, they flowed elegantly and gracefully, with a sense of ease.

Xiao Zhou secretly marveled.

As he finished the last stroke, he wanted to pull the pen back, but the brush was controlled to cut through the paper, piercing it.

At the same time, Jiang Chengyuan suddenly bit his neck gland, Xiao Zhou moaned unexpectedly, his body trembling, unable to hold the pen anymore, dropping heavily on the white felt, the wolf hair spreading out, staining the ink thickly.

The surging pheromones wrapped around like a cocoon, Xiao Zhou’s back bowed, his body pushed forward, having to support the table with his elbow. The table edge bumped sharply against the prominent bone of his hip, a dull pain, far less intense than the reaction caused by the combined pheromones.

After licking off the blood flowing from the bitten gland, Jiang Chengyuan turned Xiao Zhou’s face and kissed him, kissing hard, almost biting, tangled lips and teeth overflowing with the sweetness of honey water.

While being kissed, Xiao Zhou kept his eyes open, and Jiang Chengyuan didn’t evade, staring straight at him.

Xiao Zhou saw his reflection in those deep black eyes. The reflection was also looking back at him. He stared blankly, forgetting to blink, unsure if it was reality or illusion. It felt like he was watching himself, or perhaps at this moment, he had already become another version of himself.

After staring for a while, he closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and responded to Jiang Chengyuan’s kiss. The kiss was intense and impatient, as if Jiang Chengyuan had been eagerly waiting for this moment of passion.

As he raised his hand to wrap around Jiang Chengyuan’s neck, the kiss suddenly paused. Xiao Zhou belatedly realized that his fingers had touched something. There was a noticeable bulge, a slight swelling sensation—it was Jiang Chengyuan’s gland.

As his fingers brushed past, the air filled with the stronger scent of agave, but without the frenzy and chaos of a sensitive period, as if a whirlwind out of control. Xiao Zhou suddenly remembered that this was the first time Jiang Chengyuan had wanted to make love to him without the involvement of pheromones.

Pheromones seeped into his skin, itching even into the seams of his bones, saturated with the scent of pheromones.

“Don’t touch there,” Jiang Chengyuan turned his head away from his fingers and whispered softly in his ear.

Xiao Zhou withdrew his hand. “Why not? Is this some sort of taboo?”

“I just don’t like it,” Jiang Chengyuan held his shoulders and made him lie face up on the mahogany table.

Looking down from above, Xiao Zhou’s face had somehow been smeared with ink, balancing black and white. Jiang Chengyuan traced his features with his fingers—his nose as a peak, eyes like clouds, eyebrows like flying birds. The stroke of ink brushed off from his cheek was like rushing water, the rolling hills and mountains, handsome as if from a painting.

Every feature was exquisite. Jiang Chengyuan smiled as he looked, raising his thumb to rub lightly against Xiao Zhou’s lower lip, rubbing out a blood-red color, like moist peach blossoms blooming at the foot of the mountain.

He leaned down to kiss those eyes.

He wanted to see those eyes turn moist as well.

The papers spread out on the table were scattered, the fair back was stained with ink, and then wiped away.

…

Before buttoning up his clothes, Xiao Zhou looked at his back in the bathroom mirror. After two showers, his skin around had turned red, but the ink marks remained, not knowing how long it would take to fade.

He frowned, deciding to wear darker clothes tomorrow.

Coming out of the bathroom and walking back to his room, a pair of written scrolls lay on the bedside table, which Jiang Chengyuan had written with him. He unfolded the scrolls and looked at them, feeling embarrassed, yet feeling that they were not suitable for the public, so he folded them and put them under the cabinet.

There were two unread messages on his phone. One was the transaction message for the card he had given to Xiao Ping before, taking advantage of Jiang Chengyuan’s special treatment within the bank, he also knew the information about the other side of the transaction. A private account.

The other was from Liang Hanqing, just asking if he had reached home. Xiao Zhou pinched his phone and slowly replied. Liang Hanqing hadn’t slept yet, and quickly replied, inviting him to meet tomorrow, saying there was a good opportunity and asking him to try it out. Xiao Zhou asked what it was, but Liang Hanqing said it was confidential, and finally agreed on the time and place, saying good night to each other.

It was already past twelve o’clock, Xiao Zhou lay on the bed, the previous position with  Jiang Chengyuan was not correct, and the muscles on the inner side of his thighs were still spasming.

He reached down to massage them, slowly closing his eyes.

He realized he had actually started to get used to this kind of thing.

In the chaotic darkness, another flashback emerged—a snippet from the final visit before he was formally transferred to prison. He had just refused his mother’s proposal to get him out through a parole decree. Liang Hanqing came to see him. After failing to communicate, he turned and asked him, “What if it were me? Could you accept it?”

He asked Xiao Zhou while looking into his eyes, streaked with red from staying up all night.

Author’s note:

The emotional line will be intensified next. Xiao Zhou has actually started to change, but many things need to be gradual. If anyone finds the characters strange, feel free to leave a comment. I will explain and adjust if necessary. As for Zhou Jun’s sentence, I mentioned it in the pinned comment of Chapter 34, but there is a lot of room for maneuver in his case, so it’s not explicitly stated in the text.