Mo Du (默读) - Silent Reading

Macbeth XVIII

At first Fei Du was rather shocked, but he quickly relaxed. Secured in the knowledge of his safety, he embraced Luo Wenzhou. “Well, Mr. Policeman, what would you dare to do to me?”

Fei Du undoubtedly had a beautiful pair of eyes, especially when he smiled, his irises refracting light in several layers. The gradations of a natural human eye couldn’t be replicated by even the highest grade of contact lens; it was a miracle of the accumulated accomplishments of hundreds of millions of years of slow evolution, containing the most complex and changeable moods and desires, the subtlest and most tortuous emotions, like a mustard seed in a fantasy novel, the whole world in a grain of sand.

Evidently, Fei Du’s “mustard seed” had an indestructible outer shell.

Luo Wenzhou gazed at him from close up. His throat moved. Then, without saying a word, he tore open his collar. The movement was rather rough; shirt buttons scattered over the floor. With his skin exposed to the slightly cold air, a layer of gooseflesh rose on Fei Du’s neck. The tattoo on his chest was revealed. It was a beast that seemed about to open its mouth and eat someone.

Luo Wenzhou’s gaze swept over it, and he paused slightly. “I remember last time at West Ridge, that was a different picture. Did it wash off?”

Fei Du was touching him now and then, taking petty advantage, magnanimously letting him look. “Supposedly the nanotechnology that simulates a real tattoo is more waterproof than a synchronized swimming team’s mascara, but of course that’s just false advertising, so I would advise you… hss… not to lick it.”

Luo Wenzhou’s lightly calloused fingers closed on Fei Du’s neck, forcing him to lift his head. Fei Du didn’t mind at all, as if what had fallen into Luo Wenzhou’s hands wasn’t his own precious throat but a tie bought at a street stall that he would let someone tear apart without regretting it.

Luo Wenzhou looked loftily down at him. “Why didn’t you get a real tattoo? Afraid of the pain?”

Fei Du nodded calmly. Before his nod was finished, Luo Wenzhou suddenly drew his hand tight. With his airflow suddenly strained and a most vital place squeezed, Fei Du gave a momentary physiological shudder, but Luo Wenzhou could feel that the pulse in his carotid artery was as calm and steady as a flat line, not speeding up at all. Fei Du even forced out a trace of a smile towards him. “I can’t… tell if… you like this?”

“If your breathing is obstructed for a minute, there will be an unbearable burning pain in your lungs. Then you’ll begin to feel dizzy due to lack of oxygen, and your eyes will start to fill with blood. Your brain, which hasn’t fully evolved, will be panic-stricken and cut off other life functions, disregarding the consequences in its attempt to survive. Your limbs will be numb and powerless. You’ll lose your ability to resist, start to be unable to feel your body. Your muscles will spasm. Within a few minutes you’ll die.” Luo Wenzhou abruptly released his neck. “It’ll be a rather ugly death, too.—You’re afraid of pain, but you aren’t afraid of that?”

Fei Du seemed to know how to avoid choking. When Luo Wenzhou released him, he didn’t instinctively gasp for breath, only gently moved his neck, carelessly saying, “It’s another sort of exper—”

“You aren’t afraid I’ll do anything to you,” Luo Wenzhou interrupted him, pressing a hand behind his ear, “aren’t afraid I’ll use force, aren’t afraid I’ll hurt you. When I squeezed your neck, your heart rate didn’t even increased. Why? Do you trust my moral character too much? Huh?”

Somewhat astonished, Fei Du laughed. “What, I can’t trust you?”

Luo Wenzhou expressionlessly gave an “oh.” “If you trust me so much, then answer a question for me—I remember your dad threw that ashtray away. Did you buy one exactly like it, or get the old one back?”