Willing to share bread

Qin Zhilu grabbed the terminal, tapped it twice, and showed it to him.

An Yu’s eyes bugged out again. “You… I… where did this come from?”

“I do things too.” Qin Zhilu’s expression was indifferent, as if speaking of something trivial. “Before going to the Descending Swamp, Flame seemed to have a premonition. He handed over the Jin family assets to me for temporary management. Now that he’s gone, the income from these assets serves as a backup startup fund for the Spire. Of course, I hope that day never comes. But in any case, the management fee alone as a professional manager is quite substantial every year. I took a portion of that income and invested in high-tech equipment by former Brain researchers. The business is in a rapid growth phase; probably next year it will catch up to your bread factory.”

An Yu was dumbfounded, unable to find his tongue. The wind chimes rang, and with a magical premonition, he looked toward the door.

An Ning had arrived.

“Poet.”

“Morning.”

The customers in the shop greeted him one after another. An Ning wore a snow-white long coat, his smile bright and gentle. “Morning, everyone.”

After the Main City was preserved, An Ning stayed too, continuing to look after the church. Initially, he said he hadn’t decided what to do next, but as time passed, he stopped mentioning it and focused on church affairs. Now, the Main City church had morning and night prayers every day; its operation was stable, remaining an inseparable part of the residents’ lives.

“Poet” was an old title that was automatically passed to An Ning, but he didn’t mind and accepted it calmly.

An Yu often heard people discussing An Ning. They all said the new Poet was more suited for the job than his predecessor—he was always emotionally stable, gentle, and peaceful. Most importantly, one could feel that the path ahead was bright through him. The former Poet was also gentle, but he always radiated a sense of pity, which wasn’t quite as likeable.

An Ning smiled and greeted An Yu. “I came to look for Law.” He handed a document to Qin Zhilu, who skimmed it and flipped directly to the last page to sign.

An Yu peeked from the side and only saw the header was about church renovation matters.

“The church is very old and has many safety hazards. We’ll renovate it this winter. After the New Year, we’ll open a brand-new spring for the Main City,” An Ning explained. “But the current management of the Main City has no money. It’s already good enough that they can maintain basic social order; they can’t provide any funding. So Law shouldered the cost.”

An Yu gave an “oh” and went back to browsing the web.

Qin Zhilu laughed, finding it curious. “It’s quite a large sum. Since it’s not your money, you’re not pained by it?”

An Ning also teased him with a smile. “This kind of differential treatment will make Law very disheartened.”

An Yu shook his head. “No, it’s…”

“Don’t explain.” Qin Zhilu pulled An Yu’s head into his embrace and kissed his fluffy hair several times. “I’ll deal with you when we get home.”

After being together, there were more and more of these intimate little gestures. An Yu knew the Commander liked to hold him, embrace him, and kiss him; even in public, he would rub An Yu’s head or give him a little squeeze.

Instinctively, after the Commander kissed him, An Yu would look up and return a kiss, right on that gradually fading old scar at the corner of the man’s lips. It was a light touch and lick like a small animal. Sometimes, after An Yu pecked him, Qin Zhilu’s smiling eyes would suddenly grow deeper, watching him with a gaze that seemed to hide a bottomless deep sea.

An Yu knew he had provoked the Commander again.

By nighttime, the Commander would become exceptionally forceful. He would stretch him to unbelievable angles, from behind, then flipping him back to face him, forcing him to watch.

It continued until An Yu pleaded through tears, eventually falling into a heavy sleep in those arms, exhausted. Even then, he could faintly feel Qin Zhilu brushing the hair from his forehead in the middle of the night, placing soft kiss after soft kiss upon his cheeks.

In the slums, some addicts become completely insane when their cravings strike.

An Yu was relieved more than once that he wasn’t “addicted” to anything, otherwise, the Commander would surely have been ruined by now.

That night, after returning home and enduring another round of madness, An Yu curled up in Qin Zhilu’s embrace and asked in a damp, trembling voice, “What exactly do you like about me?”

“You are just a small piece of bread.” Qin Zhilu’s voice was low, raspy, and deep. He couldn’t stop kissing the back of An Yu’s head as he spoke. “But you are my small piece of bread. No matter the time or place, you will always be a piece that belongs to me…”

An Yu shifted in that solid embrace. “Bread is the source of my sense of security.”

“Mine too.” Qin Zhilu buried his nose and lips in An Yu’s hair, inhaling deeply. “It is the feeling of being alive… Only those who possess bread truly know it.”

An Yu paused for a long while before giving a soft “Mhm.”

Then came the endless tossing again. His entire body felt like it was falling apart; he was truly too tired to bear it. When he finally drifted into a stupor, he felt his spirit fragmenting, yet it was unexpectedly light.

This was the most peaceful night of sleep An Yu had had in a week, yet he still woke at dawn. He had something on his mind—something that had entangled him for seven days. After this cathartic exhaustion, he simply didn’t want to dwell on it anymore.

He decisively poked Qin Zhilu awake.

“Hmm?” Qin Zhilu opened his eyes hazily. He didn’t get angry; instead, he instinctively pulled An Yu closer, stroking his hair with gentle, rhythmic motions as if coaxing a child. “Didn’t sleep well again?”

“Commander…” An Yu said in a low voice, “The bakery in the Main City, let’s keep it running as it is, okay? We still need to make some money to live on.”

Qin Zhilu’s lips curled into a faint smile with his eyes still closed. “Fine. Didn’t I say? Just act like I never mentioned it.”

“But the operating model of the factories outside… Let’s change it,” An Yu continued. “I did a rough calculation at the shop yesterday. In areas where the situation is stable, our profits can basically cover the labor and production costs of other regions. So, for those other regions—”

An Yu bit his lip; his heart was bleeding. But he finally spoke the words that had been weighing on him all week. “In the other regions, let’s supply Corner bread for free.”

Qin Zhilu snapped his eyes open, staring at him in shock. “You… what?”

He didn’t care about the money; what concerned him was the suspicion that An Yu was “broken.” He immediately touched An Yu’s forehead to check for a fever, then followed his gaze with worry, trying to distinguish any signs of madness.

An Yu took his hand and gave it a gentle shake. It was an unconscious act of acting spoiled. He had many such small gestures, though he rarely realized it himself.

“Those people have suffered too much. The calamity is over, yet they still haven’t gained the security of truly living.

“Ling Qiu said before that no matter how lowly one is, even if they are burned to nothing but a single spark, they would still give their all to make this world better. I am not as noble as he was, but since I have the strength to spare now, I might as well do one last thing for him.”

As An Yu spoke, he lightly licked the corner of his lip and buried his face in the Commander’s chest. He was incredibly reluctant to let go; it was a literal mountain of gold. Only by holding the Commander tightly could he fill the void that seemed to radiate from the depths of his soul at this moment.

“The security of bread, only those who possess it truly know it,” he whispered. “Let us share it through bread. Let’s share this security with those who need it.”

—THE END—

Author’s Postscript:

The End.

Note: The next book will be an urban “broken mirror reunited” (rekindled romance) novel. If you are interested, you can find the pre-order in the column.

This story took a long time to write. Though it was difficult, I am glad it was presented in its complete form as I envisioned. Thank you all for your companionship and tolerance this year. I hope every story brings some meaning.

See you in the spring, see you in the next book!