Withdrawal 01

Chapter 1

A bitter winter rain drizzled endlessly from the sky.

Shen Wang stood before the gravestone without an umbrella, silent and still.

No matter how glorious or miserable a person had been in life, death reduced everyone to the same thing in the end—a rotting body beneath the earth. Shen Wang had never liked funerals. The wavering cries and muffled sobs grated on him like cats yowling in heat during springtime, noisy enough to keep anyone from sleeping. Better to pour a bowl of liquor for the dead than waste tears over them.

His fingers brushed absently along the seam of his trousers as he found himself missing the warm carpet back home, and the unopened bottle of Romai waiting for him.

After listening to the wailing and quiet sniffling for a while, he started to grow sleepy.

By the time the ceremony finally ended, the rain had become even heavier. Shen Wang was considering how to get back when Miwa stepped beneath the downpour and pulled him under a black umbrella.

Shen Wang was just about to thank him when Miwa tightened his lips and warned coldly, “Don’t cause trouble these next few days.”

Shen Wang didn’t look offended. He simply shifted his gaze toward the sea of black umbrellas ahead.

“Tobacco?” he asked, tapping his fingers lightly.

Miwa shot him a look. “This is your ex-boyfriend’s funeral.”

His features were gentle by nature, but his brows were thick and long. Whenever they furrowed, they curved together like willow branches knotted in the wind, making even his anger seem oddly intimate.

Shen Wang thought for a moment. “I wouldn’t really call him a boyfriend.”

“Call it whatever you want.” Miwa’s voice sharpened. “Just remember to behave yourself these next few days. Don’t let the paparazzi catch you in anything messy.”

“You know what people back home are saying, right? That Ji Xiao killed himself over love.”

“The media twists everything.”

“Maybe. But the public only hears what the media feeds them.” Miwa stared at him. “Isn’t your reputation bad enough already? You really want people adding ‘driving someone to suicide’ on top of your chaotic love life?”

“I got it. I’ll behave.” Shen Wang paused, then added lazily, “So… do you have cigarettes or not?”

Miwa looked at him with the frustration of someone watching a hopeless case, then pulled a pack of Marlboros from inside his black suit jacket and tossed it over.

After that, he strode off beneath the umbrella, leaving Shen Wang alone in the rain.

Shen Wang found shelter beneath an awning and smoked slowly, one drag at a time.

Even now, it still felt unreal.

Ji Xiao had died just like that.

He’d been so vividly alive.

When Ji Xiao smiled, the corners of his mouth practically reached his ears, flashing bright white teeth. He wasn’t especially tall, but he had a healthy, energetic build. He’d chased after Shen Wang for a few months once—a brief affair, nothing more—but before long, he’d thrown himself into someone else’s arms.

Ji Xiao always used to say, “Life is meant to be experienced.”

To him, that meant having flirtatious, beautiful lovers as well as elegant, refined partners. Shen Wang had been categorized firmly into the former.

Back then, Shen Wang had only found it amusing.

He’d thought Ji Xiao would go on “experiencing life” for decades to come. He’d even looked forward to hearing more of his stories. Ji Xiao had a way of turning every romance into something lingering and vivid, the kind of tale that drew people in before they realized it.

Who would’ve thought he’d end things with suicide?

Miwa had said he slit his wrists in the bathtub. The blood had flowed all the way into the living room. By the time the housekeeper discovered him, he’d already been dead for a week.

When Shen Wang first heard the news, he’d been in Shanghai preparing for a concert.

His first thought had actually been:

So even suicide had become part of the “experience”?

But when Miwa informed him of the funeral date and location, the truth finally hit him.

Ji Xiao was really gone.

No one knew why he’d killed himself.

Including Shen Wang.

People like Ji Xiao only cared about drinking, smoking, and having fun. They never spoke about the past, and never discussed the future. But death was like punching a hole through the wall of a fragile shack. Once the hole was there, the cold wind came rushing through, whistling endlessly.

The dead could sleep peacefully underground.

The living couldn’t escape so easily.

And that wind left people restless.

Even after Miwa warned him repeatedly, Shen Wang still wandered into a nearby bar.

He needed distraction. Something lively enough to smother this vague, unsettling guilt clawing at his chest.

He didn’t know New York well and picked the place entirely on instinct. After pushing open the door and glancing around, he found mostly white patrons inside—a fairly authentic local bar, apparently.

He sat down, ordered a drink, and lit another cigarette.

The Marlboros Miwa gave him were already gone, so he switched back to the slim women’s cigarettes he carried himself. Long, delicate things with a taste he didn’t particularly enjoy.

Under the flashing lights and haze of alcohol, Shen Wang smoked one cigarette after another.

He was strikingly handsome—deep-set features, captivating eyes, slightly long hair loosely tied behind his head. There was a pale brown mole high on his cheekbone, and whenever he smiled, his peach-blossom eyes curved with it.

Quite a few people had been eyeing him all night.

He turned every one of them down.

Until an impeccably dressed Asian man walked straight over and sat across from him.

“Drinking alone?”

Shen Wang narrowed his eyes. He didn’t object to the man’s boldness; instead, he leisurely sized him up from head to toe.

The man let him look, perfectly confident.

Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. The sort of face made for romance and trouble alike.

Cradling his glass, Shen Wang smiled faintly. “Yeah.”

The man introduced himself casually, saying he was Chinese-American, born and raised in the States. Said he was interested in him.

Shen Wang barely remembered his name afterward, but the man was entertaining. Since he’d clearly come looking for a hookup, he put real effort into making conversation, choosing only the funniest stories.

At one point he complained about his boss.

“A complete little devil,” he said dramatically. “One time I made a joke around him, and he held onto it for two whole months. Then during a company dinner, he dumped a huge spoonful of wasabi onto my plate and told me it was matcha.”

He sighed mournfully.

“I swear my entire body went numb from the spice. Even my burps tasted like wasabi afterward.”

Even Shen Wang couldn’t help laughing around the cigarette between his fingers.

“Your boss sounds kind of interesting.”

“How come you don’t think I’m pitiful?” the man protested.

“That depends what kind of joke you made.”

“Something about his dating history.” The man shrugged helplessly. “Who knew he’d react so strongly?”

Then he asked, “So why are you drinking alone? You look like someone with no shortage of admirers.”

“My ex died.”

The words came out vague enough that the man misunderstood immediately, assuming heartbreak instead of death.

His expression softened with sudden understanding.

“Then find someone new.”

Shen Wang flicked ash into the tray without answering.

The man leaned closer and asked bluntly, “Top or bottom?”

“How come?”

“If you’re a bottom,” the man said with a grin, “you could have your ‘someone new’ tonight.”

Shen Wang laughed then, eyes curving beautifully, as if he’d just heard an especially amusing joke.

Only when the cigarette burned all the way down and scorched his fingertips did his smile finally fade.

Frowning slightly, he crushed the stub into the ashtray.

He rubbed at his burned fingers slowly. A faint mistiness lingered in his peach-blossom eyes—whether from alcohol or the sting of the burn, no one could tell.

“I don’t really like being the one underneath.”