Stung by Yan Ting's unprovoked insult, a bitter sense of injustice welled up in Fang Yu's chest. Yet he had given Lin Ruofei his word that he would not speak of what had happened on the mountain, and so he was forced to lock the truth away, unspoken.
After a full day of endless toil, Fang Yu was thoroughly worn out. By the time he finished a hot shower, the clock had already struck eleven at night.
By then, the noise from upstairs had faded to a murmur.
"They must be asleep by now," Fang Yu murmured, stepping into the living room clad in nothing but a pair of loose boxer shorts, his chest bare.
He slouched against the sofa, utterly listless and bored, when a sudden thought struck him. He shot to his feet at once and made his way to the storage room where his luggage was kept.
When he emerged, he held an exquisitely packaged disc in his hand, its cover bearing the portrait of the late, renowned Japanese actress Ms. Muto.
"Thank goodness my friend gave me this when I returned from North Africa. I won't be bored tonight," Fang Yu muttered, a mischievous glint in his eye.
In a way, the old man had always been rather good to him. Years ago, when he was just fifteen, the old man had bought a vintage DVD player. On quiet evenings, the two of them would sit side by side in front of the television, watching classic Japanese action films together.
He had not brought the DVD player with him on this trip, but he had kept this disc with him everywhere he went.
"Wonder if the old man would tear me a new one for this," Fang Yu snickered to himself, before spotting Yan Ting's laptop, left discarded on the sofa.
He opened the laptop and slid the disc into the drive in a matter of seconds.
In an instant, vivid, eye-popping scenes filled the screen before him.
Though he was thoroughly engrossed, Fang Yu curled his lip and scoffed under his breath, "Ms. Muto is truly a master of her craft, it's just a shame her vocal delivery feels so forced, and her emotional beats come far too quickly."
As he spoke, he glanced down at the faint tent that had formed in his boxer shorts.
"Pathetic thing, getting worked up over this already?" He gave his thigh a light tap, before turning his gaze back to the screen, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the film unfolding before him.
On the screen, the film's leads moved together in a fierce, uninhibited rhythm.
Soft moans and the film's score drifted from the speakers, though Fang Yu had turned the volume down to a near-whisper, careful not to disturb the two young mistresses asleep upstairs.
Though it was the end of August, the late night air still held a sharp chill. Scantily clad, Fang Yu sneezed abruptly.
He grabbed a tissue at random, wiped his nose, and tossed it carelessly aside, his gaze never once leaving the screen.
"Honestly, I don't know what's so captivating about these Japanese art films. They all follow the exact same formula, with not a single fresh idea to be found," Fang Yu shook his head, huddling deeper into the sofa as a wave of weariness washed over him.
He ejected the disc, slipped it carefully back into its case, and reached to shut down the laptop.
But just as he closed the computer and prepared to put the disc away, a soft creak echoed through the silent room.
Fang Yu froze, his head snapping up toward the staircase. There, at the top, stood Lin Ruofei, her gaze fixed straight on him.
"Shit," Fang Yu's eyes darted away, and he made a beeline for the storage room.
"Fang Yu, stop right there," Lin Ruofei's voice rang out before he could take another step.
"Er…" Fang Yu halted in his tracks, his face betraying not a hint of embarrassment as he slipped the disc into his pocket. He turned around, smiling at Lin Ruofei. "What are you still doing up, Miss Lin?"