Chapter 21: Entering the Boudoir for the First Time

Before leaving, he lay down in the hearse's coffin for a while, just to make sure his borrowed skin wouldn't break out in bumps and slime tonight, nor leave him nauseous and dizzy as if carrying an unwanted pregnancy. Gou Liang was well aware that seeking out Zhang Zhihan now would only bring unnecessary trouble, and surely arouse police suspicion. But he couldn't restrain his emotions; he simply wanted to see Zhang Zhihan, come what may.

He took a cab straight back to the rented house. He didn’t return to his own room—any fool could guess the police would be secretly watching it. Instead, he went directly to Zhang Zhihan’s door and knocked.

With a creak, Zhang Zhihan opened the door. Weariness, haggardness, and sorrow were etched in her gaze. She forced a polite smile.

“Who are you looking for?”

Gou Liang froze; he was wearing Hao Dagen’s skin—how could Zhang Zhihan possibly not recognize Hao Dagen?

“It’s me, Hao Dagen. Don’t you recognize me?” Gou Liang probed, unwilling to give up.

Zhang Zhihan studied him for a while, yet confusion and bewilderment filled her eyes. “I can’t recall. I don’t think I’ve ever met you.”

Gou Liang could tell she wasn’t acting; she truly didn’t recognize Hao Dagen. Moreover, this skin had no memory—if the two had truly known each other, or had that kind of relationship, the skin would carry those memories. Just as the skin retained memories of Baowenle’s body, moving about with practiced familiarity and ease. Though he barely qualified as an A in that regard, Gou Liang could sense that the skin’s memory was quite interested in Baowenle’s A.

If Hao Dagen had known Zhang Zhihan in life, and if they’d been intimate, the skin’s memories would urge him to embrace her, perhaps even madly pull down her shoulder strap, like in those films where passion blurs into a trail of kisses and discarded clothes, tumbling from sofa to floor, then to the bedroom, unlocking countless pleasures and tastes.

That was what Gou Liang dreaded most—Zhang Zhihan was his first love. If she had shared such a relationship with Hao Dagen, his entire first love would be ruined. But she truly didn’t know Hao Dagen. How strange—could this Zhang Zhihan be someone entirely different?

But what were the odds of another woman with the same name and face existing in this world? The riddle gnawed at him. Only by becoming a seventh-rank Violet Talisman Master, reaching the seventh floor of the Obsession Hotel, and confronting the vengeful spirit of Zhang Zhihan himself, would Gou Liang find answers.

He had imagined all sorts of scenarios for his meeting with Zhang Zhihan while wearing Hao Dagen’s skin, but never had he considered that Zhang Zhihan wouldn’t recognize him at all.

A sudden thought struck him, and he lowered his voice: “I’m a friend of Gou Liang’s. I heard something happened to him, so I came to check in.”

Zhang Zhihan paused, giving him a once-over. “Oh, if you’re a friend of Gou Liang’s, come in.”

This was the first time Gou Liang had entered Zhang Zhihan’s little room. The moment he stepped in, a strong, distinctly feminine scent enveloped him. The pink decor was soft and cozy, the air thick with the fragrance unique to a young woman’s private sanctuary—intoxicating, stirring all sorts of reveries. It wasn’t as luxurious as Wang Xinyao’s home, but to Gou Liang, it was all the more enchanting.

The room was perfumed with the same scent that clung to Zhang Zhihan herself. Gou Liang breathed it in greedily, never getting enough. If not for this borrowed skin, Zhang Zhihan might have let him stay the night. Even if they didn’t share a bed, it would have been a tremendous delight—he was sure he’d dream sweetly all night.

It was obvious Zhang Zhihan worked as a livestreamer, though nowadays, with so many beautiful streamers competing, making a living was far from easy. Gou Liang sat down on the small sofa in the living room. The layout of this room was identical to his own, yet the difference was like night and day. Her room was a warm, feminine retreat; his, a pathetic dog’s den for a lovesick fool.

Not wanting to make Zhang Zhihan uncomfortable, he resisted the urge to let his eyes wander, especially since her bedroom door was ajar and he could glimpse the rack with all sorts of little clothes and black stockings.

Zhang Zhihan poured him a glass of plain water.

“Thank you!” Gou Liang, his heart pounding and his throat dry, took it with both hands and gulped down two large mouthfuls.

“You’re welcome.” Zhang Zhihan sat in the chair opposite, keeping a wary distance. That comforted Gou Liang; he’d already considered Zhang Zhihan his girlfriend in his heart after falling for her at first sight, and the thought of her flirting with another man was intolerable.

Gou Liang was desperate to know where he stood in Zhang Zhihan’s heart—would she still consider him her boyfriend after learning he was a murderer? Suppressing his excitement, he composed himself and glanced at Zhang Zhihan as if casually.

“I heard from Gou Liang that you’re his girlfriend. Is that true?”

Zhang Zhihan shook her head firmly. “He must be joking. How could I be his girlfriend? He rents a room from me—I’m the landlord, he’s the tenant. That’s all. There’s nothing between us.”

Gou Liang’s heart plummeted, wanting nothing more than to turn and leave. How quickly women’s affections could change—yesterday, she’d been tender and attached, and now, she denied him without hesitation.

He looked at Zhang Zhihan again. In that instant, he saw wariness and guardedness in her eyes. Suddenly, he understood—Zhang Zhihan must have mistaken him for an undercover police officer. Of course she couldn’t speak honestly.

So he tried again. “Last night, Gou Liang told me how much he liked you. He said you were the first girl ever to slap him, and that all his life, he just wanted to climb your mountain and share a spicy hotpot with you.”

At once, Zhang Zhihan’s face changed. A mist formed in her beautiful eyes, and behind that thin veil her gaze shone. A single tear, delicate and pitiful, slipped down her cheek. Whether it was from grief or joy was unclear; her slender body trembled, her chest heaving with rapid breaths, her lips quivering.

“You—you really are Gou Liang’s friend!”

At first, Zhang Zhihan had indeed taken him for an undercover cop, thinking he’d come to ferret out Gou Liang’s whereabouts for an arrest. Now, seeing her so moved, tears rolling down her cheeks, Gou Liang felt a wave of warmth flood his heart—a tender, protective affection for her welled up inside, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her and comfort her.

He was even tempted to reveal himself then and there, to tell her he was Gou Liang. But he hesitated, afraid of frightening her, or that she wouldn’t believe him, thinking he was simply taking advantage of her vulnerability. So he stifled his urge to draw closer and kept the conversation light.

“Do you think that girl was really killed by Gou Liang?”