Revolting condition

Vivian Sinclair's flight encountered a thunderstorm.

Light flashes suddenly lit up outside the window, and thick clouds surged violently.

It was as if the world was ending.

The plane circled over Han city for nearly an hour, struggling to land amidst the turbulence.

It was an hour from hell. The passengers were on the verge of panic, and the captain kept trying to reassure them. Two passengers said they couldn't breathe, and a young man suddenly suffered a heart attack. Most people were drenched in sweat.

Vivian Sinclair sat next to a young man, trembling as he typed a message, the kind that could only be sent once the plane landed and the signal returned— it was a will. She turned to glance at it; it wasn't addressed to his parents; but to his lover.

Tears fell onto the screen, which the young man hastily wiped away. Suddenly, there was a jolt, and the damp phone slipped from his hand, landing at Vivian's feet.

Vivian Sinclair bent down to pick it up, feeling the warmth of the sweat and tears on the screen.

She couldn't empathize with the young man's tears.

The young man barely noticed her and muttered a thank you.

He continued typing his message, and since she had nothing else to do, Vivian leaned closer to read.

It was mostly about how much he loved the person, asking them to take care of his family, and there was even a line that said: After my death, you must find someone who loves you more than I do.

"Well," she said, "the lad's quite the romantic."

The young man ignored her, finished the message, and slumped back in his seat, panting heavily.

The plane failed to land for the fourth time and ascended back into the thick clouds, the turbulence easing slightly. The young man calmed down a little, turning to look at Vivian Sinclair, who had her eyes closed, resting.

"Your mindset's incredible," he said dryly.

"It's not about mindset," Vivian Sinclair replied. "Waiting to die isn't the same as hoping to live."

When people hope to live, they cry out for their parents; and pray to the gods—just like most of the passengers in the cabin.

But waiting to die is simple. Close your eyes, lie back, and the rest is just a matter of time.

"You...?" The young man looked at her. "Aren't you scared?"

"Of course I am scared." Vivian Sinclair replied. "If the plane crashes, everything will shatter to pieces. That's the worst way to die. It'll hurt like hell."

Vivian Sinclair spoke so casually that it shocked the passengers around her, and they angrily told her not to jinx it.

She shrugged, unconcerned.

The young man asked, "Aren't you going to write something?"

"What's the point?" Vivian Sinclair answered. "I'm thirty and still single."

"Write to your family, then. It doesn't have to be for a lover," the young man said, pausing. "Your family will want to hear from you."

"...Family?" Vivian Sinclair seemed to fall into thought.

She pressed her fingers to her temple. "Forget it. Might as well die."

What kind of family would make a thirty-year-old woman say, "Writing a will to them is better off dead"?

Eventually, the plane landed safely.

The moment the plane broke through the thick clouds, the wings brushed against the pure white cloud line, like a ceremonial scarf.

Suddenly, everything was calm.

The survivors of the ordeal cried with relief.

Those who had family or friends nearby exchanged comforting touches and exchanged joyful glances. The rest, like the young man beside Vivian Sinclair, picked up their phones to inform their loved ones of their safety. But Vivian simply rested her chin on her hand, gazing out at the dark, greenish tarmac.

Her thoughts turned to the two people waiting for her.

Vivian Sinclair almost wished the captain would turn the plane around.

The plane had landed safely, and Vivian Sinclair followed the crowd, walking through the terminal.

The place was filled with survivors, some crying from the joy of making it through.

It was noisy, and Vivian Sinclair rubbed her ears in frustration.

Just then, she was enveloped in a broad hug.

"Sis! Sis!" The man hugged her tightly. "Thank God you're alright! You have no idea how scared I was. I kept thinking, you better not have been hurt... Without you, I really wouldn't know how to live!"

Vivian Sinclair buried her face in his coat, struggling to catch her breath. Noah Blackwood was crying and speaking, his chest trembling with each sob, his heart pounding. Vivian Sinclair's ears were nearly numb from the vibrations, and she found it quite exaggerated. She endured it, irritated, letting him hug and cry for a while.

"Enough of this, act like a man. You're in your twenties, for heaven's sake, stop crying over nothing!"

Vivian Sinclair pushed him away, not noticing someone behind him, and asked, "Is it just you? Where's Ethan Blackwood?"

Noah Blackwood's eyes were red. "He's over there."

Vivian Sinclair followed his gaze.

Ethan Blackwood stood not far away, in a perfectly pressed suit, his hair slicked back. He was tall, blending into the crowd like a black pillar standing awkwardly in a forest of low rocks.

She nearly met with an accident, some crying out in desperation, while the rest stood by, coldly observing. Ethan Blackwood's dark, almond-shaped eyes narrowed as he fixed his gaze on Vivian Sinclair's face, tugging at the corner of his mouth in what seemed like a mere response.

Vivian Sinclair thought of the old times, and her expression soured.

"Just got out of the office?" he asked, his suit impeccable.

"Just finished a meeting," Ethan Blackwood replied briefly. "Where's your luggage?"

"I had it sent back," Vivian Sinclair replied. "Luggage shipping is so damn expensive."

Swearing was something Vivian Sinclair did without thinking. To her parents; and her brother, she was just that kind of person.

Ethan Blackwood frowned, clearly unaccustomed to hearing such harsh language. "We're in a public place, can't you have a little more decorum?"

"No decorum? You didn't hear how people were swearing up a storm on the plane just now. I think I've been quite well-mannered compared to them," Vivian Sinclair crossed her arms. "You think just because you're a chairman for a couple of days you're above everyone else? Let me tell you, Ethan Blackwood, you're not in a position to lecture me!"

Ethan Blackwood's sharp eyes tightened. "…Vivian Sinclair!"

"Is that what you call me?" Vivian Sinclair shot back, mocking his tone.

"Hey, hey, stop fighting," Noah Blackwood interjected quickly, stepping between them to mediate. "Come on, she just got off a plane after that whole disaster. It's normal for her to be upset."

"It's not!" Vivian Sinclair sneered. "I was fine on the plane, thinking it didn't matter if I died, at least I wouldn't have to deal with you two idiots. If I'm upset now, it's because of you two!"

"Hey—sis, why are you even yelling at me?" Noah protested, trying to stay on her good side. "It's freezing out, let's just get in the car. Bro booked your favorite restaurant, remember? You said you wanted to have the trout, so he asked the chef to set aside a fresh one for you."

Vivian's mood softened a little, at least her younger brother understood. She ignored Ethan and walked toward the terminal exit.

Getting into the car, the warmth from the heater hadn't yet dissipated. Vivian took the passenger seat, as she always did. Having been a driver and even a driving instructor in the past, sitting in the back made her feel uneasy. She had assumed Noah would be driving, but to her surprise, it was Ethan behind the wheel. She immediately demanded to get out.

"Why?" Ethan asked, maneuvering the steering wheel to reverse.

"I want to sit in the back. Being close to you makes me sick."

Ethan shrugged. "Suit yourself. If it makes you sick, maybe you shouldn't come for dinner."

"Who's begging you to eat?" Vivian shouted. "Stop the car!"

Noah was at his wit's end. In the brief moment he had glanced at his phone, these two had already started bickering again. He wondered if they should just be sent to Syria next year—though even that might not work. Putting these two powder kegs together could easily spark World War III. It was simply unthinkable.

"Bro, can you just tone it down a bit? Sis hasn't been back in a while," Noah interjected, then turned to Vivian. "He's always like this. Just now, he was just—"

Ethan shot him a cold glare.

Noah promptly shut his mouth.

It was true; Vivian hadn't been back in a long time, and she didn't want to ruin the mood. She closed her eyes and decided to rest, refusing to engage further.

Halfway through the journey, the car came to a stop. Vivian stirred awake, thinking they had arrived at the restaurant. Instead, Ethan announced he needed to buy a pack of cigarettes.

"Go buy yourself an ass!" Vivian was furious. "Since when did you become such a heavy smoker?"

Ethan remained unfazed, glancing at her. "Work demands it, socializing demands it. If someone offers, am I supposed to refuse?"

"What happened to all that lecturing you used to give me?" Vivian mimicked his tone. "'You'll smoke yourself to death one day, with tubes in your lungs.'"

"Well, didn't you keep smoking anyway?" Ethan shot back, equally sharp. "Back in the old house, the living room was tiny, and you made Noah and me breathe in your second-hand smoke every day. Or have you finally quit now? Weren't you quitting like, what, several times a year?"

"I'll bloody—" Vivian's eyes snapped open, ready to curse.

Once again, Noah intervened. "Alright, alright, that's enough. Smoking is a necessity for business folks. Stop arguing. I'll go buy them."

"You're spoiling him!" Vivian yelled as Noah opened the car door. "His rotten attitude is all because of you—"

The door slammed shut, cutting her off.

Left alone with Ethan, Vivian couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease.

It wasn't fear, exactly. It was something else.

Ethan had a bizarre, revolting condition.

Her expression darkened, and Ethan's mood wasn't any better.

The sky grew heavier as evening approached. It had rained earlier, and it seemed more was on the way.

Without thinking, Vivian asked, "Did you bring in the laundry you had drying?"

Ethan replied flatly, "I have a drying room at home, and there's help for that."

"Your life just gets more and more cushy," Vivian sneered. "You were already a spoiled brat at home, waited on hand and foot. Now that you're playing the part of a proper young master, you've even got people to do your laundry. What's next? Someone to hold it for you when you take a piss?"

"…So you'd rather I abandon my multi-million-dollar business to go home and fold clothes? People are counting on me to make money."

Ethan had grown sharper with his words over the years.

Vivian was starting to feel outmatched.

She switched tactics. "Hmph, what's the point of all that business success? You're pushing thirty, not some young lad like Noah. You haven't even added an extra pair of chopsticks to the family table. Aren't you ashamed? Men over thirty aren't exactly prime catches, you know. People will just assume there's something wrong with you. Didn't I set you up on a blind date last year? That business partner, Miss Wu…"

Ethan cut her off impatiently.

"She's already married."

Vivian clapped her hands, delighted. "I told you, didn't I? I told you! If you didn't ask her out, someone else would. Miss Wu was beautiful, well-educated, and charming. No wonder she wasn't interested in you."

She either didn't know or was pretending not to.

Ethan's eyes burned with resentment.

"Right," he sneered. "At least she's better off than someone who thought they'd cleaned up their messy love life, only to leave a trail of wreckage behind."

Vivian hadn't expected him to bring that up. She was so angry her teeth were chattering. "And you're so righteous? If you're so brave, why have you been avoiding me?"

"Is it me avoiding you, or are you pushing me away?"

"Why would I push you away? Don't you know why?!"

Vivian's breathing grew ragged, the car feeling like a suffocating furnace.

Ethan's gaze was the match that lit the fuse in her mind.

She gritted her teeth. "Don't tell me that ridiculous, disgusting condition of yours still isn't cured."

"Condition?" Ethan met her eyes squarely. "Yes, it's still there."

"I… damn it!" Vivian slammed her fist against the car window. "I think studying abroad messed up your brain! Do you have any idea how abnormal this is? How revolting? How do you think Noah sees you? How do you think others see you?!"

Ethan's eyes were completely red. "…I'm revolting?"

"Aren't you? Do I need to remind you of what happened in your final year of high school? Huh?" Vivian struggled to get the words out. "Using my underwear to… God, I was so naive, thinking you were just a late bloomer. Turns out you were just an early lunatic!"

Ethan, however, grew calmer under her barrage of insults.

"Vivian, you know everything."

"All I know is that you're sick in the head!" Vivian paused. "I should've just let you…"

"Die?" Ethan finished for her effortlessly.

Over the years, she had often used this to hurt him.

"You know what?" he said in a cold, cutting tone. "When I heard about the plane accident, for a few seconds, I genuinely wished you had died. If you were gone, I'd be free… Why couldn't you just have died on that plane?"

Vivian stared at him in disbelief.

Her gaze fell silently on his wrist.

There, fresh red marks crisscrossed his pulse.

A secret language only the two of them understood.

"…Ethan," she said, her voice still cold but with a hint of softness. "If you want me dead, then why are you crying?"