He Qian picked up his Jurisprudence assignment. I might as well do my homework, He Qian thought. He had undergone surgery on his right hand, and although a week had passed, it still ached. His hand trembled slightly as he wrote.
Zhou Xuying stood beside him for a moment before saying, “Get up.”
He Qian rose to pack his things. Zhou Xuying pulled out the chair and sat down, his eyelids lowered. “I did not tell you to leave.”
“…”
Zhou Xuying patted his thigh, signaling for He Qian to sit on his lap. “Sit.”
“Oh.”
He Qian sat down obediently, his hand pressing against the workbook. Zhou Xuying pulled the assignment toward him, flipped to the page He Qian had just closed, and pointed to one of the questions.
“Which one?”
His clear, deep voice brushed against He Qian’s ear, carrying a masculine steadiness and charm.
“C,” He Qian replied after thinking for a moment.
Zhou Xuying wrote the letter on the workbook in neat handwriting: C.
He Qian was stunned. Usually, when Zhou Xuying came home, he would not say a single word before dragging He Qian into the bathtub. Now, he was acting as a ghostwriter for his homework? He Qian did not understand.
After quickly finishing the Jurisprudence assignment, He Qian spread his Criminal Law textbook in front of him, flipping to the section on illegal detention. He Qian said, “Read the book.”
Zhou Xuying closed the book and set it aside. The movement was entirely natural.
He Qian was speechless.
Zhou Xuying swept the crumpled paper on the desk into the trash can, pulled out a fresh sheet, and placed it under his hand. He began to write five large characters: Application for League Membership.
Zhou Xuying’s handwriting was different from the structured script of a student; it was flowing and free, even carrying a hint of arrogance and sharpness. The writing mirrored the man.
He Qian dazed off. Zhou Xuying tightened his grip on He Qian’s fingertips to remind him to focus. He Qian flinched.
“You speak, and I will write.”
He Qian murmured an “Mhm” and began his revenge. After Zhou Xuying had written five hundred words, He Qian deliberately gave him the wrong information. The paper was ruined, and Zhou Xuying had to start from the beginning. This was a petty, incredibly childish trick. However, He Qian rarely gained the upper hand with Zhou Xuying, so he grew bolder and found great joy in it.
Zhou Xuying offered no complaints. He continued writing until past eleven o’clock when He Qian finally stopped his mischief.
Screech!
Zhou Xuying suddenly tore the paper and crumpled it into a ball.
“I did not say anything wrong.”
“I made a mistake in the writing.”
Zhou Xuying’s tone carried a hint of admission and grievance. He Qian’s brow furrowed, his eyes dark. Zhou Xuying had not been home for a week, so his sudden return was not a surprise. What surprised He Qian was his current peacefulness.
He Qian had expected that his escape attempt and his refusal to eat the porridge would result in a brutal night upon their next meeting. This current tranquility felt like a blade hanging over his neck. It kept him tense, making him afraid to even swallow.
At 12:11 AM, Zhou Xuying stopped writing and rubbed his brow tiredly. As he lowered his head, a lock of short hair fell forward. Under the lamp, his handsome features were full of intensity.
He Qian felt an involuntary fear. Zhou Xuying curled his lips into a wicked smile. “Why are you nervous?”
“I am not. I am just tired.”
He Qian faked a yawn. The poor acting was obvious. Zhou Xuying calmly pulled a cigarette from his trench coat and bit down on it. His long fingers flicked a lighter, but as he brought it to his lips, he suddenly pulled it away and tossed the metal lighter onto the desk.
Zhou Xuying asked indistinctly, “Military training starts the day after tomorrow?”
“Mhm.”
“I got a medical certificate from the hospital for you.”
“Mhm.”
“Is your hand feeling better?”
He Qian let out a cold laugh. “What answer do you want to hear? It is better, so can we do it?”
There was no equality between them. As long as Zhou Xuying wanted it, He Qian had to comply. This was his awareness as a “lover.” He did not want to experience another two weeks of pain and brutality. He would truly lose half his life.
Zhou Xuying’s face darkened. He Qian’s sharp words pricked him like needles. He took a cold breath, feeling a piercing chill in his heart.
“Go to sleep.”
Zhou Xuying’s thin lips trembled. He repeated, “It is late. Go to sleep.”
He Qian stood up and left without looking back. Zhou Xuying watched the suffocatingly resolute figure leave, his left hand tightening on the desk. As the study door closed, his hand throbbed with pain. It trembled as it dropped to his side, and the bandage on his wrist began to bleed from the excessive force.
Outside the window, thunder roared and the wind raged. The summer heat was dispersed by the torrential rain. The night felt stifling, like a gloom hanging over the heart that refused to fade. He Qian lay in bed, his forehead covered in sweat. He was having a long nightmare. Or rather, it was not a dream, but reality.
“Bang!”
He Qian’s bedroom door was kicked open, leaving a visible dent in the metal. A crowd of men in black suits swarmed in. They were hulking figures, radiating an overwhelming pressure. He Qian looked at the group of strangers, clearly realizing they meant him harm.
From behind the crowd, a tall figure walked in against the light. He was tall with long legs, wearing an elegant and expensive custom suit. He had one hand in his pocket. As he entered, he braced one hand against the top of the doorframe and leaned in slightly, his sharp and smooth features gradually becoming clear.
Standing 190 centimeters tall in front of He Qian, his eyes flickered with excitement. He Qian felt a chill through his entire body. It was Zhou Xuying.
Before He Qian could react, a warm hand covered his waist and slung him over a shoulder. By the time he could process it, he had been tossed into a car.
Click!
He Qian’s hands were locked, followed by his feet. At that moment, he felt like a death row prisoner. While such prisoners go to hell, He Qian was walking into a living hell on earth. He was brought to the Zhou residence. He struggled, roared, and screamed for the bowing servants to save him. But everyone left. He was trapped in a villa surrounded by iron bars and blooming roses.
Zhou Xuying’s long hand brushed over his face. He whispered in a deep voice, “He Qian.”
“What do you want to do?”
He Qian’s voice shook, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. His cold gaze was filled with confusion and, more prominently, disgust at Zhou Xuying’s rudeness. That look provoked Zhou Xuying, who had become a mad beast during his long wait.
Zhou Xuying swallowed and said, “I found you.”
The eerie words came out of nowhere. He Qian wanted to run, but the difference in strength was obvious; it was as futile as an ant trying to shake a tree. Zhou Xuying was brutal and unpredictable.
Unsurprisingly, He Qian was taken away. The only consolation was that Zhou Xuying did not actually want him dead. Every day, Zhou Xuying would force-feed him hot porridge to maintain his basic physical functions. But no matter how much He Qian cursed him, he received no response. Not only did he fail to gain his freedom, but things became even worse. The misery was like a rainy day, suffocating and endless.
But that was not all. He Qian would never forget how Zhou Xuying once touched his carotid artery while half-asleep and half-awake: “It is so good. You still have warmth.”
He Qian’s skin crawled instantly.