“Poor Cen Jing. He may have married He Cidong, but on their wedding night, He brought his little lover right into the house in front of everyone. Talk about humiliating him.”
“What’s so pitiful about him? If you ask me, he deserves it. He’s just a bastard. Everyone knows what a shameless, crazy mess he is. He’d happily be He Cidong’s dog. And the Cen Family only wanted to use him to keep He Cidong in line. He Cidong agreed to marry him for two reasons: business, and because I heard the Cen Family kidnapped his little lover. He was furious, so he had no choice but to say yes.”
“Who knew President He was such a devoted lover? Cen Jing spent the last couple of years going around calling himself He Cidong’s boyfriend. He had no shame at all. A lapdog really does end up with nothing, no matter how hard he begs.”
“That’s not quite true. At least he got a marriage certificate. A marriage in name only is better than nothing.”
A few people exchanged deliberately hushed, knowing snickers.
No one noticed the man standing in the corner of the villa’s grand hall.
He was handsome, with a refined air, but his face was unnaturally pale and his frame painfully thin. As he lowered his eyes and swirled his wine, his slightly long, tousled hair fell across his creased eyelids, hiding his expression.
Cen Jing had heard every word.
He curled his lips and poured the red wine in his glass onto the greenery outside the window.
His body was in poor shape. He intended to stay alive.
He’d been in the world of the novel May I Be More Like Him in the Next Life for a week now.
It was a classic scummy top, bitchy bottom story.
He Cidong was the scummy top, and Cen Jing was the lovesick lapdog.
In truth, this world wasn’t much different from the one he’d come from. The biggest difference was that same-sex marriage was legal. No one had noticed anything off about him during the past few days, not because he was a good actor, but because he’d spent most of the first week flat on his back in a hospital bed. Even getting up had been difficult.
The marriage was real. So was the scummy top bringing home his white moonlight on their wedding night. The one thing these people didn’t know was that the original body had spent the entire night soaking in ice water and had nearly gone into shock.
They knew even less that when he opened his eyes again, someone else was inside his body.
In his previous life, Cen Jing had been a financial lawyer. He’d died young, at just twenty-nine.
A bankrupt madman had dragged him down a flight of stairs.
He’d died at two in the morning, alone on a rainy night. No parents, no lover, no friends.
Not even an intact corpse. A miserable end.
During the week he’d spent lying in bed, he’d carefully recalled the entire plot of the novel he’d happened to read, whose protagonist shared his name.
He’d discovered that the original Cen Jing’s ending in this world was even worse than his own.
He was going to die, and die in utter misery.
The Cen Jing in the book wasn’t exactly normal. Being a bastard had made him sensitive and paranoid. Ever since he’d fallen in love with He Cidong at first sight, as if under a spell, he’d never turned back from the path of a lovesick lapdog.
Plenty of people called him crazy.
Worst of all, in the end he went after the white moonlight.
The book’s white moonlight, Yao Wenyu, was the sort of person who could grow toward the sun even if he’d been born in the mud. He was a shining presence.
He and He Cidong had once suffered together. Yao Wenyu had saved He Cidong’s life, and was the one person He Cidong would never let anyone touch. Whoever did would die.
The wedding a week ago had indeed been the price of the Cen Family kidnapping the white moonlight.
Cen Jing had been involved.
His relationship with the Cen Family had already hit rock bottom, but the news that Yao Wenyu had returned to the country had pushed him into taking a risk.
As it turned out, he’d succeeded, and thoroughly enraged He Cidong in the process.
He Cidong was nothing like Cen Jing. He was the sort of scumbag who didn’t bother hiding it.
From a reader’s point of view, Cen Jing had thrown himself at He Cidong like a lovesick dog, and He Cidong had simply gone along with it, using him as a stand-in and a punching bag, torturing him body and soul. Then, with the white moonlight about to return, He Cidong had kicked him aside.
When the white moonlight got into trouble, Cen Jing had been the one to act first, but He Cidong had used him to rescue Yao Wenyu all the same.
One night, a “former boyfriend” became a husband. The plot had run off like a wild dog, impossible to rein in.
In the book, the Cen Family would collapse under He Cidong’s machinations a year later. Cen Jing would receive a divorce agreement. This body had already been left with a lingering condition after he didn’t get proper treatment on his wedding night. Two years later, he would fall seriously ill and die in a rented room in some remote county town.
His body wouldn’t be found until much later.
When that ending came, the readers filled the comments with curses.
They cursed He Cidong for being heartless, a scumbag among scumbags, and for ending up successful with nothing bad happening to him. They cursed Cen Jing for being pathetic, for having Stockholm syndrome, and for getting himself killed in the end.
Most of all, they cursed the author, calling her twisted and sick in the head.
Then they wished her a marriage to He Cidong, or a boyfriend like Cen Jing.
It was a particularly vicious curse.
Cen Jing thought he’d arrived at a terrible point in the story. It was like joining a game right at the final boss, with the ending just around the corner.
The white moonlight would soon become a world-renowned architect, with He Cidong’s support.
As for Cen Jing, his reputation was already in tatters, and the Cen Family, his own family, only wanted to squeeze the last bit of value out of him.
More importantly, he was broke.
He had less than twenty thousand in savings.
For someone who was supposedly the illegitimate son of a wealthy family and had just married a top-tier tycoon who’d made his fortune from nothing, it was almost unbelievable.
But after checking his bank account, Cen Jing had no choice but to accept that he couldn’t even afford to run away.
Lawyers understood better than anyone how to avoid a bad deal. The Cen Family would fall in less than a year.
Cen Jing had thought it through. Before he got the divorce agreement, he had to make enough money to secure his future, including the cost of taking care of his health. That would take no small sum.
As for He Cidong, Cen Jing still hadn’t seen him.
By the time he’d arrived, the biggest drama in the book was already over. He’d been living alone in the villa, recuperating, and apart from the butler and the housekeeper, he hadn’t met anyone. Cen Jing had a reasonable suspicion that the white moonlight and He Cidong had another love nest somewhere else.
But Cen Jing didn’t care. The He Cidong in the book wasn’t a simple man. He’d come from the streets and spent some time in his teens with a gangster. His career had gone through several ups and downs, and he was ruthless to the bone.
Cen Jing had no desire to deal with someone like that.
To Cen Jing, May I Be More Like Him in the Next Life was a case of the author choosing the wrong protagonist. Cen Jing was just a plot device, and the story seemed to revel in torturing him for its own sake. He didn’t mind giving up the lead role, and he was more than happy to let the white moonlight have his way, turning the book into an epic romance about two people climbing to the top together.
His ultimate goal was to stay alive, and live freely.
He’d been exhausted in his last life. He didn’t want to go through it all again.
He’d come to this business reception for the same reason: to learn more about the situation around him. His starting capital was too small, and investing was risky. He needed to find more opportunities if he hoped to make enough money in a year.
Still, he hadn’t expected to hear so much gossip in less than two minutes by the window.
And to find himself the punchline at the center of it all.
A sudden commotion rose from the entrance to the hall.
Cen Jing had a clear view from where he stood. All he had to do was turn his head to see what was happening.
First he saw a man. His impossibly long legs were wrapped in suit trousers, leading up to broad shoulders and a narrow waist, a perfectly balanced build. His features were striking and well-defined, his hair short, his brows strong, his gaze composed.
As a born homosexual, Cen Jing had to admit, even from a purely male perspective, that the man had been blessed with both looks and presence.
The women who’d just been chattering in front of him couldn’t help craning their necks for a better look.
“Speak of the devil,” said a woman in a white evening gown. “I was wondering who could make such an entrance.”
“Can you focus?” another woman said. “The important thing is the person beside him. This is the first time He Cidong’s attended an event like this since he got married, and he’s brought his little lover along in public.”
Cen Jing actually froze at that. He glanced over again.
Besides He Cidong, whom he’d just noticed, he saw someone standing beside him.
That had to be the white moonlight, Yao Wenyu.
Yao Wenyu had delicate features and wore a well-tailored white suit. Every movement was gentle and elegant. From time to time, he leaned toward He Cidong and murmured something, and He Cidong would incline his head to listen. They looked familiar, perfectly in sync.
He Cidong was clearly someone of standing. In the time it took to blink, people had started coming over to greet him, and soon he was surrounded.
Cen Jing lost interest in watching.
Then the woman who’d first said she felt sorry for Cen Jing spoke up again. “Cen Jing didn’t come, did he? It’d be quite a show if he were here.”
“Of course he didn’t,” someone replied. “He’d be too embarrassed to show his face.”
“Who’s embarrassed?” Cen Jing asked.
The woman reflexively started to answer. “Obviously Cen…”
She didn’t finish. Neither did several others standing with her. They were all staring at the man half-leaning against the windowsill in the corner.
Even people accustomed to gossiping behind others’ backs couldn’t help feeling awkward now.
Cen Jing, by contrast, was perfectly at ease.
He pushed himself upright, took his empty glass over to them, and set it on a passing waiter’s tray. Then he picked up a fresh glass of red wine.
He turned and swirled the wine, then smiled as he repeated their words. “My marriage is legally recognized. I have the certificate to prove it. And even by ordinary standards, the one who should be embarrassed is He. Whether it’s him or the person beside him, they’re the ones who ought to be condemned. Don’t you agree?”
The woman who’d spoken earlier was stunned. “Y-yes, I suppose.”
Cen Jing’s smile deepened a little. The people around him had all sorts of thoughts on their faces.
Everyone in their circle knew that Cen Jing never smiled. He always looked so gloomy, as if the whole world owed him money. But now, aside from his poor complexion, his slightly long hair fell in unruly waves instead of forever covering his eyes. His eyes were black as lacquer. His features had lost their former softness, and the small beauty mark beneath the corner of his eye gave him an air of understated elegance.
Everyone had the same thought.
Had Cen Jing always been this handsome?
The commotion around them wasn’t especially loud, but it wasn’t quiet, either.
Still, the people nearby seemed to share some strange understanding. Once they realized Cen Jing was the one speaking, they all fell silent.
The area quickly went quiet.
As Cen Jing glanced around, he happened to see Yao Wenyu lean toward He Cidong and say something.
Then He Cidong looked straight over at him.
Cen Jing met his eyes.
Even from a distance, he clearly saw a flash of disgust in them.
He Cidong soon started walking toward him.
“What are you doing here?” He Cidong asked when he came close, his tone displeased.
Good. A real scummy top.
His voice was like aged liquor, rich and mellow. A tattoo on his left side disappeared behind his ear and beneath his suit and shirt, making Cen Jing want to strip him and see what his shoulders and back looked like.
That was a dangerous thought. Cen Jing looked away, raised an eyebrow, and met his eyes. “Am I not allowed to come? I got an invitation, so I came.”
The invitation had been addressed to both of them, naturally, since they were legally married.
But He Cidong had clearly had no intention of coming with him.
Everyone in the hall was watching them, openly or on the sly.
It was as if they expected the two of them to put on a trashy melodrama any second.
He Cidong grabbed Cen Jing by the arm and pulled him toward the restrooms.
The way two grown men were manhandling each other was awkward. Cen Jing tried to pull free, only for He Cidong to tighten his grip. He assessed the man’s build from behind, compared their strength, and decided to give up. He let himself be dragged along.
In the corridor outside the restroom, He Cidong suddenly flung him aside. Half of Cen Jing’s shoulder slammed into the wall and went numb.
“Fuck!” Cen Jing clutched his shoulder, furious. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You’re the one with something wrong with you.”
As He Cidong spoke, he crowded forward. His large hand clamped like an iron vise over the shoulder Cen Jing had just hit, pinning him to the wall. He leaned in and said, “Cen Jing, I warned you. My patience with you ran out on our wedding day. Do you really think I won’t touch you?”
Cen Jing drew a breath. His fever had only broken yesterday, and he was still weak.
He couldn’t treat this as some fictional world from a book. He Cidong standing in front of him wasn’t a paper character, either.
The pain in his shoulder reminded him that he was Cen Jing, and this was his life.
“Let go,” Cen Jing said, looking up.
He Cidong didn’t budge.
Cen Jing looked at the arm braced across his chest and caught the faint scent of He Cidong. He raised his eyes again. “We both deceived each other to get that wedding. You can’t pin everything on me now.”
As if you’re any better.
But He Cidong acted as though he hadn’t heard. Cen Jing grabbed his arm. “If you don’t let go, I’m going to have to assume you’re doing this on purpose because you want to feel me up.”
He Cidong moved his elbow higher, nearly choking Cen Jing.
“As if you’re worth it,” he scoffed.
The man was frighteningly strong.
Cen Jing could barely breathe, but he quickly composed himself. He licked his dry lips, gave a sudden little smile, and spoke slowly. “Honestly, you don’t need to be so sensitive. We have slept together, after all.”
Given how much He Cidong hated him, Cen Jing expected him to throw him out the next second.
But it was unexpected.
He Cidong stared at him for two seconds and sneered. “You made up that rumor yourself, and now you’re really getting into character?”
Cen Jing didn’t quite follow. What did he mean, he’d made up the rumor himself?
He Cidong crowded closer again, his gaze so cold it seemed to scrape down Cen Jing’s spine inch by inch, making him shiver.
He leaned close to Cen Jing’s ear and murmured, “But if you’re really that desperate to get fucked, I don’t mind finding a few people to help you out.”