There was a subtle, awkward silence at the doorway.
Just as Rong Xuanhe felt so embarrassed that he wanted to find a crack in the ground to crawl into, Su Wenchuan made a move.
He turned slightly to clear a path, his tone revealing neither joy nor anger: “Come in.”
Rong Xuanhe was mortified to the extreme, but since the words were already out of his mouth, it would not do to get cold feet now and say he had changed his mind. He had no choice but to bite his lower lip and walk inside with a stiff upper lip.
This room had a symmetrical layout to his own. Everything else inside remained untouched, except for the bedding, which had been pushed off to the side.
Was this person meditating just now?
As soon as Rong Xuanhe stepped into the room, the door behind him was closed by Su Wenchuan.
Footsteps approached at a measured pace. For some reason, a chill ran down the back of the young man’s neck.
He stood in the middle of the room, completely at a loss as to where to put his hands and feet. He stood there rigid like a block of wood, not even daring to breathe too loudly.
Su Wenchuan walked over, slipped the white robe off his shoulders, and tilted his head slightly to look at him.
Putting aside that murderous aura, this God of Slaughter actually possessed exceptionally striking features, better-looking than many celebrities he had seen in the industry. His brow was resolute and straight, his features deep-set, his eyes like cold stars, with a high nose and thin lips. A few strands of hair fell beside his temples, adding an unbidden touch of aloof, ascetic charm.
Rong Xuanhe’s Adam’s apple bobbed involuntarily, his mind already in a chaotic mess.
What was he supposed to do right now? He could not just stand here like this forever, could they? But there was only one bed in the room. To just climb up and sleep together like this, wouldn’t the progress be moving way too fast? Was he supposed to take the initiative and suggest sleeping on the floor?
A voice as clear as a freezing deep pool interrupted his wild imagination. Su Wenchuan slightly furrowed his brow: “Why are you standing there like a fool?”
Meeting Su Wenchuan’s gaze, inspiration suddenly struck Rong Xuanhe, and he understood.
He took a deep breath, walked forward with his hands and feet moving in unison, his face painted with a resigned expression of ready to face death.
His slightly trembling hand reached out, and just as it touched the other man’s belt, it was firmly caught by a large hand before he could even untie it.
Su Wenchuan’s brow furrowed even deeper, and his voice turned a fraction colder: “What are you doing?”
Startled by the grab, Rong Xuanhe shrank back slightly and asked blankly, “Did you not want me to wait on you for bed?”
Su Wenchuan stared at him with dark, brooding eyes and said coldly, “When did I ever ask you to wait on me?”
“Ah?”
The young man stared at him blankly.
Su Wenchuan walked past him toward the bed. Rong Xuanhe stood in place, nervously twisting his fingers, at a complete loss and unsure whether he should go back or stay.
After a few moments of silence in the room, Su Wenchuan said indifferently: “Come here.”
Rong Xuanhe cautiously shuffled over, stealing glances at Su Wenchuan’s expression. Seeing no particular reaction, he tentatively sat on the edge of the bed, perching on only half of his buttocks, ready at any moment to be chased away.
Su Wenchuan gave no further orders. With a flick of two fingers, the candle flame instantly went out, leaving only a faint moonlight spilling all over the floor like water.
“Sleep,” the man said flatly.
Rong Xuanhe felt the mattress sink slightly beside him. A chilly, ghostly presence drew near, and he instinctively tensed his body, scrambling inward with hands and feet to widen the distance and make room for Su Wenchuan.
At the same time, his heart began to pound heavily.
Were they really going to sleep together like this? Su Wenchuan would not try anything, would he? Although his earlier behavior did not seem to harbor any improper thoughts, Rong Xuanhe had not forgotten that this guy had demanded he be called husband the moment he bought him out.
Su Wenchuan lay down beside him.
The two were not particularly close, yet Rong Xuanhe could still sense the faint heat, or rather, body temperature. He blinked twice with his eyes wide open, feeling that the room was far too quiet, quiet enough that he could hear the sound of his own heart.
He closed his eyes to fake sleep, but his heartbeat grew increasingly clamorous, and his ears became exceptionally sensitive.
Did Su Wenchuan turn over? Or did he move?
He secretly clenched the blanket tight, ready to spring up the moment the other person moved closer.
However, maintaining this combat-ready state for a very long time, so long that sleepiness gradually occupied his mind, Su Wenchuan never made a move to get closer.
Rong Xuanhe mumbled a few unintelligible words, his grip on the blanket slowly loosening, and his breathing gradually grew even and deep.
The cosmetics on his face had already been removed, yet his skin still lacked any rosy color, pale to the point of near transparency. Below his neck, purplish bruises peeked in and out from his collar, adding a delicate, fragile vulnerability as if he had been abused.
All of this fell into a pair of hazel-brown eyes.
Su Wenchuan tilted his head slightly, unassumingly pulling back the quilt, his gaze obscure and unreadable.
The young man’s skin was so fair that those bruises and wounds appeared exceptionally shocking. Even in the dim moonlight, one could see that there were hardly any unblemished spots on his body. Perhaps due to the pain, he knitted his brows even in his sleep.
A slender finger landed on the youth’s warm neck, tracing downward to gently touch the bruised skin. It used zero pressure, barely skimming across as if afraid that the slightest bit of weight would cause him pain.
A moment later, the man withdrew his hand and let out an extremely light, soft sigh.
Morning.
When Rong Xuanhe opened his eyes, the sky was already bright. Daylight filtered warmly in through the slightly ajar window.
He felt somewhat dazed, taking a few seconds to process everything. He had time-traveled.
With that thought, Rong Xuanhe abruptly sat up, only to be hit by a wave of dizziness.
He propped his head to steady himself for a moment before slowly turning his head to look beside him.
Nobody was there.
Su Wenchuan was gone. Goodness knows where he went.
The bedding on that side of the bed was as flat and neat as new, showing no trace of anyone having lain on it. The room remained completely unchanged, as if this person had not even been here last night.
Rong Xuanhe’s heart skipped a beat. Without even bothering to put on his shoes and socks, he stepped barefoot onto the floor and tentatively called out, “Senior Su? Senior Su?”
No one answered. The room was dead quiet.
Oh no. Did he think his sleeping posture was too terrible, regret his decision, and dump him?
He had not even left the sphere of influence of the Golden Pavilion yet. If he was left all alone and helpless, what would happen if the madam of the brothel dragged him back?
Rong Xuanhe pressed his lips together, feeling a bit anxious and uneasy. He hurriedly threw on his outer robe and planned to go next door to take a look.
The moment he pushed open the door, he nearly crashed straight into someone’s chest.
“Senior Su?”
Rong Xuanhe staggered back half a step, raised his head, and gave an awkward, sheepish smile: “You did not leave.”
Su Wenchuan said flatly, “Where would I go?”
Following behind him were two young attendants holding steamer baskets and trays.
Rong Xuanhe cast glances to the left and right, apologizing awkwardly: “I was still half-asleep, sorry.”
The attendants walked in, removed the lids of the steamer baskets, and took out small dishes from the trays one by one, placing them on the table. They were breakfast items.
Rong Xuanhe instinctively touched his rumbling stomach, stealing a peek at Su Wenchuan.
Was there a portion for him? Or was he not allowed to eat and only allowed to look?
He happened to catch Su Wenchuan’s gaze. The man was frowning, his expression seemingly carrying a hint of dissatisfaction.
The youth froze, biting his lower lip as he lowered his head, feeling a bit wronged.
If he was not allowed to eat, then fine, why glare at him? Was he not even allowed to look?
He turned away in dejection, only to hear Su Wenchuan ask coldly: “Why are you not wearing shoes?”
Rong Xuanhe was taken aback. He looked down at his bare feet, his toes curling involuntarily. Daring not talks back, he obediently bent down to put on his shoes and socks.
“Go wash your hands, then have breakfast,” Su Wenchuan said.
Rong Xuanhe’s expression instantly brightened.
That was a close one. He almost starved to death.
Being a newcomer, he had neither money nor familiarity with the rules of this world. Everyone else’s systems were golden finger cheat codes and great helpers, but what about his? A bunch of messy rescuing fallen women from brothels and sweet pampering systems; one was more unreliable than the last. Not only were they no help, but they also constantly trapped him.
[Quest Triggered: Sweet Breakfast.]
[Host, please sit on your husband’s lap and feed each other, spending a sweet breakfast time together.]
Speak of the devil.
Rong Xuanhe’s smile stiffened, and he gritted his teeth: “Could you not go overboard?”
Sharing a pillow could barely be brushed off with excuses like just bought out and scared, but how was he supposed to explain a sweet breakfast? He was not actually an old married couple with Su Wenchuan.
The soul-shaking broadcast rang out once more.
[Please complete the quest on time. When the countdown ends, the host’s body will be forcibly controlled to react.]
[Five, four, three…]
“Don’t do anything rash.” Rong Xuanhe immediately caved: “I will do it, I will do it, okay!”
Compared to being controlled by the system to speak those embarrassing lines, he would rather do it himself, at least giving him a sliver of control over the situation.
Rong Xuanhe drew in a sharp breath and gave himself a few seconds of psychological preparation.
Then he faked losing his footing, listing sideways to tumble toward Su Wenchuan.
He was pushed away before he even touched the man.
He stumbled and nearly lost his balance. Assuming the other person had pushed him away by accident, he hastily piled an ingratiating smile onto his face: “Senior, let me wait on you for breakfast.”
Unexpectedly, Su Wenchuan’s expression turned exceedingly unsightly, darkening as if it could drip ink.
Rong Xuanhe froze, looking at him cautiously: “Is that not okay?”
Su Wenchuan’s expression grew even uglier.
He fell silent for a moment, the anger in his eyes growing more and more obvious.
Rong Xuanhe could even sense a tangible murderous aura filling the air. Although it was not directed at him, that chill still made him shiver.
The man asked coldly: “You think I spent fifty thousand spiritual stones just to buy something that only knows how to throw itself into my arms?”
The youth’s face turned pale. Looking rather pitiful, he straightened his posture and said in a small voice: “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
With that, he stood stiffly upright, hands hanging at his sides, secretly clutching his hem and staring down at his own toes like a child waiting to be scolded.
The two attendants stood rigidly to the side, not daring to breathe a single loud breath.
Su Wenchuan looked down at Rong Xuanhe from on high, his gaze carrying undisguised disappointment.
His voice was cold and hard: “How long did you stay in that place? You learned this kind of behavior, or were you always this kind of person? To climb up in the world, you would do anything vulgar. Do you cheapen your own body like this?”
Rong Xuanhe grew rigid all over from those words, his eye rims instantly turning red.
Lowering his gaze, his voice trembled: “I didn’t.”
“Didn’t?”
Su Wenchuan’s suppressed anger flared up again. “What were you wearing yesterday? You opened your mouth with spending a good night together, and today you are trying to cling to someone. Tomorrow? Tomorrow will you stop wearing clothes altogether?”
“But that was…”
The system made me do it.
The words of explanation reached the tip of his tongue, only for Rong Xuanhe to swallow them back down hard.
There was no way he could say that some inexplicable system had bound him and Su Wenchuan together as a married couple, demanding he please him and that he dander him. If he said that, the other person would probably only think he was making up excuses to quibble, stripping away even his last shred of pride.
Su Wenchuan let out a cold laugh. His voice softened, yet it sounded far more sarcastic than before: “If it were someone else in your place today, as long as the price was right, would you cling to them just the same and untie your belt? Exactly how much spine do you have left?”
Such wounding words.
The youth opened his mouth, but in the end, no words of retort came out.
He stood mute in his spot. For a long time, he sniffled.
Rong Xuanhe was in a daze, suddenly reminded of something from a long time ago.
During his first year after signing with an agency, though he did get cast in projects, they were all low-budget web dramas, the kind meant to prop up someone else. The screen time allotted to him was pitifully small, and his internet accounts had only a few thousand loyal fans. He was stuck in an awkward limbo: not popular enough to blow up, but not completely obscure enough to go unnoticed, barely even scraping onto the radar of niche, underground actor roundups.
He, too, had once contemplated compromising with reality.
At a banquet once, the investor, President Wang, arranged for him to sit by his side. That man smoked, drank, laughed loudly, and stealthily groped his thigh under the table. At that moment, he suddenly felt intensely sick to his stomach. After enduring for a long time, he could not take it anymore and slapped the man’s hand away.
President Wang’s face darkened, and the older sister who ran his agency hurriedly apologized for him, claiming the newbie didn’t know any better.
Even so, that banquet ended on a sour note, and the drama investment naturally fell through.
After the banquet, he apologized to the female CEO, who sighed and told him it was fine: “We can’t afford massive popularity, but we aren’t going to cheapen ourselves either.”
She didn’t blame him, even though that had been an opportunity fought hard for.
Returning to his tiny rented apartment, Rong Xuanhe sat on the edge of the bed in a daze and suddenly started crying, sobbing until he could not catch his breath.
He hated himself for being so delicate that he could not even tolerate having his thigh groped; he hated himself for claiming he would learn from others, work hard to utilize every opportunity, and become a heartless, selfish person.
Yet…
He hurt so much.
He couldn’t do it.