Wen Ruyu stood in front of Dorm A-206.
The dorm door was closed.
He took a silent, deep breath, then slowly raised his hand.
Before he could knock, the door went “click” and was pulled open from the inside.
Before Wen Ruyu could react, a hand gripped his wrist hard, and a violent tug pulled up his arm.
He was yanked into the room.
The door slammed shut with a “bang,” cutting off the corridor light, and he was pinned against the cold door.
A dull pain spread across Wen Ruyu’s back where he’d hit the door. Panic flashed in his pretty eyes; he reflexively tried to struggle.
But he was too small and too weak to break the man’s hold or shove the man away.
Dorm A-206 was one of the rare rooms with its light on. The incandescent bulb overhead lit the room clearly — and revealed the man’s face.
With no hood to hide him, the man’s features were sharply cut, almost knife-chiselled; he looked polished and elegant, giving an impression of cultivated refinement. From appearances alone, no one would link him to a murderer.
The man looked down at the figure bundled tight before him, displeasure flickering across his eyes. In the next moment he reached out, ripping off the boy’s hat and sunglasses — even the mask was torn away.
The exquisite face that emerged into the air seemed like a perfect work of art; the beauty was almost unbearably precise. Possibly from nerves, the boy’s eyes were rimmed red, as if he’d been bullied into tears; his whole body tensed, looking fragile and helpless.
The man could see the long lashes tremble like feathers; the shadow beneath his eyes made him look exquisitely obedient. Even though the man had braced himself mentally, he still felt it: this face stole attention every time, grabbing and holding the eye with impossible ease.
The man had always been confident in his own looks, but in front of this face he had to admit defeat. There was no comparison. This beauty made the world dim by contrast. Beauty that sparked… desire.
He bent his head and, with a strange intimacy, traced the boy’s damp earlobe with his fingertip. His low voice held a satisfied compliment. “So precious.”
The man’s hand was icy cold, like something taken from a freezer, and Wen Ruyu flinched at the touch; the hairs on his skin rose. He tried to push the man away, but no matter how hard he strained, the man didn’t budge. A person who could throw a knife into a wall did not have ordinary strength; Wen Ruyu was less than an ordinary person and could not resist.
Fortunately the man didn’t press the issue. He eased his grip and walked to the water dispenser, pouring a cup for Wen Ruyu. The gesture looked genteel and calm. There was none of the madness from the killing last night.
Wen Ruyu did not relax. He stood rigid, watching the glass of water the man set on the table without reaching for it. He wouldn’t drink anything offered by this man.
Taut, alert, his pretty eyes full of mistrust, Wen Ruyu finally whispered, “Why did you come to see me?”
The man set the cup down and gestured with his chin for Wen Ruyu to sit in the nearby chair. “Sit.”
Wen Ruyu tightened his grip on his shoulder bag and, after a moment’s hesitation, obeyed. He hadn’t forgotten that this man killed without blinking, or the bloody cruelty from yesterday. So long as the man acted civilly and offered a semblance of dignity, Wen Ruyu would play along — or the man would provide him “dignity” by force.
The dorm rooms were four-person suites, but now it seemed only one person lived here. Two beds were empty; the other two held belongings and books on the desks — clearly occupied. The man made no move toward the others’ things; instead he dragged a chair beside Wen Ruyu and sat. He looked at Wen Ruyu with a mild tone, as if mentioning something trivial.
“I’m not gay.”
Wen Ruyu froze. Confusion flickered in his pretty eyes — what did that have to do with anything? Was the man… gay? What did that matter to him?
The man must have seen his puzzlement. He kept his voice gentle as if remarking on the weather. “But I’m attracted to you.”
He paused, his gaze slipping to Wen Ruyu’s pale lips; a shadow darkened his look. “So I want to verify whether I’m gay.”
His tone remained soothing, but his eyes betrayed dominance and pressure, even a predatory eagerness — instincts he couldn’t fully hide. A wolf in sheep’s clothing could not become a sheep; his nature was carved into his bones.
Wen Ruyu stared at him, then leapt up and tried to run.
The man gripped his wrist again with brute force and hauled him back, forcing him down into his lap. The man’s arm locked around Wen Ruyu’s waist; his chin rested on the boy’s shoulder as he leaned close, his voice disturbingly soft.
“Be a good child.”
“I don’t like disobedient kids.”
“Don’t make me angry.”
The foreign heat of a body not his own pressed into Wen Ruyu; he stiffened so hard his heart sped and his voice quavered. “How do you… how would you verify?” he managed.
The man watched the earlobe he’d just rubbed, felt the delicate waist he held, smelled the faint fragrance at the boy’s throat — every sense stoking a maddening hunger. He didn’t need to verify. From the moment he’d seen him again, his brain, heart and body had roared the same answer: he wanted this person with an unprecedented intensity. The desire was fierce and irrational, drowning every previous plan, ambitions, the future he’d built. He never imagined he could be gay — not broadly — only for this one person. He wanted to capture and bind him.
But the man did not voice that outright. He held Wen Ruyu close and, with his free hand, opened the laptop on the table. A media player popped up; a film began to play. Calling it a film was generous — it was a gay porn. He had downloaded it after realizing his strange feelings for Wen Ruyu. At first the footage had repelled him, but now, with the boy in his arms, the screen became an instrument.
“Let’s watch together,” the man murmured in Wen Ruyu’s ear, coaxing.
The clip was blunt and explicit; within minutes lewd sounds echoed in the cramped dorm.
“Don’t…”
“Stop that…”
Hearing those voices at his ear, Wen Ruyu’s thin body went rigid; his spine straightened and he kept his head bowed, every fiber of him resisting. He could not flee. He clenched his fists until his nails bit the flesh of his palms and his knuckles paled, holding on as if the grip was the only anchor. He didn’t dare lift his eyes; his lashes hid his alarmed expression. Yet his flushed, delicate cheeks, the reddened outer corners of his eyes, and the taut tension of his limbs betrayed him. Even the skin at his nape had taken on a faint rose. Under the harsh bulb the sheen on him looked like a halo — a startling, heart-stopping beauty.
He could have looked away from the screen, but sound would still crawl into the room. The warm, husky moans clung sticky to his ear, making the air oppressive. Wen Ruyu wanted to cover his ears, to escape the suffocating atmosphere, but the man’s arm locked like a vise, tightening whenever he tried to move — a silent threat. If he didn’t “obey,” the man would make him obey.
Wen Ruyu sat frozen, fists clenched, forced to endure the humiliating scene. His awkward tension and trembling revealed a tender vulnerability that was, horrifyingly, enticing.
The man’s attention was never on the screen; his eyes were glued to Wen Ruyu like a predator watching prey, full of invasive hunger and pressure. Holding the boy changed something in him; the urge that had been a dull curiosity surged, almost breaking his reason. His body reacted.
Sensing it, Wen Ruyu stiffened further and went utterly still. The man gently rubbed the boy’s flank with his fingertip, then reached behind and forced his chin up, twisting the head so the boy faced him. Wen Ruyu tried to wrench free; the man’s strength was too great. His struggling only brought pain, and a blur of tears filled his eyes.
The video continued, growing more explicit; the soundscape in the dorm turned thick and viscous. The stickiness came not from the screen but from the boy in the man’s arms. Wen Ruyu’s tiny strength could not alter the outcome; even at full force he couldn’t change anything. He was trapped, helpless, posed for another’s pleasure — just as he’d been when used for photographs last time. Even when mistreated, he would only show tear-rimmed eyes and a fragile, pitiful gaze. Weakness rendered him only more desirable, and likely to encourage even greater cruelty.
The man’s thumb rubbed the boy’s chin, then his fingertip slowly moved to Wen Ruyu’s lips. They were perfectly formed, a pale pink, warm and inviting. The man’s eyes darkened; he tightened his grip and raised Wen Ruyu’s chin, the thumb pressing to part the lips slightly. From that angle the boy’s teeth looked delicate and pink. Sitting in the man’s lap with his head turned and mouth ajar, he looked as if begging for a kiss.
The man, not one to resist his urges, leaned forward; their breaths intertwined. Just as he was about to press his mouth to the boy’s, a sudden siren sliced through the air — wailing, sharp and abrupt.
The sound of police rushing after an accident — close, then receding. It seemed to pass by Dorm A and head toward the abandoned teaching building. Probably someone had found a body. When a corpse is discovered the first action is to secure and question those close to the victim — roommates, for example.
The man froze in the motion. Shadow crossed his face; displeasure flickered in his eyes. The corpse had been discovered earlier than he’d expected; someone had wandered into the abandoned building. He hated when things didn’t follow his plan. He withdrew the desire from his gaze and smoothed his expression into the same calm, genteel mask. He released the boy’s chin and his arm at the waist. Wen Ruyu slid from his lap.
“My name is Chen Ji.”
The man’s voice was mild. If the laptop hadn’t still been playing obscene sounds, the previous minutes might have felt like a dream. Chen Ji closed the media window; the lewd audio snapped off. The dorm returned to silence.
“See you tomorrow.”
He moved to the door and opened it wide enough for Wen Ruyu to leave. Wen Ruyu felt as if pardoned; he practically bolted for the doorway, urgent and desperate. But as he reached the frame, Chen Ji seized his wrist again. Wen Ruyu’s heart dropped; he looked up, eyes full of panic. He was afraid Chen Ji might change his mind.
Chen Ji did not change his mind. If the police followed up on the body discovery they would question the dorms; he was familiar with that routine and could handle the officers without leaving a trace. Wen Ruyu would not be so composed; a little shock and he would confess everything. He didn’t want Wen Ruyu to be questioned.
Chen Ji handed back the hat and sunglasses he’d tossed aside and offered a fresh mask. “Put this on.”
Wen Ruyu looked at the mask in Chen Ji’s hand; his lashes trembled. This time Chen Ji did not stop him. Wen Ruyu hurried down the hall and out of Building A, the cool evening air finally letting him breathe. He did not look back, fearing Chen Ji would turn and snatch him back. He walked quickly off campus toward his rental. Only when he closed his security door behind him did he relax completely.
It took him ten minutes to steady his breathing and emotions. It was almost an hour until the original owner’s scheduled livestream. Time was on his side. Wen Ruyu picked up his phone to continue combing the school forum for leads on Yang Ruiqing.
But several unread messages lit the screen — from multiple people. He opened the top chat from Yi Wen Bu Zhi.
[Yi Wen Bu Zhi: Going live tonight?]
[May Wealth Bloom: Will.]
He replied briefly, then opened the next conversation — #7.
[#7: ?]
[#7: Why aren’t you messaging me?]
[#7: Didn’t you promise to keep our online romance going?]
[#7: You playing with me?]
#7 was the person who’d paid his debt last night. Wen Ruyu’s fingertip hovered; he replied tersely:
[May Wealth Bloom: Full day of classes, just got home.]
He also had a friend request pending from #3, who had been deleted earlier. He almost ignored it, but the verification message made his pupils shrink:
[I know you stole Yang Ruiqing’s photos to run online romances.]
Wen Ruyu’s lashes trembled. He approved the request, and the other side messaged instantly:
[#3: Did you go out today?]
Wen Ruyu expected accusation or threat — but instead a simple question. He hesitated, then answered:
[May Wealth Bloom: No.]
This time there was no reply. The account stayed online, active in the thread, but responded to no private message. Odd. Wen Ruyu set the question aside and reopened the forum where he had left off.
A pinned post in bright red instantly grabbed his eye; the title made him gasp.
#Campus Heartthrob Yang Ruiqing Running Multiple Scams! Total Amount Reaches Tens of Thousands! Chat Logs and Transfer Receipts Included! Confirmed!#
Any post with Yang Ruiqing’s name drew attention, but this one had already exploded. Replies had topped ten thousand an hour ago; a “hot” tag pulsed beside the crimson title. Wen Ruyu’s stomach sank as he tapped it open. His heart dropped — it was real. The screenshots in the post were authentic. They were screenshots taken from the original owner’s chat history before Wen Ruyu entered the dungeon. They did not include the later records showing he’d repaid the money or the breakup messages; they did not include any chat logs with Yang Ruiqing. Someone had prepared these before the player arrived — they’d been waiting for today to reveal them.
No matter what the player did now, they couldn’t stop the exposure. It was set. Even if Wen Ruyu had repaid the funds, the post painted Yang Ruiqing as the scammer with conclusive evidence. The uploader had highlighted the flirtatious chat and bolded each transfer, placing receipts where everyone could see. The poster claimed to be a victim, said he’d been deceived for three months and lost 30,000 yuan. He raged and urged other victims to come forward. The comments erupted:
“Holy shit!? I’m stunned for the year! Yang Ruiqing is that kind of person?”
“The chat logs had me laughing — one minute calling someone ‘baby,’ then whining to another about being broke. If he isn’t an actor he’s wasting his talent.”
“I never thought he’d be this scummy — looks so gentle but such a scumbag. Bah!”
“I checked the transfer receipts — they’re real screenshots, no PS. This is solid. But why is he short on money? His clothes don’t look poor.”
“Dude, he’s rich because he scams people — cheated tens of thousands.”
“Poor OP and the victims thought they’d found love — turned out they were ATM machines.”
“Yang Ruiqing should publicly apologize and be expelled.”
“Report him together; the cumulative fraud changes sentencing.”
Although other victims hadn’t come forward yet, people suggested coordinating to report him. The post author claimed to have been cheated out of 30,000; Wen Ruyu checked his own records after repaying and found no match — the people in the original owner’s circle were not missing that amount. The poster was almost certainly lying, likely not one of the original victims. Wen Ruyu followed the poster’s account and sent a private message:
[Yù: Hello.]
[Yù: Can you clarify?]
He also sent screenshots proving he’d returned the money and screenshots showing the stolen photos. He explained that Yang Ruiqing hadn’t been running multiple affairs or scamming anyone — someone had stolen his pictures. He asked the poster to retract the claim. The message vanished into the void. The poster was active in the thread but ignored direct messages. He would not clarify. Wen Ruyu suspected as much; if he wanted to clear the matter he wouldn’t have posted the hit piece.
Wen Ruyu couldn’t let the post stand. He had to get Yang Ruiqing out of the crosshairs, if only to deny the murderer any pretext. He grabbed screenshots of all relevant chats and transfers — from the friend requests, from the original owner’s stalking and photo theft — and registered a new throwaway account. As a neutral third party, he posted a full, detailed timeline with evidence:
“Shock!!! Yang Ruiqing didn’t scam — it was Computer Science student Wen Ruyu who stole his photos during club activities to run online romance scams! Full three-month timeline and evidence attached!”
Ugly people provoke moral outrage; the drama escalates. Wen Ruyu even attached an edited, grotesque self-picture to bolster credibility — a face Photoshop had turned near-unrecognizable, monstrous enough to satisfy enraged users. He was pleased and posted.
The forum, already swarming, flooded to his post. People read the new, more complete evidence and gasped. Replies flipped the narrative:
“What a reversal! Yang Ruiqing was framed? He’s a victim too?”
“I thought the original thread was spinning for pity; this timeline is so detailed — the chat logs line up, and now there are chats with Yang Ruiqing himself.”
“I have Yang Ruiqing’s contact — the avatar matches. I first thought May Wealth Bloom was his alt.”
“I remember that timestamp in the screenshots — I was at basketball then and lost. How did no one check the timeline?”
“The original post cut out the repayment and the chats with Yang Ruiqing. The uploader clearly cherry-picked.”
“Is the original poster trying to ruin him on purpose? That’s vicious.”
“The real villain here is the photo thief Wen Ruyu — ugly and cruel, using others’ kindness.”
“Holy shit, the photos make him look awful — no wonder he stole them. If you can’t win on looks, scam for money.”
“Disgusting to use kindness like this to run scams.”
The tide turned. The vitriol shifted from Yang Ruiqing to the photo thief. The new post circulated fast, dragged across platforms. Hashtags trended: #CampusHeartthrobYangRuiqingStolenPhotosScam #MayWealthBloomExposed #PhotoThiefScammer #MasterOfTimeManagement MayWealthBloom — the original owner’s online handle — was quickly unmasked as the livestream account. His stream comment sections were flooded.
“WTF! The handsome guy in the video and you say you stole the photos? How dare you.”
“Uglier inside than out. I thought he was a scammer rumor until I saw this — gross.”
“He scammed people? Sixty thousand given by Yi Wen Bu Zhi? My heart aches!”
“Come on and apologize live at ten tonight — or I’ll leak your ID info.”
Wen Ruyu had no intention of livestreaming; he disliked it and only maintained the persona for the original owner. Now that the scandal had broken, even if the original himself were present he wouldn’t stream. He wouldn’t reply publicly. The drama had achieved its goal: protect Yang Ruiqing’s reputation and rob the killer of that pretext.
Just as he set his phone down, a comment with tens of thousands of likes surged to the top, raw with threat:
“@MayWealthBloom, livestream and publicly apologize by 10 p.m. tonight, or I’ll post your ID number and personal details tomorrow morning. Consider your options.”
Countless others agreed and urged the school to act. Wen Ruyu’s grip whitened on his phone; his knuckles hurt. There were too many people online. He couldn’t risk being doxxed. He didn’t fear expulsion, but a revealed address would be catastrophic. With his identity exposed to everyone, there might be no way to recover.
It seemed he had no choice but to apologize live.