Upon returning to the master bedroom, Lin Min took off his soiled nightgown. Feeling the damp texture, he let out a soft sigh. A trace of lingering chill coiled around him, more noticeable than before, but so much had happened today that he ignored it and simply tossed the garment into the trash.
Thinking that this was Xie Mingyuan’s favorite, Lin Min could not help but feel a pang of regret. It had been ruined.
Lin Min went to the bathroom to wash himself clean. He did not see that on the wedding photo by the bed, the sinister green eyes of the husband beside him followed his every move. He only felt exhausted, and soon, unable to resist the weight of sleep, he fell into a deep slumber.
Lin Min was blind. Once his breathing became steady and long, a tall, semi-transparent figure slowly materialized by the bed, its outline clearer than ever before. Sinister green pupils looked down at the person on the bed, moving from the excessively gentle and beautiful face to the stained nightgown in the laundry basket.
That was what he had bought for his beautiful wife. His treasure had only worn it once, crying until his eyes were red and refusing to wear it again no matter how he was coaxed. Yet today, he had worn that very outfit to knock on the doors of his young subordinates. His snowy cheeks were flushed, as if he knew exactly how much power that clothing held over men.
Was it intentional? No, his treasure surely loved him.
Cold ghostly energy began to spiral out of control. Xie Mingyuan cast a gloomy gaze toward a certain direction outside the door. If his energy were not currently too weak to touch physical objects, he would have personally strangled those wretches who lusted after his wife. He pulled his beloved wife into his arms, kissing the red marks on the skin with a mix of tenderness and malice.
“See, baby? Your husband can still make you feel good.” “You will always love me, right?”
In Xie Mingyuan’s clouded mind, only the snowy face of his sleeping wife remained. Looking at his wife’s small, moist, red mouth, he carefully climbed onto their wedding bed. He hovered over his sleeping wife, his cold lips pressing against that soft contour. “So sweet.”
The ghost’s freezing fingertips stubbornly traced the soft skin that those men had touched and looked at. In his sleep, Lin Min instinctively recoiled, suddenly letting out a faint, sobbing murmur as if begging for mercy. His waist arched high involuntarily.
Feeling his wife’s passion, the sinister ghost finally laughed aloud, his green eyes wide. “Baby, I will make it so you can never forget me. You will never forget me.” “I knew you still loved me.” “Those filthy men dreaming of getting close to you, I will tear them all apart, one by one.”
Lin Min shifted restlessly in his sleep. He felt the air growing thin and tried unconsciously to push away the weight pressing down on him, but he lacked the strength. His pale, pink-tinged fingertips scratched feebly at the air. It was useless; even the root of his tongue felt numb from the invasive cold.
Lin Min’s beautiful face was covered in tear stains. Even in his stupor, he whimpered and tried to escape again, only to be easily scooped back into a firm embrace by a single hand. Then, he was touched in a familiar way.
The beautiful husband, who had been instinctively whimpering and struggling, suddenly trembled and arched his back with a soft, sobbing gasp. He then nestled obediently against the cold, solid chest and stopped moving.
With a low, deep chuckle, the sudden drop in temperature around them stabilized. “Still remember your husband, hmm?”
Even though the coldness had left his mouth, Lin Min’s brow remained furrowed in a fitful sleep. His pale pink tongue rested softly against his white teeth until it was tenderly taken back in. He let out an unconscious moan, fragmented and syrupy, as if acting spoiled toward the perpetrator.
However, the chill that had just been appeased began to coil around his body once more with renewed frenzy. The expression on the beautiful husband’s face was an indistinguishable mix of pain and pleasure; he could only cry and plead. But his pleas were all stifled by that biting cold.
It was not until the husband arched his back again, unconsciously calling out “Husband” in a pleading tone, that he was pulled back into the embrace. A large, cold palm tilted his snowy, thin chin up for a kiss, while a phantom touch massaged his aching lower abdomen to soothe him.
Lin Min woke up with a heavy, groggy head. As he propped himself up to sit, he felt a wave of discomfort from every part of his body. His mouth was sore, and his stomach felt bloated.
Specifically, the area where the ginger tea had splashed yesterday felt strange. He did not know if the water had scalded him, but whenever it brushed against anything, he felt a faint electric sensation accompanied by a slight, stinging pain. It felt as if he had been bullied excessively.
Even through his light silk pajamas, Lin Min shrank his shoulders to avoid the fabric touching that spot. He frowned slightly, feeling frustrated. “Why does it seem swollen?”
He was not unfamiliar with this feeling; it was how he felt after being pestered all night by Xie Mingyuan. But since Xie Mingyuan was dead, Lin Min could only guess it was due to being scalded by the tea. He carefully lifted the covers and got out of bed, his soles also feeling a discomfort as if they had been overused.
He could not see the dense cluster of red marks on his ankles. He simply assumed he had scraped them somewhere during the confrontation with the players in the hallway.
Just as Lin Min rose with some difficulty, he heard a steady, unhurried knock on the door. He moved slowly to open it, asking with empty eyes, “Has something happened?” He pursed his slightly swollen lips.
“I have come to call you for breakfast. After we eat, we need to go to the bank to retrieve the items Mr. Xie left in storage.” Fu Chenyuan stared intently at the marks on Lin Min’s neck. Was it Wei Chi? He thinned his lips.
Lin Min could not see the expression on his face. Hearing mention of Xie Mingyuan’s affairs, he knew the main plot had arrived. He nodded and spoke with a hint of embarrassment. “I am sorry. I woke up late, and now a guest has to prepare breakfast for me.”
He did not notice the man’s gaze lingering on the various red marks scattered across his neck. He was about to step out when he was stopped.
“The temperature has dropped significantly outside today. I think it would be better if you dressed more warmly,” Fu Chenyuan said, looking at the marks. If Zhou Jin saw them, he would surely bark like a mad dog again. The smile on his face vanished, though it was unclear if it was because of the nuisance that was Zhou Jin or the marks on the little widower’s neck.
Lin Min did not know what he was thinking. He was only wearing a simple robe and did feel a bit cold. After a moment of thought, he accepted Fu Chenyuan’s suggestion and, with the other man’s help, selected a turtleneck sweater. Once he had changed, he followed him downstairs.
The atmosphere at the dining table was somewhat stiff. Lin Min could only make small talk with Fu Chenyuan to break the silence. During their conversation, he learned that today’s breakfast had actually been prepared by Wei Chi alone. This realization caused Lin Min’s hand to pause mid-spoonful, a flicker of surprise rising in his heart.
He instinctively raised his hollow eyes toward the kitchen. He had imagined Wei Chi as more of a hitman type; it was hard to picture the man wearing an apron and cooking. This softened Wei Chi’s image in his mind.
Consequently, when the meal was over and Fu Chenyuan asked who should accompany him to the bank, Lin Min instinctively chose Wei Chi. Fu Chenyuan had no objections, but for some reason, Zhou Jin wanted to come along as well. Lin Min was somewhat afraid of him and wanted to refuse, but he was eventually persuaded by Fu Chenyuan.
In the end, all three of them went together. Lin Min was squeezed into the middle of the back seat. To his left was Wei Chi, who radiated a cold aura, and to his right was Zhou Jin, whose whole body was tense as he occasionally swept a gloomy gaze over him and Wei Chi. He hunched his shoulders, trying to minimize his presence. His empty eyes stared forward, and his fingertips curled unconsciously on his knees.
Zhou Jin’s gaze was practically smoldering with anger, but he could not find the words to speak. He could only swallow his frustration, his eyes occasionally sweeping over the little widower’s eyelashes. How are his eyelashes so long? And his small lips are so red.
“You, stop looking at me.” Even though he could not see, Lin Min could feel that intense gaze. Just as he tried to shift toward Wei Chi, a hot palm gripped his wrist.
Zhou Jin gritted his teeth at the way the man tried to avoid him. But before he could speak, the piercing screech of brakes rang in his ears. Immediately, a violent sense of weightlessness hit them.
Zhou Jin instinctively pulled the slender waist of the little widower into his arms to protect him, squinting out the window. A black car had crashed into them. Fortunately, their driver was skilled enough to avoid being sheared in half. It must be one of Xie Mingyuan’s enemies, he thought, but then he suddenly felt the person in his arms struggling.
Zhou Jin’s already sour expression darkened further. He had only been a bit harsh with the little widower; he had not coaxed him into doing those things like Fu Chenyuan had. Was there a need to be this afraid of him? Now even Wei Chi was more liked than he was.
His handsome, rakish brows lowered as he pinched the little widower’s cheek, wanting to tell him to stay still. However, he saw that the little widower was flushed pink all over. Not just his snowy cheeks, but even his small earlobes were stained with red. His long lashes were clumped together with moisture, and his whole body felt soft and hot, like a sweet cake about to melt.
Zhou Jin felt an itch in his teeth. “Little widower, do you want to be in Wei Chi’s arms that badly?” His wolf-like eyes stared at him intently. If this little widower still wanted to cling to that dog Wei Chi, he would throw him out and let Xie Mingyuan’s enemies take him.
However, before Zhou Jin could say another word, he heard the little widower’s voice, which was now as faint as a mosquito’s buzz.
“Not that.” “It is, it is your thing there. It is poking me.”