“In that memory card… why were you looking at my back?”
The question caught Cen Xie off guard. He coughed and began a brief lesson in “Basics”: “You know… there’s a position called ‘doggy style’? It’s from behind—”
Duh. Of course he knew. But why…
Ying Zhu’s mind went blank for a few seconds. He didn’t want to believe it, but he had to know. He cut Cen Xie off. “In that memory card, what were you doing?”
“Ah?” Cen Xie was confused. What kind of question was that? Didn’t Ying Zhu know? He’d acted so confident before, saying he’d read three cards and knew the content.
“Is that card still here?” Ying Zhu demanded.
Cen Xie nodded, then remembered Ying Zhu couldn’t see well. “Yes.”
Ying Zhu wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of the bathroom, leaving wet footprints on the floor. Cen Xie instinctively stepped forward to steady him, worried the “half-blind” man would trip.
A theory was forming in Ying Zhu’s mind that made his skin crawl. He stiffened when Cen Xie got close. He dressed quickly, put on his glasses, and fixed Cen Xie with a sharp, piercing stare. “Give me that card. Now.”
Full of doubt, Cen Xie found the card and handed it over along with the VR glasses.
Ying Zhu took them without a word, put them on, and hit play.
Minutes later, his theory was confirmed. Ying Zhu was on the verge of a breakdown.
If the previous cards made him feel like he was being fucked by himself, this card—from Cen Xie’s perspective—showed him that Cen Xie was the one “doing” it. One was passive, the other active. The latter was infinitely more devastating to his psyche.
Ying Zhu thought he was immune after seeing so many clips, but this was a different level of visceral horror. His face was darker than when he’d first discovered the cards; his hands were actually shaking.
Cen Xie saw his expression and stepped closer. “What’s wrong?”
Ying Zhu whipped his head around, his eyes like daggers.
Cen Xie felt as if he’d been struck in the chest and stopped in his tracks. Ying Zhu’s psychic ability was mental-based; when his emotions peaked, he could manifest his “aura” into a physical pressure. It was a hallmark of high-level psychic evolvers.
Biologically, Omegas were usually suppressed by Alpha pheromones. But a psychic’s mental ability broke those rules entirely—it crushed everyone except Betas, who lacked glands. Even a low-level Alpha would be forced to bow before Ying Zhu. This was how an Omega managed to rule over ten thousand Alphas in Usher prison.
Cen Xie, despite being an S-rank himself, felt the air in the room turn heavy and scorching. He didn’t fall to his knees, but he felt a desperate urge to get away.
Ying Zhu glared at him and hurled the VR glasses at him. “How dare you!”
Cen Xie dodged. The glasses shattered against the wall. He frowned. “Can’t you see you were perfectly willing? It’s not like I forced you. Your legs were wrapped so tight around my—”
“Shut up!” Ying Zhu roared.
A wave of psychic energy rippled through the air like an invisible wind. Cen Xie closed his eyes and shuddered, goosebumps erupting over his skin. Terrifying. Psychic evolvers are terrifying. When they were angry, their power doubled.
Cen Xie’s scalp felt numb from the pressure. “Just… calm down first.”
“How am I supposed to be calm?” Ying Zhu shouted. The glass windows in the room vibrated with the force of his voice.
Cen Xie’s knees felt a bit weak. Thinking fast, he turned to a cabinet in the corner, opened a safe, and pulled out a camera—the very one he’d used to take photos of Ying Zhu in the suggestive clothes. He couldn’t use them as leverage now anyway. Maybe giving them up would act as a peace offering.
Ying Zhu grabbed the camera, raised it high, and smashed it onto the floor. Not satisfied, he stomped on it twice for good measure.
Cen Xie wanted to say something but hesitated. Finally, he muttered, “You could have just taken the SD card out and snapped it. You didn’t have to…”
That camera wasn’t cheap.
Ying Zhu looked up and gave him another murderous glare, then stomped it two more times. Finally, he fished the storage card out of the debris and snapped it into tiny pieces.
His grip was so strong the memory card was crushed into powder.
Cen Xie wisely kept his mouth shut. After a while, he ventured a question: “So… what exactly was in those first three cards you watched?”
Ying Zhu gave him a chilling look but remained silent.
Picking his way through the minefield, Cen Xie carefully suggested, “Did you bring the first three? I suddenly feel like it would be better if we aligned our information. You know, to avoid misunderstandings.”
Ying Zhu stared at him for a long beat before reaching into his pocket for his wallet. Memory cards were smaller than a standard thumb drive; he didn’t trust leaving them anywhere else, so he kept them in a side compartment he carried everywhere.
He emptied the three cards onto the table. Cen Xie picked them up, holding them in his palm, and turned to look for the VR glasses—only to remember Ying Zhu had just smashed them.
He stood up, walked to the window, and called out, “Chen Jiu!”
Chen Jiu appeared from some hidden corner outside the window as if by magic. “Chairman.”
“Find me a set of VR glasses. Now.”
Chen Jiu nodded and vanished.
Ying Zhu sat on the bench at the foot of the bed, his face clouded with a gloom so thick Cen Xie could almost see black miasma radiating from him.
Soon, a knock sounded at the door. Cen Xie rushed to open it like a man receiving a pardon, taking the glasses from Chen Jiu. He sat by the window and began reading the cards one by one.
Ten minutes later, he finished the original three and took off the glasses to look at Ying Zhu.
Ying Zhu had calmed down slightly. He met Cen Xie’s gaze, waiting for him to speak.
Cen Xie opened his mouth and said, “Back then, I seemed to… really like you.”
Ying Zhu’s head jerked slightly. After a moment of silence, he exploded again: “Stop making excuses for yourself! Like me? If you liked me, how could you let these memories leak out?!”
As his emotions flared, that suffocating psychic mental pressure began to fill the room again.
Cen Xie hunched over, overwhelmed and agitated, clutching his head as he muttered, “Why are you so angry? It’s fine for you to top me, but it’s not okay for me to top you?”
“Is that the same thing?!” Ying Zhu roared.
His anger wasn’t purely about the position; it was the memory card. If it were a card of him topping Cen Xie, then anyone reading Cen Xie’s leaked memory would effectively be “topped” by Ying Zhu. But since Cen Xie topped him, anyone reading these cards was essentially “topping” the Warden!!!
It would be a miracle if he could stay calm.
Cen Xie quickly realized the logic. At the end of the day, it was about the leak. Consumed by guilt, he shrank into his corner and didn’t dare speak.
Once the guilt subsided, however, he thought about how many strangers might have “experienced” topping Ying Zhu through his own perspective, and a surge of possessive fury and disgust rose in his own chest.
Fck! What kind of mess is this?
After a while, he stood up, tiptoed to pour a glass of water, and handed it to Ying Zhu. “Stop being mad,” he said softly.
Ying Zhu rubbed his face, took the water, and downed it in one go. He rested his forehead in his hand, trying to regulate his breathing.
Seeing him still seething, Cen Xie hesitated before offering: “How about this… I’ll tell you the security flaw at Usher Prison. Just don’t be mad anymore.”
At this point, Cen Xie was being genuinely sincere—he was throwing away every piece of leverage he held over Ying Zhu, one by one.
Ying Zhu didn’t react at first. After a few seconds, he looked up. “Deal.”
Cen Xie braced himself. “Usher Prison was converted from an old cathedral, right?”
Ying Zhu gave a cold hum. “I know that.” He hadn’t been involved in the initial conversion; it was already a prison when he took over.
“Cathedrals have confessionals,” Cen Xie explained. “Back then, a priest there was having an affair with a local woman. He dug a secret tunnel under the confessional to meet her. That’s how those two inmates got out.”
Ying Zhu stared at him. “That tunnel isn’t marked on any of the cathedral’s blueprints. How did they know about it?”
“3349 is the illegitimate son of that priest and that woman.”
Ying Zhu’s anger spiked even higher; he let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. Fine. He had thought 3348 and 3349 were some kind of tactical prison-break geniuses. Turns out they just had an information advantage. With a dark expression, he asked, “That’s it?”
Cen Xie took two steps back, terrified. “Yeah.”
“That’s it?!”
Cen Xie backed up another two steps.
Ying Zhu glared at him, his voice trembling with rage. “You used a moronic prison break like that to threaten me for this long?”
Cen Xie’s back hit the door, ready to bolt at any second. Seeing that Ying Zhu was now more angry instead of less, he realized he had effectively thrown gasoline on the fire and tried to make himself look as small as possible.
Ying Zhu, rarely this unhinged, clutched his hair in frustration, angry at himself now. He paced the room like a trapped animal before suddenly deflating, looking utterly defeated. “I’ve managed Usher for years and I never found such a brain-dead loophole!”
Cen Xie hurried to comfort him. “You can’t blame yourself! It was a secret tunnel, it wasn’t on the maps. Even the original architects missed it. How were you supposed to know when you took over?”
It took a long time for Ying Zhu to settle his heart. It was late; he had planned to go back to Usher, but after this ordeal, he decided to just go home.
Just then, his phone buzzed. It was a text from the Beta seller.
Ying Zhu arranged to meet him immediately. Cen Xie insisted on coming along, and Ying Zhu didn’t object—he wasn’t in the mood to drive.
So, Cen Xie acted as the chauffeur, taking him back to the café. This time, Ying Zhu didn’t bother testing them; he bought the entire lot using Cen Xie’s card. If these included Cen Xie’s memories, this would be the last time he’d need to see this seller.
Back in the car, Ying Zhu was silent. Cen Xie felt the dark aura still lingering and drove back in silence.
Returning to the room once more, Ying Zhu dumped the pile of cards onto the table. He looked at Cen Xie. They didn’t know if these were Cen Xie’s memories or what was on them. To put it bluntly: they didn’t know who was topping this time.
After a long silence, Cen Xie asked tentatively, “Should I get the splitter?”
They had to face it. Since they’d agreed to sync their information, there was no point in reading them separately.
Ying Zhu closed his eyes and hummed.
Cen Xie set up the splitter, plugged it into the VR glasses, and handed one to Ying Zhu. They went through four duds before the fifth one hit. Cen Xie felt that 100% physical resonance. It was his.
Ying Zhu’s hands tightened on his knees, clutching his trousers until his knuckles turned white.
He was… riding.
Ying Zhu was going insane. He was watching himself straddled over “himself,” rising and falling like he was galloping on a horse.
Cen Xie’s hands were on his waist, rubbing back and forth. The velvet-soft sensation was scorching, pleasure spreading like tidal waves.
After an unknown amount of time, the “Ying Zhu” in the memory seemed exhausted. He slowed down and eventually stopped.
He heard Cen Xie’s indulgent voice: “Tired?”
Ying Zhu, panting, gave a faint “Mm.”
Cen Xie propped himself up, gripping Ying Zhu’s waist to flip him over, but accidentally slipped out in the process.
Ying Zhu let out a muffled groan, covering his face as he breathed hard, his body trembling as if a light current was running through him.
Cen Xie didn’t rush back in. He kissed him deeply for a long time, their breaths intertwining. “Want more?”
Ying Zhu gasped, “put it in.”
Cen Xie braced his arms, looking down at Ying Zhu from above. His tone was incredibly playful as he tilted his hips:
“Here comes the little flying stick!~”
The memory cut off there. Both men slowly removed their VR glasses. Silence reigned. The words “Here comes the little flying stick” echoed in their ears.
The little flying stick…
Cen Xie’s eyes darted around, his expression so mortified he looked like he wanted to phase through the floor.
Ying Zhu took several deep breaths, but he couldn’t hold it back. For the second time that day, he hurled the VR glasses at Cen Xie, hissing through gritted teeth:
“Do you think you’re pretty f*cking funny, don’t you?”