It’s Him
In the following days, Ying Zhu was frequently attacked. Cen Xie was still wary of the government and didn’t dare to face Ying Zhu directly. Instead, he resorted to underhanded tactics—rear-end collisions, shootings, explosions—clearly intending to kill Ying Zhu.
In a fit of rage, Ying Zhu bought a missile from the Free Army and blew up the Canaan Society’s headquarters. Cen Xie was lucky; he wasn’t in the building at the time, but he lost many of his subordinates. That same day, Ying Zhu called Zheng Yun, telling him that Cen Xie was now severely weakened and that Zheng Yun should seize the opportunity. Strike while the enemy is down.
Several days passed. One evening, Ying Zhu left Usher Prison without an escort and didn’t return to the old family estate. Instead, he drove himself to an apartment in the city where he stayed whenever he wasn’t at the estate. He had just parked in the underground garage and hadn’t even unbuckled his seatbelt when the passenger door was opened. A figure nimbly flashed inside. The next second, a cold gun barrel was pressed against Ying Zhu’s forehead. Cen Xie said coldly, “Hand over the gun on you.” Ying Zhu remained silent for a moment, then pulled out the silver handgun tucked into his lower back and handed it over.
Cen Xie: “Drive.”
The car had just entered the garage and was now driving out again. When they passed the security booth, the guard saw them and greeted: “Councilor Ying, going out again?” Ying Zhu nodded nonchalantly, his expression perfectly calm, as if there wasn’t a gun pressed against his waist.
Once on the road, Ying Zhu turned the steering wheel: “Where to?” Cen Xie slammed the butt of the gun hard against his head and roared: “Am I on a damn date with you? ‘Where to’?”
Ying Zhu’s unflappable state truly infuriated him. He had only gone out to run an errand, only to return and find his home blown up—of the five floors, only one and a half remained.
Dizzy from the blow, Ying Zhu still said calmly: “The artificial hippocampus is on. Kill me if you have the guts.”
Cen Xie sneered: “Keep it on. Don’t you dare turn it off.” Under Cen Xie’s directions, Ying Zhu drove to an abandoned warehouse in the East District. Then, held at gunpoint, he got out of the car and entered the warehouse. As soon as they entered, Ying Zhu was handcuffed to a chair by Cen Xie.
He then noticed a carpet spread on the ground in a corner, with a tripod standing nearby. Ying Zhu frowned: “What are you going to do?” Cen Xie turned on the studio lights, filling the entire corner with bright light. He said, “I’m making a souvenir.”
He took out a collar-like object and put it on Ying Zhu. It was a gland lock; once worn, the gland enters a dormant state, suppressing psychic abilities. Furthermore, it could release voltage or even self-destruct. Upon self-destruction, the head would be separated from the body—a truly gruesome scene.
Even so, Cen Xie remained cautious. An S-rank who had served in the military—any single detail was enough to ensure one didn’t drop their guard. So, he took out a syringe and injected Ying Zhu with a drug. Struggling, Ying Zhu asked: “What did you inject me with?” Cen Xie held him down until the injection was finished and replied: “An anesthetic. You won’t pass out; you’ll just be completely powerless.”
Ying Zhu seemed to think of something; his eyes widened, and his struggling grew more frantic, making the chair bang loudly. He roared: “Cen Xie! You dare!” “What are you thinking?”
Cen Xie looked at him somewhat speechlessly. He casually pulled a garment rack from the side, which was covered in a colorful array of clothes. Upon closer inspection, none of them were decent—erotic qipaos, sailor uniforms, school uniforms, black silk stockings… Cen Xie tilted his head and smiled at him: “I’m just taking some photos. What did you think I was going to do?”
Ying Zhu’s heart settled slightly, though his face remained cold: “I think you have a death wish.”
Cen Xie sized him up and asked: “You’re in this state… what are you going to do about it?”
Ying Zhu retorted sharply: “What am I going to do? I’m going to give you a damn grand funeral!”
Cen Xie didn’t bother arguing with him. He unlocked the handcuffs and dragged him onto the carpet in the corner.
By now, the drug had fully taken effect. Ying Zhu couldn’t muster any strength; he lay there limply, unable to move. Cen Xie ruffled his own hair, walked over to straddle Ying Zhu’s waist, and began poking and prodding him like he was messing with a stray kitten or dog. “Still acting tough?” he asked annoyingly.
Ying Zhu’s hair was a mess, and his eyes were bloodshot as he glared upward.
Cen Xie stripped the clothes off him until Ying Zhu’s bare body was exposed. Ying Zhu had excellent skin—white as a drift of snow—which made Cen Xie raise an eyebrow in spite of himself.
“Not a bad build,” he remarked playfully, flicking Ying Zhu’s nipple.
Ying Zhu shuddered, his eyes snapping open to glare with a fiery intensity. “Get lost!”
Cen Xie let out a cold snort. He stood up to pick through the clothes rack, eventually selecting a semi-transparent qipao before turning back to Ying Zhu.
Ying Zhu looked at the qipao, his lip twitching. “You’ll regret this.”
Ignoring the threat, Cen Xie stepped forward to dress him. The garment was notoriously difficult to put on; Cen Xie couldn’t find the right holes for the hands and ended up accidentally pulling the high-slit section over Ying Zhu’s head. He spent a long time tugging and pulling before he figured out how it worked.
Ying Zhu’s hair was ruined, and his glasses hung crookedly off his nose as he watched him coldly.
Once dressed, Cen Xie stepped back a few paces to inspect the high-and-mighty Warden wearing erotic lingerie. He let out a sharp whistle.
Ying Zhu’s teeth were nearly grinding to dust.
The qipao was made of semi-transparent fabric and was extremely form-fitting. Whether out of malice or laziness, Cen Xie hadn’t bothered to fasten the buttons at the collar, leaving them loose to reveal a pale neck and collarbones. It looked incredibly provocative.
Holding his camera, Cen Xie stood with his feet flanking Ying Zhu’s waist. He snapped several photos from a high angle, commanding: “Look at the lens. Open your eyes. Give me a smile.”
Ying Zhu kept his eyes shut the entire time, remaining silent. He had never endured such humiliation.
After the qipao, Cen Xie swapped him into a sailor suit, then a nurse’s outfit. Taking advantage of Ying Zhu’s paralysis, he put him into various poses. Finally, he even managed to dig out a wedding dress.
Ying Zhu caught sight of it, his expression turning bizarre. He truly couldn’t understand what went through the mind of someone who designed a wedding dress as erotic wear.
Cen Xie possessed great patience, moving like a young girl playing with a doll. He removed the nurse’s outfit and pulled the erotic wedding dress onto Ying Zhu. It was exquisitely made; despite being so transparent it hid nothing, the waist featured boning that cinched his midsection into an enticing silhouette. It even came with a garter belt.
Cen Xie squatted by his side, slowly rolling the long silk stockings up Ying Zhu’s legs—a smooth, sliding sensation. Finally, he carefully adjusted and straightened the pearls stitched onto the lace trim at the thigh.
Ying Zhu found it too unbearable to watch. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, cursing Cen Xie’s ancestors back eighteen generations in his mind.
“Sit up.” Cen Xie gave him a tug, pulling him upright.
Ying Zhu’s face was slightly contorted with humiliation. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “What else do you want to do?”
Cen Xie was still smiling. “Put on your veil.”
Ying Zhu: “…”
Cen Xie picked up the nearby veil, studied it for a moment, and found the hair clip. His movements were somewhat clumsy as he clipped it into Ying Zhu’s hair, tidying it up before gathering the white lace to shroud his face.
Ying Zhu originally had a cold, sharp beauty. Shrouded in the transparent white veil, he took on a pearlescent quality—hazy and shimmering.
Cen Xie looked at him through the white lace. An uncontrollable throb of emotion made him instinctively raise his hand, only to pause. An indescribable tension suddenly injected itself into the atmosphere between them; time seemed to stand still for a heartbeat.
Cen Xie stood dazed, as if he had suddenly forgotten what he intended to do. After a moment, he pinched the edge of the white veil, feeling an impulse to lift it.
Ying Zhu’s vision was blurred. He watched Cen Xie’s hand, equally stunned.
This strange atmosphere lingered for a while until Ying Zhu sneered, “What are you acting so thirsty for?”
Cen Xie snapped out of it and scoffed, “Look at the clothes you’re wearing. Which one of us is the thirsty one?”
The Warden erupted in fury, roaring, “Do you think this is what I wanted to wear?!”
Cen Xie gave a brash laugh. “Whether you wanted to or not, you’re wearing it. Come on, little bride, look at the camera and smile.”
Ying Zhu closed his eyes and turned his face away, feeling the pulse of the camera flash through his eyelids.
When the torturous humiliation finally ended, Cen Xie checked the photos on the camera and said, “What do you have to feel aggrieved about? Do you know how many of my people that missile killed?” He looked up at Ying Zhu. “The lives of ants are still lives. Some of them weren’t even twenty yet.”
Ying Zhu: “They should have known this day would come the moment they joined the Canaan Society.”
For once, Cen Xie didn’t snap back. Instead, he said quite calmly, “In a place like the East District, if it isn’t the Canaan Society, it’ll be the North Canaan Society. If it wasn’t me, it would be someone else.” He spared Ying Zhu a glance. “Honestly, I don’t think anyone else in power would be better than me.”
Having finished the photos, Cen Xie didn’t trouble Ying Zhu further. He draped a coat over him and left.
Ying Zhu lay in that warehouse in an erotic wedding dress all night. He couldn’t move until the drug wore off, after which he drove himself away.
…..
That evening, the male Beta called Ying Zhu again. They met at the same café as before, with Ying Zhu once again heavily disguised.
This time, the Beta brought about five or six memory cards. Ying Zhu didn’t bother with a trial run; he paid directly.
The reason he used this “wide net” approach was twofold: first, to avoid drawing attention to his specific needs and exposing his identity; and second, because “Double O” memories were rare on the market. This method—buying them all and filtering them later—was more efficient for him, even if it cost a bit more.
Back in his car, he used the built-in VR glasses to skim through them. His luck was good; one segment featured himself. He set that card aside, intending to read it properly back at home.
On the drive back, he received a call from Zheng Yun.
Zheng Yun: “Councilor Ying, I’m moving tonight. Rest assured, Cen Xie won’t escape this time.”
Ying Zhu hummed in acknowledgment and instructed, “He has a camera. Find it and destroy it.”
Zheng Yun paused. “A camera? What’s on it?”
Ying Zhu didn’t answer, simply continuing: “Once Cen Xie is captured, you keep your artificial hippocampus on the entire time. When you find the camera, you are forbidden from looking at the contents. Destroy it immediately. I will be verifying this.”
After hanging up, Ying Zhu felt like he was having a cursed day. What was his life? Between pornographic memories leaking out and being threatened with erotic photos, it was one thing after another.
After parking in the underground garage and entering the elevator, his private phone received a video from Zheng Yun. The background was a warehouse at one of Zheng Yun’s factories. Cen Xie’s hands were tied, and he was suspended in mid-air, head hanging low so his expression was hidden. He looked severely injured.
Beneath his feet was a massive, active industrial shredder, letting out a deafening roar as sharp blades spun incessantly. If a person fell in, they would be instantly turned to mincemeat.
The video ended just as Ying Zhu stepped out of the elevator. Then Zheng Yun called. “Councilor Ying, Cen Xie refuses to reveal the location of the camera.”
Ying Zhu reached his front door and pressed the electronic lock code, saying impatiently, “Give him something harsher. Do I really have to teach you how?”
Hanging up, Ying Zhu went straight to his study and put on the VR glasses to read the third memory.
This memory was from the same period as the first two. The environment was the same, but it seemed to be earlier—right at the start of the encounter.
As soon as he entered the reading mode, Ying Zhu felt an unbearable surge of pain. The memory owner let out small whimpers, gritting their teeth and enduring the agony of being slowly stretched open. That sensation of being torn apart bit by bit was slow, jarring, and agonizing—much like a form of execution.
With a long, shuddering sigh, the memory owner let out a sob.
Through the memory owner’s eyes, Ying Zhu looked at his own face. He then watched as he cupped his own face and kissed it. Despite being in agonizing pain, the memory owner’s movements were gentle, as if afraid of hurting Ying Zhu; the kiss was light as a feather.
He saw himself responding—responding so tenderly, as if he cherished this Omega deeply, as if he didn’t want him to suffer any harm.
When their lips parted, Ying Zhu heard himself ask: “Does it hurt?”
It did.
Ying Zhu could feel 100% of the memory owner’s sensations, so he knew this Omega was in pain—real, intense pain. But the vision blurred as the memory owner shook his head.
Ying Zhu watched as his own expression relaxed, clearly believing the lie, before he began to move with broad, powerful strokes.
Stop.
Ying Zhu said in his mind. Stop, he’s lying.
Can’t you see? He’s in pain.
But the “self” in the memory was oblivious to the memory owner’s feelings. His movements grew heavier, his urgent thrusts reaching a level of near-brutality.
It really hurt—a searing sensation, like being rubbed with coarse sandpaper. Yet the memory owner endured it in total silence—a form of self-destructive submissiveness.
Finally, his breathing became so ragged that he couldn’t help but cry out: “Ying Zhu…”
Ying Zhu watched as he stopped and leaned down to kiss the person.
That feeling was like being in a tender, quiet morning; the wilderness was empty save for the wind. After a night of deep sleep, that person’s breath was still there on the pillow beside him. Nothing was more important than this.
They kissed, then brushed noses, like any creature in nature signaling goodwill.
The breath was so warm, the gasps like the chirping of a fledgling—an itch that made one want to sneeze, like a love that couldn’t be hidden.
Ying Zhu’s heart tightened, a stabbing pain blooming in his chest. Who on earth are you?
How could I forget such a person?
In the final second before the memory ended, Ying Zhu finally heard the name called out from his own mouth.
“Cen Xie…”
Ying Zhu’s breath hitched, and his eyes snapped wide open.