Lu Zhuonian didn’t say the name of the drug, but Chen Zemian knew he was talking about paroxetine.
Chen Zemian was startled. “I’ll be there right away!”
Lu Zhuonian’s breathing paused slightly. “What’s wrong with your throat?”
Chen Zemian strode up to the second floor, opened the medicine cabinet, took out a box of paroxetine, and put it in his pocket. “It’s already late, and you still have the mood to care about my throat?”
Lu Zhuonian tried his best to adjust his breathing and said in a steady voice, “Don’t worry. Drive slowly—safety first. Dormitory No. 3, Room 501. Knock on the door. I’ll hang up now.”
Chen Zemian’s heart tightened when he heard the busy tone on the other end of the phone.
He didn’t even have time to put on his coat. He grabbed his car keys and went out.
The weather in mid-March was fickle—sometimes warm, sometimes cold—and today was cloudy again.
The wind was very strong.
Wearing only a sweatshirt, Chen Zemian shivered as he stepped outside. He hadn’t run far, but by the time he got into the car, his fingers were already stiff with cold.
His hands on the steering wheel barely moved.
The car heater was on, but the temperature hadn’t risen quickly enough. Chen Zemian could clearly feel himself shivering, unsure whether it was from cold or nerves.
He forced himself to stay calm, trying not to dwell on Lu Zhuonian’s situation.
Overthinking was useless now. It wouldn’t help—only make him more anxious. The fastest, most effective solution was simply to get to campus.
Fully focused, Chen Zemian turned on the GPS during a red light and selected the fastest route.
Fortunately, there was no traffic at this hour. He was driving a car that looked extremely expensive, and the surrounding cars gave him a wide berth. When he changed lanes, no one dared to cut him off.
He drove at the speed limit but overtook countless vehicles, compressing the 35-minute trip into just 20.
Lu Zhuonian had never driven the Pagani Fengshen to campus, so the license plate wasn’t registered for access.
At the gate of B University, the Fengshen slid into a parking space with the flourish of a drifting dragon.
As the car came to a stop, the gull-wing door popped open. A handsome young man with starry eyes and white teeth jumped out, shut the door behind him, and sprinted onto campus at 100-meter-dash speed. He quickly located a shared bike and raced to Building 3 in record time.
Chen Zemian had the face of a college student. No one stopped him from entering the dormitory building.
He didn’t even remember how he reached the fifth floor.
By the time he stood in front of Room 501, his legs felt like jelly—like he’d just finished a marathon.
He knocked on the door. “Lu Zhuonian.”
The lock clicked. The door was unlocked.
Chen Zemian pushed it open, slipped inside, then shut and locked it again.
Lu Zhuonian was standing right behind the door.
Turning around, Chen Zemian bumped straight into his chest.
Lu Zhuonian stood firm, unmoved. He raised an arm to steady Chen Zemian.
Instantly, Chen Zemian was surrounded by the magnetic presence of another man. He instinctively backed up until his back was against the door—nowhere left to retreat.
Lu Zhuonian had clearly reached out to support him, but Chen Zemian felt as if he were being captured.
The struggle and comparison between males is instinctual. At this moment, Lu Zhuonian’s aura was overwhelming. His usual rational restraint faltered, replaced by a primal assertiveness that seemed to envelop, suppress, and threaten Chen Zemian.
Chen Zemian shuddered. A vague fear rose up.
He didn’t even know what he was afraid of.
It was like accidentally stepping into the den of a large predator. A human’s sixth sense screams at them to run.
Lu Zhuonian held his arm. Under his fingertips, a pulse throbbed wildly.
The pounding of a heartbeat echoed in his ears—he couldn’t tell whose it was.
“Did you run all the way up here?” Lu Zhuonian asked, tightening his grip on Chen Zemian’s wrist, voice hoarse. “You came so fast… and didn’t even wear a coat.”
As soon as he spoke, all of Chen Zemian’s conscious fear dissolved.
Personal will triumphed over primal instinct.
Chen Zemian trusted Lu Zhuonian. He knew he would never hurt him.
Even when lost in desire, even when his mind was blurred—Lu Zhuonian’s first concern upon seeing him was that he had rushed over without a coat.
Even if Lu Zhuonian exuded a suffocating sense of dominance, Chen Zemian had no reason to fear him.
The curtains were drawn, but they didn’t block much light.
Chen Zemian looked up, studying Lu Zhuonian’s expression. “How are you now?”
Lu Zhuonian closed his eyes and assessed his condition. “I don’t have much rationality left. Give me the medicine.”
Everyone defines “not much” differently.
Common sense would assume that if 50% rationality is the baseline, “not much” means somewhere between 1% and 49%. Suppose we use 25% as a representative figure—most people would hear “not much” and think, Oh no, only 25% left. He won’t be sane much longer.
But Chen Zemian, ever the optimist, did not follow common sense.
His reaction was: Still 25%? That’s pretty rational!
So instead of immediately giving Lu Zhuonian the medicine, he began to scold him.
“Look at you. You thought you were fine after you got better last time, and now you’re sick again.”
Lu Zhuonian didn’t expect him to hand over the medicine so easily.
He glanced at Chen Zemian and noticed a bulge in the pocket of his hoodie. He reached out to retrieve the medicine.
Chen Zemian didn’t resist but frowned. “You said the other day that you wouldn’t take the medicine anymore. You didn’t keep your word.”
Lu Zhuonian paused while opening the box. He lowered his eyes. “You also said you’d help me. Did you?”
Chen Zemian’s throat tightened. He mumbled, “You didn’t come to see me. How was I supposed to know when you needed help?”
Lu Zhuonian looked at him for several long seconds, then said, “I think about it every day.”
With that one line—”I think about it every day”—Chen Zemian knew Lu Zhuonian’s rationality had slipped from “not much” to barely any.
The rational Lu Zhuonian would never say something so straightforward.
Holding the medicine bottle, Chen Zemian looked up. “If I help you now, can you not take the medicine?”
Lu Zhuonian stared at him for another three to five seconds—then suddenly picked him up.
Chen Zemian’s feet left the ground. Startled, he instinctively grabbed onto Lu Zhuonian’s shoulders.
They were very close.
Looking down at him, Chen Zemian asked, “What are you doing?”
Lu Zhuonian didn’t answer. He simply carried Chen Zemian into the dorm room.
There was a bunk bed near the window—clearly Lu Zhuonian’s, as it was impeccably tidy.
He stopped in front of the bed and leaned forward to place Chen Zemian down.
Being tall, Chen Zemian could have climbed into the upper bunk easily, but squeezing him into the narrow lower bed wasn’t so simple.
“Bend down,” Lu Zhuonian instructed.
Chen Zemian’s head almost hit the upper bunk’s railing. He ducked quickly.
Lu Zhuonian protected him with one hand and laid him onto the bed.
Chen Zemian propped himself up, about to speak, when Lu Zhuonian suddenly flung the air-conditioning blanket over his head.
Lu Zhuonian didn’t stay overnight in the dormitory. He only used it to nap between classes, so there was no quilt—just this thin blanket.
Under the blanket, Chen Zemian writhed, trying to poke his head out.
No success.
Outside, Lu Zhuonian pressed down on the blanket, trapping him inside.
Chen Zemian was baffled by his behavior.
But soon, he understood.
A few seconds later, Lu Zhuonian pressed against him—through the blanket.
Chen Zemian was suffocating under the blanket, able to see only a small, dim space in front of him. His already heightened senses were now infinitely amplified.
He could hear even the most subtle sounds.
As the distance between them closed, the rustling of fabric brushing against fabric echoed in his ears.
Then, Lu Zhuonian reached under the blanket and gently held Chen Zemian’s fingers.
Chen Zemian’s heart began to race. His fingers curled instinctively.
He had a vague sense of what Lu Zhuonian was thinking, though he couldn’t quite articulate it—and wasn’t completely certain. That overwhelming sense of the unknown surged like a tide, wrapping around him layer by layer—more stifling than the blanket itself.
Lu Zhuonian took Chen Zemian’s hand and slowly pulled him out from beneath the blanket.
For a fleeting moment, Lu Zhuonian regained his clarity. The instant he did, he let go of Chen Zemian’s hand and stepped back in a panic.
Chen Zemian heard the medicine bottle rattling, then reached out and snatched it from Lu Zhuonian’s hand.
Fever burned through Lu Zhuonian’s body, the inflammation making him hot to the touch. Even though they weren’t in direct contact, and even though his vision was obscured, Chen Zemian could feel the searing heat through his palm.
Still trapped beneath the blanket, Chen Zemian reached toward Lu Zhuonian and, with unerring precision, touched his wrist.
Lu Zhuonian jerked back violently, his entire body tensing.
But it was too late—Chen Zemian had already taken the medicine bottle and tossed it away.
With a soft clack, it landed on the tiled floor and rolled off.
At that same moment, Lu Zhuonian’s shaky sanity finally collapsed.
Chen Zemian could hear his heavy breathing. Slowly, he lifted the air-conditioning blanket off his head.
Lu Zhuonian’s eyelids trembled. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, but he didn’t press the blanket down again.
Chen Zemian finally emerged from beneath the blanket.
He leaned back against the wall and gently tugged Lu Zhuonian’s wrist toward him.
Lu Zhuonian’s breathing grew heavier. His eyes were dark as ink, and he leaned in.
As they grew closer, their breathing began to sync.
Chen Zemian met Lu Zhuonian’s gaze, then quickly averted his eyes, closing them in embarrassment.
But closing his eyes only made the tension worse.
When he opened them again, he found Lu Zhuonian staring at him intensely—eyes sharp, wild, like a beast eyeing its prey.
Before or after time travel, Chen Zemian had never imagined he’d one day become entangled with the male lead of a novel.
Reality always found a way to defy expectations.
Lu Zhuonian pulled Chen Zemian into a tight embrace, his breath ragged. That strange, electric sensation passed through the point of contact between them, coursing through thousands of neurons in his body.
His jaw was clenched, sweat trickled down his neck and into his collar, and he tried to maintain the appearance of calm.
He lowered his head, resting his forehead against Chen Zemian’s shoulder. As he lifted it slightly, his nose brushed against the soft skin of Chen Zemian’s neck.
A small red mole burned in his vision like a spark.
The scent of Chen Zemian clung to him. It was just ordinary shower gel, yet to Lu Zhuonian, it was intoxicating—like strong liquor—filling his lungs and unraveling his control.
A strange silence descended.
It felt as though everything else in the world had faded away, and only Chen Zemian remained.
Only Chen Zemian was real.
His only, undeniable reality.
Lu Zhuonian rested his chin on Chen Zemian’s head. His awareness dimmed, rationality dissolving in the heat.
He finally lost control.
Chen Zemian’s heartbeat skipped a beat.
The man in front of him felt like someone completely different. The usual calm, reserved, noble self-restraint had vanished with his collapsing rationality.
Yet, looking at Lu Zhuonian like this, Chen Zemian didn’t feel fear.
Because this was still Lu Zhuonian.
The pressure on Chen Zemian dropped suddenly, and his body relaxed without thinking.
A bead of sweat slid down Lu Zhuonian’s forehead.
No. Something felt off. Completely wrong.
The sensation of possession was nothing like the way Chen Zemian made him feel.
Lu Zhuonian’s mind drifted. He felt like a puppet pulled by invisible strings. Without fully realizing it, he gripped Chen Zemian’s wrist tightly.
Too tightly.
Chen Zemian cried out in pain.
Lu Zhuonian’s forehead twitched, and instead of releasing him, he squeezed even harder.
Chen Zemian instinctively tried to pull back. “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts!”
Lu Zhuonian stared at him, still gripping his wrist tightly.
Chen Zemian glared back. “You’re hurting me and you think that’s okay?”
Lu Zhuonian looked away and muttered, “You’re soft and lazy.”
Chen Zemian mumbled under his breath, defending himself—he’d tried hard, and Lu Zhuonian should reflect on his own behavior.
Lu Zhuonian frowned for no clear reason, then looked at Chen Zemian again, voice hoarse. “What’s wrong with me?”
Chen Zemian blinked, eyes wide and innocent. “You’ve been sick for too long.”
Lu Zhuonian raised his hand and pinched Chen Zemian’s chin, tilting his beautiful face upward. He forced him to make eye contact. “Then think about what else you can do.”
Chen Zemian genuinely wanted to help Lu Zhuonian recover faster.
But did he really have a choice?
He was helping, but this illness was more complicated than he’d ever imagined.
He had done his best—but Lu Zhuonian was impossible to satisfy.
Chen Zemian offered to try another method.
Lu Zhuonian released his wrist without a word, silently agreeing.
His wrist now bore several glaring red marks from the earlier grip.
Lu Zhuonian’s eyelashes fluttered slightly.
Once satisfied, a sex addict doesn’t stop. The threshold only increases. They crave more—stronger stimulation, more intensity.
What had worked last time didn’t seem to be enough this time.
Chen Zemian had already tried everything he could think of. After struggling in vain, exhausted and defeated, he finally admitted defeat and humbly asked Lu Zhuonian for guidance.
Lu Zhuonian lowered his gaze and fixed his eyes on Chen Zemian’s flushed lips.
Then he said two words.
Chen Zemian inhaled sharply. The cold air hit his windpipe, causing it to spasm. He couldn’t help coughing.
Lu Zhuonian remained silent, just furrowing his brow and staring at him.
Chen Zemian stared back, horrified. “You better be fucking kidding me.”
But Lu Zhuonian’s face was calm—dead serious.
Under that direct gaze, Chen Zemian’s neck twitched. His back stiffened involuntarily, and an itchy discomfort spread across his skin.
The sensation burrowed beneath his skin, like strawberry fuzz caught in his throat. He coughed, dry and uncomfortable.
Something was about to happen.
His Adam’s apple bobbed a few times as he tried to hold it together—tried to keep the situation from spiraling out of control.
“…No,” he said at last.
Lu Zhuonian’s expression darkened slightly.
Chen Zemian narrowed his eyes. You’re even annoyed now?
If anyone else dared say something like that to me, I’d have broken their nose. And if I didn’t beat them into the floor, I’d write “Chen Zemian” backwards.
Lu Zhuonian asked coldly, “Why not?”
“Do I even need to answer that?” Chen Zemian tried to hold back, but eventually couldn’t. He punched Lu Zhuonian in the chest. “If you think it’s that easy, you try it.”
Lu Zhuonian looked at him in silence for another two seconds.
Then, slowly, he began to lower his head.
*****
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