Lu Zhuonian’s thoughts were still stuck on Chen Zemian’s complaints about the smart toilet. He didn’t catch on at first and asked absentmindedly, “Where would you put it?”
Chen Zemian turned his head away and stopped talking.
Lu Zhuonian thought for a moment and figured it wouldn’t make sense to put a bed next to the toilet. He tried to think laterally, wondering if Chen Zemian meant something like the massage beds in bathhouses—something you could lie on while taking a bath.
Chen Zemian looked at him, slightly exasperated. “Lu Zhuonian, you seem kind of stupid when you’re having an episode.”
Lu Zhuonian nodded in agreement. “It affects my IQ. I’ve tested it.”
“Let’s go home,” Chen Zemian said, standing up. He brushed the dust from his legs and stretched. “Once you’re smart again, you’ll know exactly where the bed goes.”
Because Lu Zhuonian’s episode was so intense that it affected his cognition—but without a corresponding physiological reaction—Chen Zemian realized he had taken medication the night before.
Lu Zhuonian didn’t admit it at first. He hadn’t expected Chen Zemian to pour out the remaining pills and count them one by one.
It was a new bottle, clearly labeled: 60 pills.
So when Chen Zemian counted to fifty-two, he had solid proof that Lu Zhuonian had secretly taken the medicine.
He was angry, but didn’t say anything right away.
He planned to wait until Lu Zhuonian had calmed down to confront him. There was no point in doing it now.
But he forgot that the first thing Lu Zhuonian would do after regaining clarity wouldn’t be to confess or explain why he’d taken paroxetine—it would be to ask him about the bed.
Because of the episode, Lu Zhuonian was visibly downcast when they got home. And since the medication suppressed any physical release, they had no other outlet to ease the tension.
It wasn’t until midnight, when the drug reached its half-life, that things began to change.
Lu Zhuonian’s needs were even more intense when sick, and his sense of autonomy diminished in direct proportion to his rationality. His threshold for action dropped dramatically.
No external stimulus was needed. Just having Chen Zemian there was enough.
This was, without a doubt, the worst episode Lu Zhuonian had experienced in the past two months.
He had completely lost control this time.
He didn’t even need Chen Zemian to guide him.
Lu Zhuonian stared at Chen Zemian’s reflection in the mirror, resting his forehead on his shoulder.
As his mind began to clear, a wave of self-loathing swept over him like a tidal current.
Light spots danced before his eyes, and a nausea not unlike motion sickness spun relentlessly in his chest.
The scent of pomegranate blossoms slowly spread through the bathroom.
Suddenly, Lu Zhuonian pushed Chen Zemian aside, bent over the sink, and began dry heaving.
Chen Zemian: “!!!!”
He’d assumed the “nausea” Lu Zhuonian spoke of was just psychological, a metaphor for his shame. He hadn’t expected it to become a genuine, physical reaction.
At first, it was just dry heaving. But the closer he leaned toward the grimy mirror, the more disgusted he felt.
He felt filthier, more revolting, than the dirty glass before him.
The combined effects of the smell and his spiraling emotions triggered his gag reflex—until he vomited for real.
He hadn’t eaten much all day. Nothing came up but bitter medicinal residue and stomach acid.
All the emotional and physical anguish piled up and manifested into something palpable, pulling him deeper into despair.
Lu Zhuonian knew he was sick.
But after meeting Chen Zemian, it felt like he’d only gotten worse.
When Chen Zemian wasn’t looking, he had already kissed him a thousand times in his mind.
The single sentence that slipped out today was just the tiniest shard of all those unspeakable thoughts.
Yet emotionally, he couldn’t bear for Chen Zemian to suffer even the slightest harm.
He knew how abnormal he was.
But when the illness took over, it swallowed everything—leaving behind only a flood of unchecked desires.
Desires unbound by reason.
He was already in hell. He shouldn’t have dragged Chen Zemian down with him.
Lu Zhuonian turned on the tap, scooped water into his palms, and meticulously washed his face, rinsed his mouth, and brushed his teeth.
Water streamed down, washing away all visible filth in an instant.
The mirror remained dirty.
In it, Lu Zhuonian appeared once again as the clean, composed figure he always showed the world—well-groomed, noble, dignified.
He always managed to conceal his disgrace quickly and put forth his most upright self.
But no matter how polished he looked, it couldn’t cover the rot inside.
Chen Zemian had seen all of it—his filth, his weakness, the things he couldn’t bear even to admit.
Like that mirror that would never be clean, no matter how often it was wiped, Chen Zemian would always remember what it once looked like.
Lu Zhuonian stared at the running water and muttered, “Don’t wipe it.”
Chen Zemian had been cleaning the mirror with tissues. At those words, his hand paused. He looked at Lu Zhuonian through the fogged glass.
Rationally, he knew he should be gentle. People get emotional when they’re sick. Overthinking was part of it.
But there’s always a gap between knowing and doing.
Everyone knows Tsinghua University is good. That doesn’t mean everyone gets in.
He knew he shouldn’t stay up late either—yet he still pulled all-nighters before transmigrating into this book.
Chen Zemian didn’t even indulge himself. He certainly wasn’t going to indulge Lu Zhuonian.
And yet, over the past two months, he’d done everything he could to keep a level head.
He hadn’t obeyed Lu Zhuonian’s every whim, but he had tried—within reason—to satisfy his need for control.
Lu Zhuonian had been sick for years. He was used to discipline, to medication, to swallowing the chaos and fury inside him like a storm beneath a frozen sea.
Chen Zemian’s sudden appearance had cracked the ice.
He’d intervened impulsively in Lu Zhuonian’s treatment, and now that Pandora’s box was open, he couldn’t just turn away. That would be too cruel.
They were past the point of no return.
If he left now, Lu Zhuonian would collapse.
This treatment plan had only worked because of Lu Zhuonian’s extraordinary trust in him. And Chen Zemian hadn’t rejected that trust—on the contrary, he responded to it.
The moment he became involved in Lu Zhuonian’s treatment, he stopped being a detached bystander.
Their fates were now intertwined.
Every ripple from here on out would affect them both.
In this strange world, Lu Zhuonian was the first to call him by name. The first to realize he wasn’t the same as Chen Zhe.
Lu Zhuonian wasn’t just a paper-thin character anymore.
He had become real.
He was Chen Zemian’s first true anchor in this fictional world.
Chen Zemian could’ve walked away from his golden finger—all seven million plot points—and just lived with Lu Zhuonian.
But here Lu Zhuonian was, still half-dead.
He deserved to be scolded.
The more Chen Zemian thought about it, the angrier he became.
Did Lu Zhuonian have no faith in himself? Or no faith in him?
Chen Zemian slammed the hand holding the tissue against the mirror in frustration.
They say strength creates miracles—and sure enough, under the force of his strike, a streak of silver gleamed through the smeared glass, cutting a sharp line through the grime.
It only made the rest of the mirror look worse.
Lu Zhuonian’s bloodshot eyes fixed on Chen Zemian’s reflection. His voice was hoarse from the acid burn in his throat. “It won’t wipe clean.”
Chen Zemian stared back blankly. “Don’t do this to me.”
Lu Zhuonian fell silent.
Chen Zemian’s gaze hardened. “I don’t e ven know what’s really bothering you.”
Lu Zhuonian spoke in a whisper, “The condition keeps coming back. It’ll wear you down.”
Chen Zemian’s lips tightened. “What’s so hard about this?”
Lu Zhuonian didn’t reply. He simply looked at him, his cold gaze as brittle and piercing as ice.
He said nothing, but it felt as though he had said everything.
Chen Zemian repeated, “It’s really not hard.”
Lu Zhuonian lowered his eyes, his voice quiet and self-deprecating. “Really?”
Chen Zemian reached out and took his wrist. “Yes. It’s not hard at all.”
Lu Zhuonian glanced down at Chen Zemian’s slender fingers. After pausing for two seconds, he couldn’t help but ask, “Is this the hand you used to wipe the mirror?”
“No!” Chen Zemian was truly exasperated. He grabbed Lu Zhuonian by the collar. “If you keep making trouble, believe it or not, I’ll put this hand in your mouth.”
“You’d better not.” Lu Zhuonian shuddered, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. After a long moment, he said, “You—stay away from me.”
Chen Zemian raised an eyebrow with an unrestrained smirk. “You sure?”
Lu Zhuonian’s eyelid twitched, and he quickly averted his gaze, unable to look at Chen Zemian’s overly attractive face. “I’m sure. Chen Zemian, I can’t resist any temptation right now.”
Chen Zemian couldn’t help chuckling. “If we’re talking about who can resist temptation less between the two of us, it’s definitely not you.”
Lu Zhuonian murmured, “You keep indulging me, pushing me past my limits. I’m afraid I won’t be able to control myself… that I’ll do something irreversible to you.”
“It’s not that I look down on you, Lu Zhuonian, but you’re the kind of person with such a strong moral compass, you’re practically a saint. How low can your bottom line even go?” Chen Zemian was speechless. “You were out of your mind just now and the most irreversible thing you did was—stain the mirror?”
Lu Zhuonian: “…”
Chen Zemian threw the used tissue at him. “Can you set aside your moral standards for now and just focus on getting better?”
Lu Zhuonian frowned, glaring at the paper ball on the ground like it was a bomb.
Chen Zemian didn’t budge. He was determined to shatter Lu Zhuonian’s carefully maintained dignity today.
Leaning on the sink with his arms crossed, he raised his chin and ordered, “Pick it up and throw it away.”
Lu Zhuonian refused. “No.”
“Pick it up.”
He didn’t move.
Chen Zemian gave him a small shove.
Lu Zhuonian frowned again, still staring at the crumpled tissue like it was radioactive.
Chen Zemian studied him for a few seconds, then made an exaggerated face urging him to hurry.
But Lu Zhuonian remained motionless.
Chen Zemian exhaled lightly. “There’s no shame in facing your desires. It’s just a tissue—not some damning evidence of your failure to control yourself.”
Lu Zhuonian’s eyelashes trembled slightly. He slowly lifted his gaze to meet Chen Zemian’s.
There was nothing Chen Zemian could do. Seeing Lu Zhuonian frozen in place, eyes full of fragile resistance, he finally sighed and bent down to pick up the tissue himself—
Only to see a hand beat him to it.
Startled, he looked up.
Lu Zhuonian was already holding the small ball of paper. “You’re right, Chen Zemian. There’s no shame in facing my desires.” With that, he turned and threw the tissue into the trash. Then, the very first thing he did was head to the sink to wash his hands.
He pumped the soap dispenser five times.
Chen Zemian: “…”
Fine. That’s still a major breakthrough.
Lu Zhuonian stared at the stream of water running through his hands and suddenly said, “Chen Zemian, you are my desire.”
Chen Zemian’s eyes snapped up.
Lu Zhuonian stepped forward, pushed Chen Zemian against the dirty mirror, and leaned in to kiss him.
Chen Zemian’s mind went completely blank.
Then he realized—Lu Zhuonian was kissing him.
Kissing him.
Damn it. How could a kiss feel this good?
Lu Zhuonian’s lips were incredibly soft, like those green popsicles from childhood—cool at first, then gently melting. Refreshing, with just a hint of sweetness.
And he tasted faintly of mouthwash.
Chen Zemian couldn’t even describe what he was feeling. The moment Lu Zhuonian held him and kissed him, it was like his soul had floated out of his body.
The world quieted, and time seemed to slow to a crawl.
Neither of them closed their eyes.
Their gazes met mid-kiss, and suddenly the pounding of their hearts echoed like thunder.
All the blood in Chen Zemian’s body rushed to his head. Soft lips, hot breath, breathless heat—
He felt drunk.
Faint, giddy, high.
Their lips and tongues tangled, bodies instinctively leaning closer, drawn by gravity or something even stronger.
Chen Zemian could smell that familiar faint fragrance from Lu Zhuonian—so familiar it made his scalp tingle.
It wasn’t until that moment that he fully realized what was happening.
He was kissing Lu Zhuonian.
Kissing a man.
This wasn’t right. What kind of normal brothers kiss each other like this?!
He used to feel uncomfortable just thinking about kissing a guy. But now, Lu Zhuonian was kissing him and—he wasn’t revolted. He didn’t even move.
Why wasn’t he pushing him away?
Hell—did Lu Zhuonian drug his lips or something?
What kind of male lead was this? All about control and manipulation!
Chen Zemian felt like he was paralyzed by some unknown force, unable to resist. He just stood there, letting Lu Zhuonian kiss him.
Was it that he couldn’t push him away… or that he didn’t want to?
Chen Zemian wrestled with it for a long time in his heart, and finally reached a conclusion:
I’m screwed.
No. More accurately—
I’m bent.
Because Lu Zhuonian’s tongue was in his mouth, and he wasn’t disgusted at all. On the contrary—he felt good. Relaxed. Even… happy. A kind of happiness that bubbled up from the depths of his bones.
He didn’t even know what he was happy about.
He just felt like a lunatic.
Chen Zemian didn’t know how to breathe properly, and by the time Lu Zhuonian finally let him go, his vision was spinning.
Lu Zhuonian pulled back slightly. With his thumb, he wiped the shimmering trace of saliva from the corner of Chen Zemian’s mouth. His voice was hoarse. “Chen Zemian, I can face my desire. Can you?”
It only took 0.1 seconds for Chen Zemian to be completely provoked.
At this point, what was there to be afraid of?
Chen Zemian licked his lips, looped his arms around Lu Zhuonian’s neck, and kissed him back without hesitation.
Lu Zhuonian’s arms immediately wrapped around him, holding him tightly.
The air in the bathroom turned heavy, filled with a rising heat.
Lu Zhuonian kissed along Chen Zemian’s cheek, his lips tracing down to the side of his neck, where a small red mole had always caught his eye.
He finally took it into his mouth.
Chen Zemian let out a low moan, unbidden.
Lu Zhuonian’s breath hitched, and the kiss on his neck instantly deepened, full of suppressed hunger.
*****
If you enjoy what we do, consider supporting us on 
! Every little bit means the world!
Author: LazyHermitGal
A Lazy Hermit Gal. A little support goes a long way! If you’d like to help me keep creating, you can do so at https://ko-fi.com/lazyhermitgal
