Chen Zemian didn’t know why he could make such a fatal sound.
The moment Lu Zhuonian’s lips touched his skin, his whole body trembled uncontrollably, and he let out a low, instinctive cry.
Everything that followed happened naturally.
Lu Zhuonian carried him to the sink, gently kissing his lips, his cheeks, the side of his neck.
The temperature in the room kept rising.
Chen Zemian knew exactly what was about to happen. He tilted his head back, still inhaling Lu Zhuonian’s scent—it lingered in the air between them, stubborn and intoxicating.
Lu Zhuonian lowered his head again and kissed him.
Chen Zemian twitched reflexively, a soft nasal hum escaping from his throat.
Lu Zhuonian pressed him down. “Don’t move.”
Chen Zemian nodded aimlessly, but his neck still tilted back, as if he couldn’t take it. He shrank back slightly, his spine rubbing up against the mirror as he dodged.
Lu Zhuonian’s gaze darkened. His Adam’s apple bobbed involuntarily.
He leaned his head against the cold glass. The air in the bathroom was thick with heat and moisture, fogging up the mirror in slow, creeping swirls.
Chen Zemian panted faintly, looking at Lu Zhuonian, dazed.
His gaze flicked to Lu Zhuonian’s throat—where that Adam’s apple had moved just now—and although there was no physical contact, it felt as if he’d been whipped. His whole body shuddered. He instinctively lowered his lashes, panicked.
Lu Zhuonian carried him out of the bathroom, laid him on the soft quilt, and leaned over with his arms propped up.
Chen Zemian said nothing. He simply tilted his chin up and kissed Lu Zhuonian’s jaw.
Lu Zhuonian raised a brow, amused. “Are we still good brothers now?”
Chen Zemian had made it more than obvious. Yet Lu Zhuonian still asked.
Was there any point in asking?
Chen Zemian glared at him. “Stop asking so many questions.”
Lu Zhuonian laughed. “Chen Zemian, your sharpest weapon is that mouth of yours.”
Chen Zemian narrowed his eyes. “And what about you?”
Lu Zhuonian gently brushed the damp hair off Chen Zemian’s forehead. “Once the arrow is loosed, there’s no taking it back. Chen Zemian, think this through.”
Chen Zemian grabbed him by the collar and yanked him close. “Lu Zhuonian, haven’t you heard the saying?”
Lu Zhuonian’s eyes reflected the faint glow in Chen Zemian’s. “What saying?”
Chen Zemian leaned in, his breath warm against Lu Zhuonian’s ear. “The more a man talks, the less he gets done.”
Lu Zhuonian’s eyes darkened immediately.
Everyone knew—Lu Zhuonian was never the talkative type.
So not only did he waste no time, he had a habit of making good use of it.
Fortunately, Chen Zemian had been in excellent health lately—he’d even been drinking medicinal tonic soup for days.
Only then did he finally realize: Lu Zhuonian hadn’t been lying.
In the back-and-forth that followed, Chen Zemian lost all concept of time. He didn’t know when it would end—or if it ever would.
His mind drifted in and out. His eyes were dazed and rimmed red, a faint fog settling over his usually sharp gaze. He looked at Lu Zhuonian without focus, eyelids heavy with sleep.
Seeing he was about to doze off, Lu Zhuonian reached for the air conditioner remote on the bedside table, intending to raise the temperature.
But the moment he leaned over—before even touching him—Chen Zemian shuddered in response, purely on reflex.
Lu Zhuonian let out a soft laugh, the sound reverberating pleasantly in his chest.
Hearing that laugh, Chen Zemian suddenly understood what Zheng Huaiyu meant by “post-bliss reaction.”
It couldn’t be more obvious.
He drifted off thinking vaguely about that and sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.
He slept for an entire day and night.
Half-conscious, he felt someone touching his hand. Then, a cold sensation on the back of it.
Chen Zemian’s eyes flew open—and saw a doctor in a white coat inserting a needle into his arm.
His mind wasn’t fully awake yet, but his body reacted faster than reason. He raised his fist and punched.
Lu Zhuonian caught him. “It’s the doctor. He’s just giving you some nutrient fluids and anti-inflammatories.”
Chen Zemian groaned drowsily. “Huh?”
“It’s fine,” Lu Zhuonian said softly. “Go back to sleep. I’m right here.”
And just like that, Chen Zemian fell back asleep.
A few times, Lu Zhuonian helped him sit up to drink water. But every time, Chen Zemian, still half-asleep, would shake his head and mumble: “No… no more…”
Lu Zhuonian brought a straw to his lips and coaxed, “It’s not water. It’s Mocha Star Ice.”
Chen Zemian sucked lightly on the straw. Realizing it really was Star Ice, he jolted awake and began sipping eagerly.
The cold sweetness cleared his head.
“Feeling dizzy?” Lu Zhuonian touched his cheek, then pressed a hand gently to his forehead. His voice was low and warm. “How do you feel now?”
Chen Zemian kept the straw in his mouth and burped. “Refreshed.”
“…”
Lu Zhuonian’s gentle tone shifted to exasperated. “I meant—any discomfort?”
“Not at all.” Chen Zemian had slept well and recovered. Now, his voice was full of energy. “Lu Zhuonian, you really lived up to your reputation.”
Lu Zhuonian: “…”
He sincerely hoped no one else would ever hear that sentence. He began to suspect Chen Zemian still wasn’t fully awake and picked up the forehead thermometer to check again.
Chen Zemian dodged. “Why bother? I don’t have a fever.”
“It’s easy to get one with inflammation. Just to be safe, we’ll check a few times.”
Chen Zemian waved him off. “No need.”
To prove his point, he flipped out of bed energetically.
But the moment his feet hit the floor, his thighs cramped. His knees buckled, and he collapsed with a heavy thud.
The Star Ice in his hand flew into the air, the lid separating from the cup mid-arc.
The remaining half cup of smoothie spilled everywhere—splatting onto Lu Zhuonian’s expensive shirt before dripping steadily onto the Italian handmade cashmere carpet.
Chen Zemian sucked in a breath.
How could one man create such chaos?!
There may not be many people in the world who would dare hit Lu Zhuonian with something, but there was only one person bold enough to drench him in Star Ice—and that was Chen Zemian.
Panicking, he lunged for the bedside table, grabbed two tissues, and began furiously dabbing at Lu Zhuonian’s front.
Lu Zhuonian brushed the icy slush from his eyelashes, bent down to help Chen Zemian up. “Get up first.”
Chen Zemian looked up at him—and saw no trace of anger. If anything, Lu Zhuonian looked… strangely used to this.
He helped Chen Zemian back onto the bed, settled him, then went off to shower and change.
Chen Zemian returned to his own room. The hot water streamed down, soothing at first—until it stung.
He looked down.
His body was covered in overlapping purple-red marks—kiss prints, fingerprints.
Maybe it was the heat rekindling sensation, or maybe the endorphins had all worn off. The soreness started to bloom again—deep in the muscles, wrapped around the bones, aching and raw.
Even peeing stung.
He was definitely inflamed.
The shower didn’t help. It only made him more tired.
His briefly recharged energy was depleted again.
He tossed his towel aside and crawled straight into bed.
He hadn’t even planned to sleep. Just to rest for a while.
But before he knew it, he was out cold.
After Lu Zhuonian changed his clothes and came out, he saw Chen Zemian sleeping with wet hair. He really didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t wake him up just to scold him, so he could only silently towel his hair dry.
Half-asleep, Chen Zemian felt someone tugging at his hair and impatiently buried his head deeper under the quilt.
Lu Zhuonian pulled him back out. “If you sleep like this, you’ll catch a cold.”
Chen Zemian was roused by the sound of the hairdryer. His head hung listlessly as he muttered, “So what if I catch a cold? I already feel awful. What’s one more layer of discomfort?”
Lu Zhuonian couldn’t help but laugh. “Didn’t you say you felt comfortable just now?”
Chen Zemian, never one for consistency, mumbled, “That was a last burst of strength.”
Lu Zhuonian frowned. “Don’t talk nonsense.”
Chen Zemian rested his head on Lu Zhuonian’s leg, gazing up at his sharply defined jaw, and suddenly called out, “Lu Zhuonian.”
Lu Zhuonian switched off the hairdryer and looked down. “What is it?”
Chen Zemian murmured, “I hurt a little.”
“Where does it hurt?”
“Skin pain. Flesh pain,” Chen Zemian summarized with a wrinkled nose.
Lu Zhuonian: “…”
The pain didn’t stop them from doing it again.
The cause was, perhaps, the lingering effects of that health-promoting soup—Chen Zemian began to feel feverish not long after drinking it.
He didn’t know what was wrong with him, only that something was off.
At night, he was like a cat in heat—nothing else mattered; all he wanted was to meow.
Before bed, he took another anti-inflammatory pill.
Lu Zhuonian glanced at the medicine box beside the bed and couldn’t help but curl his lips.
Chen Zemian thought he was being laughed at. He glared. “What’s so funny?”
Lu Zhuonian asked, “Doesn’t this medicine box look familiar?”
Chen Zemian turned it over and over in his hands, and then, suddenly, a lightbulb went off. He remembered—it was the very same box of anti-inflammatory pills he’d bought for Lu Zhuonian back when he first found out about his condition.
That time, Lu Zhuonian had disappeared for several days, feverish and suffering from aseptic inflammation. Chen Zemian had rushed to buy medicine for him.
But Lu Zhuonian hadn’t taken it.
Because Chen Zemian had nursed him back to health.
Now, fate had come full circle—those same pills, unopened all this time, were being used on Chen Zemian himself. And the reason? Still rooted in Lu Zhuonian’s condition.
The chain of cause and effect had finally formed a closed loop.
It felt surreal.
As if he had stepped into a quiet, invisible reincarnation.
Whoever he reached out to save, he would one day suffer for.
From the moment Chen Zemian chose to intervene, to help Lu Zhuonian escape that affliction, the karmic tide had begun to roll his way, unstoppable.
He swallowed the little pill and turned to Lu Zhuonian. “It’s kind of magical, isn’t it?”
Lu Zhuonian cupped his face. “You’re suffering in my place.”
Chen Zemian shook his head. “I wouldn’t call it suffering. No matter how bad I feel now, it’s still not as painful as what you went through.”
Lu Zhuonian’s gaze filled with heartache. “But you didn’t have to feel any pain at all.”
Chen Zemian had done the math. “Sure, I might be at a bit of a loss right now, but overall, we both came out ahead. So this discomfort doesn’t count as an illness.”
“Then what does it count as?”
Chen Zemian smiled proudly. “Our medal. Proof that we’ve fought back against fate.”
Something flickered in Lu Zhuonian’s eyes, and he couldn’t help but lower his head to kiss him.
Their breath mingled. Chen Zemian’s earlobes flushed pink.
He tilted his head and asked, “So… how do you feel now?”
Lu Zhuonian’s Adam’s apple bobbed silently.
Chen Zemian didn’t wait for an answer and peeked again. “No way. After all that effort, are you telling me the treatment didn’t work at all?”
Lu Zhuonian asked in return, “If it didn’t… would you still stay with me?”
Chen Zemian reassured him quickly. “Hey, it’s way too early to make conclusions. One try isn’t enough. You need repeated exposure to know if the treatment’s effective.”
Lu Zhuonian narrowed his eyes. “How many times do you think we’ll need?”
Chen Zemian hesitated. “Well… depends on the case. We’ll evaluate as we go.”
“So when’s the next evaluation?”
“Obviously, when your condition flares up again. Not now.”
Lu Zhuonian didn’t reply, only stared at Chen Zemian with his deep, unreadable eyes.
Everything in that look was self-explanatory.
Chen Zemian’s eyes widened. “No way. I’ll die if we keep going like this!”
Lu Zhuonian gave him a sidelong glance. “You won’t.”
Chen Zemian: “…”
What do you mean I won’t? Is that your medical conclusion?
Lu Zhuonian, as calm as ever, said, “You’re quite capable. Have a little faith in yourself.”
Chen Zemian’s face flushed red, spreading from his neck to his ears. He gritted his teeth. “Lu Zhuonian! Stop talking nonsense.”
Lu Zhuonian rubbed Chen Zemian’s lips heavily with his thumb, speaking meaningfully. “Isn’t it true?”
Chen Zemian’s breath quickened. His throat was dry. “You’re also very capable.”
Lu Zhuonian’s brow twitched slightly, and he lowered his head to kiss him.
Chen Zemian always forgot to breathe when they kissed. He got dizzy every time, the tip of his tongue going numb from how deeply Lu Zhuonian sucked.
He grew distracted—wondering if this was what people meant by contagious. Not biologically contagious, but a kind of psychological mirroring. A hormone-driven resonance.
It was like being around someone with a huge appetite—you naturally eat more. Or hanging out with a heavy drinker—you gradually build your own tolerance.
And so, by spending all his time with Lu Zhuonian, who had particularly strong needs in this area, Chen Zemian’s own desires… adjusted accordingly.
He explained this theory. Lu Zhuonian made no comment.
Chen Zemian wrapped up his logic confidently. “It’s subtle influence. You’re close to vermilion, you turn red. Close to ink, you turn black.”
Lu Zhuonian replied coolly, “You’re just indulgent.”
And he was. Chen Zemian didn’t deny it. Looking at Lu Zhuonian’s composed, self-controlled face, he leaned in and kissed him, pleased to see his breathing suddenly shift.
Lu Zhuonian responded by kissing his cheek, his forehead.
Chen Zemian gazed at that handsome and restrained face and said suddenly, “Lu Zhuonian, I really like you.”
Lu Zhuonian’s breath caught.
Chen Zemian hadn’t expected his casual remark to stir Lu Zhuonian so deeply.
Had he known this would have such an effect, he would’ve said it over and over during those three hellish days—until Lu Zhuonian got sick of hearing it.
Lu Zhuonian cupped his face. “What did you say?”
Chen Zemian’s ears burned.
He realized he’d overestimated himself. When Lu Zhuonian looked at him like that, the word like suddenly felt so heavy—so heavy it lodged in his throat.
He’d said it too lightly just now.
For someone as serious as Lu Zhuonian, he should have confessed in a more formal setting. Blurting it out in bed… felt too casual. As if he weren’t taking it seriously.
Though the shift from friendship to love was always tricky, the moment they crossed that line, he knew he had to take responsibility.
And—as usual—Chen Zemian’s mind began to wander at the critical moment.
Lu Zhuonian grew impatient and called his name, voice taut with urgency. “Chen Zemian.”
Snapped back to the moment, Chen Zemian blinked. “Ah?”
Lu Zhuonian didn’t press—afraid of startling the metaphorical snail who’d just peeked out. He softened his voice. “What did you say just now?”
Chen Zemian patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll take responsibility for you.”
Lu Zhuonian: “…”
*****
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Author: LazyHermitGal
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