No one knows whether the Buddha will forgive Chen Zemian.
After discovering that Lu Zhuonian’s sex addiction had been triggered by his random licking and kissing, Chen Zemian couldn’t forgive himself for a long time.
It had been a while since Lu Zhuonian last had an episode.
Usually, after an attack, he would fall into a state of self-loathing. Except for the few times he was out of sorts, Chen Zemian would always comfort him.
But this time, he didn’t.
Because the one blaming him—was himself.
Still, he didn’t dwell on it for long.
Chen Zemian lay dazed on the carpet, staring at the intricate patterns on the study’s ceiling, lost in thought for a couple of seconds.
This episode hadn’t been particularly serious. The impulse came and went quickly, and the emotional aftermath was almost negligible.
He felt Lu Zhuonian was getting better.
Perhaps the condition would flare up again, but overall, it felt like he had navigated a bend in the spiral.
Afterward, Lu Zhuonian ignored the mess on the floor, leaned over, picked Chen Zemian up horizontally, and carried him into the bathroom.
Grabbing Lu Zhuonian’s shoulder, Chen Zemian voiced the result of his self-reflection in a gloomy tone—
“Am I too coquettish?”
Lu Zhuonian paused. His arms trembled slightly.
He seemed to suspect he was hallucinating because of the attack. He tilted his head slightly, waited for the ringing in his ears to pass, and then asked, “What did you say?”
Though usually thick-skinned, Chen Zemian was too embarrassed to repeat it. He blurred the key words and rephrased, “I think I was… too much. You were fine today. If I hadn’t provoked you, you wouldn’t have had an episode.”
“Don’t think that way,” Lu Zhuonian said as he carried him into the bathroom and bent down to fill the bathtub. “I had an episode because I’m sick. Whether you provoked me or not, it would’ve happened. It just happened to be this time.”
Chen Zemian tilted his head, leaning against the cabinet. “If there was no trigger… it might’ve been better.”
Lu Zhuonian turned back to look at him. “What trigger do you mean?”
Chen Zemian licked his lips. “Kissing and stuff.”
Lu Zhuonian laughed. “That has nothing to do with it.”
“How can it have nothing to do with it?” Chen Zemian jumped off the counter. He wanted to reason it out with Lu Zhuonian, but the moment his feet touched the ground and he stood up, a warm, damp sensation surged before he could say another word.
Chen Zemian didn’t care much, but Lu Zhuonian stared at his thigh for several seconds, his Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes darkening.
The other changes were self-explanatory.
Chen Zemian said, “See? How can it be nothing?”
Lu Zhuonian averted his gaze and muttered expressionlessly, “I’m lustful.”
Chen Zemian’s face flushed red. He nearly combusted on the spot.
What an iconic moment—
Lu Zhuonian, with his noble, cold, and ascetic face, saying seriously: I’m lustful.
It was hard to describe the contrast. The words were ordinary, spoken in a calm tone, yet Chen Zemian felt overwhelmed by the intensity of the scene.
The one admitting to being “lustful” remained composed, while the one supposedly being “good” wanted to crawl into a hole from embarrassment.
Before he could continue, Lu Zhuonian added, “I have a sex addiction. When it flares up, I lose my bottom line. Even if you’re just standing there breathing, I’ll think you’re seducing me. It’s my problem. I can’t blame you.”
Chen Zemian couldn’t take it anymore. Afraid that Lu Zhuonian would say something even more shocking, he covered his mouth in panic. “Okay, I won’t blame myself. Stop talking.”
Lu Zhuonian gently grabbed his wrist and kissed his palm. “Are you shy?”
Chen Zemian nodded. “Yeah.”
“Strange,” Lu Zhuonian whispered in his ear, pulling him into an embrace. “Why aren’t you shy when you say you’re slutty and need to be fucked?”
Chen Zemian’s scalp went numb.
He had said those things himself, and didn’t feel anything at the time—but when Lu Zhuonian repeated them, a wave of shame washed over him.
Because he had taught Lu Zhuonian.
He had corrupted him.
Lu Zhuonian was truly reserved and proper. He couldn’t even talk dirty. His idea of humiliation was calling someone a “puppy.”
Even with his addiction, he was clean.
Both in body and mind—clear as a mountain spring, serene and deep.
It was Chen Zemian who disturbed that clarity.
People are flawed, and curiosity often wins out.
Seeing the cold and proud Lu Zhuonian fall because of him—it was like pulling the moon from the sky, bringing it into the mortal world, stained by dust.
The feeling was strange, shameful, yet tinged with satisfaction.
The tension of that contradiction struck Chen Zemian like lightning, sizzling down from his scalp, igniting a spark that burrowed deep into his bones.
His reaction was too obvious. Lu Zhuonian noticed immediately.
He seemed to have discovered something amusing. “Do you get more turned on when I talk dirty?”
Chen Zemian instinctively denied it. “No.”
Lu Zhuonian pinched his neck. “Then what do you want to hear me say?”
Chen Zemian pressed a hand to Lu Zhuonian’s chest and pushed lightly. “Nothing. Don’t say anything more.”
Lu Zhuonian courteously withdrew his hand. “Okay, let’s shower first. The water’s ready.”
Chen Zemian’s unfocused eyes snapped into clarity. He stared at Lu Zhuonian for three full seconds in disbelief.
Lu Zhuonian removed the bath towel. “Hmm?”
Chen Zemian grabbed his hand and put it back around his neck. “No! I’m not done playing yet!”
Lu Zhuonian’s hands instinctively tightened. “Chen Zemian, you’re really something. Sometimes I feel like I’m bullying you, yet you want more.”
“You’re so sexy when you talk dirty. How is that bullying?” Chen Zemian kissed his chin. “Please, bully me.”
Lu Zhuonian’s breathing shifted. In one move, he pushed Chen Zemian against the sink. “Look in the mirror and say that again.”
Chen Zemian panted, “Which… which sentence?”
Lu Zhuonian laughed softly. “You know exactly which one.”
Chen Zemian stared into the mirror. His eyes were hazy, his body trembling, skin flushed from his neck to chest, blushing pink. He stammered,
“Please… bully me.”
He was bullied for a long time.
The constant-temperature bathwater never cooled, so when Chen Zemian was finally placed into the tub, he couldn’t tell how much time had passed.
There were no bath salts or oils—only water. But his knees, elbows, and forearms were raw from kneeling too long. Even the water stung.
He hissed softly, touching his elbow. “It’s scraped. Remind me not to wear short sleeves tomorrow.”
June’s weather is fickle.
When they went to bed, the sky was clear and the moon bright.
When he woke, it was raining.
Chen Zemian stayed under the blanket, thinking it was still night. His hand reached out, groping for Lu Zhuonian.
After a few tries and no luck, he grumbled, “Lu Zhuonian, Lu Zhuonian…”
Lu Zhuonian walked out of the cloakroom, already in a suit, buttoning his cuffs.
He hadn’t worn a tie, and his shirt collar was loose, revealing his Adam’s apple and collarbone. His proportions were incredible.
Chen Zemian, a bit more awake, called out hoarsely, “Wearing that to the temple? Who are you trying to seduce?”
Lu Zhuonian walked over. His pressed trousers emphasized his long legs.
The sound of the fabric brushing made Chen Zemian’s heart skip, images flashing through his mind.
“It’s raining. The mountain roads are slippery. Tanshan is closed,” Lu Zhuonian said, looking down at him. “I’m attending my dad’s investment meeting first. I’ll take you later at noon.”
Chen Zemian sat up, pajamas slipping off his shoulder. “You’re going even though the mountain’s closed? Lu Shao, impressive.”
Lu Zhuonian gently adjusted his collar. “Mr. Lu is the impressive one. I’m just running errands—picking up his car. Then we’ll go anywhere you like.”
Chen Zemian laughed. “Stealing your dad’s car to take your boyfriend on a date—classic college student move. Lu Shao finally looks his age.”
It wasn’t quite stealing, but it certainly couldn’t be explained easily to Lu Zizhen.
So, yes—let’s call it stealing.
Lu Zhuonian drove the car out of the Lu estate. With green lights all the way, the usual 40-minute drive took just 15.
It was a high-end custom Red Flag National Gift, black and white.
He usually had a driver. This was his first time driving it himself.
To pick someone up? To go to Tanshan?
If someone told him a year ago: You’ll steal your dad’s car to take a man to worship at Tanshan Temple, he’d think they were insane.
Yet now, it felt… joyful.
He parked at the villa gate and didn’t call. Instead, he honked—twice. Rare and mischievous.
Chen Zemian quickly opened the door and gasped at the 5.98-meter-long boat-shaped body.
He opened the passenger door and got in. Gazing at the Hetian jade trims and embroidered ceiling, he shut the door and said, “No power doors? In this luxury?”
Lu Zhuonian chuckled. “You really love power doors. Sadly, many high-end cars don’t have them.”
Chen Zemian traced the lacquer on the door. “I get it—power doors are for those without drivers. But no one opened the door for me.”
Without a word, Lu Zhuonian unbuckled, got out, walked around the car, and opened the door again.
Chen Zemian: “…”
Lu Zhuonian bowed slightly. “Mr. Chen, please re-enter. The back seat is even more luxurious.”
“If I sit in the back, you’re officially my chauffeur,” Chen Zemian replied.
“Isn’t this my first day on the job?” Lu Zhuonian teased.
Now that he thought about it, Lu Zhuonian always drove when they went out.
“I’m not a proper lackey,” Chen Zemian muttered. “Making the prince of Beijing drive me around—it’s a crime.”
Lu Zhuonian took his hand. “It’s fine. The back seat’s soft and roomy.”
Somehow bewitched, Chen Zemian got out and moved to the back.
Lu Zhuonian fastened his seatbelt, kissed him, then went around to the driver’s seat.
That feeling—warm, secure—wasn’t just indulgence.
It was cherishing.
On the way to Tanshan Temple, Chen Zemian suddenly realized:
Maybe Lu Zhuonian didn’t just like him.
Maybe he loved him.
*****
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Author: LazyHermitGal
A Lazy Hermit Gal wondering in the void and falling into the translation abyss.
