The scene was so intensely erotic that it seemed to numb the scalp, sending waves of heat and trembling through the body. For a fleeting moment, Lu Zhuonian was caught in a trance—his mind wandering into a hazy fog—before he suddenly snapped back to reality.
Without hesitation, he pulled Chen Zemian into his arms, his voice low and commanding. “Don’t lick it! It’s dirty.”
Chen Zemian leaned into Lu Zhuonian’s embrace, his eyes still veiled beneath the tied silk, yet the corners of his lips curled into a resolute, teasing arc. His expression conveyed a silent challenge—an unspoken declaration of defiance.
Lu Zhuonian, without a second thought, raised his hand to remove the tie, revealing a pair of flushed, moist eyes that shimmered with a mixture of desire and innocence.
Chen Zemian’s forehead was slightly damp with sweat, his brows revealing a unique blend of straightforwardness and openness. The fine sheen of sweat had soaked into his black hair into delicate strands that clung to his beautiful face—skin looking even more porcelain-like, thin and translucent, with the faint outline of fibrous tissue beneath. There was an almost fragile vulnerability to his appearance, yet it radiated an irresistible charm that captivated Lu Zhuonian’s heart.
His gaze, deep and dark, lingered on this breathtakingly beautiful face, filled with a torrent of indescribable emotion. Such an unruly, wild spirit—laid obediently in his arms—trusting, surrendering, giving himself entirely.
Accepting him, recognizing him, obeying him, seducing him, pleasing him—these acts, whether blindfolded or with clasped hands, carried Lu Zhuonian’s own craving for control and possession. Yet, due to Chen Zemian’s free-spirited and laissez-faire attitude, these crossing of boundaries transformed into a form of mutual, voluntary play—a shared dance of domination and surrender.
The desire that once had been long suppressed—rejected and condemned—had now become a tangible reality. Repeated practice had gradually stripped away its heavy, extreme connotations, restoring it to something raw and primal, free of praise or blame.
In this moment, Chen Zemian was, in essence, healing him—not merely physically, but spiritually. It was a salvation of the soul, a balm for wounds too deep for words.
And at this peak of satisfaction, Lu Zhuonian’s eyelids fluttered faintly. The skin beneath his fingertips was delicate, warm—radiating with unspoken emotions and unquenchable desires that he dared not name aloud.
Meanwhile, Chen Zemian’s face was like icy snow—pale and pristine—his lips a vivid red. The tip of his tongue, even redder, seemed to pulse with silent provocation.
He looked up at Lu Zhuonian with a half-smile lingering in his eyes, as if to say, I’m not stupid. I can really lick the glass. I’m just seducing you.
That small gesture, so subtle yet provocative, could easily send anyone into confusion.
Lu Zhuonian tenderly stroked Chen Zemian’s beautiful face, his thumb wiping away the sweat at his temples. His voice was deep, husky with emotion, “Red as a flower, charming as jade.”
These eight words—originally a poetic praise of Chen Zhe’s beauty in an ancient book—unexpectedly found new life in Lu Zhuonian’s mouth, describing his beloved.
Chen Zemian’s pupils dilated suddenly, as if a hidden destiny had reached some unknown, inescapable loop. Without thinking, he blurted out, “Fuck.”
Lu Zhuonian’s fingertips traced the delicate outline of Chen Zemian’s thin lips, twisting them fiercely.
“Your mouth,” he murmured.
Chen Zemian, with a flick of his tongue, hooked Lu Zhuonian’s finger and sucked gently, as if tasting honey. “What’s wrong with my mouth?” he asked playfully.
“I can talk, lick, and eat. It has many uses.”
Lu Zhuonian lifted Chen Zemian’s shoulders, lowering his head to meet his lips in a kiss. “Let’s go home.”
Because, of course, there was still a “dog” waiting at home—an urgent matter that demanded their attention.
On the way back across the ocean, Lu Zhuonian racked his mind, devising countless plans to deal with that issue. But none of them could be gentle. He possessed thunderous methods, the power and status to back them up. Yet, in front of Chen Zemian, all those means—his strength, his influence—proved utterly ineffective. Chen Zemian needed no explanation, no appeasing words, no smiles—his very presence, his very being, was enough for Lu Zhuonian to forgive him a thousand times over.
He believed Chen Zemian would never betray him. Still, an unshakable worry lingered—was the boy too playful?
Over more than ten hours on the plane, Lu Zhuonian allowed himself to indulge in endless assumptions and responses. But the one thing he couldn’t accept—could never accept—was that Chen Zemian might no longer be Chen Zemian.
In front of Tanshan Temple, beneath the statues of the Four Heavenly Kings, Lu Zhuonian, who had never believed in ghosts or gods, burned incense with devout sincerity. His only prayer was that the divine would bless Chen Zemian—keep him from disappearing as suddenly as he had appeared.
As long as Chen Zemian was still here, everything would be fine.
Looking at Chen Zemian lying peacefully by the car window, Lu Zhuonian finally decided to abandon those harsh, violent methods. Instead, he resolved to learn from his father—to solve problems with checks and balances, with patience and calm.
When he stepped out of the car, check in hand, he even contemplated that if necessary, he could find a master for him.
Fu Tingchao was a notorious playboy—a philanderer—unsuitable as a caretaker. Chen Zemian, who couldn’t even take care of himself, was clearly not qualified to keep a dog that cooked four dishes, took a soup, and pursued a doctoral degree.
Chen Zemian, unaware of Lu Zhuonian’s thoughts, sensed the depth in his eyes—more silent than usual—yet he felt it.
Together, they ascended the villa’s steps side by side.
Chen Zemian’s mind lingered on whether the dog food left behind was enough—whether the dog would starve.
Hearing the word “dog food,” Lu Zhuonian’s brow furrowed slightly—an expression of subtle displeasure.
No matter how playful and ridiculous Chen Zemian was, he would never feed dog food to a person. He realized there might be a species-based difference in their understanding of “dog”—a gap in cognition that neither of them fully grasped.
He was about to speak when, suddenly, a black-and-yellow furball launched itself at them like a missile.
The puppy—worthy of its distinguished lineage—had already displayed remarkable jumping ability during its puppyhood.
It seemed to recognize what Lu Zhuonian held in his hand. Without warning, it lunged forward with a flying leap, biting off the check with a surprisingly powerful bite, the sound of “woop” echoing as it snatched the paper away.
Lu Zhuonian’s hands were left empty, caught off guard. The omnipotent Master Lu was robbed—his first time experiencing such a petty theft.
In a flash, Chen Zemian caught a glimpse of the puppy taking something from Lu Zhuonian’s hand and darting away with it.
“Oh my God, how did it get out?!”
Chen Zemian was stunned. Without even removing his down jacket, he rushed inside to chase the dog, muttering a curse with a tone tinged with admiration. “Look at your ability—you can even open the door!”
Lu Zhuonian: “…”
It was just a puppy, adorable and utterly mischievous.
Standing at the door, Lu Zhuonian quickly recalled his actions after seeing Chen Zemian. Because he didn’t want to lose his temper or reveal his true thoughts, he inadvertently missed the chance to clear up the misunderstanding before they arrived home. In that moment, he concealed his true feelings, and Chen Zemian never realized that he mistook the dog for a human—an innocent mistake, yet one with profound consequences.
Throughout it all, only Ye Chen knew the truth. Although it was a bit abstract to wear a hat to hide his thoughts from his good brother, Ye Chen would never betray him.
Lu Zhuonian skimmed through their chat logs, noticing that Ye Chen had long ago hinted at the possibility of a misunderstanding—yet he had ignored it, too preoccupied with other concerns.
In the message exchanges, Ye Chen’s timing was impeccable—sending reminders just as Lu Zhuonian was heading home, as if to watch the spectacle unfold.
[Ye Chen]: Have you seen the dog?
Lu Zhuonian replied flatly, three words,
“There is no dog for you.”
Even though the puppy was small, it displayed extraordinary destructive power at such a young age. When Chen Zemian retrieved it from the sofa, only half a check remained in its mouth.
Chen Zemian told Lu Zhuonian that the dog had torn the check, asking him to write a new one.
Lu Zhuonian didn’t mention that the previous check was useless now; he simply reminded Chen Zemian not to forget to feed the dog.
Fortunately, Chen Zemian was gentle enough with the food—enough was given, and despite the long absence, some dog food still remained in the bowl.
He quickly refilled the bowl and changed the water.
Fu Tingchao kept the dog for three days before growing annoyed. Chen Zemian, with even less patience, called him upon returning home, demanding he take the dog away immediately.
Fu Tingchao, an irresponsible father, didn’t arrive until noon the next day, claiming he was busy with year-end affairs.
Indeed, Christmas and New Year’s were approaching—endless meetings, summaries, ceremonies, and evaluations.
Chen Zemian’s Whispering Studio had participated in three projects, winning awards for two mobile games. The trophies were placed proudly in the office, and with no formal celebrations or team-building, the profits were directly converted into generous year-end bonuses.
Employees stared at the numbers on their bank accounts, vowing to serve Chen Zemian in their next lives—ready to work tirelessly, like cattle and horses, to repay his kindness.
Chen Zemian sincerely wished:
“If there is an afterlife, please be reborn into a good one. Don’t be a cattle or horse.”
The staff: “…”
Holding the frappuccino offered by Mr. Zheng, Chen Zemian said with a smile,
“Our Lu Shao is very good at investing.”
Zheng Huaiyu, ever the skeptic, shot him a look and took advantage of the boss’s good mood, whispering a suggestion,
“Maybe in future meetings, everyone should wear masks with their names and positions printed on them. That way, we won’t have to see those ugly faces.”
Chen Zemian shook his head. “That’s disrespectful.”
Zheng Huaiyu, mischievous as ever, whispered, “Isn’t disrespecting people part of the company culture? I heard someone from the art team was scolding you today, saying your office looked like an explosion site, and even complained about the mess in your background.”
Chen Zemian was surprised. “Really?”
Zheng Huaiyu nodded, “You don’t come to the office often, so they probably have a lot of opinions about you.”
Immediately, Chen Zemian decided, “Let’s hold another general meeting this afternoon.”
Zheng Huaiyu, ever the efficient note-taker, pulled out his notebook. “What’s the agenda?”
Chen Zemian replied casually,
“Criticism and self-criticism. If the employees have opinions about me, I need to listen.”
Zheng Huaiyu asked, “And after listening?”
Chen Zemian, with a confident smile, said, “Then I’ll record it—who dares to oppose me.”
Zheng Huaiyu pushed him out of the meeting room. “Go home quickly. Don’t delay our work this afternoon.”
Before leaving, Chen Zemian went to the finance department, instructing the accountant to distribute all dividends today—especially ensuring that Xiao Kesong’s share was paid monthly.
On the eve of New Year’s, Xiao Kesong returned to Beijing. The Xiao family was in chaos. The old man, Xiao Ruhai, had been summoned twice by the police but refused to confess. They couldn’t find a breakthrough, and the investigation was ongoing.
The family didn’t want Xiao Kesong to return now, keeping it from him—yet he had his own circle in Beijing. Even if Ye Chen and others kept silent, many people were secretly listening, ready to pass on what they knew.
Finally, Xiao Kesong learned that something was wrong at home.
That day, Beijing was blanketed in its first heavy snow of winter.
In the police interrogation room sat Fu Guanlan, opposite him Xiao Ruhai, dressed neatly and calmly.
The Xiao family had faced many storms over the years. Xiao Ruhai, the helmsman of this giant ship, had weathered countless tempests—always turning danger into safety with wit and skill.
But this time, he felt an unprecedented pressure.
The shift in the Lu family’s attitude was like a flashing red light—heralding another power reorganization in Beijing.
Although the police lacked concrete evidence, Xiao Ruhai knew that traces remained—some truths could not be ignored.
Xiao Qiwu hated him, and he seized the opportunity to bite him like a mad dog. Yet, with Huanyu Media standing in the way, it was difficult for authorities to uncover his connections.
He had no involvement in the company’s core operations, no dealings with the Xiaojin Pills, and no attendance at those decadent parties.
He was old.
More than twenty years ago, when Yaotai Langyuan was at its peak, Xiao Ruhai had little interest in the scandals of men and women.
Back then, in his early fifties, he was focused on his youngest son, Xiao Qiwu, who had just started elementary school. While many of his peers had grandchildren, Xiao Ruhai remained childless—an envy of others.
The main branch of the Xiao family was declining, with few children. Yet, in that era of early marriage and early childbearing, Xiao Ruhai married and had a son, Xiao Kesong, nearly thirty years old before the birth of his first grandson.
Xiao Kesong was the sole male in the main line of the Xiao clan, surrounded by collateral relatives who held little real power.
Recalling the rise and fall of his family, Xiao Ruhai’s emotions were complex—mixed with pride, regret, and a sense of inevitable decline.
The mighty Yaotai Langyuan collapsed overnight, and Xiao Ruhai had not expected to escape unscathed.
But he was not in a hurry. He still believed he had time—yet, for the police, time was running out.
Xiao Ruhai, now 74, was born on February 1. The death penalty was generally not applied to those over 75, unless they committed particularly heinous crimes.
He had committed many sins—none of them intentional homicide. His charges fell short of “causing death by particularly cruel means.”
Escape wasn’t on his mind. He just didn’t want to die.
Without a confession, the evidence against him would have to be overwhelmingly conclusive—an arduous process, especially with New Year’s approaching, and the clock ticking loudly.
They were racing against time—not only to extract a confession but also to uncover the dark secrets behind the destruction of Yaotai Langyuan.
Why had Chen Qingyu, the undercover agent, vanished after returning to the scene? Why had he been missing for twenty years? No one knew whether he was alive or dead, or why he returned if he had indeed been there.
Who did he meet? What did he do? How did he disappear?
The clues were thick, clouding over Xiao Ruhai—yet he remained silent.
Just when the authorities felt at a loss, Xiao Kesong returned to China.
Though he couldn’t directly unravel the mystery, he represented a crucial breakthrough.
Everyone knew that after Xiao Qiwu broke ties with the family, Xiao Ruhai’s thoughts had fixated on his eldest grandson.
He was Xiao Ruhai’s weak spot.
“You should hide your weakness, Mr. Xiao,” Fu Guanlan casually remarked, blowing away the foam in his paper cup. “Your young master has returned to China. After you leave today, I’ll invite him to the bureau for tea tomorrow.”
Xiao Ruhai’s face darkened slightly.
“Officer Fu, what right do you have to summon him? Kesong is just a child.”
Fu Guanlan put down his cup, calm and measured. “He’s twenty. An adult. We don’t need his legal guardian’s approval.”
Xiao Ruhai’s expression darkened further, a sinister glint flashing in his eyes. “You have no right.”
Fu Guanlan smiled gently, then signaled to his colleagues outside. “Bring another cup of coffee.”
The tense atmosphere shifted—the police’s line of questioning now turning inward, their focus on Xiao Ruhai’s weakness.
Finally, Xiao Ruhai broke the silence. “Officer Fu, what do you mean?”
“Nothing,” Fu Guanlan said casually, flipping the newspaper. “I just want to remind you—if you have a weakness, you must hide it carefully. Never reveal it.”
Xiao Ruhai’s heart clenched. “Nonsense!” he slammed the table.
“I remind you—when the Yaotai Langyuan case happened, Xiao Kesong wasn’t even born yet.”
Fu Guanlan’s eyes flashed with sharpness. “But when Master Lu was kidnapped, he was already alive.”
Xiao Ruhai’s face drained of color—becoming ashen.
The game was over.
“Mr. Xiao,” Fu Guanlan’s tone softened, but carried weight, “I also want to remind you—Master Xiao and Master Lu are very good friends.”
He smiled gently. “If you deny any connection to Xiaojin Pills or Yuanqi Drink, I’ll have to ask Master Xiao himself.”
Xiao Ruhai seemed to age a decade in an instant, voice hoarse with resignation. “What do you want to ask?”
Fu Guanlan folded his newspaper. “On the day Lu Zhuonian was kidnapped, did anyone in his family ask where he was going? Did they inquire about his plans with his friends?”
The question was sharp—an attempt to uncover the truth buried deep beneath layers of silence.
If Xiao Kesong knew he had leaked his friend’s whereabouts, causing Lu Zhuonian’s kidnapping, he would inevitably fall apart.
Fu Guanlan knew it. Xiao Ruhai knew it. Even Lu Zhuonian suspected it.
But only Xiao Ruhai would protect him—Lu Zhuonian, too.
Yet Fu Guanlan would not.
In that moment, the truth was laid bare, Xiao Kesong’s world would shatter.
Even with a meticulously crafted plan—inviting Chen Zemian, Lu Zhuonian, and Ye Chen to the police station—the situation spiraled beyond control.
The explosion of emotions, the chaos—nothing could contain it.
And in the whirlwind, only one thing remained certain: the secret that had been buried for seven years—the truth about Lu Zhuonian’s kidnapping and sex addiction—would ultimately surface.
Xiao Kesong’s careless words had set off a chain of events that no one could have foreseen.
Lu Zhuonian, seemingly knowing all along, simply patted Xiao Kesong’s shoulder. “Don’t dwell on it.”
Because, after all, in the darkness of fate, some destinies are intertwined—inevitable and unchangeable.
Seven years ago, Xiao Kesong had leaked his own whereabouts, inadvertently causing Lu Zhuonian’s kidnapping. And now, seven years later, he personally brought Chen Zemian into his world.
“You’re the one who tied the bell,” Lu Zhuonian whispered softly, meeting Xiao Kesong’s gaze. “And you’re the one who untied it.”
His eyes, heavy with unspoken emotion, lingered on Chen Zemian. “I am destined to have such a fate.”
*****
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Author: LazyHermitGal
A Lazy Hermit Gal wondering in the void and falling into the translation abyss.
