The Beijing Circle Young Master’s Public Lackey Ch58

What the hell? Addiction? What kind of addiction?!

Chen Zemian had just taken a sip of water when the words hit him. He choked hard, nearly spraying Lu Zhuonian in the face. His throat locked, and he dissolved into a violent fit of coughing.

By the time he managed to stop hacking, Lu Zhuonian had already closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Chen Zemian was still reeling from the revelation, but it didn’t feel right to wake Lu Zhuonian just to ask, “Did you really just say you have a sex addiction?” So instead, he turned to his own research.

His findings were… not particularly comforting.

To summarize:

The patient experiences persistent, uncontrollable sexual impulses; a dependency on sexual activity that, when unmet, can lead to restlessness, irritability, depression, or even emotional outbursts.

More specifically:

1. Frequently seeks sexual activity;
2. Hides such behavior to mask the condition;
3. Requires increasingly intense stimulation to feel satisfied.

And yet, according to the medical references he found, “sex addiction” wasn’t even formally recognized in the DSM. Which meant—technically—it didn’t even qualify as a real illness.

So basically… just an unusually high sex drive?

Chen Zemian’s gaze slowly shifted to the peacefully sleeping Lu Zhuonian.

Even though the blanket covered everything, his imagination had already begun to run wild.

Of course. He’s a male protagonist. The author never explicitly wrote it, but clearly maxed out his stats in that department behind the scenes.

What a waste to not give him a harem.

So this was the author’s way of going all in, huh?

But Lu Zhuonian didn’t seem that kind of person. He was practically the embodiment of self-control. Not once did he come off as someone ruled by lust. And Chen Zemian had lived with him for months—they spent days and nights under the same roof. If Lu Zhuonian had any “behaviors,” there was no way he wouldn’t have noticed.

For the past half-year, Lu Zhuonian had either stayed at Shengting Huafu or gone back to the Lu family estate. He never brought anyone back to his own apartment, let alone to the Lu household. With his near-obsessive cleanliness and dislike of physical contact, Chen Zemian had never seen him so much as touch anyone. Even Xiao Kesong and Ye Chen kept their distance.

Chen Zemian rubbed his shoulder.

He’d bitten him just now. And touched his neck.

Wait a damn minute.

A horrifying thought hit him all at once.

What if Lu Zhuonian mistook him for a woman just now?!

Sure, his face might lean a little on the androgynous side—but not that much. Then again, with a 39-degree fever, ringing ears, and blurry vision, it made sense that Lu Zhuonian couldn’t tell gender clearly.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place.

No wonder Lu Zhuonian returned to normal after recognizing him. No wonder he suddenly lashed out and bit him—that lined up perfectly with the symptom: irritability when unmet needs go unfulfilled.

Poor Chen Zemian. A man like him couldn’t help much under the circumstances.

But then… how did Lu Zhuonian normally handle it?

He never brought anyone home, and he always looked like a monk in a suit—serene, unbothered. Was it all fake? Was this real sex addiction or just dramatic flair?

Could he have been bluffing?

Well, maybe not. Maybe he just hid it well. One of the listed symptoms was secretive behavior. And Lu Zhuonian was very, very good at hiding things.

Which explained why Chen Zemian had never noticed a thing.

No wonder he refused to visit any of those… more stimulating places. Maybe being surrounded by too many women would make it harder for him to suppress himself.

That would explain why the novel described him as “abstinent” and “stoically restrained.”

Turns out the thing he was “restraining” was this.

It all lined up. Every last detail.

But if that was true, then this had to be exhausting. Constantly resisting impulses like that?

Did he… handle it himself?

Chen Zemian tried—really tried—not to imagine it. But he failed.

He just couldn’t picture Lu Zhuonian—so elegant, so restrained—using those hands, those refined, almost sculptural hands, to… to do something so indecent.

The mental image hit like a freight train.

The contrast. The dissonance. The inexplicable sensuality of it all.

No, no, no. What the hell am I thinking?! His brain was polluted. He would never be able to look at Lu Zhuonian’s hands the same way again!

But seriously… the man resisted this condition so fiercely he’d rather drug himself than give in. With his obsessive neatness and near-militant self-restraint… would he even allow himself to handle it alone?

Chen Zemian suddenly wasn’t so sure.

This time the illness came on so violently—could it be because he’s been holding it in too long?

Very likely.

Chen Zemian knew little about these things, but the thought nagged at him. It felt like something worth asking a doctor, just to have some clarity.

Lu Zhuonian didn’t want to go to the hospital, but his fever wasn’t breaking. Left with no better option, Chen Zemian booked an online consultation with a specialist and braced himself for a voice call.

The condition itself was already private and awkward. Worse, Chen didn’t even fully understand Lu Zhuonian’s physical condition. He could only describe what he’d observed—and immediately found himself stumbling through a barrage of clinical questions, stammering and incoherent.

Only then did he truly understand why Lu Zhuonian refused to go to the hospital.

These questions were way too personal. Way too humiliating.

And this was him asking for someone else, over the phone, not even face-to-face—and it was already enough to make him want to crawl into a hole. He couldn’t imagine how mortifying it would be to sit across from a doctor and talk about this in person.

Aside from the questions relating to sexual activity, the doctor also inquired in detail about the patient’s current symptoms. After listening to everything, the doctor suggested that the persistent high fever could be due to internal inflammation caused by prolonged lack of ejaculation—and recommended an in-person examination.

Even with his limited medical knowledge, Chen Zemian could read between the lines.

A face-to-face examination? What else would they be checking?

No wonder Lu Zhuonian wouldn’t go. If it were him, he wouldn’t either.

Still, after the call, Chen had a slightly better understanding of what exactly sex addiction was. It wasn’t just about morality or self-control—it could stem from psychological trauma, hormonal imbalances, neurological dysregulation, or even other mental health issues.

The doctor had explained. “Obsessive cleanliness, aversion to physical contact, an intense need for order—these are all classic signs of OCD. Given that the patient shows multiple symptoms of obsessive-compulsive tendencies, we can’t rule out a correlation between that and sex addiction. An in-person evaluation is still advisable.”

Chen Zemian replied that, given the current circumstances, going to the hospital wasn’t feasible. He asked if the doctor had any advice for the meantime.

The doctor responded professionally, “From what you’ve described, it’s clear the patient has a strong moral compass and a heightened sense of order. He resists these desires because he finds them abnormal. Experiencing shame and guilt under such conditions is normal. However, for a physically healthy adult male, prolonged lack of release can lead to serious health risks.”

Chen hesitated, then asked, “So… what should he do?”

The doctor’s tone was gentle, but firm. “I’d suggest the patient try to reduce self-criticism, establish trusting relationships, work through his issues with physical contact, and allow himself moderate release—just enough to avoid further complications.”

After the call ended, Chen Zemian followed the doctor’s advice and bought some anti-inflammatory medication, along with a few other things that might come in handy.

By the time he was done, exhaustion finally caught up to him. He collapsed on the couch in the living room, pulled a down jacket over himself, and drifted off to sleep.

Before falling asleep, he set a fifty-minute alarm. In a half-dream state, he vaguely heard it go off, pressed the button to silence it, and told himself he’d just nap for ten more minutes.

That “ten minutes” turned into the rest of the afternoon. By the time he opened his eyes again, it was already three o’clock.

His head was groggy, his body sore all over. He staggered up from the sofa and trudged upstairs to check on Lu Zhuonian.

But the bedroom was empty.

The room had clearly been tidied—curtains drawn wide open, the windows left slightly ajar to let in crisp, clean air that flushed out the stale sickness from before. The bedding had been smoothed out without a single crease. The sheets had even been changed.

On the bed, two pillows sat side by side in perfect symmetry, as though measured with a ruler. One belonged to Lu Zhuonian. The other—Chen Zemian’s.

Even the pillowcases had been replaced.

“Pillows should be arranged symmetrically,” Lu Zhuonian’s voice came from behind him, calm and unhurried. “It’s more pleasing to the eye.”

Chen Zemian turned around, startled.

Lu Zhuonian stood there, freshly showered and dressed. He looked far more composed, his energy visibly restored.

Chen Zemian asked, “You’re feeling better?”

Lu Zhuonian replied smoothly, “Not entirely.”

“…Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

Chen Zemian stared at him, incredulous. Why are you acting so chill about this, like it’s no big deal?!

But he didn’t say that out loud. He simply scanned him from head to toe. “Well, you look a lot better.”

Lu Zhuonian nodded. “I got some rest. That helps. I also took some medicine.”

Chen Zemian  responded, “I bought you some too. What did you take?”

“Estazolam and paroxetine.”

Chen Zemian  blinked. “Estazolam—that’s a sleeping pill, I know that one. But paroxetine? Isn’t that an antidepressant? You’ve been taking that a lot. The doctor didn’t say anything about ‘that’ helping with sex addiction.”

Lu Zhuonian was terse, as always. “One of paroxetine’s most common side effects is sexual dysfunction.”

Chen Zemian’s eyes widened in shock. He couldn’t speak for a moment, his mouth opening and closing before he finally found his voice. “You mean… you’ve been deliberately taking it to suppress your sex drive?!”

Lu Zhuonian gave a slight nod, as if it were no big deal. His voice was calm and matter-of-fact.

“Sexual desire and the urge to copulate are base instincts. I have no intention of degenerating into an animal. Even more, I loathe the feeling of being controlled by desire.”

Chen Zemian drew in a sharp breath. He hesitated, choosing his words carefully.  “You… don’t you think you’re taking it a bit too far?”

To his surprise, Lu Zhuonian actually gave a faint laugh. “You sound just like my therapist.”

Chen Zemian had just finished speaking with a doctor himself, and he understood now—clearly—the seriousness of the situation.

He didn’t know whether Lu Zhuonian’s parents were aware of any of this, but even if they were, this kind of topic was far too sensitive. It wasn’t the sort of thing that could be easily discussed, not even between parent and child.

The good news was that Lu Zhuonian didn’t shy away from the topic. He was even willing to talk about it a little, and more importantly, he had professional support.

But with someone like Lu Zhuonian—strong-willed, fiercely principled, and used to relying on his own methods—it was doubtful that even a therapist’s advice could make him truly change course.

From what Chen Zemian gathered, his therapist had already mentioned the issue of being “overcorrective,” but Lu Zhuonian had clearly chosen to ignore that advice. He was still relying on paroxetine, clinging to his own strict regimen.

Chen Zemian recalled the cabinet in Lu Zhuonian’s room, filled top to bottom with medications. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say.

Lu Zhuonian noticed the sudden silence but didn’t speak either.

A quiet lull fell between them. Heavy, but not awkward. Neither made a move to leave. They simply stood there—two figures paused in the doorway of a dimly lit bedroom, neither able to cross the space nor willing to retreat from it.

After a long while, both spoke at once.

“I—”  “You—”

They exchanged a glance and fell silent again.

Chen Zemian tilted his head toward Lu Zhuonian. “You go first.”

Lu Zhuonian spoke calmly. “Don’t worry. I can control it. Every time I feel myself about to lose control, I isolate myself here… If you’re uncomfortable with that, I can just move back to the Lu estate.”

Chen Zemian’s eyes widened, his tone incredulous. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Lu Zhuonian went on, voice steady. “I should’ve told you about this earlier. Now that you know, it’s understandable if you feel uneasy living with me.”

Chen Zemian didn’t even hesitate. He threw a fist lightly at Lu Zhuonian’s shoulder and scolded him. “Cut the crap.”

Lu Zhuonian didn’t flinch. His expression reverted instantly to that cold, distant poise he wore so well, as if nothing could touch him. He spoke like he was reciting a fact. “It’s not crap. It’s the truth.”

Chen Zemian’s frustration surged. He wanted to argue, to yell, to force Lu Zhuonian to stop hiding behind that polished veneer of logic.

But he held himself back.

He understood this posture too well.

Lu Zhuonian was proud to the point of stubbornness. Even now, still burning with fever, he’d made sure to shower and change clothes before letting anyone see him. He stood there, perfectly put together, every crease sharp, every movement composed—as if nothing could unravel him.

But it wasn’t detachment; it was armor.

And everything he said now—about moving out, about being difficult to live with—wasn’t really about drawing boundaries. It was about preserving dignity. About not letting anyone see how deeply he’d been shaken.

Chen Zemian couldn’t forget that Lu Zhuonian was still sick. Still fragile. Still in need of comfort, even if he pretended otherwise.

He cursed inwardly. This guy is too damn good at pretending.

A single nap and he’d pulled himself back into something resembling normal.

But it was just that—a resemblance.

Lu Zhuonian might look calm, but the tension in his body told another story. Beneath the neatly tailored clothes, his muscles were wound tight. A coil of discipline and denial.

Chen Zemian reached out and placed a hand against his forehead.

The fever had dropped, yes—but not entirely. A faint chill of cold sweat still clung to his brow.

Still pretending. Still hiding. Even now, when he could barely stand straight.

For a moment, Chen Zemian felt almost fooled. This was how Lu Zhuonian operated—masking symptoms with composure, using stillness as a shield.

Trying to read him was hard enough on an ordinary day. But a sick, emotionally frayed Lu Zhuonian? That was another challenge entirely.

People’s emotions got weird when they were sick. That was just a fact.

Hell, even he didn’t understand himself when he was sick.

He remembered once when he’d been hypoglycemic and accidentally taken a paroxetine pill. The emotional crash had been brutal. He’d spiraled into self-pity and melancholia, rambling like someone twice his age mourning lost springtimes. The things he’d said that day—he could hardly recognize himself.

So what was Lu Zhuonian feeling right now?

Chen Zemian tried to shift perspective, to look at the world from his friend’s vantage point.

When you’re sick, you get touchy. Over-sensitive. Even the gentlest questions can feel like accusations. Maybe what Chen Zemian had thought of as concern had come off as interrogation instead.

And Lu Zhuonian—he was too proud to sort through social nuances when he was already overwhelmed. He probably couldn’t tell where Chen Zemian stood on the matter. And in the face of that uncertainty, his instinct was to preempt judgment. To speak first, so no one else could.

It was a defense mechanism—one Chen Zemian now recognized.

So he softened. His tone, his posture—everything gentled, stripped of heat.

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

He reached out and gently clasped Lu Zhuonian’s wrist—nothing dramatic, just a quiet, direct gesture of reassurance. A way to say: I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care what kind of illness it is.

“I only asked about your condition because I wanted to see if there’s something that could make it less painful for you. But if you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t push.”

At the contact, Lu Zhuonian’s fingers twitched. Just a little.

He hadn’t expected this.

Chen Zemian, who normally wore his temper like a badge, who vented first and thought later—had actually reined himself in. Had stepped back, not forward. Had chosen softness over fire.

And now, against all odds, it was Lu Zhuonian who stood quietly at a loss.

He never imagined that the same indifference he once showed toward Chen Zemian’s strangeness would one day be turned back on himself.

He never asked where Chen Zemian had come from—just as Chen Zemian never asked what illness plagued him.

When happy, he sang; when tired, he slept.

Perhaps Chen Zemian genuinely didn’t care about those things.

Lu Zhuonian’s gaze dropped slightly, landing on the hand Chen Zemian had wrapped around his own. His posture eased, and he attempted to lighten the mood with a joke that wasn’t particularly funny. “If I were you, I wouldn’t go around touching me when the sex addiction kicks in.”

But Chen Zemian smiled, not only catching the humor, but even adding a better punchline. “I agree. I don’t think you’d even touch yourself when your sex addiction kicks in.”

Lu Zhuonian’s tense shoulders finally relaxed.

Chen Zemian gave his wrist a gentle squeeze, a silent gesture of reassurance. “I really didn’t mean anything by asking about your condition,” he said softly. “I just wanted to let you know that if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here. And I promise—I won’t tell a soul what we talk about.”

Lu Zhuonian’s eyelashes trembled faintly. He turned his hand over and clasped Chen Zemian’s wrist in return. “Alright,” he said. “You can ask whatever you want. Say whatever you want.”

Chen Zemian watched his expression closely before asking, cautiously, “Then… can I share what I think?”

Lu Zhuonian looked at him and nodded.

That small gesture of trust made Chen Zemian unexpectedly happy. He couldn’t quite explain why. Pushing Lu Zhuonian gently toward the stairs, he said, “Come on, let’s go downstairs. I made tea. We can talk while we drink.”

In the living room, Lu Zhuonian sat with his gaze lowered, staring into his teacup. “Go ahead,” he said. “Say what you came to say.”

Chen Zemian didn’t beat around the bush. “While you were asleep, I booked an online consultation with a specialist.”

Lu Zhuonian gave a half-hearted hum, his mind clearly elsewhere. “What did the doctor say?”

Chen Zemian pushed a box of anti-inflammatory meds toward him. “He said your high fever might be due to a non-bacterial inflammation caused by prolonged abstinence.”

Lu Zhuonian picked up the medication and began unwrapping it. “I’ll take it on time.”

Chen Zemian placed a hand over his to stop him and said, with a bit of a stammer as though the words were too awkward to say aloud, “Actually… the meds are only part of it. The main issue is, you need to… you know… release. Keeping it in too long—it’s really bad for your health.”

Lu Zhuonian had heard this kind of thing before. Countless doctors had said the same.

He nodded. “I understand what you’re saying.”

Chen Zemian let out a breath like he’d just been pardoned. He grabbed a few tissues and stuffed them into Lu Zhuonian’s hand, nudging him. “Then go do it now, okay?”

Lu Zhuonian looked down at the tissues, then suddenly smiled. “Mind if I share my perspective?”

Chen Zemian straightened up. “Of course not.”

Lu Zhuonian’s tone was frank. “I can’t masturbate.”

Chen Zemian froze. “…Huh?”

Lu Zhuonian’s voice was clinical, detached—as if he were explaining someone else’s condition. “I reject this kind of compulsive sexual urge. I’ve trained myself to suppress desire. I only give in when I completely lose control, and even then, the act is always followed by self-disgust and guilt.”

Chen Zemian asked, “What about when you’re sober?”

Lu Zhuonian’s voice turned even colder. “Especially when I’m sober. Touching myself when I’m fully aware feels utterly revolting.”

Rather than shock, Chen Zemian felt a strange sense of inevitability.

Other people with sex addiction might spiral into indulgence, but not Lu Zhuonian. He followed a personal logic that defied ordinary norms—accustomed to restraint, self-denial, and a moral code so rigid it bordered on asceticism. Especially when it came to this.

Chen Zemian scrunched his nose almost imperceptibly. “I figured you’d say something like that.”

Lu Zhuonian popped two pills from the foil. “So I’ll just take the meds.”

Chen Zemian scratched his chin. “But if this keeps up, it might affect your sexual function.”

Lu Zhuonian’s fingers curled slightly around the pills, his tone casual, almost dismissive. “If it does, it does. I’m not using it anyway.”

Once again, Chen Zemian stopped his hand. “You shouldn’t think like that. Sure, you don’t have a girlfriend now, but are you saying you’ll never have one?”

Lu Zhuonian turned to look at him. “I won’t.”

Chen Zemian was stunned. “…Huh? Why not?”

Lu Zhuonian replied calmly, “Because the physical strength gap between males and females is inherent.”

Chen Zemian tilted his head, puzzled by the sudden turn of logic.

Lu Zhuonian continued, “If the partner is female, I would hold absolute power over her physically. But I’m sick—more vulnerable than most to being overwhelmed by desire. When that happens, it’s easy to lose control.”

And in that instant, Chen Zemian understood. His pupils shrank slightly. “You’re afraid… afraid you’ll hurt her.”

Lu Zhuonian nodded faintly. “Even if she agreed in the beginning, the moment things spiral out of control, she loses the ability to resist or say no. That’s assault.”

There was no such thing as playful refusal or half-hearted resistance.

No meant no.

Even in the middle of everything, either party should be able to stop—at any moment. Always.

Lu Zhuonian continued, his tone calm but resolute. “In the natural world, only beasts bite the neck of a female to force mating. If we call ourselves human, shouldn’t there be some difference between us and animals?”

At the very moment those words left Lu Zhuonian’s mouth, Chen Zemian felt as though he had witnessed something divine—something transcendent that surpassed the ordinary human condition.

Is this what they mean by a main protagonist in a novel?

The look he gave Lu Zhuonian could no longer be described as mere admiration. It had crossed into awe.

He stumbled over his words, not even knowing what to say. “Lu Zhuonian, you really are… You’re honestly a good person. You deserve everything you have—you’re the textbook definition of self-restraint and propriety. You’re basically a god!”

Lu Zhuonian looked away, clearly uncomfortable. “I have plenty of dark thoughts too. I just don’t say them out loud,” he said flatly. “Anyway, I’m not planning on dating, nor do I have any interest in continuing the family line. I can take as much medicine as needed—it’s not a problem.”

But Chen Zemian definitely didn’t agree that “taking as much medicine as needed” wasn’t a problem.

In fact, taking too much medication was a big problem.

Lu Zhuonian was already suffering from aseptic inflammation due to long-term abstinence. Even if the medicine could temporarily suppress the symptoms, it didn’t address the root cause. It was just a patch, and sooner or later the issue would come back—probably worse than before.

The doctor had even hinted as much: each flare-up might be more intense than the last.

So… was there any other way to relieve it?

A spark lit up in Chen Zemian’s mind.

“Come on,” he said brightly, “what era are we in? Who says you have to have a girlfriend for that?”

Lu Zhuonian turned toward him, curious. “You have another idea?”

Please. A problem like this? It wasn’t going to stump Chen Zemian for long.

He leapt to his feet and dashed into the dining room. A few seconds later, he returned, something hidden behind his back. He stood in front of Lu Zhuonian with a mysterious grin.

Lu Zhuonian narrowed his eyes. “What did you get?”

With a proud flourish, Chen Zemian lifted his hand to reveal a sleek container—shaped like a thermos.

“This,” he declared, “is the toy I bought for you!”

Lu Zhuonian: “…”

Chen Zemian beamed like a child presenting a treasure and held it up as if showing off a trophy. “Look! Extra-long extension, multiple modes, endless fun!”

Lu Zhuonian’s handsome brows furrowed sharply. He leaned back instinctively, an expression of revulsion on his face. “No. It’s dirty.”

“It’s brand new. I even sterilized it,” Chen Zemian assured.

But Lu Zhuonian refused three times in a row, with deadpan precision. “No. Take it away. You use it.”

Seeing how thoroughly uninterested—and genuinely repulsed—Lu Zhuonian was, Chen Zemian had no choice but to toss the toy aside and slump back into his seat, returning to deep thought.

He propped his head on one hand. This was turning out to be way harder than expected.

Was medicine really the only way?

But antibiotics could damage the immune system with long-term use. And that wasn’t even counting the Paroxetine Lu Zhuonian was taking—the side effects of that were far worse.

Lu Zhuonian treated it like a suppressant. But if he stayed on it long enough and something did go wrong, it wouldn’t be so easy to fix.

And yet—he refused to release his urges.

The thought of touching himself filled him with disgust. Guilt crept in at the idea of trying with a girlfriend. As for sex toys, he found them filthy.

=”font-weight: 400;”>Chen Zemian sighed. This really was a no-win situation.

No wonder, given how wealthy his family was, Lu Zhuonian had been sick for so long without recovering.

It was just too hard.

Too damn hard!

“This won’t work, that won’t work…” Chen Zemian muttered as he tapped his fingers distractedly on the table. “So what can we do?”

Lu Zhuonian nodded slightly, apparently in full agreement. He seemed just as stumped, his tone weary and unsure.

Staring at Chen Zemian, he repeated in a low, almost helpless voice. “Yeah… what can we do, Chen Zemian?”

Chen Zemian turned the problem over in his head, thoughts racing—until suddenly, inspiration struck again. He slapped his thigh and jumped to his feet.

“You could find a man!”

*****

TL: Here we go, our CP is forming!!! yeeeee

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Author: LazyHermitGal

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