The moment Chen Zemian met Lu Zhuonian’s dark, stormy gaze, his heart skipped a beat.
He’s awake?!
Of all the possible moments—why did he have to wake up now?
I’m dead. I’m so, so dead. Caught in the act, red-handed.
In the instant their eyes locked, Chen Zemian had already drafted his will in his head.
But Lu Zhuonian simply stared at him for a second, then opened his mouth and said one word.
“Paper.”
Chen Zemian jolted back to his senses and hurriedly handed over the tissue box.
Lu Zhuonian took it with a look in his eyes that was hard to describe—equal parts disgust and loathing.
Terrified that he might explode in fury, Chen Zemian quickly took the tissues back from his hand, carefully wrapped them up, and rushed to the bathroom to flush them down the toilet.
Then, he turned on the faucet and scrubbed his hands with soap—again and again.
When he was done, he opened the window wide.
A chill wind blew in, quickly carrying away the scent lingering in the air.
Back in the living room, Lu Zhuonian had already straightened his clothes, but his face was still pale and unsightly—not angry or furious, but the kind of pallor that came with fragility, loathing, and a sharp edge of despair.
The brief high had passed. Now came the crushing wave of loss of control.
Lu Zhuonian was already beginning to tear himself apart.
He held himself to strict standards—morally upright, iron-willed. He refused to surrender to base instincts, to sink to the level of an animal. But his condition made it nearly impossible to control.
The feeling was awful, the tension and struggle reaching its peak in that moment.
He felt guilty and ashamed for indulging in the pleasure, loathing his own lack of control. Yet, like a forbidden craving, every time he saw Chen Zemin, he couldn’t help but be drawn to impure thoughts.
After those enticing fantasies flashed through his mind, he continued to scold himself for giving birth to such dirty thoughts he knew he should never entertain.
Chen Zemian remembered the doctor mentioning that sex addiction often followed a painful cycle: craving – action – regret.
But seeing Lu Zhuonian like this in person, wrecked and hollow, left him utterly at a loss.
He approached slowly, meaning to speak—but before he could say anything, the doorbell rang.
Lu Zhuonian’s head whipped toward the door like a startled predator. His brows drew sharp, his expression suddenly laced with a feral edge.
“The doctor,” Chen Zemian said carefully. “You passed out earlier.”
Lu Zhuonian’s voice came hoarse and cold. “Send him away.”
Chen Zemian gave him a worried glance, then quietly walked to the front door, politely thanked the doctor, and closed it behind him.
When he returned, Lu Zhuonian was still sitting on the floor.
Chen Zemian had a sinking feeling he’d caused real trouble this time. He walked over cautiously, guilt written all over his face. “Lu Zhuonian, I…”
Lu Zhuonian reached out and grasped Chen Zemin’s arm, a silent gesture that urged him to say nothing more.
So Chen Zemian swallowed whatever he was going to say and sat beside him in silence. He took out a pack of alcohol wipes and gently began cleaning Lu Zhuonian’s hands.
Chen Zemin wiped with meticulous care, his focus intense, as if he were cleaning a finely-tuned firearm. Each finger moved with deliberate precision, going over every surface twice, even the spaces between his fingers were not spared. When he finished, he lowered his head and took a careful sniff, ensuring there was not the slightest hint of an odd smell. Satisfied, he gathered the used wipes, carefully folded them together, and placed them into the trash bag.
Lu Zhuonian didn’t resist. He just sat there, letting it happen, eyes downcast. His fingers twitched involuntarily now and then.
Right before Chen Zemian could tie the trash bag shut, Lu Zhuonian, with barely a glance, tossed the thermos cup in.
Chen Zemian let out a stifled laugh.
Lu Zhuonian shot him a sharp glare. “You still have the nerve to laugh?”
Chen Zemian grinned shamelessly. “Why’d you throw it away? It’s still usable.”
Lu Zhuonian made a face like he’d just been asked to lick a sewer grate. He forced out a single word, teeth clenched.
“Dirty.”
“It’s not dirty,” Chen Zemian insisted. “I didn’t actually use it.”
Lu Zhuonian’s Adam’s apple bobbed once. He turned his head slowly and looked at Chen Zemian.
But Chen Zemian, oblivious to the predatory glint in those eyes, continued explaining cheerfully.
Lu Zhuonian mentally scolded himself—Don’t picture it. Don’t think about the details. He forced his focus elsewhere.
But then he glanced back.
Chen Zemian had, in fact, tried forcing it in when he realized it wouldn’t fit. But that was a detail he would never admit. With a guilty conscience, he snapped back, “I didn’t! I didn’t shove it in. What makes you say that?!”
Lu Zhuonian’s brow twitched faintly. “It hurt.”
Chen Zemin subtly studied Lu Zhuonian’s expression, his voice cautious as he asked, “Where does it hurt?”
Lu Zhuonian’s face remained unreadable. “My head hurts.”
The moment those words left his lips, Chen Zemin was reminded of the night when Lu Zhuonian had been drugged. He fought back a smile and asked the same question, almost word for word, as he had back then.
This time, however, Lu Zhuonian answered, “Everywhere.”
Chen Zemin straightened up, his hand instinctively rising to gently press against the temple on Lu Zhuonian’s head. “Let me massage it for you.”
When Chen Zemin saw Lu Zhuonian’s hand instinctively move to avoid his, he raised an eyebrow. “Did you wash your hands?” he asked.
“Of course I did!” Chen Zemin snapped, his irritation flaring. “Otherwise, do you think I’m keeping it on my hands to have kids?”
Due to his long-standing reckless behavior, Chen Zemin had already exhausted any goodwill he might have once had in Lu Zhuonian’s eyes.
Lu Zhuonian didn’t trust Chen Zemin’s word. He grabbed his hand and inspected it carefully, even going so far as to lower his noble head, sniffing his palm in an almost absurdly dignified manner.
Chen Zemin’s hands were clean, his nails well-groomed, and there was a faint scent of lemon—clearly the smell of hand sanitizer. It seemed like he had, indeed, washed his hands.
After confirming there was no issue, Lu Zhuonian didn’t protest further.
Chen Zemin began massaging his temple, asking, “Does it feel better now?”
Lu Zhuonian closed his eyes in exhaustion, his voice barely a whisper, “It still hurts… everywhere.”
The way he said “everywhere” was so meaningful, it almost felt like an understatement.
Unable to stop himself, Chen Zemin chuckled—his smile far from innocent—and then, adopting a mock-serious tone, said, “You’ve probably been holding it in for too long. If you relieve yourself more often, it won’t hurt anymore.”
Lu Zhuonian opened his eyes and stared at him with a look of slight disbelief. “How do you propose I ‘relieve’ myself?”
Chen Zemin, undeterred, suggested, “How about getting a bigger thermos?”
Lu Zhuonian’s response was succinct, yet full of disdain, “No.”
“Then at least let me help you,” Chen Zemin suddenly leaned in closer, whispering into Lu Zhuonian’s ear. “My technique… is it good?”
Lu Zhuonian recoiled, pulling back slightly.
Chen Zemin pressed on, his curiosity piqued, “What did you feel back then?”
Lu Zhuonian suddenly lifted his gaze, meeting Chen Zemin’s eyes with an expression too difficult to describe. He spoke slowly, each word deliberate. “Chen Zemin, just… torture me already.”
Chen Zemin feigned innocence. “What do you mean? How have I tortured you?”
Lu Zhuonian let out a soft laugh, one that held a bitter edge. “You know I can’t do anything about you. You do whatever you want, without a care for the consequences.”
Chen Zemin raised an eyebrow, genuinely puzzled. “What, do you find it disgusting when I touch you?”
Lu Zhuonian’s reply was calm but firm, “No.”
Chen Zemin leaned in closer, his voice dropping a fraction. “Then… what do you feel now?”
Lu Zhuonian’s lips curled slightly. “It feels good.”
Chen Zemin’s temper flared. In a fit of frustration, he punched Lu Zhuonian in the chest, his voice sharp. “If it feels so good, why do you keep that cold face on? Don’t blame me for taking matters into my own hands.”
Lu Zhuonian caught Chen Zemin’s fist gently, squeezing it lightly. “I’m not blaming you,” he said softly. “I feel guilty. My problems are affecting you, and I can’t stand that.”
Chen Zemin softened, trying to reassure him. “Don’t worry about it. You’re just sick. When people are sick, they tend to overthink things. You haven’t done anything wrong. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Lu Zhuonian had heard all the right things before, but the self-loathing still gnawed at him, unshakable and persistent.
He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt toward Chen Zemin.
Chen Zemin treated him like his best friend, trusted him, helped him, and went to great lengths for him. Yet, here he was, his mind tainted with thoughts of how to overpower Chen Zemin, to bring him down and indulge in the most shameful, filthy acts.
He couldn’t stop himself from thinking like this.
Lu Zhuonian had hoped for their relationship to evolve into something more intimate, but certainly not in this way.
The sudden, exposed flaws, the uncontrollable desires, Chen Zemin’s kindness and sympathy, his well-meaning help, and the unspoken deception—it was all too much.
He didn’t want Chen Zemian’s pity.
That was the hardest pill to swallow. Even harder than rejection.
It wasn’t just pride or ego—what gnawed at him most was that, while Chen Zemian was earnestly trying to help, Lu Zhuonian had not only failed to warn him of the risks, but had hesitated—considered, even fantasized about, taking advantage of the moment to pursue something else entirely.
He was disgusting.
And for reasons he couldn’t even articulate, he still hadn’t mentioned his father. The very thing Chen Zemian cared most about.
Lu Zhuonian’s rational mind was trying to correct his actions.
He knew what he should be doing: he should push away everything that was wrong, refuse Chen Zemin’s help, thank him, and give him the information about his father—then send him away. Lu Zhuonian should go upstairs to his room, calm down, and wait for his body and mind to recover before facing the world again.
An orderly, rational response
He knew that was the right thing to do, the proper thing to do. And yet, he didn’t do it.
He let it spiral. Worse—he wanted it to spiral. He was pushing it further, knowing full well it was a mistake.
All he wanted now was to sleep with Chen Zemian.
The only thing keeping him from dragging Chen Zemin upstairs was the last thread of self-control he still clung to—the self-control he prided himself on.
But he didn’t need to be dragged. When Lu Zhuonian went to his room, Chen Zemin followed on his own.
Even though Lu Zhuonian was sick, he insisted on taking a shower. Chen Zemin, afraid he might faint in the bathroom, set up a small stool outside the door to wait for him, ordering takeout for both of them in the meantime.
Given that Lu Zhuonian was recovering, he didn’t order anything greasy. Just a bowl of light broth noodles, with a few refreshing side dishes. When the food arrived, Chen Zemin half-coaxed, half-forced Lu Zhuonian to eat at least half the bowl.
Afterward, Chen Zemin took his temperature again. This time, it had dropped to 37.8°C.
Chen Zemin grinned in satisfaction, shaking the thermometer in front of Lu Zhuonian. “See? It worked.”
Lu Zhuonian didn’t respond. Instead, he said quietly, “I’m going to sleep for a while. You should go back to your room and rest.”
Chen Zemin shook his head. “I’ll stay here with you. Once you fall asleep, I’ll find a corner and crash.”
===
Lu Zhuonian fell silent for a few seconds before saying hoarsely, “Don’t mess around again.”
Chen Zemian stole a quick glance at him. “Still hurts?”
Lu Zhuonian lifted his hand, half-covering Chen Zemian’s eyes. “Stop looking.”
Chen Zemian chuckled softly. “Are you having another episode?”
Without replying, Lu Zhuonian pressed his palm over Chen Zemian’s mouth and turned him by the shoulders, shoving him out of the bedroom.
Chen Zemian, ever clueless, mumbled behind the muffling hand, “I can still help you, you know.”
Lu Zhuonian’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Can you just shut up?”
Chen Zemian, oblivious to the dangerous glint growing in Lu Zhuonian’s eyes, muttered without concern, “You’re too shy. Helping out a brother is perfectly normal.”
Lu Zhuonian’s steps faltered. His hand tightened unconsciously on Chen Zemian’s shoulder. “You’ve helped someone before?”
Chen Zemian answered matter-of-factly, “Not exactly, but guys in our dorm used to help each other.”
Lu Zhuonian’s voice turned raspy. “Was that… a proper dorm?”
Chen Zemian turned around. “Of course it was. My college dorm!”
Lu Zhuonian gave him a very skeptical look. “Is it possible… they were a couple and you just didn’t know it?”
Chen Zemian instinctively replied, “No way. I can tell straight guys from gays.”
Lu Zhuonian let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “You can?”
That made Chen Zemian hesitate. “I… probably can?”
Lu Zhuonian didn’t press further. He simply pushed him out of the room and muttered, “Go amuse yourself. I’m going to sleep.”
Chen Zemian paused at the doorway, suddenly remembering a crucial question. He clung to the doorframe and asked, “Wait—are you straight?”
Lu Zhuonian replied without missing a beat, “I’m gay.”
Chen Zemian froze. “No way.”
How could the protagonist of a male-genre novel be gay? That’s practically narrative collapse!
Lu Zhuonian didn’t have the energy to argue. He closed the door with finality. “Believe whatever you want.”
Due to his condition, he had always rejected close physical contact—never attracted to a woman, nor to a man. Influenced by societal norms, the possibility of liking men had never really occurred to him.
But sexuality is fluid, and in truth, it wasn’t that Lu Zhuonian had always been gay. It was that, after falling for Chen Zemian, he naturally joined the ranks of those who loved the same sex.
Some people, upon realizing their feelings for someone of the same gender, might suppress or flee from them.
Lu Zhuonian didn’t. He accepted it easily.
Because it was Chen Zemian.
It could only be him, and no one else.
*****
After Lu Zhuonian finally drifted into sleep, Chen Zemian took the chance to message Xiao Kesong and Yan Luo, telling them he had to return to Beijing for something urgent.
Their schedule in Sanya had been a mess—late nights, later mornings. Waking up in the afternoon was practically routine.
Xiao Kexiong hadn’t even noticed Chen Zemin’s absence and was surprised to hear he had returned to Beijing, asking him when he had left.
Chen Zemian didn’t have the strength to scold him.
He was bone-tired and sleep-deprived, with the hazy, disoriented feeling of having worked a grueling three-day shift, despite it still being just late morning.
What a long, chaotic half-day.
There were no linens in the guest room of the villa. Seeing that Lu Zhuonian was sound asleep, Chen Zemian returned next door to shower.
As the water hit his skin, his shoulder flared with a stinging pain. Only then did he remember: Lu Zhuonian had bitten him.
Did he need a rabies shot?
The bite wasn’t deep, but the arc of teeth marks was distinct. After getting wet, the skin turned red and slightly inflamed. It throbbed, warm to the touch, and the cotton of his shirt only irritated it more.
He opened his closet, trying to find a soft silk shirt to wear—only to remember he’d never bought anything that fancy.
With a sigh, he wandered into Lu Zhuonian’s dressing room and rummaged around until he found a silk button-down.
Slipping it on, Chen Zemian had to admit: luxury silk against bare skin really was something else. It felt like he was wrapped in warm milk—smooth, cool, and impossibly soft.
He decided to keep the shirt.
*****
Back in the master bedroom, he peeked in again.
Lu Zhuonian was still asleep, sweat sheening his body after taking the antipyretic.
Possibly feeling overheated, he had kicked the thick duvet aside and was now lying flat on his back, hands folded neatly over his stomach like some well-dressed corpse in repose.
Chen Zemian helped him change into fresh pajamas.
Lu Zhuonian stirred faintly when the buttons were undone. Bleary-eyed and disoriented, he caught a glimpse of Chen Zemian undressing him and assumed he was having another absurd, indecent dream. With a low sigh, he drifted off again.
After buttoning the clean shirt and covering him with the duvet, Chen Zemian was about to leave when he noticed Lu Zhuonian shifting restlessly.
The man seemed trapped in a fever dream—his body hot, his legs bare, kicking off the covers as if trying to escape some invisible heat.
It was an unsightly pose, so Chen Zemian quickly covered him up again.
When Lu Zhuonian pushed the blanket away a second time, Chen Zemian gave up and laid down on the other side of the bed. He pulled the comforter over both of them and stretched out his arm to weigh it down.
Now Lu Zhuonian couldn’t escape.
Chen Zemian grabbed a fleece throw and covered himself with it. He even got his own pillow back—his head fitting perfectly into the indentation at the center of the latex cushion.
Absolutely ideal.
He closed his eyes, tucked his chin into the soft throw, and rested his forehead against Lu Zhuonian’s shoulder.
Within minutes, he drifted off into a deep, sweet sleep.
*****
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