Chapter 39: The Chair

Compared to last time, Xie Qi’s actions were much quicker this time.

His breathing hitched for a moment after receiving the order, but he quickly regained his composure. Xie Qi didn’t argue with Wen Jiang any further. Instead, he silently stood up and then squatted down in front of him without a care, letting his right knee touch the fluffy carpet.

Only his right knee.

What’s with the half-assed effort? Wen Jiang watched him expressionlessly.

“……” Under the other’s gaze, Xie Qi slowly lowered his left leg as well.

Now, he was formally kneeling before Wen Jiang once more. The instant his left knee met the floor, Xie Qi’s skin flushed red in a rush.

They say the first time is awkward, the second familiar—doing it more would make anyone grow accustomed mentally. Xie Qi was more obedient than before, but he looked far more ashamed and uncomfortable than last time.

Without the hotel’s ambiguous atmosphere or the urgency induced by the Charm-Type Esper Ability, this was the first time the two of them had assumed this position in a state of complete rationality. Xie Qi could feel Wen Jiang’s scrutinizing gaze on him, stirring a faint strangeness in his heart.

Instinctively, Xie Qi wanted to cover up that feeling. He lifted his eyelids slightly and stared tentatively at Wen Jiang’s thigh, speaking first. “……Should I use it on you?”

“No need,” Wen Jiang said coolly.

The aftereffects of Peach Fragrance, the “second wave of heat,” hadn’t appeared yet. Tonight, Wen Jiang just wanted to gather more data. Just as Xie Qi had looked up to observe him, he was observing Xie Qi—like inspecting a jointed toy whose switch he hadn’t found, whose mechanisms he hadn’t figured out.

Though the other’s face was red, it stemmed more from embarrassment than the physiological flush of arousal. Wen Jiang lowered his eyes to Xie Qi’s crotch—the most telling spot—which was perfectly calm.

The man in the video had reacted the moment he knelt.

The “novice” Wen Jiang, forced into service, pondered. Was the difference because Xie Qi was also a “novice” with low “sensitivity,” or because he was too tense right now?

If it was the former, it meant Xie Qi would need more intense stimulation going forward. If the latter, his current tolerance was actually quite limited.

Wen Jiang thought for a moment, then suddenly asked, “Can you put your hands on the ground too?”

In other words, shift from kneeling to an animal-like all-fours position. Xie Qi’s expression stiffened, his brief silence betraying his hesitation.

But a few seconds later, he mumbled, “……Sure, I guess.”

He certainly didn’t like it. Xie Qi still carried some “idol baggage” in his heart—he didn’t want to strike this begging-for-mercy pose in front of Wen Jiang. In the eyes of Combat System ability users, this stance often appeared on the losing side of a battle, battered and defeated—no one wanted to look like a miserable loser in front of their partner.

But if viewed through the lens of a “master-slave” game, both “kneeling” and “crawling” were ordinary, basic behaviors. Xie Qi was the one who’d drawn Wen Jiang into all this; if he balked at even this, he’d feel like he was being overly precious.

The current atmosphere wasn’t exactly flirtatious either, which was a key reason he couldn’t shed his baggage. Wen Jiang watched him calmly, his satisfaction—or lack thereof—with the answer unclear, then rose from the sofa.

He walked past Xie Qi without a glance, startling him. Xie Qi immediately moved to stand, but Wen Jiang tossed back first: “Kneel.”

“Did I say you could get up?”

Wen Jiang headed to the tall beverage cabinet on the other side of the living room, grabbed a bottled drink, and turned to see Xie Qi freeze for a moment before resuming his original pose.

He’d bent his waist a little lower now, no longer as rigidly straight as at first. After Wen Jiang’s slightly stern question, Xie Qi suddenly felt his throat go dry, his voice coming out hoarser than before. “……No.”

Xie Qi stared at the empty sofa in front of him, his fingers at his sides curling unconsciously. He learned on the fly how to respond: “Sorry.”

Looks effective, Wen Jiang thought as he twisted open the bottle cap.

Xie Qi’s attitude was conflicted—emotionally torn between wanting to kneel and not, rationally convinced he should. Weighing those feelings, through his professional actor’s eyes, Wen Jiang concluded that Xie Qi resembled a “newbie performer desperate to nail the role but too inhibited to let go.”

What this newbie needed most right now was to “get into character.” He himself was in the role of director and guide. Framing this unfamiliar situation in terms of his own expertise cleared his thinking considerably.

Xie Qi’s current tolerance without distraction was small, but that wasn’t his true limit—it was subconscious restraint. Pry open that seal even a little—like that sharp reprimand just now—and his tolerance would expand on its own afterward.

The effect was immediate. Wen Jiang glanced at him again; Xie Qi had clearly entered the zone. He lightly tossed the bottle cap, which spun two or three times in the air before landing back in his palm.

Back at the hotel, if he’d started by making Xie Qi kneel and bend over with a foot on his shoulder, he’d have been uncomfortable for sure. But easing in step by step like they had, he’d sunk deeper and deeper, with almost no chance of breaking character—like boiling a frog in warm water.

So now, he didn’t need to say much—just let things unfold naturally.

“Xie Qi.”

The cool, distant voice came from above. Xie Qi looked up; Wen Jiang gazed down at him imperiously. He flipped his hand palm-down, and the bottle cap dropped silently onto the carpet between them.

The fluffy rug muffled the sound, like a spark landing in grass. Xie Qi’s throat bobbed, a mix of bewilderment and odd heat rising.

Wen Jiang just watched him. Without a direct order, Xie Qi had to guess the intent. He dropped his gaze to the cap by Wen Jiang’s foot and soon leaned forward to pick it up.

Wen Jiang’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder. His leg stepped over half of Xie Qi’s body. As Xie Qi bent, forming a low, smooth arc with his waist and back, Wen Jiang settled sideways onto him.

—?!

Xie Qi braced his right hand on the ground, his body tensing instinctively. Wen Jiang began critiquing the “furniture”: “Lower. Not comfortable to sit on.”

Fuck. His breathing stopped, Xie Qi’s mind blanking for an instant as a scorching stuffiness surged from his lower abdomen. Wen Jiang soon felt the adjustment—Xie Qi’s left hand hit the floor too, propping him up so his back formed a level line.

Xie Qi’s voice came out hoarse as hell: “……Is this okay?”

“Mm.” Wen Jiang hit the remote button and resumed the tutorial video as agreed, saying nothing more to Xie Qi.

Xie Qi stared at the carpet between his arms, every sensory cell in his body focused on his back. He couldn’t spare a thought for the video.

It severely disrupted his brain function; the slightest shift from Wen Jiang scattered his half-formed thoughts. It took Xie Qi ages to realize, belatedly, that Wen Jiang was truly treating him like a chair.

Or a stool, really—no “armrests” or “backrest,” more like a low stool. Wen Jiang shifted positions now and then as a result.

Twice… no, three times. Xie Qi couldn’t see, but he felt it, sketching Wen Jiang’s movements in his mind from the sensations.

Sometimes the weight on his back leaned forward sharply—Wen Jiang would cross his legs, resting his right arm on his right knee, hand propping his chin for leverage. After a bit, he’d uncross them, bracing his arm on Xie Qi’s shoulder instead. The temperature difference let Xie Qi feel those fingertips: warm yet cool, perfectly placed on the skin of his neck, sparking an indescribable itch.

This is too much… Xie Qi exhaled hot breath, shifting his head slightly. The fingertips grazed his skin like a lit fuse, detonating something inside him.

Wen Jiang started in a prim posture, feet sharing some weight off the ground. But he grew more relaxed, eventually pressing his full weight down—no one would doubt a “chair’s” load-bearing capacity. The faint movements underneath distracted Wen Jiang briefly, but he had no concerns about the humanoid calamity’s stamina giving out. Without looking down, he casually gripped Xie Qi’s nape—like petting a restless dog.

…Have mercy. Desire swelled again in an instant; Xie Qi struggled mightily to stay still.

Tired? Not really—compared to superhuman load-bearing training, Wen Jiang was light as a feather, a petal; not a drop of sweat. Uncomfortable? It was pure torment.

Fortunately, all arduous training has an end. The “Whipping Chapter” finished; Wen Jiang shut off the screen like a student done with homework, stretching lazily. His legs extended forward, heels still on the ground.

Now, Wen Jiang finally lowered his eyes and saw the “chair’s” flushed nape. A breeze flowed through the enclosed room, steady and controlled—like its owner, who’d held the pose unwaveringly from start to finish.

Xie Qi heard a soft chuckle.

As a “reward,” the one who’d put him through this bitter cultivation offered a chance to end the “torment” once and for all. Pressure increased on his shoulder as Wen Jiang shifted, leaning his full weight sideways with lazy, familiar intimacy. “Want to do it again next time?”

Ah.

How have I not kissed him yet? Xie Qi thought dazedly. “Yes.”

The answer wasn’t perfect yet. “You…” Xie Qi mumbled, trying to say more, but lingering pride blocked him from voicing requests fitting his current role.

This was enough from Xie Qi for now. Wen Jiang never expected him to spout self-debasing pleas like in the “Verbal Humiliation Chapter.” He simply stood up from the “chair.”

“Flip over.”

Wen Jiang’s foot pressed Xie Qi’s side, his own strength no match for forcing a Combat System ability user—but it was an undeniable command, compelling Xie Qi to roll with the pressure, landing supine on the fluffy carpet.

Nothing concealed it now; Xie Qi’s lower half was fully exposed to Wen Jiang. He glanced down himself, then let out a long breath.

“Ha…” Xie Qi draped his right arm over his face, as if only now accepting that he’d gotten this hard from being used as Wen Jiang’s chair. After two or three seconds digesting it, he removed his arm and looked at Wen Jiang, eyes burning with aggressive heat.

Unfortunately, today’s “relief” session was over. “Handle it yourself.” Wen Jiang’s indifferent voice declared as he walked past without lingering. Xie Qi caught a glimpse of pale ankle peeking from his pant leg.

That flash of cool white paused briefly in his view.

The breeze tugged Wen Jiang’s hem. It had the power to drag, even crush his ankle bones—or just swirl around him like now. Given how the airflow extended Xie Qi’s senses, carrying all sorts of intel, it was almost like Xie Qi’s own hand rubbing Wen Jiang’s ankle skin.

When shy, Xie Qi could barely string words together—but for this, he was brazen. He’d obey orders yet reveal his unrestrained aggression at times.

Wen Jiang might accept it, or not care—Xie Qi didn’t know. But one thing was certain—

“Or,” Wen Jiang paused on his way out, ignoring the breeze entirely as if it trailing him was no big deal, “you could try harder next time.”

—Wen Jiang knew exactly how to wield his desires.

Harder. More obedient. Do more, better… and then, maybe he’d earn a reward?

How the hell did he manage to hold back from kissing him until today? Xie Qi couldn’t help but wonder again.