“Are you sure it’s fine that Song Linyu drank that glass of wine?”
Outside the suite at Silver Lake Hotel, Su Tang paced back and forth in circles.
The Heartthrob System reassured him. “No worries, Tang Tang. That drink was meant for Fu Yanzong to take advantage of you anyway. Just put on a show later like you’re out cold and pretend to stumble over to knock on Song Linyu’s door.”
“As for what happens to Song Linyu tonight… relax. Your cannon-fodder top is pure in body and soul. He just needs to suffer a little.”
The Heartthrob System’s voice carried a hint of schadenfreude, but Su Tang had always trusted his cheat system. With that, he finally let go of his worries and launched into his expert acting performance.
It started with one hand pressed to his forehead as he spun in endless circles, letting out groans of discomfort.
Watching this, Fu Yanzong couldn’t help but avert his eyes.
…It looked an awful lot like someone dead drunk, staggering around while muttering ancient-style exclamations of delight.
The Self-Rescue System had already nagged in Fu Yanzong’s ear several times, asking if Song Linyu had drunk the spiked wine. But Fu Yanzong stayed utterly calm. It didn’t matter who drank it—as long as he didn’t sleep with Su Tang.
The Self-Rescue System pressed again. “Then how do we hit the plot point of bringing a clear-headed Su Tang back to your room?”
“Simple.”
With crisp efficiency, Fu Yanzong delivered a sharp chop to the back of Su Tang’s neck.
The man who’d been skulking around Song Linyu’s door like a thief, waiting to be “swept up into strong arms,” collapsed onto the carpet with a thud. He lay there limp as a salted fish left out to dry.
The Self-Rescue System had more to say, but the sheer brutality of the scene stunned it into silence. Its electronic voice cut off abruptly as it watched Fu Yanzong dial his phone.
When Xiao Sun arrived, Fu Yanzong grabbed Su Tang by the collar with obvious disgust and shoved him into Xiao Sun’s arms like a bag of trash.
Xiao Sun stood there dumbfounded, clutching the man. Something must have crossed his mind, because his cheeks flushed red. His eyes darted between Su Tang’s flushed face and Fu Yanzong’s handsome features as he stammered, “Bro… we can’t go breaking the law here. Pay the taxes we owe, and don’t sleep with anyone we shouldn’t.”
Fu Yanzong glanced up, a mocking half-smile on his lips. “Him? He’s not worth binding up—not even as a boy toy.”
Xiao Sun: …
The boss had a vicious tongue, but damn if he wasn’t gorgeous.
“Dump him in my room, then go book yourself one.”
Fu Yanzong’s orders were short and to the point.
Realizing he’d let his imagination run wild, Xiao Sun’s face turned even redder. He hoisted Su Tang over his shoulder and bolted, moving like he couldn’t get away fast enough.
The systems had mentioned before that the original Heartthrob novel came from KouKou Literature City. Even if the author wanted to spice things up, any R-rated scenes had to fade to black.
So as long as Su Tang woke up the next morning “covered in scattered red marks,” the original plot would be thoroughly derailed.
Allergies could explain the marks. Fu Yanzong decided to inhumanely force-feed Su Tang a few chunks of ripe mango that night.
The Self-Rescue System: Was he actually a genius?
Once Su Tang was carted off, Fu Yanzong turned to leave without hesitation. But at that moment, a sharp crash of shattering glass echoed from the tightly shut door behind him… followed by a muffled grunt.
He paused mid-step and narrowed his eyes.
So Song Linyu really had drunk the spiked wine.
“Host!” The system’s voice turned frantic. “Tomorrow morning’s Shura field is the story’s most critical turning point!”
“And?”
“So… what if Song Linyu spends the whole night with someone else and is too exhausted to get up tomorrow?”
Hearing this, Fu Yanzong actually stopped to think for a few seconds before drawling lazily, “Nah, he wouldn’t go that far. He can still crawl out of bed the next day unless he really overdoes it.”
The Self-Rescue System: Something about that didn’t sit right…
And why did the host sound so experienced with this stuff?
“Song Linyu’s got endurance,” Fu Yanzong said carelessly, his tone laced with implication. “Don’t worry about it. He won’t let anyone catch him in a weak spot like this.”
The system hesitated but insisted, “Host, to be safe, you should check on him. At least make sure he shows up in front of you tomorrow.”
The night’s plot was done—they couldn’t drop the ball now.
Fu Yanzong couldn’t be bothered to argue. He turned back perfunctorily and knocked twice on the door.
“Scram!”
A low, raspy roar came from inside, laced with icy command.
Fu Yanzong dropped his hand, lips curving as if he’d expected it. “He won’t let me in. Happy now? Can I go?”
“No, no.” The Self-Rescue System sounded like a true AI dimwit, droning on pedantically. “You two haven’t had any bad blood yet. Give your name, explain politely why you’re here, and he’ll open up.”
The words seemed fine at first glance, but Fu Yanzong barked a sudden laugh, as if he’d heard the punchline to some cosmic joke. Then, in an oddly ambiguous tone, he echoed the system: “No bad blood yet…”
Before the system could process that, he rapped sharply on Song Linyu’s door again, impatience in the motion.
“Song Linyu, open up. Don’t make me say it twice.”
His voice cut like a blade, heavy with unyielding pressure.
“Host! Manners aren’t like that! You’re supposed to say, ‘Hello, Mr. Song, I’m—’”
Click. The door swung open. Dim light from the hallway stabbed into the darkened room. Fu Yanzong looked down to see Song Linyu slumped against the wall, face ashen, cold sweat trickling from his temple.
The Self-Rescue System’s mechanical voice glitched mid-sentence, looping in shock before swallowing the rest.
It could work like that?
Song Linyu’s once-pristine suit jacket hung rumpled. His tie dangled loose, exposing a glimpse of sweat-slicked collarbone beneath his shirt.
Even forcing a calm expression couldn’t hide his disheveled state.
Fu Yanzong slipped one hand into his pocket and leaned against the doorframe, gazing at him with cool detachment.
Song Linyu’s chest heaved once. He lifted his face with effort, his distant demeanor intact as he asked slowly, “Something you need?”
Fu Yanzong lifted his gaze lazily, in no rush to reply. Instead, he watched Song Linyu’s trembling hand with the air of someone enjoying a show.
Song Linyu’s breath hitched. Suddenly, the scene felt unbearably humiliating.
He wanted to keep up that aloof, rejecting tone—tell Fu Yanzong to leave him alone tonight if it wasn’t important. But under the drug’s influence, the words wouldn’t come.
He caught Fu Yanzong’s scent again: suffocating, sweet, thick, intoxicating like strong liquor.
When you thought of someone after years apart, it was their smell you remembered first.
In that instant, their long-delayed reunion felt real.
His flushed lips pressed into a thin line before parting. After a long pause, he rasped softly, “Fu Yanzong…”
“Calling me by name like that’s a bit rude, don’t you think?”
As he spoke, Fu Yanzong’s long, strong fingers threaded casually into Song Linyu’s damp hair.
His cool fingertips grazed Song Linyu’s scalp, light as a brushing feather.
Song Linyu’s scalp prickled. He flinched instinctively, but a firmer grip forced his head back, exposing his sweat-sheened face.
The Self-Rescue System chattered nervously in Fu Yanzong’s mind. “Host, the Shura field fight is for tomorrow…”
“You can stand down.” Fu Yanzong cut it off cleanly, blocking all its noise and forcing the system into standby.
Expressionless, he brushed aside the strands of hair veiling Song Linyu’s brow, tilting his head up. In a flat voice, he asked, “What do you think?”
“…Sorry.”
Song Linyu whispered the apology.
The words hung faint, nearly lost in the hazy air. Fu Yanzong couldn’t read the tone. He narrowed his eyes slightly.
In that moment, the mole beneath his left eye stood out more, his dark pupils flat as black ocean depths in the backlighting.
Song Linyu’s vision swam at the sight. Fu Yanzong’s fingertips pressed his scalp; the exposed wrist bone gleamed like fresh bamboo, veins tracing into his folded cuff, down to collarbone, nape, and that mocking smile.
He wanted to kiss it so badly…
His drug-fogged mind reassembled around that primal urge. All his restraint, coolness, and composure evaporated before Fu Yanzong.
His nerves fired true to instinct. Song Linyu nuzzled into Fu Yanzong’s palm with practiced ease, then tipped his head up—ignoring the grip—and lurched forward into a clumsy kiss.
Fu Yanzong turned his head aside. The wet press grazed past his lips.
In that instant, a click sounded. Song Linyu yanked the door handle, slamming it shut. The last sliver of light vanished.
In the murky gloom, Song Linyu’s face blurred. Fu Yanzong heard his voice, hoarse beyond endurance, murmuring his name—like a man straining to hold back, or perhaps already past the breaking point.
Darkness did indeed erode one’s will.
Fu Yanzong watched him in this state and suddenly smiled. He raised a hand to pat his face and said softly, “Feeling so bad, huh…”
His tone was completely different from before—ambiguous and teasing, laced with endless desire. It wrapped around him like a lover’s whisper, seeping like warm water into the most sensitive nerves beneath the skin.
Song Linyu trembled at the playful words. His fingers dug tightly into Fu Yanzong’s wrist, clutching it like his only lifeline.
But Fu Yanzong eased his grip. His fingertips drifted lazily through Song Linyu’s hair at his temples, toying with the strands like some precious yet useless old trinket—one he could discard at any moment.
Song Linyu gasped for breath. In his blurred vision, Fu Yanzong’s features caught the light and shadow, so beautiful they seemed almost unreal.
Suddenly, he lost all sense of time. It felt as if everything had rewound to the way things used to be.
His Adam’s apple bobbed urgently, and he nodded honestly.
The corner of Fu Yanzong’s eye curved upward, as if he’d finally had his fun. His long fingertips slid slowly downward, pinching Song Linyu’s chin and forcing him to raise his face.
The gesture was cold and cruel, laced with a vicious tenderness—like a spoiled coaxing.
“Then beg me, Song Linyu.”
“Beg me like you used to.”
Keep up the act.
Let me see how far you can take this.
