Chapter 53: Two-Faced Phoenix Man 12

The man’s gaunt face was as pale as paper, blending almost seamlessly with the white gauze covering his right eye at first glance. He wore drab gray clothes, his entire being resembling scorched grass consumed by wildfire or the lingering ash in a censer.

From head to toe, only his one good left eye held any hint of color, though even that was murky and clouded.

Zhou Yichun’s lips were a cold, ashen white. Facing the object of his affections—who was clearly distracted and eager to leave him for another man—he made his demand for the first time with uncharacteristic stubbornness and boldness.

“Jiang Jiang,” he said, his voice trembling, “kiss me.”

He needed proof, even if it was false. He wanted confirmation that the young man loved him, that his feelings weren’t entirely one-sided.

In Zhou Yichun’s twisted, lowly heart, the beautiful and clever Jiang Jiang had always been enshrined on a lofty pedestal. In the young man’s presence, he was forever servile, cringing, weak, and self-loathing.

He was at his wits’ end.

Their relationship had ground to a complete deadlock.

Had Zhou Yichun truly failed to notice the young man’s growing perfunctory attitude and outright disgust over the years?

He plunged into an emotional maelstrom like a man committing suicide. A mere frown from Jiang Rang would send him into a panic. No matter how much he was beaten, cursed, or humiliated, he always managed to comfort and deceive himself.

He told himself that as long as the young man was willing to hit him and yell at him, it meant he cared.

That was why, when Jiang Rang suggested he get treatment for his eye, Zhou Yichun had been genuinely thrilled.

The young man rarely took the initiative to care about his affairs anymore, especially in the past six months. Unless it involved money, Jiang Rang hardly showed him a kind face.

Zhou Yichun was like a thief guarding a priceless treasure. He tried to chain it to his side with his feeble shell and ridiculous ploys, but the more he did, the more constant his terror and anxiety became.

Today, as soon as his phased treatment ended and he was cleared for discharge, the man rushed back to their little home without a moment’s delay.

What a warm, adorable nest it was. Seeing the clothes tossed carelessly about, the cluttered tabletop, and the slippers kicked aside at random, he could instantly picture his Jiang Jiang’s every endearing movement in his mind.

Blushing, he tied on an apron and set to work cleaning with earnest focus.

His Jiang Jiang was a free-spirited soul. Even hiring Auntie hadn’t helped—wherever Jiang Jiang went, chaos followed.

He was like a highly destructive little beast, brimming with boundless energy.

Zhou Yichun meticulously folded the edges of the clothes until he came upon a smaller piece of triangular fabric. His already flushed, sweat-dampened cheeks burned even hotter.

He swallowed hard. His slender fingers couldn’t resist gently lifting the sheer white material, but the instant he touched it, he instinctively glanced warily toward the door—like a dog conditioned to flinch from beatings.

Confirming the young man wouldn’t return anytime soon, Zhou Yichun felt half his soul scatter. He slowly hunched his lean back and brought the fabric to his nose and lips, trembling as he licked and kissed it.

Blue veins like writhing worms bulged along his pale neck. His red tongue writhed, saliva dripping steadily.

His actions were utterly depraved and erotic, like those of a base animal devoid of morals or manners.

Only when the heat subsided and the fabric lay sated under the man’s touch did it finally resemble a new garment—darkened, soaked, and glistening.

Zhou Yichun wore a greedy, drooling smile as he tucked it into his pocket like a cherished treasure.

This clearly wasn’t the first time the man had done such a thing, nor would it be Jiang Rang’s first missing pair of underwear.

Having finished, Zhou Yichun reverted to his timid, normal self.

In high spirits, he bent down to stow the folded clothes in the wardrobe. But as his gaze swept past, he froze entirely.

Tucked in the sofa cushions gleamed a slender silver bracelet, cradling a deep blue diamond bead of exceptional purity and brilliance—far beyond what ordinary people could afford.

Jiang Rang did love luxury goods, but he rarely spent his own money on them.

Zhou Yichun was certain he hadn’t given the young man this bracelet.

A flash of shocking lightning seemed to streak through his mind. Cold wind seeped through the window cracks like a dagger, thrusting straight toward his brain.

Outside the gray window stood a row of withered potted plants, while inside loomed a man with a deathly pale face.

With shaking hands, Zhou Yichun picked up the bracelet. How beautiful that deep blue gem was, flaunting its sharp, dazzling allure like a conqueror, scattering brilliant light defiantly under the lamp.

His scarlet-misted black eyes found a line of elegantly carved characters amid the deep blue.

Jiang Rang, Lu Xiang.

What a perfectly matched pair of names. What an openly declared love. And what a glaring betrayal.

In that instant, the young man’s behavior at the start of the semester, all those unusually gentle coaxings—they transformed into flower buds harboring the rotten corpse of a hummingbird.

Undoubtedly beautiful on the outside, yet when they bloomed, they released only stifling heat and putrid stench.

Zhou Yichun was numbed by the pain, unable to muster any reaction. He simply stood there rigidly, his face blank like a lifeless corpse.

His memories of that time were a blur.

People always struggle to accept harsh realities, even deluding themselves into trying to forget.

Zhou Yichun couldn’t recall when he had picked up his phone, nor how many messages he had sent.

The world was silent. His Jiang Jiang was silent too.

That pale void, devoid of any echo, could nearly drive a person to death. It always gave birth to the most extreme sins.

And so, the sinner tremblingly opened the location app.

He hadn’t used it in ages, because Jiang Jiang was always within his line of sight. Back then, Jiang Jiang had a foul temper, but ever since Father Jiang and Mother Jiang passed away, he had become far more obedient.

Zhou Yichun had always known his Jiang Jiang was no stay-at-home type. Otherwise, he wouldn’t act like some pathologically anxious wife, installing surveillance just to keep tabs on her husband.

Jiang Rang was strikingly handsome, with sky-high emotional intelligence. In his dealings with others, he swam through social waters like a fish.

A personality like that naturally drew people with designs on him.

Zhou Yichun didn’t care about their flirtations, nor about Jiang Rang’s occasional distracted flings.

In fact, he secretly rejoiced.

Even though the young man never gave him any official status, even though he hit and berated him endlessly out of sheer annoyance—despite all the people who came and went at his side—in the end, the only one who remained by Jiang Rang’s side was Zhou Yichun himself.

Others had tried to challenge him too. Those men who fell into Jiang Jiang’s gentle trap always strutted up like victorious roosters, flaunting themselves in his face.

They mocked him: So what if he was the young man’s childhood sweetheart? Wasn’t he still stuck watching from the sidelines, close enough to see but never to touch?

But that line was inaccurate, really.

The more they mocked him, the more terrified they truly were. Because everyone knew Zhou Yichun was special.

Anyone with eyes could see the tangled bond between Jiang Rang and him. The young man had cast aside so many others, but Zhou Yichun alone—as a “friend”—held that permanent spot at his side.

Zhou Yichun had believed he could wait forever for the day Jiang Rang finally came around.

But he never imagined he’d wait not for love, but for Jiang Rang to publicly declare his relationship.

—Jiang Rang had never before allowed his “short-term boyfriends” to engrave anything on expensive items. It made them harder to resell.

Trembling, he scrolled through the school forum posts, one after another—like a fool eagerly guzzling poison, like a pathetic loner watching someone else’s love story unfold.

Everyone was singing praises of their grand romance.

The rich heir and the poor student—what a romantic, poetic encounter.

The truth was staring him in the face, yet Zhou Yichun clung to a shred of hope. He felt the agony of flames scorching him alive, yet he had to endure in that inferno, pleading desperately as he cracked and shattered.

He told himself: What if Jiang Jiang was just like before, too playful to keep his toys for long?

And so the pitiful dog wagged its tail and followed the signal, only to end up at a wedding ring shop.

Beneath the pristine, dazzling lights, the young man at the glass counter wore a smile of bone-deep tenderness. His fingers intertwined with those of a strange man as they selected matching rings.

Zhou Yichun nearly shattered completely. Being deceived by Jiang Rang, discovering yet another affair behind his back—none of that had broken him. But the implications of that wedding ring shop were too much to bear.

So he stood outside, dialing the number over and over in masochistic frenzy, watching again and again as Jiang Rang impatiently hung up.

He seethed with hatred and pain, like a slug pierced by saltwater. Venomous slime oozed from his mouth, his tongue, his eyes—his entire being threatening to dissolve into a puddle of filthy sludge.

Yet even sludge yearned to cling like a parasite to the bone, to fester forever like a boil on the young man’s flesh.

So he issued empty threats, all bluster and no bite. But when Jiang Rang was merely putting on a show, he forgave him once more, pitifully embracing his own degradation.

Sometimes Zhou Yichun mocked himself, thinking he was nothing but a worthless piece of trash.

But he just couldn’t change.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t. Even knowing it was scalding boiling water, a collar studded with needles—he couldn’t let go.

He’d rather perish in that boiling water, his neck run through by the collar until he bled dry.

Jiang Rang was utterly oblivious to all of this, which made his disgust, displeasure, and contempt take on a touch of naive cruelty.

The young man could scarcely maintain his hypocritical smile at such a pathetic request.

He knew Zhou Yichun was the sort of dog who took advantage of any weakness, clutching at some imagined leverage as if it would let him slip his leash and turn on his master.

And now, the sheer audacity—he even dared to demand that Jiang Rang take the initiative and kiss him.

The youth’s pale face grew misty as he lowered his thin, reddened eyelids slightly. A fierce glint, impossible to fully suppress, flickered in his pitch-black eyes, dark as encroaching shadows.

He thought to himself, What a filthy mutt that deserves to be skinned alive.

Jiang Rang’s fingers twitched faintly. He loathed this loss of control with every fiber of his being.

He loathed the humiliation of being outmaneuvered by someone he had once ground beneath his heel.

Shame sent tremors through his wrists.

Yet he had no choice but to play it carefully. Not far behind him stood the very source of his future wealth and desires.

Jiang Rang knew he had to keep the fool in front of him in check.

And so, the beautiful youth pursed his pink lips, glistening with unspoken desire. His knuckles whitened as he yanked at the man’s disheveled gray collar, forcing him to bow his waist and hang his head in awkward submission.

Zhou Yichun towered over him in height, but what good was that?

All these years, hadn’t the man still cowered before him, hunched like a whipped cur?

Jiang Rang bit into the man’s withered, pallid lips with near-savage ferocity. His sharp teeth nearly pierced the thin flesh, and saliva mingled messily between their mouths amid frantic motions and ragged breaths that left Zhou Yichun’s face flushed and choking.

Yet he responded all the same—earnestly, tenderly—to his friend seething with rage, to his lover, to the flame that sustained his very life.

It hardly qualified as a kiss. It was one-sided violence, pure and simple.

And at times, such violence—fueled by unchecked fury—could twist into something perversely arousing.

From his position as the aggressor, from the man’s craven compliance, Jiang Rang savored the raw thrill of the conqueror, of the one on top.

He had bottled it up for far too long.

For as long as he had been with Lu Xiang, he had endured this suppression.

Day in and day out, his facade held firm, but the venomous snake coiled in the cage of his heart had fattened on those shadowy emotions, growing ever more massive and vigorous.

It was no exaggeration to say that if things continued like this, Jiang Rang feared he might develop real physiological problems whenever he was with Lu Xiang.

Thus, the groveling Zhou Yichun before him became the perfect receptacle for his release—a human trash bin.

The two pressed against each other in the dim corner of the bustling mall, locked in a kiss that seemed inseparable, as if they meant to purge every ounce of rage, pain, and filth from their souls.

But Jiang Rang snapped back to reality soon enough.

There, not far away, stood Ji Mingyu—phone in hand, one eyebrow arched in an amused smile as he watched.

In an instant, a sheen of cold sweat broke out across the youth’s pale forehead.

Jiang Rang couldn’t quite make out the elegant shimmer in those blue eyes, but he could well imagine how ridiculous and incriminating he must appear in them.

It burned like fire in his chest.

His entire body shook uncontrollably. With a sudden shove, he tore the clinging man from his body—and in his fury, he lashed out with a sharp slap without a second thought.

Zhou Yichun took the blow without resistance. The flush lingered on his cheeks, his gaze dazed, as though he were still lost in the bliss of that “loving” kiss.

It hit Jiang Rang like a bucket of ice water. The piercing chill left him feeling like a nightingale impaled on thorns, bleeding out in exquisite agony, his once-vibrant red lips draining to ashen pallor.

He watched as the elegant man—dressed in an apricot-white base layer, silver-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, jacket draped over one elbow—curled his lips in a faint, mocking smile. The phone in his hand swayed lazily, a casual gesture pregnant with implication and threat.

Jiang Rang’s scalp prickled; his words tumbled out in a stutter.

Only one thought consumed him: he absolutely could not let Ji Mingyu breathe a word of this to Lu Xiang.

Otherwise, setting aside whether the man would straight-up kill him, his entire plan would collapse.

The youth’s face softened in an instant, like flipping a switch. He gently encircled Zhou Yichun’s waist, murmuring soft reassurances and coaxing words until, with great effort, he finally lured the man away.

Ji Mingyu, for his part, seemed in no rush at all. His pale, creamy fingertips idly toyed with the delicate silver chain earring dangling from his lobe, watching the scene unfold with evident fascination, like an audience member at a captivating play.

The exquisite silver chain wove through the slightly tousled strands of black hair behind his ear—stunningly beautiful. Paired with his refined, scholarly features and those sly, fox-like eyes tapering to points, it lent him an unexpectedly seductive air.

Yet in Jiang Rang’s eyes at that moment, even Ji Mingyu at his most alluring was nothing but a painted-skin ghost—a male specter who devoured bones whole.

Gritting his teeth, Jiang Rang approached him anyway.

The young man’s complexion was far from pleasant. Even though the thrill of their illicit tryst had left his face flushed like blooming spring peach blossoms moments ago, the sudden chill now drained it of color, lending it an oddly ashen hue.

“Cl-Class Monitor.”

The guilty youth parted his lips, fumbling for words for what felt like an eternity before managing to squeeze out nothing more than a title.

Ji Mingyu withdrew his icy fingertips. The earring at his ear swayed, tracing a graceful arc.

A faint smile tugged at the man’s lips, but a closer look revealed an undercurrent of raw, unfamiliar chill beneath it.

“Classmate Jiang, what exactly were you doing just now?”

He knew full well what had happened, yet he feigned mild surprise on his refined features, his fox-like eyes curving upward languidly.

Jiang Rang’s face burned crimson. He struggled to compose himself, but panic flickered unmistakably in his brows and eyes.

After a long moment, the youth seemed to seize on some flimsy excuse. He lowered his reddened eyes pitifully, gazing up at the man through a haze of tears.

He looked utterly pitiable—his features, long since tainted by desire and self-interest, now radiated an innocent, fragile beauty. His lips, brimming with deceit, quivered as he whispered a soft, wounded lie.

“Class Monitor, just now… I-I was forced.”

Jiang Rang slowly dropped his gaze and murmured, “He’s my good friend—friends for many years. I had no idea what was on his mind. I thought he just needed to talk to me about something, but I never imagined he’d do something like that…”

The youth gently raised his pale, slender fingers and dabbed at the tears pooling in the corner of his eye.

He pleaded mournfully, “Class Monitor, please… please don’t tell A-Xiang, okay?”

“I-I swear I’ll keep my distance from him from now on. You have to believe me, please?”

Ji Mingyu narrowed his eyes slowly. He wasn’t the one who’d been betrayed, yet he struck the pose of the righteous partner catching the cheaters red-handed, basking in the youth’s flattery, promises, and apologies.

The silver gleam at his ear flickered faintly. After a prolonged silence, he appeared utterly unmoved by the performance, replying with a mocking half-smile, “Classmate Jiang, I’d love to believe you, of course. But Lu Xiang is my good friend, after all. How could I leave him completely in the dark? He deserves to know the truth, don’t you think?”

Anxiety scorched Jiang Rang from within, and the fragile mask on his face finally began to crack.

Just as the youth teetered on the brink of collapse, Ji Mingyu leisurely adjusted his glasses, which had slipped down to the bridge of his nose.

The reflective lenses veiled the profound depths of his ocean-blue eyes. In a warm voice, he continued, “That said, I do believe Classmate Jiang isn’t the type to act that way, and I certainly don’t want to play the villain who comes between friends…”

He paused briefly, and Jiang Rang pursed his lips, grasping the implication.

Biting his lip, the youth asked, “What are your conditions?”

Ji Mingyu’s smile unfolded gradually, his elegant visage resembling a divine statue in the midst of a forsaken Divine Temple.

Mildly, he replied, “Classmate Jiang, you must know how us art students have our little eccentricities.”

“I like to use particularly unique people as the foundation for my creations. You would be perfect.”

Someone like you—greedy, hypocritical, two-faced, and treacherous from start to finish—couldn’t be more ideal.

Jiang Rang saw no issue with it at all. Posing as a model wasn’t such a hardship, and with the blade effectively at his throat, he nodded without a second thought.

Ji Mingyu’s smile deepened slowly. The earring dangling from his ear resembled some hypnotic talisman, and in that fleeting moment, it took on a strangely morbid, icy sheen.