On Xie Qi’s eighteenth birthday, the most unforgettable gift from his parents had been an entire house.
The house itself wasn’t anything special. Its real selling point was the three secret rooms, each one stuffed to the brim with all sorts of “toys.” When Xie Qi had first opened the door, his eyes were immediately assaulted by the whips hanging on the walls and the devices scattered across the floor. Speechless, he’d slammed the door shut again.
“You don’t like it?” After hearing her son’s reaction to the surprise gift, Xie Qi’s mother sounded astonished over the phone. “Oh dear, your dad and I figured since you’re an adult now…”
Strange whimpering noises came from the other end of the line, followed by the sharp crack! of a whip slicing through the air against bare skin. Silence returned. Madam Xie set down the whip, elegantly smoothing her hair behind her ear, and said to Xie Qi, “It’s already built, so just keep it. Who knows, you might find a use for it someday?”
Why would I ever find a use for it? That remained an unsolved mystery in Xie Qi’s mind. Sometimes he wondered just how his parents saw him—what about him screamed that he had those kinds of tastes?
“It’s actually beneficial,” the family doctor had chimed in, endorsing his parents’ decision from a professional standpoint. “Finding a milder outlet you’re willing to try will help maintain your mental stability and Supernatural Ability. It’s also easier to deal with afterward.”
A harmonious sex life was one of the key indicators of human happiness and satisfaction. Put simply: instead of wrecking your surroundings or beating someone half to death, try doing it in bed. Smaller scale, more targeted. And if you broke something under the pretext of “private matters,” it was easy to cover up.
What had he said back then? Xie Qi only remembered listlessly kicking the pile of scrap metal that used to be a combat machine. No desire to find a slave to play with had stirred in him.
With his violent Wind System Ability and a mental state as unpredictable as the wind—calm one moment, raging the next—Xie Qi stood in the rubble of the simulation training room. He gazed at the mechanical arms twisted clean off, the gashes seven or eight centimeters deep scarring the floor and walls. With a mocking thought, he recalled the education drilled into him as a child: to treat all humans like fragile flowers and weeds that would wilt at the slightest breeze, deserving gentle care.
The Xie Family had always wanted to raise him as a good child—hence those early teachings. But that intent wouldn’t tolerate obstacles. Once they understood their son’s Ability outbreaks, their attitude shifted seamlessly: as long as he was comfortable, he could follow his whims.
Those fragile flowers and weeds had two advantages from another angle: there were plenty of them, and they couldn’t fight back.
But humans were so frail. Limbs that broke easily, stamina that depleted in moments, bodies that turned to pulp against a wall. Xie Qi couldn’t comprehend it. Was there really a difference between combat and the “bedroom”? Would that change anything?
Money, power, status, strength—plenty of things let a person bask in others’ kneeling worship from birth. Why chase conquest in bed specifically? A bug was always a bug, a lamb always a lamb. Changing the setting wouldn’t make the flesh feel any different.
So… what about Wen Jiang?
Under the other’s gaze, Xie Qi’s left knee touched the shallow gray carpet. Out of nowhere, his mind flashed to those trivial matters about the secret rooms.
Wen Jiang’s build was average—not burly or rugged, nor petite and delicate. Tall and lean, he had the core strength of a performer. He probably fulfilled many fans’ fantasies of a prince from the forums. But Combat System espers weren’t judged by visual appeal.
Was Wen Jiang strong?
Xie Qi, who never missed a single one of his performances, knew damn well he was.
Was Wen Jiang “weak”?
Wen Jiang had a slender, easily snapped white neck, delicate skin that could be cut with ease. A single Storm could topple a reinforced concrete high-rise. No matter his height, weight, body fat, or muscle mass, Xie Qi knew he could lift him with one arm.
Sometimes, watching Wen Jiang—sunlight filtering through tree shadows onto his shoulders, catching the wrist bone peeking from his shirt cuff—Xie Qi would suddenly recall those long-forgotten childhood lessons.
But more often, he couldn’t quite put it into words.
Had he just been thinking about cherishing him, yielding to him, stepping back to let it go?
Xie Qi felt Wen Jiang’s gaze lingering on him and realized, belatedly, that he hadn’t been thinking anything at all.
Some ingrained habit—a position of looking down from on high, impossible to shake—seemed to waver faintly. Almost instinctively, he’d obeyed the command. An inexplicable restlessness swelled in his chest. Xie Qi felt a fierce thirst, like a man lost in the desert.
“…Let me help you,” Xie Qi repeated on one knee, his voice far hoarser than he’d imagined. “Aren’t we going to the dance soon?”
He was like a beast only half-tamed, impulses and desires churning wildly, unable to grasp why he’d bowed his head. Xie Qi kept staring at Wen Jiang, unconsciously hunting for an opening to overpower and claim. Tentatively, he rested one burning hand on the other’s knee, palm pressing against cool fabric. Wen Jiang merely glanced down indifferently, far more nonchalant.
It almost made one doubt that the massive, almost tangible oppressive pressure from moments ago had been a mere illusion.
The clash between two S-Grades thrilled any Combat System esper’s nerves. But because it was Wen Jiang—the only one who still evoked “flowers and weeds” in him—another desire mingled with the agitation, brewing. Xie Qi couldn’t help murmuring, “You know what usually happens in situations like this, right?”
He meant the hypothetical of being hit by an Ability and losing all restraint. Wen Jiang got it and recited smoothly from the Physiology Hygiene Safety Manual: “First, have them show their medical report.”
Xie Qi: …
Xie Qi choked, his momentum deflating by half. Helplessly, he said, “I’m clean.”
If you’re that worried, I’ll bring one next time.
“Me too,” Wen Jiang nodded. What a coincidence.
Xie Qi couldn’t help finding it adorable.
That gaze, light and harmless, probably matched his drifting thoughts. He’d reverted to his usual lazy nonchalance, but Xie Qi’s wrist still tingled from the earlier grip.
The subtle contradiction heated Xie Qi’s body while itching his heart like a feather’s caress. It was also a good sign—Wen Jiang wasn’t stopping him anymore. But if he botched the opening, Xie Qi suspected rationality would send him packing.
Zero experience meant zero confidence or finesse. Words tumbled in his throat before he asked, “My mouth… is that okay?”
It felt off, yet logical. Common sense said mouths were more efficient than hands.
Wen Jiang had decided not to waste time on the “empty room” debate. Amid the scorching tide of arousal, he hummed in assent. His gaze flicked to Xie Qi’s crotch, noting the obvious excitement, then drifted away disinterestedly.
…Huh? Wait.
Wen Jiang’s eyes snapped back, realization dawning belatedly: “Don’t we need to handle you too?”
Dancing required both of them. Being ready alone wouldn’t cut it.
The hand on his knee tightened subtly, heat seeping through the fabric. Xie Qi paused, throat bobbing, voice wrecked: “Sure.”
“Whatever you want to do is fine.”
It sounded compliant, but Xie Qi’s other hand had slid onto Wen Jiang’s knee too. The man lounging on the sofa lowered his crow-feather lashes, showing no refusal. Inevitably, Xie Qi’s thoughts flashed to flawless gems, butterflies fluttering on wings, flowers oblivious to danger. Wen Jiang glanced down lazily, thinking—
Xie Qi’s so confident today.
Xie Qi never quite got it, but he hadn’t always been this obedient toward Wen Jiang. From bluntly showing his foul temper at first—savagery unmasked when angry—to later learning restraint, communication, not just acting on whims. Even then, he’d fake listening half the time.
So, Wen Jiang mused subconsciously, why does he think he can fool me?
That poorly hidden aggression was plain as day.
Unlike Room 510’s three spectators, Xie Qi was also “harmless.” It felt more like Xie Qi had dragged him into a contest for dominance. Wen Jiang pondered sluggishly through the haze, not quite grasping the game.
But whatever. Victory would be easy.
As Xie Qi’s hand ventured forward, brushing the heated skin beneath fabric—suddenly, Wen Jiang shifted lightly.
That permissive aura—like anything goes, all would be allowed—rippled away like water disturbed, then vanished.
Xie Qi’s right knee, failing to bend, was pinned by Wen Jiang’s foot. Ink-black eyes locked on him carelessly.
“Wrong,” Wen Jiang said.
Fuck. Breath hitched, electricity shooting up his spine, heat surging. Xie Qi swore under his breath, thighs tensing. Wen Jiang just calmly kept him pinned.
After a near-frozen second, Xie Qi’s right leg yielded to the pressure, knee meeting carpet slowly. From one-knee kneel to full, proper posture.
Too weird. Why does this feel so off? First time ever?
One knee versus two felt different. Volition versus obedience felt different. Wen Jiang still pinned him—no guidance, no praise. Seemingly unsatisfied.
How to make him satisfied?
Xie Qi’s mind blurred with half-remembered, half-seen things. Meeting Wen Jiang’s eyes, he opened his mouth, instinctively hesitating: “…Sorry?”
Wen Jiang stayed silent. Xie Qi repeated, voice ringing clear in the quiet room: “Sorry.”
The light pressure on his leg lifted. Wen Jiang leaned forward slightly, ruffling Xie Qi’s hair.
…Looks effective.
Xie Qi ducked his head fully, a faint gasp betraying his impatience and daze. Wen Jiang exhaled hot breath—relief easing body and mind. He twisted his wrist; as Xie Qi’s hand retreated, it brushed his leg. Slender fingers grazed the flushed neck and ear idly—casual, like a master toying with an inescapable plaything.
Whatever’s fine… Wen Jiang hadn’t quite grasped how “handling” had flipped onto him, but with nothing else pressing, he considered: solving both at once would be quickest, most efficient…
Normally, you wouldn’t do this lightly. But given the situation, it seemed the right call.
“Xie Qi.” Wen Jiang spoke, politely checking in with the diligently working Xie Qi out of respect. Physiology roughed his voice lower than usual, tone still coolly detached.
He already knew the answer; the question was more statement: “You want me to step on you?”
