Chapter 50
A human-ghost romance, so explicit, so… descriptive… hiss!
And Song Jingmo had never seen this story before.
Where had the innocent Xie Zhang found such… material?
He looked at Xie Zhang, who was recounting the day’s events, focusing on Song Jingmo’s deep sleep.
Song Jingmo hadn’t felt anything unusual.
But thinking back, he had been tired, so he’d turned on the TV and started reading, probably falling asleep after a few pages.
And he’d slept until—he checked the time on his phone—6:30 pm.
It was almost dark, the sunset fading.
“Did you have lunch and dinner?” he asked.
Xie Zhang glanced at his phone.
Song Jingmo understood.
He probably hadn’t eaten.
Too distracted by his new… hobby.
He knew the feeling.
He’d been carefully introducing Xie Zhang to… progressively spicier… material, and someone had bypassed him, giving him the hard stuff directly?
Who was this inconsiderate person?
Just as he was wondering this, he heard Xie Zhang mention donating one million yuan to the temple.
Song Jingmo: “?”
He might be lazy, but he wasn’t stupid.
He quickly understood.
One million yuan for a short, explicit story?
What a rip-off!!!
He sat up, ignoring Xie Zhang’s abs, and grabbed the phone, rereading the story from the beginning.
The more he read, the stranger his expression became.
The protagonists… he opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, blushing, then opening it again, then closing it again.
He hesitated.
The story wasn’t long, only ten chapters, but he saw… himself and Xie Zhang… in the characters.
He hadn’t noticed it at first, but now—
Similar names, similar backgrounds, a love story transcending death.
The ghost, like him, had resided in his lover’s shadow, and as their bond deepened, he’d regained his human form after falling asleep, just like Song Jingmo.
And the story offered an explanation for his current state, suggesting that the transformation from ghost to living soul consumed a lot of energy, and a living soul couldn’t remain separate from its body for too long.
He needed to be nourished with life force, and their connection, the red string, needed to be mended for him to fully awaken and return to his body.
Song Jingmo turned off the phone screen, silent.
Seriously.
Xie Zhang had paid one million yuan for a custom fanfiction?!
He’d suspected the master wasn’t human, especially after his blatant love for money, and the connection to the wishing tree was undeniable.
But whether he was a god of love, a tree spirit, or something else entirely, he was definitely not ordinary.
Song Jingmo had been trying to figure out how to approach him, and Xie Zhang had simply… bribed him.
Money talks.
He suddenly understood.
Xie Zhang, watching Song Jingmo’s rapidly changing expressions, knew he’d figured it out, so he explained softly: “Asking someone else would have been risky, and it might have attracted unwanted attention.”
They needed to be cautious.
“And since we were already there, it was easier to… negotiate… with him directly.”
Xie Zhang wasn’t a spiritualist, but he was a businessman.
And the principles of negotiation were universal.
“He wasn’t shy about his… financial interests… which is good.” He smiled. “We have… resources.”
He was no longer the helpless, penniless youth, nor the lost, confused young man from seven years ago.
He was capable, resourceful, and determined to protect his lover.
He took Song Jingmo’s hand, his fingers gently tracing his wrist, then holding it tightly.
He finally felt like all his struggles, all his pain, all his anxiety, had been worth it.
Without them, he wouldn’t be the man he was today.
Song Jingmo saw a newfound peace and acceptance in Xie Zhang’s eyes. He watched him for a moment, then, seeing his hand trembling slightly, cupped his face.
Oops, maybe he’d squeezed a bit too hard.
He looked away, slightly embarrassed, noticing the red mark he’d left on Xie Zhang’s cheek.
Xie Zhang, pulled back to reality by the sudden pressure, chuckled softly.
He felt… lighter… somehow.
Something had shifted between them.
He ruffled Song Jingmo’s hair, his fingers gently smoothing the strands.
Song Jingmo, whose senses had heightened since regaining his physical form, flinched at the touch, the sensation almost overwhelming.
He quickly blocked Xie Zhang’s hand, muttering that even stubbing his toe would probably send him to the afterlife now.
He held Xie Zhang’s hand, lost in thought, then heard him ask: “Are you hungry?”
Song Jingmo’s eyes widened: “No! Not at all!”
He wasn’t hungry!
Not even a little bit!
He was, according to the fanfiction, somewhere between a ghost and a living soul.
Ghosts roamed at night, fearing the sunlight, which was why he’d needed Xie Zhang’s shadow.
He wasn’t a full ghost anymore, so he wasn’t afraid of sunlight, and he could leave Xie Zhang’s shadow.
He was transitioning back to a living soul, visible and tangible, but his body was still miles away, so he couldn’t eat human food.
And what nourished a living soul…
He covered his face, the word “essence” echoing in his mind.
Xie Zhang, seemingly oblivious to his embarrassment, asked: “Are you tired?”
Song Jingmo, stubbornly: “…No!”
He yawned widely, his eyes watering with exhaustion.
Song Jingmo: “…”
He was both tired and… strangely hungry.
He was all talk and no action, his theoretical knowledge extensive, his imagination vivid, but when it came to… practical application… he faltered.
He’d been eager and curious at the beginning of their relationship, ready to put his… knowledge… to use.
But their first time had been… traumatic.
He didn’t even want to remember the awkwardness and pain, the days he could barely sit.
Xie Zhang had offered to help, but Song Jingmo, having read too many stories about… complications… during such intimate moments, had refused.
But they couldn’t remain celibate forever. He’d tried again, even doing his research, preparing himself mentally and physically, but the pain had been too much.
Fortunately, Xie Zhang, sensing his distress, had stopped initiating.
They’d found other ways to… address their needs.
But what now?
He peeked through his fingers, glancing at… Xie Zhang’s lower body.
He’d learned a lot about Xie Zhang during his time as a shadow.
And he knew he couldn’t… handle it.
And he was even more sensitive to pain now!
That first time had been excruciating; now it would probably be fatal!
He closed his eyes, pulling the covers over his head, like an ostrich burying its head in the sand.
Xie Zhang sat beside him, gently creating a small opening in the tightly wrapped duvet.
Song Jingmo quickly closed the gap, his voice muffled: “What? I don’t need to breathe.”
Xie Zhang’s fingers gently tapped the duvet.
The duvet twitched.
He slipped his fingers inside.
Song Jingmo caught his hand.
Xie Zhang intertwined their fingers, gently swinging their joined hands.
The duvet twitched again.
Xie Zhang’s voice was soft and gentle: “Momo, I was wrong before.”
“I… I’d never been with anyone before you, so I… lacked experience.”
“I should have learned, instead of… hurting you.”
Although his words flowed smoothly, only he knew the truth.
He hadn’t realized the problem was… him. He’d thought Song Jingmo simply wasn’t comfortable with intimacy.
And respecting his lover’s preferences, he’d suppressed his own desires.
He hadn’t sought… further education… on the matter.
They’d both misunderstood each other, neither of them willing to discuss such a sensitive topic, their relationship a delicate dance of unspoken needs and unmet desires for seven years.
“Momo, I understand now.”
“I’ve been… studying… while you were… sleeping.”
“I’ve learned a few things.”
Song Jingmo peeked out from under the covers.
Xie Zhang’s confession was already a huge step for him, and he was glad Momo couldn’t see his face.
“Momo, give me another chance.”
“Let’s try again.”
“We’ll stop if it hurts, okay?”
He waited patiently for Song Jingmo’s response.
After a few minutes, the duvet was slowly pulled back, revealing Song Jingmo, his face flushed, clutching the blanket.
“I… I guess…”
His voice was barely a whisper, his fingers nervously picking at the sheets.
“I’ll… trust you… one more time.”
Xie Zhang, relieved, took his cold hand, warming it in his own, nodding earnestly.
“Thank you, Momo.”
…
At the wishing tree temple…
The young man lying on a branch, looking at his bank balance, anticipating the substantial donation, stroked the large white bird in his lap, swinging his feet.
Excellent!
One step closer to buying his own mountain.
One transaction at a time. He’d accepted the money, provided his services, he was a man of his word.
He didn’t usually offer readings to mortals, but the donation had been too generous to refuse. He’d warned them to stay indoors, referring to the transformation of the soul, but he’d also said it would rain.
And rain could mean different things.
He touched a leaf on the banyan tree, noticing the faint red glow in its veins, and nodded with satisfaction.
The red string was almost mended.
He didn’t usually interfere in mortal affairs, but the offer had been too good to refuse.
Times were tough for gods and spirits these days. And being too direct with mortals was… frowned upon. A subtle hint, a story, was much more appropriate.
And those two seemed to enjoy reading stories anyway.
