Chapter 57: Two-Faced Phoenix Man 16

Jiang Rang rarely did anything he regretted.

In most situations, the young man approached everyone with caution and calculation—everyone except Zhou Yichun.

It wasn’t that he never schemed against Zhou Yichun. The truth was, he didn’t need to put in any effort; the man trailed after him like a lovesick puppy, devoted and uncomplaining no matter how Jiang treated him. You couldn’t shake him off no matter how hard you tried.

Zhou Yichun wasn’t entirely wrong in his suspicions. Jiang Rang did treat him differently.

Different enough that the young man unleashed every shadow of his dark side in front of him.

The man was like a thick, stagnant swamp, silently absorbing all the extreme negativity from his lover without a sound.

To Jiang Rang, Zhou Yichun was nothing more than an outlet—something to vent on, to abuse without restraint.

And outlets always ended up in the trash.

Jiang Rang looked down on him, despised him, even found his disability repulsive. On ordinary days, even the occasional soothing kiss was perfunctory at best.

So when the groggy young man finally opened his eyes and caught sight of Zhou Yichun sleeping soundly beside him—arm bared, body wrapped tightly around his own—he felt as if he’d been struck by lightning. Total collapse.

Memories of their night together crashed into his mind, twisting and crowding his skull in fragmented, hazy flashes.

Jiang Rang remembered the dim, snowy blur where he’d absurdly stripped away the man’s half-concealed white lace. The soft, serpentine lace trim had twisted around the young man’s wrist. But it was too fragile, tearing apart under the strain in those heated moments.

Mellow lamplight had once bathed two sinful outcasts, two unrestrained beasts. It was beautiful, flickering like the drifting snow outside that had finally begun to taper off. Yet the shadows it cast devoured all reason, refusing to fade.

The young man couldn’t forget the sweltering darkness, the pounding of his heart, the frantic clash of lips, the tipping point where desire ignited.

Frame by frame, they crushed what little sanity he had left. He could almost feel the nerves snapping inside his head. The stab of pain and shame stripped him bare, exposing him to a brutal sun.

His face paled, disbelief etched into every line. He couldn’t accept that he’d lost control like a mindless dog, bedding the very lapdog he despised most.

A piercing ring filled his ears, stirring a surge of escapist hatred.

It was all Zhou Yichun’s fault.

The young man thought. He must have seduced me.

The blame lay with Zhou Yichun. The man had thrown himself at him shamelessly. Under those circumstances, what normal guy could hold back?

Getting lured in was perfectly understandable.

It was just a fling, a vengeful bit of cheating. No big deal.

That was what he told himself, but his teeth ground together with a creak, acid churning in his stomach and rising to his throat. Disgust roiled in his eyes like thick, putrid sludge. His features twisted, and he lashed out with a kick, sending the other man tumbling off the bed.

A dull thud echoed, followed by the man’s hoarse, ragged breaths. He sprawled half-prone on the floor in a daze, utterly exposed. His pale skin, faintly flushed, stretched over sharp bones. One powdered cheek flushed as if splashed with diluted paint.

Zhou Yichun seemed to have just woken up. His usually meek dark eyes gleamed strangely in the morning light. When he focused on the young man glaring down at him from the bed, years of habit kicked in. He apologized in a low, servile whisper. “Jiang Jiang, I was wrong.”

Those words ignited Jiang Rang’s rage beyond control.

The young man fought down his physical discomfort. His beautiful face contorted, cheeks flushed red. His elegantly arched eye sockets twitched nervously. Like a madman, he couldn’t stop himself—he snatched the bedside lamp and water glass from the nightstand and hurled them at the man.

The scene was terrifying. This went beyond mere venting.

He looked like he wanted to dismember the man and bury the pieces amid the wreckage.

Shockingly, Zhou Yichun didn’t dodge from start to finish. He just took it, the picture of cowardice.

Only after a sharp crash of shattering porcelain did he slump against the wardrobe, pale and unsteady. Thick crimson blood trickled slowly from a gash at his right temple.

The room fell silent, save for the young man’s heaving breaths.

Zhou Yichun steadied himself with effort. He was hurt bad—beyond the head wound, his elbow and knees were covered in bruises of all sizes. He looked like the victim of cruel abuse.

Yet his expression held no pain. He simply wiped the blood from his temple with difficulty, as if it didn’t matter.

Or perhaps Zhou Yichun’s focus had never been on himself to begin with.

His eyes and heart were filled with nothing but his little lover, clawing and thrashing wildly on the bed.

The marks on Jiang Rang’s body were heavy—unique imprints left by a pathetic mutt. But one glance was enough to make anyone’s face burn red.

The man, his long-cherished wish finally fulfilled, half-propped himself up. Blood smeared across half his cheek, yet his posture was coy and bashful, like a shy bride on her wedding night. That bizarre mix of shyness and gore inexplicably sent a chill creeping up the spine.

Zhou Yichun knelt beside the bed, flashing a fawning smile at the young man. “Jiang Jiang, don’t be mad, okay? What does Jiang Jiang want to eat? I’ll make it right away.”

Jiang Rang let out a cold sneer. His knuckles clenched the bedding with all their might as loathing dripped from his voice. “Why don’t you just go die?”

The man acted as if he hadn’t heard that vicious curse at all. His face flushed red as he murmured on, “Yesterday was Jiang Jiang’s first time, so you have to rest well today. I-I’ll take good care of Jiang Jiang.”

Jiang Rang shook with fury. He wanted nothing more than to rip that meek, obedient face to shreds.

The meeker Zhou Yichun acted now, the harder it was for Jiang Rang to suppress the memories of the man’s near-maniacal frenzy the night before.

That was when Zhou Yichun had truly been a rabid dog.

The man on the bed flushed with excitement, that crimson glow seeping from his very bones like intoxicating mist, swirling out to bewilder the mind and soul.

Jiang Rang could never forget the agitation, the raw hunger, the worshipful frenzy in those pitch-black eyes. The excited man had kneaded them all into a scorching chain, with Jiang Rang as the helpless slab of meat trapped at its center.

It had been an agonizing night.

Jiang Rang had regretted it midway through, but the Zhou Yichun who usually obeyed his every word had devolved into a mindless beast. His pathological excitement looked less like tender lovemaking and more like a stray dog that couldn’t get its fill.

To Jiang Rang, the Zhou Yichun before him now was nothing but a hypocrite putting on a show.

The angrier he grew, the less Jiang Rang cared about his own disheveled, shameful state. He rolled off the bed and lashed out with a flurry of kicks, pure venting.

At last, rage overtaking him, the young man clamped both hands around the man’s fragile throat. The mild-mannered mask he wore in public had rotted away, festering like an open sore. All he cared about was squeezing with everything he had—strangling the bastard dead.

The scene was eerie, like stumbling into a murder in progress. The lovers from last night were now pecking at each other like deadly doves—absurd enough to be laughable.

Perhaps the young man truly put his all into it. Zhou Yichun’s breaths grew shallow and faint. His pale face turned an iron-gray blue, his scarlet tongue lolling out like that of a hanged ghost.

“Bzzz bzzz bzzz—”

The shrill vibration of the phone shattered the room’s deathly hush. Jiang Rang jolted as if electrocuted, his whole body going limp as he toppled backward.

His face drained of color as he stared at Zhou Yichun, who was hacking and coughing like he was about to retch up pieces of his lungs. Terror made him tremble all over.

A single thought looped endlessly in Jiang Rang’s mind.

He had nearly actually strangled Zhou Yichun to death.

The mere idea of one foot in prison, a permanent record shadowing his life, left him quaking in fear.

But then a pair of cold hands—like those of a corpse—gently encircled his waist from behind. In his daze, Jiang Rang felt the man’s damp face press dependently against the small of his back.

“Jiang Jiang…” The hoarse voice trembled with instinctive response, yet he still soothed softly, “It’s okay… it’s okay. Don’t be scared.”

“Even if Jiang Jiang really killed me by mistake, it wouldn’t matter. I’m Jiang Jiang’s man now. You can do whatever you want with me.”

Jiang Rang drew a deep breath. His muddled mind cleared a fraction.

“Bzzz—”

The phone buzzed again, like some impatient prod, some voyeuristic watchfulness.

Suddenly, realization dawned. He wrenched free of the man’s affectionate embrace, heedless of the dull thud as Zhou Yichun was shoved back. Hands shaking, Jiang Rang snatched up the phone from the bed. Sure enough, three words blinked on the dark gray screen.

Boyfriend.

It was Lu Xiang.

Jiang Rang’s hand twitched. He nearly dropped it.

Anxiety clawed at him as he dug into the flesh of his palm. After a long moment, as if remembering something, he hurried to the windowsill and peeked out by lifting a corner of the curtain.

Sure enough, Lu Xiang probably hadn’t left at all last night.

Jiang Rang’s heart blazed like fire. This rundown old house had terrible soundproofing. Even two doors away, what if the man had overheard something he shouldn’t have?

He had only wanted to cheat for revenge—not to end up broke and single.

The young man racked his brains desperately. In the dim light, his delicate features flickered with grim uncertainty, like the face of a drowned wraith.

The phone’s vibration persisted without cease. In the final second before it would cut off, Jiang Rang glanced at Zhou Yichun’s faintly aggrieved expression and shot him a cold, warning glare before answering the call.

Evidently caught off guard that the young man had picked up, the man on the other end sounded surprised and at a loss. Jiang Rang heard his parched voice tremble with chill as he said, “Jiang Jiang… I heard some noise outside the house just now. A-are you alright?”

“Are you still mad at me?”

Lu Xiang’s voice was soft, laced with an unnatural caution.

Jiang Rang’s eyes shifted slightly as his slender fingers rubbed the edge of the phone. He wanted to brush the man off and send him away, but it was clear this Eldest Young Master, blissfully ignorant of the mortal world’s hardships, had likely spent the entire night hunkered down at the door out of sheer stubbornness.

Even if Jiang Rang wanted to play coy and keep the upper hand now, he couldn’t risk alienating the man at such a crucial juncture.

Thus, Jiang Rang pursed his lips, a shadowy calculation flickering in his downcast eyes, though his tone remained gentle: “I’m fine. I just accidentally broke something. Lu Xiang… are you right outside the door?”

The man’s breathing hitched for a moment. After a long pause, he murmured a quiet affirmation.

Jiang Rang replied softly, “Alright, I’ll come open the door right away.”

With that, the young man ended the call first.

Gripping the phone tightly, Jiang Rang felt his heart quicken.

He returned to the disheveled Zhou Yichun and slowly crouched down. With one hand, he patted the man’s face in a humiliating manner, his voice dripping with mockery: “Zhou Yichun, if you’re going to play the mistress, then act like one. Hide properly—don’t let the main man catch you.”