Emotions are hard to pin down clearly. Everyone has their own threshold for what they can tolerate. To outsiders, certain behaviors might seem like blatant violations of human rights.
But for those involved, they represent a harmonious way of life.
Qi Jing stammered, “Missing?”
“But he—he’s on a business trip…”
It was as if he’d conveyed half his meaning—that the other man wouldn’t be coming home. But then Qi Jing froze midway through his sentence.
“I didn’t bring my phone.”
Qi Jing spoke with evident unease, panic creeping into his voice. He removed his smart wristband.
The messages had been delayed by several hours.
By rights, he should have had some buffer time.
【It’s broken, Little Jing.】
【It’s eight o’clock at night now.】
He was overdue.
The 996’s remote teleportation compressed time, leaving Qi Jing with dulled awareness of the outside world. He had no idea so much time had passed.
“Returning will still take you some time,” the man said.
“Do you want to make a call?”
As if sharing some secret understanding, the man merely rubbed his fingertip in a subtle gesture and reminded him, “I wouldn’t suggest going straight back.”
“You’ll need an excuse.”
Qi Jing was at a loss for the moment. He could only nod woodenly, but the man beside him simply rose and walked away.
“The same as yesterday?”
The voice was gentle, almost ingratiating.
Qi Jing couldn’t help lifting his gaze. He saw two people—one aloof, the other intently focused—their personalities as different as night and day.
“Mm.”
Gu Qingshi thought for a moment, as if recalling something. He reached out to grasp the other’s forearm and said warmly, “Make an extra portion… for the kid…”
There were a few more quiet instructions.
Qi Jing watched, entranced. Only after the man left did he snap back to himself. “No need, no need.”
“I’m not eating.”
The young man even shot to his feet, a flush creeping into his cheeks as embarrassment flooded him.
“I don’t know how to cook… and I’m afraid of feeding you something wrong. He can cook.”
The young man walked over with gentle steps, offering the explanation as he approached.
“Don’t be so reserved.”
Qi Jing didn’t know what to do. At that moment, the 996 flitted onto his shoulder, prompting him to sit back down.
“Perhaps because I’ve read so many books on child-rearing in the past, the 996 thinks I can offer you some guidance.”
“But sometimes, there’s a vast gap between theory and practice.”
Gu Qingshi considered this, then added, “I’ve looked into the person you like. He wields considerable power.”
The young man crossed his legs elegantly and spoke with refined courtesy. “From what Huo Chen asked about you, it seems he doesn’t dislike you.”
“But you can’t accept the surveillance?”
Qi Jing faltered at the question. In the end, he could only say, “I… I just know it’s wrong.”
Anyone with a proper sense of right and wrong would reach the same conclusion.
Gu Qingshi lowered his gaze slightly, a hint of surprise in his expression. The boy before him… had clearly been raised well.
He could voice his dilemmas openly and honestly.
He was fully willing to accept the 996’s suggestions.
He had even come here alone.
In a way, that person seemed to have impeccable manners.
“Yes, it’s illegal.”
Gu Qingshi glanced at the time on his wristwatch and asked calmly, “So you hate him?”
Qi Jing froze, then shook his head.
“Not to that extent.”
The 996 perched on the coffee table, its beady eyes blinking curiously as it listened.
One second, two seconds…
The young man paused, then seemed to realize something. He asked point-blank, “So, does liking someone lead to tolerance?”
The place was covered in surveillance.
It violated human rights.
And yet…
For the other man, it wasn’t an issue. Perhaps it was a way of providing security for his partner.
But conversely…
It was also how he gained security from his partner.
Qi Jing’s eyes lit up with sudden realization. His pointed chin tilted up, his dark pupils holding an air of innocence untouched by the world.
His voice was muffled.
“I don’t hate him. I just think it’s wrong.”
“I still like him.”
It was as if he’d finally clarified his own feelings bit by bit.
People are autonomous beings. Constantly wondering whether the other person likes you is a form of self-erasure.
Love, at its core, is a game of balance. When one side dominates, the other wilts.
And vice versa.
~~~
The atmosphere in Brocade River Villas hung heavy and oppressive, the rooms shrouded in dimness.
Bo Chengyan stared down at the road surveillance feeds on his screen. Nothing. No sign of anyone.
Qi Jing had vanished into thin air.
He recalled what the boy had once told him about his past—that “thing,” those experiences utterly at odds with reality.
The young man had been so clingy that very morning.
Was this punishment?
A tantrum?
Bo Chengyan’s gaze darkened, devoid of any light. He rose and headed to the living room, removing his wristwatch.
One must maintain control.
Auntie stood nearby, visibly worried. She took his coat and wristwatch, unable to hold back. “Sir… should I still prepare dinner?”
The situation was heartbreaking. How had Little Jing suddenly gone missing? Everything had been fine that morning.
Especially now that the master of the house had returned early.
This was no small matter.
Auntie’s heart was in her throat.
Until—
“As usual.”
Bo Chengyan flexed his wrist, his expression calm, though his eyes churned with a suppressed storm.
“Then for you, sir…”
“Two portions.”
Auntie froze. But Little Jing hadn’t come back…
“The same as yesterday will do.”
“Thank you for the trouble.”
Bo Chengyan undid the top button of his shirt collar with one hand and lifted his gaze to her.
“Yes, of course.”
The air had never felt so tense.
Qi Jing had spent a long time at Brocade River Villas. The master of the house was always impeccably courteous upon returning, giving the place a true sense of “home.”
Auntie hadn’t noticed these subtle shifts before. Not until now.
With the person missing…
The house felt like it had turned to ice.
Meanwhile—
Dressed in pajamas, the young man tilted his head up toward the second-floor window, his face etched with worry.
The lights were blazing, just as he’d feared.
Qi Jing hadn’t dared to call. Phones could be tracked for location, and he didn’t want to cause trouble for anyone.
It was exactly ten o’clock now.
The 996 hovered in midair, equally glum. 【Little Jing, I’ve sped up the return trip, but it doesn’t seem to be helping.】
It was already too late.
No matter how late, it didn’t matter.
【Why don’t we take a stroll outside and come back at midnight?】
Qi Jing replied miserably, “But it’s already ten o’clock.”
He’d assumed the other man had gone to bed, letting him sneak back to his room unnoticed.
But the reality was right before his eyes.
No one had retired.
The young man crouched by the wall, rubbing his eyes.
“I’m hungry.”
His voice drooped with fatigue.
He was a bit sleepy, too.
The teleportation had compressed time, but his physical state hadn’t changed much. He truly hadn’t eaten.
The 996 fell silent for a moment, then drifted slowly up to the second floor to scout. The room was empty. No one inside.
The plan was underway.
Qi Jing’s heart raced as he climbed back into his bedroom against the night breeze. His desk drawer held snacks.
【Be careful.】
His slender leg stretched out, his toes touching down lightly and steadily on the floor.
“Whew…”
Qi Jing exhaled in relief. He was just about to lower his other foot when his back bumped the chair.
It let out a sharp creak.
His hairs stood on end in an instant.
Like a cat, the young man dove under the desk. His elbow knocked against something in the process, pain making him bite his lip.
By rights, this was his own home—there was nothing to fear about entering. But he felt intensely guilty.
On the way, the 996 had relayed information: Bo Chengyan was indeed searching for him. The young man couldn’t shake the sense that he’d gotten into serious trouble.
Much like that time exploring the karst cave…
Qi Jing seemed to remember something, a tingle running through his palms, though his eyes remained bright.
Once he was sure no one had entered, he slowly emerged and reached for the snacks in his drawer.
Click—
The lights went out.
Darkness swallowed everything.
The 996 had been gnawing at the snack packaging when it looked up and froze solid.
The young man was suddenly scooped into an embrace, his body almost entirely enveloped. His wrist was gripped tightly, as if capturing some small creature.
Bo Chengyan’s gaze was dark and lightless. He felt the press of skin against skin, looking past Qi Jing to the empty spot on the desk.
His line of sight loomed from above.
It carried an air of scrutiny.
The 996 went numb all over, for Bo Chengyan’s next words were:
“It’s you.”
There was a subtle reversal of observer and observed. The watcher realized it was being watched in turn.
In the world’s core domain, humans held sway. No matter the higher dimensions’ interference, without people, no world could form.
The 996 was tiny in its physical form. In a daze, a blankness swept over it, the world spinning as it was swatted out the window.
Qi Jing hadn’t even had time to explain before his chin was seized. In the hazy night, his mouth was forced open.
Bo Chengyan’s brow bone cast a natural shadow, obscuring his expression.
“Mm…”
Qi Jing’s thighs were lifted, seating him directly on the desk—the very spot where he’d once studied diligently for exams.
His knees were parted.
Qi Jing gasped for air in great heaves. “Bo Cheng…”
The wet, cold lips pressed against his, as if savoring the taste or confirming something precious.
Their lips and teeth tangled together, desire seeping out little by little.
In the moonlight, the back of a hand with bulging veins appeared and disappeared from view.
All control was lost, becoming an inescapable reality.
Qi Jing’s waist and abdomen were slender and fragile. Even when he was finally released to catch his breath, his body still twitched, his eyes glistening with moisture.
He had barely recovered when his chin was pinched again, and another meticulous kiss descended upon him.
For the first time, the youth felt an overwhelming tightness. He couldn’t push him away. His breath was completely stolen, and he couldn’t utter a single word of explanation.
He mumbled for what felt like forever, but he couldn’t get past the three syllables of “Bo Chengyan.” He could barely form even one sound.
It dawned on him too late.
He realized this was his punishment.
When his lips were finally rubbed raw, the youth began to cry. His nose was red at the tip, and tears traced shallow paths down his cheeks.
But it did nothing to help his situation.
The youth’s sleepwear was thin, and every tear track was kissed away completely. It seemed they were on the verge of starting all over again.
In a panic, Qi Jing tilted his head up and pressed his lips to Bo Chengyan’s chin, stammering, “W-Wait a minute.”
He pulled out the excuse he had prepared from the start. His lips parted and closed as he spoke, his eyelashes damp, his pupils shimmering with a watery, translucent brightness.
“I… I’m finished talking.”
Qi Jing’s nose was still red at the tip, and he looked utterly serious, completely unaware that his expression had betrayed him.
Bo Chengyan gazed at him coldly. “Little Jing.”
“Do you take me for a fool?”
Qi Jing’s breathing turned chaotic in an instant.
He plunged into a massive wave of panic. There was almost no pause before the damp kisses fell once more.
“Mm… Ha…”
At first, his hands braced against the other’s shoulders and back. The tears welling in his eyes were purely physiological, forced out by the intensity of the kiss.
The position shifted. Bo Chengyan cradled the back of his neck, pinning him against the wall for more kisses, his arm supporting the soft inner thighs.
Why wouldn’t he ask?
“Mm…”
The stinging pain was mild. Qi Jing thought he could endure it—until his gaze fell upon the object on the table.
The Discipline Ruler.
