Chapter 28: Brown Eyes (2)

Shen Qiuxun yawned and leaned against the wall, thinking about what to eat for dinner when he got home. He watched the Conquerable Target politely apologize to the few men.

The ringleader, a burly, broad man, glanced at Shen Qiuxun outside the door, then at Fu Mingchuan across from him, and grinned towards the door: “Little Bro Shen, how about this—you waive a day’s room fee for us, we’ll let things slide, and your friend here can do his job.”

His name was Long Yan, an Alpha of the lowest rank, but it was already enough to give him an arrogant edge.

The battle hadn’t reached Shen Qiuxun yet, and he hadn’t quite caught on.

Something about the wording struck Fu Mingchuan. A little embarrassed, he glanced at Shen Qiuxun, a faint light flickering in his dark pupils. His lips couldn’t help but curve up before pressing into a straight line. He reached out to open his Lightbrain for a transfer. “In that case, how about I cover the room fees for you all?”

“Hold on.”

Shen Qiuxun stepped forward, lifting his chin at Fu Mingchuan. “Come out.”

Fu Mingchuan looked at him blankly, his eyes holding a hint of nervousness and a touch of anticipation. His tightly pressed lips finally relaxed, color returning. He lowered his head and obediently stepped back two paces into the hallway, positioning himself slightly behind Shen Qiuxun. His gaze fell on the fingers resting against his waist—neatly trimmed nails, fingers pale, slender, and long, slightly hooked onto the waistband.

The black fabric around the waist wrinkled slightly, outlining a slender curve. Too thin. He could encircle it completely with both hands.

Expressionless, Shen Qiuxun swept his gaze across the five men in the room. They all took an honest step backward. His face was sour. “The three days of room fees you owe—give them to me now. If you can’t pay, get lost.”

Long Yan’s expression stiffened. He glanced fearfully at Shen Qiuxun’s fist, his attitude instantly flipping. “Ah, Brother Shen, we were just joking! How could you take it seriously? Your friends are our friends, we’re all friends here, mutual understanding, mutual help!”

“That room fee… the fee… lately, money’s a bit tight, it’s a bit… you know… we’ll be staying a few more days, we’ll pay it all together later, together.”

Nonchalantly, Shen Qiuxun began rolling up his sleeves, exposing a slender, pale wrist. Yet it was these seemingly frail hands that had pummeled them into the ground.

The memory of that pain was fresh.

The few men exchanged glances. The ringleader, cowed and submissive, fished a large handful of silver coins from his pocket and offered them up.

Capital Planet people used their Lightbrains for payment now. He hadn’t seen coins in days since arriving here. He was just too poor—on par with Shen Qiuxun, really.

Speaking of coincidences…

The day Shen Qiuxun first arrived, he’d been curled up in bed, miserable for an entire afternoon. Finally lucid by nightfall, he decided to get up and look for something to eat. He happened to stumble upon a collective bullying incident in the alley—five burly men cornering two young guys for protection money. One of the victims was Xian Zeyang, who had just asked him to dinner.

Probably thinking Shen Qiuxun, who had wandered into the scene, was an easy target, they decided to shake him down too. The group, newly arrived on Capital Planet, was eager to make a name for themselves.

Shen Qiuxun, miserable all day and operating on the principle of “if someone offends me, I offend them forever,” delivered a resounding beating. The arrogant Alpha ringleader lost every shred of face, trampled underfoot and begging for mercy, calling him “Grandpa” and “Granny.”

Shen Qiuxun reached for the proffered money bag, but it was pulled back at the last second.

Long Yan grabbed Shen Qiuxun’s left wrist, looking at the bulging money pouch with the pained expression of someone having a piece of his heart carved out. He pleaded, not yet resigned: “Brother Shen, let’s be friends. Don’t be so cold.”

Fu Mingchuan’s gaze settled heavily on that hand, his stare almost solidifying into something tangible.

Long Yan inexplicably felt a chill shoot through his left hand. He shivered involuntarily, looking up in that direction, but only saw a pretty boy with lowered eyes.

Just because he was handsome, he could cling to Brother Shen’s thigh too.

“Even real brothers settle accounts clearly. Don’t go falsely claiming kinship.” Impartial and incorruptible, Shen Qiuxun shook off Long Yan’s grip, cleanly pocketed the money bag, stepped back, and shut the door with a neat click.

Fu Mingchuan followed him, carrying his equipment. The hallway was quiet, only the soft sound of footsteps.

A faint, cold fragrance drifted past Fu Mingchuan’s nose. After a moment, his gaze finally shifted upwards from the dim shadows, slowly climbing the figure ahead of him—from legs to waist… then to the nape of his neck, as clean and pristine as a patch of fresh snow.

Incredibly strange. Even though the other had done nothing, he constantly stirred a craving deep within Fu Mingchuan. The feeling was akin to hunger, but not quite.

Fu Mingchuan appeared gentle and refined on the surface, but he had an illness… diagnosed since childhood: Skin Hunger Syndrome. His parents were ashamed of it, forcing him to suppress it, over and over, until he almost forgot it himself.

Yet here, in this dim, narrow hallway tinged with the scent of damp and mildew, it swept over him again. Fu Mingchuan swallowed with difficulty.

Up ahead, Shen Qiuxun suddenly stopped and turned around. He had to look up to properly see the man behind him.

Pale skin, striking, beautiful features tinged with a languid, listless coolness. His upper lash line was dark, his pupils clear, and he looked at people with such directness.

His delicate jaw, slender neck, and small Adam’s apple were exposed before the man’s eyes—almost generously so.

Fu Mingchuan blinked slowly, finding the whiteness almost dazzling. Reason told him his gaze was highly offensive, but his eyes seemed to have detached from his brain’s command, just staring intently, laced with an imperceptible trace of obsession. He simply couldn’t look away. Unnoticed by anyone, his fingers were digging tightly into the edge of his instrument, his knuckles white.

‘Do you think… this counts as a heroic rescue of a man?’

[Probably.] The System felt its Host’s style had seriously skewed off course. It pondered that plain, pale face, thinking how much better he’d be suited for a decorative vase route.

Shen Qiuxun turned back and sighed, pondering how to get the man’s contact information. The coins in his pocket clanked annoyingly.

Wasn’t even his money.

Downstairs on the first floor, he sat back in his chair, leaning back, swinging his right leg over his left. He propped his cheek on one hand, fingertips pressing into his face, the soft flesh of his cheek slightly indented. He was about to launch into the opening line he’d rehearsed in his head dozens of times.

Fu Mingchuan was captivated by his lazy posture. His gaze on the hip bones and waist accentuated by the pose, his eyes darkened slightly. He reached up to adjust his glasses and spoke softly:

“Hello, can I add you on my contacts?”

The man’s gentle eyes watched him from behind the lenses, his forehead hair swept back, his brows and eyes warm, reminding one of a spring breeze.

“Shen Dongxun.”

With that, he raised his wrist and opened his Lightbrain. They exchanged contact details.

It went smoothly, politely so.

Fu Mingchuan, holding his instrument, smiled at him shyly. “Thank you for helping me out of that… If you ever need anything from me, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Shen Qiuxun stroked his chin, nodding noncommittally.

…

Night fell. Lights on the towering buildings in the distance flickered, their dazzling glow illuminating the entire sky. That was the Upper City District—where the wealthy lived.

The Capital Planet’s slums were still far more developed than the towns on Trash Planet, with some small vendors catering to the night-life economy.

In a pitch-black alley, only slivers of light from distant, tall street lamps offered any illumination.

The five burly men had finally found the target of their revenge, cornering the meek, pretty boy in the middle of the alley. The ringleader, Long Yan, laid down his harsh threats with a grim face, advising him to pay three times the room fees they’d lost today, and they might just barely let him off.

Fu Mingchuan looked around. He’d known someone was following him and had deliberately chosen a secluded alley. He just hadn’t expected it to be these particular men.

So docile in front of Shen Qiuxun during the day, now turning around to corner him for money. Truly, might made right.

He reached up to adjust his glasses, his eyes lowered. He actually had sharp, phoenix-like eyes, the outer corners tilting up, with thick lashes. But because of the constant gentle, mild smile and the cover of his glasses, no one really noticed. Even when being threatened by thugs, his tone remained perfectly agreeable: “During the day, you all seemed to have a different approach.”

Lacking that usual disguise, however, his pure black pupils hinted at something chilling.

Long Yan sneered. The men exchanged glances, brandishing the clubs and sticks in their hands, intent on skinning him alive to vent their anger. “Cut the crap! Your money or your life?”

Fu Mingchuan didn’t answer.

So the five of them decided to teach this pretty boy a lesson.

And then… they were taught a lesson.

Obliterated.

Fu Mingchuan fought one against five, his movements carrying a viciousness starkly at odds with his appearance. As he fought, the taut sleeves of his shirt hinted at the muscle beneath. He was clearly trained.

Long Yan was pinned to the ground by terrifying Mental Coercion, unable to move. His insides felt displaced, fragile as fruit in a blender.

The five men lay groaning on the ground, some clutching arms, some legs. Their pupils trembled, eyes filled with horror. This pretty boy was clearly just an ordinary Beta… How could he… how could he possess such terrifying Mental Power?!

Long Yan, beaten black and blue, the victim of a wolf in sheep’s clothing, forced himself to grin through the agony, pleading: “Commander, spare us, spare us! We’ll do anything! If you see fit, just give the order! The order!”

Fu Mingchuan’s expression didn’t change. The gentle mask he usually wore was completely stripped away. He looked down, his cold gaze scanning Long Yan’s left hand. The hard leather shoe stomped down ruthlessly, crushing the man’s wrist bone with a crack.

Long Yan broke out in a cold sweat from the pain, the scream tearing from his throat like a broken bellows: “Commander, spare me! Spare me!”

Fu Mingchuan straightened his cuffs and crouched down. Those cold, deep, ruthless eyes fixed on Long Yan, studying the abnormally bent, shattered wrist. His pupils were dark as ink. An intangible pressure constricted the blood vessels of the ruined hand. Long Yan’s left hand burst open like an over-inflated balloon, his skin splitting and blooming into a bloody, mangled mess.

It was completely and utterly destroyed.

Having finished, he curved his lips into a good-natured smile and spoke in a low, haunting voice: “Perfect. Do me a favor.”