Chapter 32: Brown Eyes (6)

The owner of the small hotel where Shen Qiuxun worked the front desk was a single mother approaching forty. Her Beta daughter was sixteen, had excellent grades, and was attending a high school in the Upper City District on a full scholarship.

The landlady had simply rented a place there to accompany her daughter, fully determined to help her child transcend social classes. She barely made it back a few times all year.

Every matter in the hotel, big or small, fell solely onto Shen Qiuxun’s shoulders.

The System wouldn’t even let him quit, insisting it was part of the mission.

After another busy day, Shen Qiuxun went to the market to buy groceries as the sky began to darken. He glanced at the discounted items, picking through them carefully. In the end, a whole plastic bag of vegetables cost only a few bucks, plus a small piece of pork he usually couldn’t bear to buy.

Mainly because his cooking skills only ruined expensive ingredients, so he couldn’t justify the expense.

The aunties and uncles at the market were very enthusiastic, much kinder than those at the Second-hand Market. Since he came late, many who were preparing to close up gave him wilted leaves and small radishes for free.

Carrying his things home, he opened the door. His shabby little rental room had been completely transformed. The floors were polished, the furniture wiped to a reflective shine, and the clutter was neatly organized into a stack.

His little nest of a lounge chair had also been cleaned until it gleamed a warm yellow. A soft blanket was draped over it, a sight so inviting it stirred a powerful urge to sleep.

‘Wow, having someone to take care of things at home really makes a difference.’

[No big deal.]

‘Easy for you to say. Why don’t you do it?’

[You’ve only known him for a few days and you’re already talking to me like this?]

‘?’ Shen Qiuxun couldn’t be bothered with this brain-dead system’s daily mental gymnastics. He entered and looked around, spotting the visually-impaired Snail Boy squatting in a corner trying to coax the black cat into eating.

The black cat squatted haughtily on the floor, head held high, utterly indifferent. Poor Fu Mingchuan was huddled low, trying to sweet-talk the cat with extreme humility.

Hearing the sound, Fu Mingchuan looked up toward him. Although his black pupils lacked focus, his immense surprise was still evident. He hurriedly stood up, steadying himself on the table. “Welcome back.”

His appearance wasn’t aggressive; he was gentle and reserved. Living under someone else’s roof added a layer of cautiousness. He stood there in the corner, head slightly bowed, as the last rays of the setting sun streamed in, the light outlining the shape of his pectorals and abdominal muscles. The domestic aura he radiated was overwhelming.

Shen Qiuxun glanced at the black cat in the corner, figuring he shouldn’t let him get too cocky. “How come you can’t even handle a small task like feeding the cat?”

“…” Fu Mingchuan’s lips pressed thin. He lowered his eyes dejectedly. “Sorry… I was too impatient.”

“Never mind, you did a good job with the cleaning.”

Fu Mingchuan nodded, casting him a shy glance full of gratitude. “I know. All the kindnesses you’ve shown me, I keep them in my heart.”

Shen Qiuxun was satisfied: ‘See, it’s definitely going smoothly this time.’

[…]

The black cat darted over nimbly, circling his feet, meowing sweetly and wrapping its tail around his ankle, clinging to him like it hadn’t seen him in several lifetimes.

Shen Qiuxun tossed the plastic bag onto the table, walked back a few steps to collapse into his recliner, pet the cat with one hand, and gave orders with the other: “Get cooking, I’ve been exhausted all day.”

[You could show him a little concern.]

‘He’s eating my food and living in my place, and I still have to say nice things to him?’

[…]

After a bit of cat-petting, Shen Qiuxun felt the Sandman beckoning. Just as he was drifting off to sleep, a sudden clatter of a metal basin hitting the floor rang out from the kitchen.

Looking up, he saw Fu Mingchuan squatting on the floor, clumsily trying to clean up the mess.

[You should go over and see if he’s okay.]

‘Sleepy.’ Shen Qiuxun rubbed his eyes, poking his head out from the blanket. The tears clinging to his lashes clumped them into clusters, making his eyes appear bright and glassy, his beautiful features gaining a touch of lazy innocence.

Incredibly striking.

[Fine, never mind him.]

But Shen Qiuxun still stood up. He walked over and stood behind Fu Mingchuan, peering over. The man had accidentally cut his finger with the kitchen knife, knocking the metal basin to the floor in the process.

The cut extended about a knuckle’s length, blood welling up. He’d wiped it haphazardly a couple of times, smearing blood across his palm.

Nothing serious. Shen Qiuxun prepared to go back to sleep.

“It’s nothing, Dongxun… just an accidental cut. Don’t worry about me, it doesn’t hurt much. It’s my fault for not being able to see and messing things up… I’ll fix it, the wound isn’t very deep.”

Hearing the noise, Fu Mingchuan turned his head. Because he couldn’t see, his face was suddenly very close to Shen Qiuxun’s. His mellow, gentle voice slid over the ear, carrying a hint of intimacy.

Shen Qiuxun could see those clear, dark brown eyes looking in his direction with confusion. He leaned back a little, glancing at the kitchen knife. “You don’t have any infectious diseases, right? Remember to wash the knife clean.”

“…” Fu Mingchuan paused. He lowered his eyes and gave a soft “Mm,” curling his fingers inward. He frantically picked up the knife to rinse it under the stream of water. Blood and water mixed together, swirling down the drain—a scene straight out of a murder case.

The wound had turned pale, revealing the bright red inner flesh through the parted skin.

Shen Qiuxun turned back, grabbed two tissues from the table, and returned to take the man’s hand, pulling it towards him. The skin around the cut was white. He lowered his head and took the wounded fingertip into his mouth.

[????????]

Fu Mingchuan hadn’t anticipated the action. Where no one could see, his eyes narrowed, as if he had regained his vision, staring intently through the darkness at the person before him. His normally harmless features took on a dangerous edge. The warm, wet sensation on his fingertip seemed to travel through his skin, along his blood vessels, to every corner of his body.

Teeth gently bit into his skin, tongue soft, pressing lightly as it slowly sucked the wound. The damp oral cavity enveloped the cut, transforming the slight sting into another kind of sensation that coiled around his heart.

Fu Mingchuan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. His other hand silently clenched.

He’d been trying to seduce for two days with little result… and now he was the one utterly bewitched in a matter of moments.

It didn’t last long. Shen Qiuxun let go of his finger. The wound was no longer bleeding as freely as before. He wrapped it with the tissue.

There were no band-aids in the rental, much less disinfectant. He couldn’t be bothered to go out and buy any, so he just fobbed him off this way.

“…Sorry, I messed up.” Fu Mingchuan’s voice was a bit low, laced with unreadable emotion.

Shen Qiuxun tossed his hand aside. “It’s nothing. Just be more careful.”

The cut on his finger was now wrapped in a clean white tissue.

Fu Mingchuan stepped forward and hugged him. His arms wrapped around that slender waist, his chin resting in the crook of Shen Qiuxun’s neck. He nuzzled his cheek against the pale skin of his neck, the very picture of dependence. “You’re so good to me.”

[…]

Shen Qiuxun had actually been feeling quite guilty, but now he was instantly at ease. He reached out and patted the man’s back. “It’s good that you know it.”

Another knock came from the door.

The intimate atmosphere was abruptly shattered. A violent rage flickered in Fu Mingchuan’s eyes, but the moment he was pushed away, he lowered his eyes again, reverting to the same easily-bullied, honest man demeanor.

Shen Qiuxun pushed the man deep into the kitchen and went to open the door.

Outside stood two uniformed police officers. The sight of him made them pause, their stern demeanor instantly softening considerably. “Hello.”

One of them glanced down at the form in his hand. “Are you Mr. Shen Dongxun?”

He stole a careful look at the tenant inside the door before quickly averting his gaze.

“Yes.” Shen Qiuxun had only opened a small gap in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame.

“We’re from the Patrol Team. The Lower City District hasn’t been very peaceful lately, a rough mix of people. Residents need to be vigilant. If you spot any suspicious individuals, please report it to us immediately.”

Shen Qiuxun, currently hiding a fugitive in his home, was completely unflappable. He nodded coolly. “Mm.”

The officer glanced at the rental behind him.

“…”

Shen Qiuxun shut the door, then a moment later returned. He reached out and shoved a free, wilted, dirt-covered little carrot into each officer’s hand—the ones the market auntie had kindly given him that day. He stood squarely in the center of the doorway, showing no intention of moving. “I want to sleep.”

“Of course, of course.” The officers accepted the carrots and exchanged a look. They had originally intended to search the place, but how could such a beautiful and generous tenant possibly be connected to suspicious persons? “Please stay safe then. Good night.”

Shen Qiuxun closed the door.

The two officers went downstairs, holding carrots that weren’t even big enough to fill a tooth gap.

“Hey, didn’t you say you don’t like carrots? How about you let me have that one, I’ll take care of it for you?”

“Get lost, I love carrots the most.”

Outside the building, they looked up at the second-floor window and flipped through the roster in their hands.

“I really wonder what’s the point of searching day in and day out. The ones we see, we can’t catch. The ones we could catch, we don’t see.”

His partner clapped him on the shoulder. “Isn’t the Search Team from above arriving in a couple of days?”

He looked at the little carrot in his hand and voiced the doubt of a low-level corporate slave: “Wonder which big shot they’re after.”

“Looks like a lot of overtime coming up.”

…

In the room, Shen Qiuxun devoured three large bowls of rice in one go. He was hiccuping by the end. Fu Mingchuan poured him a glass of warm water and sat beside him, rubbing his back with concern.

His ravenous eating manner truly inspired sympathy.

Shen Qiuxun gulped down the water, then pulled two pieces of clothing from a bag and tossed them into Fu Mingchuan’s arms. He’d grabbed them with his eyes closed from a random roadside stall.

But that wasn’t the main point. From the bottom of the bag, he produced an apron in a pink-and-white color scheme, adorned with a bowknot and pink lotus-leaf frills. He held it up against Fu Mingchuan for a moment, then tossed it onto the pile of clothes.

The man was hit square in the face by the garments. His hand felt the bow on the apron, and he ducked his head bashfully. “Thank you… I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“Mm.”

[Aren’t you a total cheapskate? Why are you only being good to him?]

‘Please, I only had two outfits I actually liked. I even gave them to him to wear.’

Shen Qiuxun insisted he had a possessive side too.

He was frugal to the bone—fine, call it stingy. After all, his own clothes were five bucks each. The ones he’d bought for Fu Mingchuan tonight were two dollars a pound.

He absolutely couldn’t be on the losing end.

[He could just not wear them.]

‘.’ Shen Qiuxun burrowed into his recliner to doze off again. ‘I don’t have any weird fetishes, and I’m not into BDSM.’

[I hate you.]

‘If you’re broken, go get maintenance at your Main System. Don’t hide your illness to avoid treatment.’

He unknowingly dozed off for a while. When he groggily awoke, it was pitch black outside the window. Shen Qiuxun rubbed his eyes and poked his head out. His cheek rested against the armrest, his dark bangs falling open, his cheek slightly squished, his features hazy with sleepy drowsiness.

The black cat was sleeping on the footrest, lifting its head alertly at the sound.

[I don’t hate you.]

‘?’

Fu Mingchuan was wiping the table, wearing that apron. He was bent over, his figure quite impressive. He was still in the old clothes Shen Qiuxun had tossed at him yesterday, the fabric stretched taut over his muscles. From afar, covered by the apron, it almost looked like he was naked.

A naked-apron manservant.

“Thirsty.” Shen Qiuxun murmured, his voice laced with a sleepy hoarseness at the end, deeply stirring.

Fu Mingchuan poured a glass of warm water and knelt beside the recliner, holding the cup up.

Shen Qiuxun tilted his head up to drink from his hand. His lips rested on the rim, and through the glass, one could see the soft pink flesh inside his mouth. The exquisite mole below his lip seemed vividly alluring at this moment.

This was the softness and stunning allure hidden beneath his cool exterior.

Shen Qiuxun had finally achieved the carefree life of an immortal, where his every need was met, and he could sleep all day without ambition.

Except for worrying about whether the fugitive in his home would be discovered, everything else was perfect.