Will Drawing the “Wife Card” Turn Me Into the Group’s Favorite? 28

Chapter 28: Feed Me

There were many movies to choose from. Yu Liao let Tang Yu’an decide, who admitted he wasn’t familiar with most of them.

“How about the one you wanted to see with me at the cinema? Although it’s a re-release, it’s quite famous. I haven’t seen it before.”

Yu Liao had mentioned wanting to see the re-release of “Ambition,” a critically acclaimed drama with a strong cast and talented actors. It was a hot topic online, with countless discussions and fan works, the re-release reigniting the initial enthusiasm.

Although Tang Yu’an had seen it mentioned online, he hadn’t watched it for various reasons. This was the perfect opportunity for an optimal viewing experience.

Yu Liao was clearly pleased with the suggestion, saying he had seen it several times and never got tired of it.

The story followed two childhood friends who, after entering society, drifted apart due to differing ambitions. The male protagonist ultimately paid the price for his ambition, killed by the female protagonist, a police officer.

Initially, the male protagonist had been a passionate young man with a strong sense of justice, but an accident dragged him into the underworld, where he gradually became consumed by the thrill of power, his descent leading to a confrontation with the female protagonist, a mix of love and hate that kept viewers captivated.

The once-close friends became enemies, ruthlessly exploiting each other’s weaknesses, yet unable to resist helping each other in moments of vulnerability.

Finally, the female protagonist used herself as bait to lure him into a trap. Knowing it was likely a setup, the male protagonist still walked into it without hesitation, because she was his bottom line, his past, and the last shred of his conscience.

Defeated, he accepted his fate, begging for her forgiveness in his final moments, bringing tears to the audience’s eyes.

The movie was indeed well-made, its pacing excellent. Tang Yu’an became so engrossed that he forgot about the snacks.

As the ending theme played, the male protagonist’s life ended, and the female protagonist, after a bout of grief, embarked on a new path, dedicating herself to fighting crime, preventing others from following the same path.

The tragic lines and the moving music brought tears to Tang Yu’an’s eyes.

Yu Liao, having seen it multiple times, remained unfazed, asking Tang Yu’an with interest: “Do you think the male protagonist deserved to die?”

“He was a pitiful person, but he had to pay for his mistakes.” Tang Yu’an, still emotional, his nose slightly red, continued: “If he had gotten away with it, what about the lives he ruined?”

Yu Liao had known all along that Tang Yu’an had a compassionate heart, a boundless empathy for everyone.

His universal love sometimes created an illusion of special treatment, but Tang Yu’an simply treated everyone equally, like rain nourishing every inch of land, the plants thriving under his care.

But I’m not a plant, I’m a predator, Yu Liao thought. I’m greedy. Having tasted the sweetness of the rain, I want it all for myself.

He put away the projector, then asked: “Do you think the female protagonist still loved him in the end?”

The female protagonist’s final words were ambiguous, perhaps intentionally left open to interpretation.

Tang Yu’an said that by then, their relationship was beyond simple love, more like intertwined vines, neither able to escape the other, until one withered, allowing the other to reach for the sunlight.

But there was definitely love, otherwise she wouldn’t have wept at his funeral, then burned everything that reminded her of their past.

They had a gamble of a relationship, with lives as stakes and money as chips. Tang Yu’an said that perhaps even the female protagonist hadn’t realized it, but it was indeed a kind of love.

“In the end, everything returned to where it began, like a fleeting dream, a bittersweet memory.”

These words silenced Yu Liao.

A fleeting dream, ultimately intangible, he thought. That’s why I have to turn this dream into reality.

Actually, he and Tang Yu’an had already had a kind of romance, only Tang Yu’an didn’t know it.

Yu Liao leaned back on the sofa, his thoughts drifting back to that day.

It hadn’t been long after the attack. Tang Yu’an, injured, was in the medical center, and he, as a key protection target, was under surveillance.

Yu Liao typed a message on his phone, deleting and rewriting it several times, finally settling on a simple: “What did the doctor say? Is it serious?”

He stared at the message, afraid of bothering Tang Yu’an, afraid of saying too much.

After all, his injury was ultimately his fault.

His headache worsened, but he ignored it, even thinking perversely that perhaps sharing this pain with Tang Yu’an was a good thing.

His finger hovered over the send button. Just as he was about to press it, the person he was thinking about walked into the room, a smile on his face, his arm bandaged.

He jumped up from his chair, his body stiffening, his tongue frozen.

“You… why are you… your hand…”

Tang Yu’an was still wearing the same clothes, his sleeve slightly rolled up.

He walked closer, raising his chin: “Do you have any ice cream?”

Thinking back, this was unusual – Tang Yu’an wasn’t one to avoid questions, and he had strong boundaries, never asking for anything unless offered.

But Yu Liao’s mind was a mess, unable to think clearly in his presence.

If they checked the surveillance footage, they would see him talking to thin air.

But to Yu Liao, the hallucination was incredibly vivid; he could even see the fine hairs on Tang Yu’an’s face.

His previous hallucinations had mostly been object-based. He had never seen such a realistic person, let alone someone he knew.

He simply stared at the apparition, both flustered by his unexpected visit and secretly delighted.

At least he was still willing to see him.

“Yes, I have plenty!” He immediately started to leave to get the ice cream, then stopped abruptly: “No… that’s not right. You’re injured, and I called Wei Langxing, he said you have a slight fever, it’s best not to eat cold things… When you’re better, I’ll make you a whole tub, any flavor you want, I promise!”

Tang Yu’an walked past him, sitting on a recliner. Although he was looking up at him, his gaze seemed to look down on him.

“If I have a fever, wouldn’t eating something cold help lower my temperature?” He gestured to his injured arm. “Can’t you even fulfill this small request from a patient?”

Did ice cream lower body temperature? He seemed to have heard that somewhere, but it contradicted his common sense. Yu Liao’s mind short-circuited.

Everyone’s constitution was different. Should he give it to him?

Ultimately, he succumbed to Tang Yu’an’s gaze.

He couldn’t be blamed; who could refuse Tang Yu’an?

He brought a small bowl of plain ice cream: “Just a little, you can only… eat this much.”

Tang Yu’an stared at him with wide eyes. He hardened his heart, turning away: “Really, no more. What if it worsens your condition?”

Thankfully, Tang Yu’an accepted: “Fine.”

He beckoned Yu Liao closer: “Come here, feed me.”

Yu Liao: “Huh?”

His mind stuttered, only one thought echoing—

Was this actually happening?

Tang Yu’an seemed slightly annoyed, like a small bun rising in the oven.

Yu Liao thought, He smells so good, so cute, I want to eat him up.

Tang Yu’an was dissatisfied with his hesitation: “You don’t want to? Is this my fault? Look at my arm, how am I supposed to eat by myself?!”

Yu Liao, as if waking from a dream, apologized profusely, saying he was so distracted that he forgot about his injury. He sat beside him with the small bowl, scooping a spoonful and offering it to him.

Tang Yu’an quieted down, leaning forward like a kitten, accepting the spoon.

He ate slowly, letting the ice cream melt in his mouth before swallowing.

There was some residue on the spoon. Tang Yu’an, not wanting to waste it, licked it clean.

Yu Liao stared, mesmerized by the flash of pink tongue.

Tang Yu’an’s lips were full, petal-like, their vibrant color making him wonder if they would bleed at the slightest touch.

The small bowl of ice cream was quickly finished. Yu Liao regretted not giving him more.

Tang Yu’an, satisfied, praised his ice cream, saying he could open a shop.

“You said that last time too,” Yu Liao chuckled shyly. “I’m not good enough to open a shop. It’s just a hobby.”

Tang Yu’an suddenly leaned closer, his eyelashes lifting. Yu Liao could even feel his breath.

I meant it, Tang Yu’an said. You’re amazing.

Faced with such sincere praise, Yu Liao felt both embarrassed and elated. He likes what I make, he recognizes my skills.

The next second, Tang Yu’an’s action completely stunned him.

A light kiss, like a dragonfly skimming the water, landed on his cheek.

His mind exploded, a chaotic jumble of everything from the origin of the universe to the vastness of space.

His heart pounded, threatening to burst from his chest.

And the person who caused this seismic shift stood up casually, saying he had to leave.

Panic surged through him like a tsunami. Had his reaction been wrong? Had he disappointed him? Was he leaving and never coming back?

“Don’t go!” He blocked the door. “What… what did that mean?”

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand social cues; he was afraid that after baring his heart, it would turn out to be a misunderstanding.

On some planets, cheek kisses were a common greeting. What if Tang Yu’an was simply saying goodbye, and he had misinterpreted it? Then he would truly lose even a chance at friendship.

Tang Yu’an tilted his head, as if amused: “Are you that dense? I like you.”

Happiness came so suddenly that he couldn’t process it, fireworks exploding in his mind.

After thirty years of misfortune, perhaps this was the moment he had been waiting for.

Lady Luck had finally smiled upon him, yet he felt apprehensive.

Tang Yu’an liked him? How was that possible? He was flawed, his rank low, his abilities inferior to Wei Langxing’s, his wealth incomparable to Xie Cun’s. Why would Tang Yu’an choose him over others?

Just because he could make ice cream?

No, no, what was he thinking…?

He couldn’t believe it, needing confirmation, stammering: “So… so it wasn’t a goodbye kiss? I thought you did that with everyone…”

Tang Yu’an countered: “You think I kiss everyone I meet?”

“No! I didn’t!” Yu Liao’s voice rose. “I didn’t mean that at all!”

Tang Yu’an blinked: “Just kidding. But I do have things to do, so I really have to go.”

Yu Liao knew he couldn’t stop him, so he changed his approach: “Then… will you come back?”

Of course, Tang Yu’an said. I’ll always be by your side.

Long after he left, the guard returned, Yu Liao still savoring those words.

The guard asked if anyone had visited. Yu Liao then realized Tang Yu’an might have official duties and had come secretly, which was why he left so hurriedly, afraid of being seen.

He was so considerate. He couldn’t hold him back.

He shook his head: “No, I was alone.”

The guard looked at the floor, frowning: “What’s this spill? It smells sweet.”

Yu Liao looked down. It was a puddle of melted ice cream.

Had he spilled it earlier? Why hadn’t he noticed?

Still immersed in his joy, this minor incident didn’t bother him. He simply cleaned it up.

He’ll be back, he thought happily. Who cares about tumors or Yi Xin Pharmaceuticals? I’m the happiest person in the world right now.

Tang Yu’an hadn’t lied. He did return, as if appearing out of thin air, like a giant surprise package falling from the sky, containing the happy ending to his life.

That night, like young lovers, they talked for hours, as if they had endless things to say.

He hadn’t even opened up this much to Zheng Zhi, whom he had considered a good friend.

He wanted to tell Tang Yu’an everything, from sneaking over fences to steal Wi-Fi as a child to pilfering office supplies from work.

Tang Yu’an was the perfect listener, patient, gentle, encouraging him to continue.

Yu Liao poured out his life story, but when he asked about Tang Yu’an’s life, he was evasive, unwilling to talk about it.

He knew Tang Yu’an had amnesia, that he might not remember his past, but he wouldn’t even talk about his preferences, deflecting any questions about his teammates.

He didn’t want to pressure him, waiting for him to open up on his own.

But in the following days, no matter how he subtly brought it up, Tang Yu’an avoided the topic, changing the subject.

He was frustrated, feeling like Tang Yu’an was a mirage, intangible and unreachable.

They were always together when the guards weren’t around, and Yu Liao didn’t ask how Tang Yu’an managed to time it so perfectly. He simply assumed Tang Yu’an, being so clever, had his ways.

The most important thing was that they could be together; he didn’t care about anything else.

But with the growing imbalance in their shared information, Yu Liao couldn’t hold back any longer.

Why wouldn’t Tang Yu’an tell him about his life? Did he not trust him enough?

He didn’t even know what Tang Yu’an did when he wasn’t with him.

He had been struck by Cupid’s arrow, his mind clouded by love.

He couldn’t understand, and afraid of asking directly and annoying Tang Yu’an, he sought help online.

After careful consideration, he made a post when no one was around—

“Help! I’ve told my partner almost everything about my past, but he won’t tell me anything about his life. Why?”

The StarNet was full of helpful people, and he quickly received many replies.

Some said it might be because their relationship was still new, that he was still being evaluated. Others suggested his partner might be unhappy with his work and didn’t want him to know.

Someone pointed out the loophole in his words: “You said ‘almost everything,’ which means you’re also hiding something. Isn’t that even?”

Yu Liao replied, explaining: “I’ve told him almost everything I can. There are some things I have to keep hidden. If I tell him, he’ll leave me without hesitation.”

It had initially been an ordinary relationship advice post, but this sentence immediately sparked a flurry of speculation and gossip.

Netizens chimed in—

“Ooh, I smell drama. Saving my spot, tag me when there’s an update.”

“Come on, OP, tell us! I’m dying of curiosity, I can’t sleep!”

“So certain, it must be something big.”

“Here we go again with the ‘unspeakable secrets.’ It’s probably his own fault.”

…

“Based on my experience, when someone says that, it’s either cheating or an STD.”

“Oh my god, if that’s true, OP, don’t hurt anyone else, or I’ll report you.”

“Disgusting, acting all noble like it’s for the sake of their relationship, turns out he’s this kind of person!”

“Could it be my boss? He has several mistresses, and the IP address matches…”

“Seriously? Tell us, tell us!”

The topic gradually derailed. Yu Liao initially tried to explain, but seeing the escalating speculation, he simply deleted the post.

He had come online for help, how had he suddenly become the target of online bullying?

But one comment truly resonated with him—

“No matter what happened, my advice is to be honest with your partner as soon as possible. Although it might cause conflict, it’s better than leaving a bigger hidden danger. I’m a love guru with ten years of experience. Trust me, OP, don’t keep important secrets, it’s like holding a ticking time bomb.”

He knew this, but if he truly confessed…

How would Tang Yu’an see him?

A murderer, or a lunatic?

One thing was certain, his gaze would definitely change.

If only he could keep it hidden forever. But his supervisor would be returning in two months, and when the Bureau discovered his disappearance, they would investigate, and they would find him. He couldn’t escape.

He hadn’t been discovered immediately because his supervisor was in an area with almost no signal, making communication difficult, and the liaison officer had been negligent. This allowed him to exploit the loophole.

He could hide it for a while, but not forever. Consumed by his newfound love, he had forgotten about this.

Actually, he had always been timid, afraid even of killing a chicken, frowning at the sight of beast hunting broadcasts.

It was the adrenaline and the intense hallucinations that had clouded his judgment, his hand moving mechanically, completing a bloody massacre.

Killing his abusive supervisor, he had initially felt a sense of exhilaration, a rush of power, believing he could do anything.

But as the cool breeze dispelled the echoes in his ears, his mind and body gradually calmed down.

He suddenly realized what he had done, looking down at the sticky blood and his stained fingers, nausea rising in his throat.

His hated supervisor lay sprawled on the ground like a slaughtered pig, a lump of dead meat, but he felt no satisfaction, only a chilling dread.

He had killed someone.

He… had killed someone…

His first instinct was to confess. He was mentally ill; it wasn’t entirely his fault.

But then he remembered that his symptoms were unusual. He had gone to the hospital, but they couldn’t find anything wrong. The therapist attributed his hallucinations to stress, advising him to rest.

But he knew he couldn’t be cured. His condition was worsening every day; he could feel it.

They wouldn’t believe him, they would think he was feigning insanity to avoid responsibility.

And he had promised Yi Xin Pharmaceuticals not to reveal anything about them, or face the consequences.

He probably didn’t have much time left to live; he didn’t want to spend it in prison.

There was no one else in the alley that night. He cleaned up the scene, put the body in the trunk of his car, drove out of town, and planned to dump it in the lake.

But as he dragged the body to the lakeside, the dead man suddenly spoke.

He knew it was a hallucination, but he couldn’t ignore it.

“You’re dead,” his supervisor said, his face covered in blood, his eyes bulging. “You’ll live in fear every day until you die, Yu Liao. You still lost.”

The corpse let out a shrill laugh, blood bubbling from his nose and mouth.

The tension faded, and Yu Liao seemed to regain the resolve he had felt when he wielded the knife.

His supervisor had tormented him for so long, even in death, he wouldn’t let him rest.

Having lost so many times, he just wanted to win, even once, to avoid dying in shame.

He wasn’t enraged, just defiant.

This is your own fault.

So, he took out his clean knife and severed the head.

He grabbed the hair, holding the head aloft, forcing it to meet his gaze.

“I’ll make you watch. I’ll live every remaining day to the fullest.”

Rather than hiding and waiting for death, he would embrace it.