C116 — Violent Possession

Chu Chen’an panted heavily as he looked at Qin Jue before him. Perhaps the overwhelming sense of oppression was too strong, making him instinctively avoid Qin Jue’s sharp gaze.

 

His cheeks were flushed as he pushed against Qin Jue’s wrist, trying to turn away and escape to the other side. However, Qin Jue effortlessly pulled him back with one hand.

“Mm…”

Qin Jue leaned in from behind, cupped his chin, and kissed him.

[Ding!]

[As a top-tier player, you haven’t started a livestream in over a month! To balance your in-game currency data, system 001 will now automatically start a livestream for you…]

[Livestream Duration: 30 minutes]

Since Chu Chen’an had reached level 5, his in-game currency and data had stabilized, reducing the system’s automatic livestream activations. The platform now only enforced auto-streaming 15 times a month. Because of this, he rarely started his own streams and often got too busy to remember.

Yet the system seemed to have a hidden bug, always triggering automatic streams at the most awkward moments.

[Frog: (drooling) (drooling) (drooling)]

[!!!!! What are you doing? Why are you grabbing my wife?! (X520 coins)]

[Ahhhhh I love scenes like this! Silly wife tries so hard to run but still gets dragged back!]

[Hehehehehehehe dummy (X33 coins)]

[He looks so tiny!!! I love my pretty wife!]

[Ahhhhhhh it’s time! (X5200 coins)]

[Destroy him! Destroy him! (X888 coins)]

[I really hope the system develops an 18+ version of this livestream platform. We serious viewers desperately need it!]

[I NEED IT! A restricted-level livestream platform is the only thing worthy of my VIP status! (X520 coins)]

[Agreed! I literally cannot live without it!]

[Me too! (X33 coins)]

[If they develop it next year, please kick me straight out of my coffin.]

【+1】
[+1]
【+1】

(99+ hidden messages)

[I haven’t seen my wife in soooo long!!!]

[Wife, wife, wife, wife!]

[I want to kiss my wife too!]

[Grabbed a strawberry-flavored condom… and threw it away again.]

[I think I’ve seen this NPC before—wasn’t he the crazy, ruthless one last time?]

[WTF, I’m getting a nosebleed. The tension is off the charts.]

[Ahhhhhh so handsome!]

[Bitter tea is flying away, bitter tea is flying away!]

[It’s about to go black screen again, help!]

[Noooo! I want to keep watching my wife!]

(99+ hidden messages)

[Ding! Auto black screen activated.]

From dusk until the early morning, the dim lights remained on. From the floor-to-ceiling windows to the carpet, to the bathroom’s half-length mirror, and finally to the soft bed.

Soft, kitten-like whimpers filled the air; he sounded pitiful, yet it only fueled Qin Jue’s insatiable hunger.

…

Chu Chen’an’s voice was completely hoarse. A few lingering tear droplets clung to the corners of his eyes as he curled up in Qin Jue’s tight embrace, sleeping soundly.

Qin Jue held him in one arm, his deep eyes tracing over his delicate and beautiful features.

He couldn’t resist pinching Chu Chen’an’s cheeks while lighting a cigarette with his other hand. The fine cigar smoke curled into the air, spreading slowly.

His gaze darkened as he stared at Chu Chen’an in silence. Like a beast lurking in the shadows, guarding his lost-and-recovered treasure.

Countless emotions churned inside him—anxiety, unanswered mysteries, and an overwhelming possessiveness.

His expression grew even darker. Without hesitation, he took out the phone that Chu Chen’an had hidden and quickly unlocked it.

Qin Jue searched through his recent ticket purchase records.

Sixteen days ago, he had bought a ferry ticket. The departure time was set for tomorrow.

He stared at the booking page for a long moment, a dark, bloodthirsty glint flashing in his eyes. His fingers clenched tightly around the phone.

The cigarette in his hand was still burning.

Chu Chen’an, half-asleep, caught a faint whiff of smoke and let out a soft hum.

Qin Jue snapped out of his thoughts, extinguishing the cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table before pulling Chu Chen’an back into his arms.

There were faint marks scattered across Chu Chen’an’s neck. He wrinkled his nose in slight frustration at the lingering scent of smoke.

He weakly pushed against Qin Jue, but upon realizing he couldn’t budge him, he simply nestled into the most comfortable position in his arms and continued sleeping.

“Sleep, baby. I know you’re exhausted,” Qin Jue murmured, his lips curling into a smile as he placed a soft kiss at the damp corner of Chu Chen’an’s eye. “Have a good dream.”

Even in your dreams, I’ll be right beside you.

…

Held in Qin Jue’s embrace, Chu Chen’an drifted into a peaceful slumber.

In his dream, he had secretly run off to a faraway place, only to accidentally lose his way. He wandered aimlessly, searching for a way back. But when he turned around—

Qin Jue was standing right behind him, looking furious.

Even in the dream, Qin Jue was terrifying. He said that no matter where he ran, he would always be able to find him.

In the end, he was carried back home.

Qin Jue scolded him the entire time while feeding him strawberries.

The strawberries were sweet.

He wanted another one.

…

Chu Chen’an opened his eyes, slowly realizing he had been dreaming. At the same time, the soreness in his entire body came crashing down on him.

He frowned, feeling like his body had been completely taken apart and put back together. When he turned his head, he found himself face-to-face with Qin Jue.

Qin Jue opened his eyes, meeting his gaze. “Want to sleep a little longer?”

Chu Chen’an shook his head. He stared at the ceiling in a daze for a moment before speaking softly, “I’m going to the hospital today to visit my college friend.”

Qin Jue hummed in response, surprisingly calm. One hand rested around Chu Chen’an’s waist. “Go later. Stay with me a little longer.”

Chu Chen’an glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, surprised by his peaceful demeanor. “Oh,” he responded.

Qin Jue buried his face in the crook of his neck, eyes closed. “Are you close with this college friend?”

Chu Chen’an stared at the ceiling and answered vaguely, “Sort of.”

Qin Jue continued, “Have you been in touch since graduation?”

Chu Chen’an, feeling like a student suddenly called on by the teacher, hesitated before answering, “No… We’ve only been talking more recently.”

Qin Jue’s arm tightened around him. “I’ll go with you, baby.”

Chu Chen’an quickly shook his head. “No need. I won’t be gone long, it’s just a short visit.”

“Mm.” Qin Jue didn’t say anything else.

…

At the door, Qin Jue kissed Chu Chen’an, lingering for a long time before finally letting him go.

Chu Chen’an cautiously glanced at Qin Jue’s expression and said, “I’m leaving now.”

“Go ahead, baby.” Qin Jue nodded, watching him with a seemingly gentle smile.

Only then did Chu Chen’an feel reassured. He turned and slowly walked toward the elevator. His legs were still sore and trembling slightly, forcing him to move at a slower pace.

What he didn’t know was that the moment he turned away, Qin Jue’s expression darkened. His gaze followed him intently, a cold, ominous gleam appears in his eyes.

…

Chu Chen’an clutched a voice recorder in his hand, his emotions a mix of unease and complexity as he arrived at Cheng Hao’s hospital room.

Inside, Cheng Hao sat propped up against the bed, his gaze melancholic as he stared out the window in a daze. He looked like a lonely, silent sculpture, contemplating the meaning of life against the vast blue sky.

Noticing someone at the door, Cheng Hao turned his head.

“Chen’an.”

“How are you feeling today?” Chu Chen’an sat beside him, smiling as he placed the fruit basket down.

“Not bad.” Cheng Hao lowered his head, his expression hidden behind the thick lenses of his glasses. “Oh, right—could you give me the bills for the surgery and nursing care? I’d like to transfer the money to you.”

Cheng Hao was a sensitive and meticulous person, and even the thick lenses couldn’t conceal the insecurity and self-doubt in his eyes.

“No rush, really,” Chu Chen’an waved his hand repeatedly. “We can talk about it after you’ve recovered.”

Only then did Cheng Hao nod and respond, “Alright.”

The room fell into a brief silence.

Chu Chen’an’s grip on the recorder in his hand was so tight that his palm had begun to sweat. Just as he was hesitating about whether to speak, Cheng Hao brought it up first.

“Zhou Qiangshan was badly beaten. I heard his injuries are severe—two broken ribs. He might be disabled for life.”

Chu Chen’an was stunned. “When did this happen?”

“Probably yesterday.” Cheng Hao spoke calmly, without a trace of emotion.

Chu Chen’an nodded, unsure of what to say. “Oh…”

He could already guess, with almost complete certainty, who was responsible.

Cheng Hao had been clenching his hands tightly, but when he met Chu Chen’an’s sincere and kind gaze, his pale fingers slowly loosened.

“Chen’an,” he said, “I plan to be discharged from the hospital today.”

Chu Chen’an looked at him in surprise and quickly said, “But your injuries haven’t fully healed. Stay a few more days—what if they get infected on the ferry…”

Cheng Hao gave a pale smile. “I’m not planning to take the ferry anymore.”

Chu Chen’an thought he had misheard. “What did you say?”

“I’ve done a lot of thinking these past few days, and I’ve figured some things out.”

Cheng Hao took off his glasses and said, “Zhou Qiangshan really wasn’t a good person. I was always deceiving myself. I kept treating him as my reason to keep going, kept thinking he loved me, and that I loved him, too. But in the end, I realized I couldn’t actually feel his love, nor did I really feel how much I loved him… I was just too afraid of being alone.”

Chu Chen’an quietly hid the recorder in his hand.

Cheng Hao’s eyes gradually reddened as he continued, “I want to leave this world behind. It hurts too much. The truth is, I don’t like pain at all—I just want to live like a normal person again. Chen’an, I can tell—you’re not really someone who belongs in this world. You’re different from me.”

Chu Chen’an looked up, feeling a bit embarrassed at being seen through so easily. He let out an awkward laugh.

“I envy you,” Cheng Hao said. “You have someone who loves you so much. You have a happy life.”

Chu Chen’an shook his head and seriously responded, “No one’s life is completely perfect. Everyone has their own difficulties and struggles—we just don’t always see them.”

Like himself, for example.

In the real world, he had spent over a decade confined to a hospital bed. After finally succumbing to illness, he found himself thrown into a terrifying survival game—twice. He had to clear countless missions and face life-threatening challenges, all for a single chance at survival.

Living was hard.

But as long as he existed in this world, as long as there was a chance to keep going, he would fight for it with everything he had.

He wanted to live—to see the roses bloom, to watch the snow fall, to listen to the cicadas in summer, and to witness the mountains turn golden in autumn.

And he wanted to spend every day with the person he loved.

“…Yeah, you were right last time.”

Cheng Hao continued, “There are still so many beautiful things in this world—I just never noticed them before. That day, I thought I was in so much pain that I was going to die. I told myself, ‘Then just die. Death will be the release.’ But then you came. Maybe it was after I heard what you said, or maybe it was the moment I asked you to take me to the hospital, but I suddenly realized—I don’t want to die. I want to live.”

As he spoke, a single tear fell along with his words.

Chu Chen’an didn’t know how to comfort him. He awkwardly stepped forward and gently hugged his shoulder.

“I’m glad you’ve figured things out. I’m really happy for you.”

[Ding!]

[Congratulations! You have completed 50% of the main quest!]

Chu Chen’an felt a weight lift from his heart. He knew he would probably never let Cheng Hao hear the recording on that pen.

Rather than using cruel, knife-like words to tear away the veil blinding Cheng Hao, he preferred that Cheng Hao come to terms with the truth on his own.

At least this way, it wouldn’t be as cruel.

Cheng Hao cried hard, completely letting go, as if burying his old, numb self within those tears.

When Chu Chen’an was about to leave, Cheng Hao wiped his tears and said, “Thank you, Chen’an.”

“No need to thank me. I didn’t really do anything.”

Standing at the door, just as Chu Chen’an was about to step out, Cheng Hao suddenly laughed, his eyes still red from crying.

“I actually knew from the beginning that Zhou Qiangshan wanted to kill me on that ferry.”

Chu Chen’an froze in place, looking at Cheng Hao’s red-rimmed eyes. A mix of relief and a strange, indescribable sorrow filled his chest.

…

Walking out of the hospital, Chu Chen’an opened the door of a black Maybach and found Qin Jue sitting inside, one leg crossed over the other; he looked relaxed.

As Qin Jue glanced at him, his lips curled into a smile, revealing his white teeth.

“Baby.”

“What are you doing here?” Chu Chen’an was slightly stunned as he got into the car.

Qin Jue took his hand. “You were taking too long, so I came to pick you up.”

Chu Chen’an nodded absentmindedly.

The car drove past the bustling streets. It wasn’t until they veered off the road leading back to the hotel that Chu Chen’an realized—this wasn’t the way back!

He looked out the window at the dense forest, his eyelid twitching. “Where are we going?”

“A resort,” Qin Jue glanced at him. “I’m taking you to the hot springs.”

Chu Chen’an instantly recalled a certain unbearable memory. His face flushed red, and he glared at Qin Jue.

“But the ferry is leaving today! I need to go back!”

“Baby, you didn’t know?” Qin Jue pinched the back of his neck. “The ferry’s been delayed.”

 

Chu Chen’an panicked. “Since when?”

 

“This morning.”

Chu Chen’an blinked a few times. “For how long?”

“Could be half a month, maybe a whole month,” Qin Jue smirked, completely unconcerned. “Who knows?”

 

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