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Chapter Text

A/N:
Sooo… I was reading some amazing Du Cheng × Shen Yi × Sun Zhibiao content and honestly, I couldn’t get them out of my head 😅💭 Zhibiao’s twisted, possessive, psycho mindset? Yeah… I’m totally here for that chaotic energy 🖤

This story is loosely inspired by Under the Skin, but of course, I added Sun Zhibiao as a major character—because why not make it even darker, right? 😈

Just a heads up: this isn’t a fluffy love story 💔 Expect psychological tension, obsession, forceful sexual activity, unhealthy dynamics, and maybe some other messed-up things. I’ve included warnings in the tags, but I’ll also put a trigger warning for chapters that might be disturbing ⚠️ So please don’t complain if you encounter something intense—I’ve warned you in advance ^^

Shen Yi deserves peace… but Zhibiao? Well… he’s not letting go 😏

I hope you enjoy this story — and if you’re into morally messed-up characters, welcome aboard 🖤✨ Happy reading! 📖💫

Silence...

In a room filled with people, an eerie stillness hung in the air.

Each person, wrapped in their own thoughts, sat with furrowed brows, eyes glued to the whiteboard—a white canvas adorned with images of various people, their faces pinned with care.

"So, you're saying the person in the silhouette from the video could possibly be our main suspect?" Du Cheng's voice broke the oppressive silence, his words like a stone thrown into still waters.

"Yes," Director Zhang replied, her voice tinged with frustration. "But the problem is, we can't identify this person, even with all our technology."

Another wave of silence descended, heavier than before, as if the very air in the room had thickened with uncertainty.

"Wait," Old Yan interjected, his voice cutting through the tension. "I actually heard about a student who might be able to draw something like this."

All eyes turned to him, expressions ranging from curiosity to confusion. Seeing no immediate reaction, he continued, "Three months ago, I went to A University to accompany my daughter for an event. Out of curiosity, I visited the Art and Design Department. There was a crowd gathered around one of the lines. I asked what was happening, and they told me they were watching something amazing—this student could draw incredibly detailed portraits, even of people's childhoods or parents, just from a description. His name is Shen Yi, I think. Perhaps... we could ask him to help?"

The room fell into an even deeper silence, so thick you could almost hear a pin drop.

"I beg your pardon?" Director Zhang blinked, clearly taken aback.

Old Yan cleared his throat, nervous under the weight of everyone's gaze. "We could... we could ask him to sketch the figure for us, if that's alright?"

The room stayed silent, disbelief hanging in the air. The idea seemed impossible—no one had ever heard of an artist who could draw something so abstract, so elusive. It was a concept foreign to them, and perhaps, something no one in their field had encountered before.

"Does anyone else have a suggestion?" Director Zhang's voice, though calm, held an edge. Her eyes scanned the room, waiting for someone to speak up. But no one did. With a resigned sigh, she turned back to Old Yan. "Fine. Can you go to the university after the meeting and find this student?"

Old Yan's face brightened, a smile tugging at his lips as he nodded eagerly.

Du Cheng, however, remained skeptical. He couldn't fathom how a mere student could possibly sketch a figure from a mere shadow, and he wasn't ready to put his hopes on this boy. Not yet.

Shortly after, the meeting ended, and Old Yan took his leave, heading straight for A University.

The university wasn't far—just a thirty-minute drive, even with the usual traffic. As he parked in front of the department, he glanced at his watch: 11 AM. The student should be around this time, he thought, and with that, he turned off the engine.

He stepped out of the car, heading straight for the department. He didn't know Shen Yi's schedule or where his classes were, so he asked a few passing students. After some directions, he found himself at the 3rd floor, where the class he sought was located.

His old legs protested with every step, but he pressed on. Some students glanced at him, curious about the presence of a police officer on campus. Thankfully, 3BA, the classroom, was just at the front of the hall. He stopped, taking a deep breath to steady his exhaustion before entering.

Inside, the students were busy sketching a model—a beautiful woman with long, flowing hair, side bangs framing her face. She sat elegantly in the center of the room.

The male teacher, likely in his late sixties, noticed Old Yan and approached him, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Excuse me, may I help you?" he asked in a polite tone.

"Good afternoon," Old Yan replied, offering his hand. "I'm Yan Tan Sheng from the Haicheng Public Security Bureau. I'm looking for a student named Shen Yi."

The teacher took his hand, shaking it firmly. Upon hearing Shen Yi's name, the student, who had been intently focused on his sketch, paused. His gaze flicked toward the officer, a brief look of curiosity in his eyes.

"Ah, yes. I'm Xu Yiduo. Is there a problem, officer?" Mr. Xu's voice was calm, with an undercurrent of concern.

"No, no. We were hoping to ask for a favor," Old Yan explained, his tone softening.

Mr. Xu nodded in understanding. "The class is ongoing, but I can ask him after we're done."

Before he could finish, Shen Yi's figure appeared behind him, his presence sudden and surprising.

"Excuse me," he said smoothly, his voice soft but clear. "I couldn't help but overhear. What kind of favor would you like to ask of me, Mr. Yan?"

Old Yan looked at him, struck by how composed and polite the young man was. His first impression was that Shen Yi was not only handsome but also calm, his appearance almost ethereal. He wasn't tall, but taller than Old Yan, with smooth, porcelain-like skin, a sharp nose, and thin pink lips. His hair, slightly messy with bangs falling over his eyes, gave him a dreamy yet striking appearance. Despite his youth, his demeanor seemed much older, as if he'd seen much more of the world than his age suggested.

"Yes," Old Yan said, a bit hesitantly, "Can we speak privately?"

Mr. Xu, understanding the gravity of the situation, gestured for them to follow him downstairs to his private office. Old Yan thanked him, grateful for the moment of privacy.

Once inside the office, Old Yan wasted no time. "Here's the situation," he began. "We're working on a case. We have footage of a suspect, but the quality is poor, and the figure is a silhouette. The person is dressed in all black, and we can't identify them, even with all our technology. I heard you could draw... this kind of thing, so I'm wondering if you can help us."

Shen Yi nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Can I first see the video?"

"Of course." Old Yan quickly pulled the video up on his phone. As Shen Yi examined the footage, Old Yan couldn't help but feel a knot tighten in his stomach. The young man's focused expression didn't ease his nerves.

Finally, Shen Yi looked up from the screen. "Alright. I will try to draw it."

Chapter Text

"Alright. I'll try drawing it."

"You will?" Old Yan's voice carried a trace of surprise.

"Yeah, sure. Let me grab my sketchbook for a moment. Is it alright if I do it here, or should I go somewhere else?" Shen Yi asked, already pulling his sketchbook from his bag, his pencil already sharpened and ready.

"It's fine. You can draw here if that makes you more comfortable." Old Yan felt a flicker of hope, though a part of him still wondered if Shen Yi could really capture the elusive figure. No one had been able to make sense of it, not even the faintest detail, not even the tip of the nose.

Shen Yi smiled, offering no more words as he began sketching. He worked swiftly, beginning with the head, his hand moving with practiced ease. Old Yan watched, both impressed and intrigued. Within twenty minutes, the head and body had taken shape, though the face remained incomplete. Shen Yi's movements were fluid, every line purposeful, every stroke precise.

Thirty-five minutes passed, and the rough sketch was almost complete. Usually, such things took hours, but here Shen Yi had finished so quickly that Old Yan couldn't help but ask, "You're finished?"

Shen Yi pressed his lips together and shook his head. "Not yet. I need to refine it to make it more realistic, especially if it's going to be searched by the system."

Old Yan couldn't help but feel a twinge of admiration. A rough sketch, done in half an hour, and the promise of more detail? The kid was impressive. Time passed, unnoticed, as Old Yan continued to watch Shen Yi work. The clock seemed to vanish as Shen Yi's pencil moved across the paper, refining every detail.

An hour later, Shen Yi stopped, his pencil hovering above the page. He gave it one last look, ensuring every detail matched the figure in the video, and then handed the drawing to Old Yan.

Old Yan couldn't help but praise the young artist. "Incredible. You've captured the essence of it so well."

Old Yan took a photo of the sketch and sent it to Li Han for further analysis. Shen Yi, his hands still resting on his pencil, asked with quiet interest, "If it's possible, I'd like to know the result of my sketching. Will it help you catch the person?"

"Of course," Old Yan said. "And thank you. You've truly done something remarkable here."

Old Yan thanked Shen Yi once more for his help, and offered a brief nod to Mr. Xu before leaving the university grounds and returning to the station.

It hadn’t been long after his arrival when the results came in—the suspect had been identified. The composite sketch turned out to be a breakthrough.

Old Yan rushed to share the news with Director Zhang, who greeted him with a satisfied smile. "It's over. We've got him, thanks to Shen Yi." The weight of their hard work was finally lifting, but Old Yan had another thought.

"Chief Zhang, you'll want to meet him. I've never seen anyone sketch so precisely, so naturally. He can see what others can't, and draw what others only guess at."

Director Zhang's smile widened. "Indeed. I'd love to meet him but I haven't had the pleasure. I was thinking of visiting the university, but it might attract too much attention."

Old Yan chuckled, shaking his head. "I'll go. I'll invite him over here after I see him."

Director Zhang nodded approvingly. "Good. And while you're at it, extend an offer to him. I'm thinking of offering him a part-time position with us. He could help us with portraits, if he's willing."

Old Yan agreed, though just as they were about to move on, the door burst open. Du Cheng entered, his usual brashness evident.

"Chief Zhang, I—" He faltered when he saw the situation.

"Captain Du," Director Zhang sighed, rubbing her forehead. "How many times must I remind you to knock?"

Du Cheng, unbothered by the reprimand, asked about the case. But before they could finish, Director Zhang turned to him with a suggestion.

"Captain Du, how about you accompany Old Yan tomorrow? We'll bring Shen Yi into the fold. He's an artist—he'll be an asset to your team."

Du Cheng raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "You want a 'kid' on my team?"

Old Yan laughed. "He's a college student. He's 19. He's hardly a kid. Besides, you're not much older than him."

Du Cheng crossed his arms, unimpressed. "20. He's 20."

Director Zhang grinned. "I guess you've been doing some research on him."

Du Cheng scowled but said nothing further, and with that, Old Yan and Du Cheng made their way out of Director Zhang's office. Old Yan hadn't even remembered what he'd planned to ask before the interruption.

Time slipped by, and soon a new day arrived.

Shen Yi and his classmates set off on a trip to another city to attend a special event. They had arrived at B University, where an art exhibition was being held. Shen Yi walked among the displays alongside his friends and teacher, momentarily leaving behind the unfolding developments in Wei He City.

Shen Yi’s attention remained fixed on the present, on the quiet elegance of the gallery. He and Mr. Xu strolled side by side, taking in the collection of artworks displayed around them.

"This event has been amazing," Shen Yi said, glancing at a particularly impressive painting. "But I was surprised when they invited Wei Fanlu today. Did you know about this?"

Mr. Xu chuckled. "You didn't hear? That's good since I wanted to keep it a surprise. Wei Fanlu's speech has been a huge motivation to all of us."

Shen Yi laughed softly. "You're right. But he's a legend. His words really hit home."

"Well, you're no slouch yourself," Mr. Xu teased. "You're called a genius for a reason."

Shen Yi gave a modest smile. "I'm still learning. I'm nowhere near your level, let alone Mr. Wei's."

Hours later, the hushed awe of the exhibition gave way to administrative errands. Teacher Xu excused himself to B University's records office—"A mountain of forms to stamp," he groaned—while Shen Yi's stomach reminded him it was long past lunch. He ordered a motor‑bike ride‑share on his phone, the driver weaving through midday traffic until they reached Xiang Hu Park which was fifteen minutes away from the campus.

Sunlight spilled across the lawns in shifting bands of gold; families chased kites, an elderly couple practiced slow‑motion tai‑chi, and children launched paper boats along the pond's edge. Shen Yi settled on a shaded bench, unpacked a takeaway bento, and balanced his sketchbook on one knee. Pencil swept across the page—quick gestures capturing the arc of a kite string, the tilt of a rower's oar—until the composition felt alive.

He hadn’t noticed the trio in tailored black suits until much later. One man sat on the bench directly opposite, legs crossed, polished shoes still against the path. The second and third flanked him like silent pillars, hands clasped before them, faces half-hidden behind dark glasses.

The seated man's gaze—shielded by smoky lenses—was fixed on Shen Yi, who had unknowingly taken a seat across from him. To onlookers, it might have appeared he was simply enjoying the afternoon; only the thin plume of cigar smoke curling around his shoulder betrayed the vigil.

Lost in line and form, Shen Yi remained oblivious—until a sudden shadow spilled over his paper. A gloved hand closed around his wrist, halting the pencil mid‑stroke. Graphite scored a jagged slash across the kite he'd just drawn.

Startled, Shen Yi looked up—straight into the impassive face of one of the standing men. Behind him, the seated stranger exhaled a lazy coil of smoke, head tilting in silent command. In that instant the park's bright chatter seemed to dim, the laughter of children receding like sound sucked from a room, as if the whole world balanced on the grip crushing his wrist.

A/n :

Dear readers,

What...just happened? Who could it be? Anyhow, i hope you like this chapter ^^ Sorry, Am not good at speaking TvT 

Chapter Text

Shen Yi's pencil slipped from his fingers as a firm hand abruptly seized his own.

He looked up, startled, and found himself face-to-face with a man sporting a sharp military haircut. The stranger's expression was a mask—cold, unreadable. Shen Yi's brows knitted together as he stared at the man, his hand still trapped in the stranger's grip.

"Can I help you?" Shen Yi's voice came out steady, though his eyes betrayed him—narrowed with suspicion, a flicker of unease. This man was the same one who had been standing beside the smoking figure in the black suit. Shen Yi's gaze flicked to the man in the black suit, who he realized had been looking directly at him. 

Without warning, the military-haired man snatched Shen Yi's sketchbook from his hands with a swift motion before he handed it off to the second man, who was now approaching.

This... this was strange.

Why were these people approaching him? Had he done something wrong? Something offensive? At least they could just say it instead of carrying on like this. And what was with the grip? It was so tight that Shen Yi could feel the imprint of the man's fingers digging into his skin.

Shen Yi frowned, irritation bubbling beneath his calm exterior. His voice, this time, had an edge to it. "Is something wrong?" But his question hung in the air, unanswered, as though he wasn't even there. The silence thickened the air around him, making his heart race a bit faster with each passing second. He leaned back against the seat rest trying to calm himself down before exhaling a frustrated sigh. The realization hit him—he wasn't going anywhere, not unless these men decided otherwise.

The long‑haired man carried the sketchbook to the bench and placed it in the seated man's waiting, gloved hand. 

After receiving the sketchbook, the man in the black suit took his black sunglasses down and slowly flipped through the pages, his expression unreadable. There was no warmth in his gaze, only a cold calculation as his sharp eyes studied each line and shadow drawn by Shen Yi's hand. The quiet park around them seemed to fade away, replaced by the sudden chill of impending danger.

Without a word, Zhibiao closed the book with deliberate force and stood abruptly. The two men flanking him moved like shadows at his command, closing the distance to Shen Yi with unsettling precision. Shen Yi's eyes flickered up, heart pounding — the calm stranger's gaze had hardened into something darker, something impossible to ignore.

The hand gripping his wrist seemed to tighten even further, as if trying to break his resolve. A sharp hiss escaped his lips from the pain, his body instinctively tensing.

"Take him to my office," the man ordered, his voice a low, commanding tone that made Shen Yi's heart stutter in his chest.

Before he could react, they pulled him to his feet and dragged him away from the park bench, the noise and life around fading into a distant blur. 

Shen Yi's instincts screamed for him to run. He pulled back, twisting his wrist free and darting toward the crowded path, hoping to blend into the throng of people. But the taller man with the military haircut was faster—he lunged, catching Shen Yi's arm in a vice-like grip. Shen Yi's eyes flew wide open as the man's fingers tightened, wrenching his arms painfully behind his back. His heart hammered in his chest, thudding so loud it drowned out everything else. Every muscle tensed, trembling with desperate resistance, but his limbs felt like stone—heavy, useless, frozen by terror. Before he could scream, the other man pressed something cold and damp firmly against his nose and mouth. A sharp, acrid scent blasted his senses—chemical, harsh, and suffocating. 

Was he being kidnapped now?!

He struggled fiercely, his eyes darting around for anyone—any sign of help—but the park had emptied. The few remaining figures were distant, indifferent, unaware. Had everyone vanished without him noticing? His throat tightened, dry and raw, as the crushing truth settled in—he was utterly alone.

His limbs grew heavy almost instantly, the edges of his vision darkening as the drug from the cloth began to take hold. Thoughts blurred and scattered like mist, panic surging desperately within him even as his body betrayed every instinct to fight back. His movements slowed, each struggle growing weaker, breaths shallow and ragged.

"Hey! What are you doing to him?" The sharp voice pierced through the haze—a faint lifeline in the growing darkness. Shen Yi's blurred gaze caught a flicker of an old man standing nearby, eyes wide with horror and disbelief.

But before Shen Yi could reach out, the world tilted violently. The last thing he saw was another man in a black suit approaching the old man—calm, deliberate steps cutting through the haze—just as darkness closed in.

The men lifted the unconscious Shen Yi with practiced ease, carrying him toward the waiting black van. The city's distant noise dimmed to a muted hum as the doors slammed shut behind them, sealing him inside. Only the cold, mechanical drone of the engine remained—a haunting soundtrack to the unknown fate that awaited him.

--

Inside the black Wrangler, Old Yan settled comfortably in the passenger seat as Du Cheng gripped the wheel, eyes focused on the road ahead.

"You sure he's there?" Du Cheng asked.

"I'm not sure. His phone's been off," Old Yan's voice filled with confusion. "I'll try calling the teacher."

Old Yan's fingers shook slightly as he scrolled through his contact list, finding the name he was looking for. He pressed the call button and waited.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. Xu. This is Yan Tan Sheng from the Poli—"

"Ah—Mr. Yan, yes. I was actually planning to call you earlier." The nervousness in Mr. Xu's voice immediately sent a jolt through Old Yan's system. Something was wrong.

"Is everything alright, Mr. Xu?" Old Yan's voice lowered, his instincts kicking into overdrive.

"No. One of my students is missing. I can't reach him. We've searched everywhere, but he's nowhere to be seen." The panic in Mr. Xu's voice was palpable, making Old Yan's stomach twist in concern. He exchanged a look with Du Cheng, both of them understanding the gravity of the situation.

"Who was missing? And how long has he been missing? Where are you right now?" Old Yan pressed, his thoughts racing.

"It's Shen Yi. The student who helped you before." The words hit Old Yan like a punch to the gut. They had been planning to meet with Shen Yi, and now he was missing? How could that be?

"When did this happen? Can I have your current location?" Old Yan motioned for Du Cheng to pull over, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside. Du Cheng didn't say a word, but the shift in his expression was unmistakable—an instinctive, probing alertness honed by years on the force.

"We're at Hotel Y in Weihe City. There was an art event at B university, and I brought the students here for a study purpose." Mr. Xu tried to maintain calm, but Old Yan could hear the panic edging into his voice. Weihe City was two hours away from Haicheng.

"Stay put. We'll be there as fast as we can." Old Yan hung up and turned to Du Cheng. "We've got to move quickly."

The drive was a blur—each second stretched painfully, the fear gnawing at Old Yan's insides. As a police officer, he followed the rules, but tonight, every second felt like a lifetime. Du Cheng was driving like a man possessed, and it only took an hour and a half to reach the hotel.

That's could be counted as a record to be honest.

They found Mr. Xu waiting in the hotel lobby, looking like a man on the edge of breaking down.

"So, can you please tell me what happened?" Old Yan's voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a sense of urgency that made the air crackle.

"We've just arrived here this morning. The event was until tomorrow and we would be staying here and would be back to Haicheng on the 3rd day in the morning. I saw Shen Yi before at 1 PM before I left, told him to come back soon so we could pack. But it's nearly 6 PM now, and we can't find him or contact him." Mr. Xu's voice was cracking, the weight of his words pressing down on him.

"We were planning to file a report, but the rules say we have to wait 24 hours to file a missing person report..." Mr. Xu trailed off, and Old Yan could hear the frustration, the helplessness, in his tone.

Du Cheng spoke up, trying to keep things rational. "Could he have gone somewhere? The mall? The library? Maybe his phone died?"

Mr. Xu shook his head violently. "No. That's not possible. I've actually known Shen Yi since he was a child. He's an orphan, and he's not the type to just disappear without a word. He loves to draw, but if he were out sketching, he would've at least called me, even if his phone was dead. This isn't like him."

Old Yan and Du Cheng exchanged a look, both of them sensing the same thing—something was terribly wrong.

A/N :

Hey lovely readers!
Another update~ 🥳 It’s my day off and I wanted to start strong, so how's this Chapter? I hope it's to y'all liking still😅
This arc will focus on Shen Yi’s first encounter with you know who 👀 and things are about to get complicated fast. I hope you enjoy the buildup—and yes, Du Cheng will show up eventually 🫣

Let me know what you think! 💬

Chapter Text

⚠️ Content Warning for this chapter:
physical violence, captivity, threats of death, emotional distress.

4 hours earlier

The black van slowed and stopped behind the hotel, its tinted windows shielding it from the harsh afternoon light as people bustled nearby. The engine rumbled like the growl of a beast waiting to strike. Two men stepped out. One of them was carrying a limp, lifeless body draped over his shoulder—Shen Yi, unconscious, vulnerable, trapped in his own fate.

The security guard stationed by the hotel entrance made his way forward when the second black van appeared, though he seemed unaware of the storm that was about to hit. As the back door opened, the figure who emerged was none other than the man everyone feared—their boss, the one who ran everything from the shadows. 

Sun Zhibiao.

Zhibiao stepped out, fixing his suit with a practiced flick of his wrist. The cigarette hanging from his lips burned like a dying ember, his presence enough to make the air around him crackle with silent authority. His eyes were cold, distant, as if he were looking through the world rather than at it.

The employees surrounding him bowed their heads in sync, showing their respect or perhaps fear. But Zhibiao didn't acknowledge any of them. His eyes flicked to one of his man whose holding Shen Yi's body on his shoulder and following him from behind into the building. His mind was already calculating, already assessing the next steps. Everything was an intricate plan to him—every movement, every person was a part of the game.

The hotel, The Grand Sun WeiHe Hotel, stood like a colossal monument to his power. Spanning over 5 million square feet of space, it housed 40 floors of luxury, from high-end suites to extravagant shows, casinos, luxury boutiques, and restaurants. The city marveled at its grandeur, at how perfect everything seemed. But behind the glitz and glamour, Zhibiao's empire was anything but clean. But beneath the polished surfaces was an underworld of drugs and weapons, the very fabric of society twisted to his will. He owned the city, controlled it with an iron grip—and the police, the government, they were all puppets in his hand.

The city actually had no idea how far his reach extended, how deep his influence went. Some may think that with a fortune like his, Zhibiao would never sully his hands with illegal dealings, but that was where they were wrong. Money was never enough for him. Power was the ultimate currency, and he would stop at nothing to maintain it.

In fact, Zhibiao didn't just run his criminal empire from the shadows—he reveled in it. He indulged in the very vices that kept him in control, letting the poison of his underground dealings seep into every corner of his existence.

Inside the elevator, Zhibiao stood with his two bodyguards, his expression unreadable. His fingers tapped rhythmically against his phone screen as they ascended to the top floor, to the office that was his kingdom. 

The elevators doors opened and Zhibiao stepped out, his presence dominating the space. His office was as cold and pristine as he was, an empty shell with no warmth, no soul. The walls were lined with dark wood, the floors gleaming, but nothing spoke of comfort—only power. His domain was one of control, where no one dared to step out of line.

The bodyguards dragged Shen Yi into another hidden, dark room behind a large wooden bookshelf in the office, then tossed him onto a black chair that seemed to absorb the light around it. 

They tied Shen Yi's wrists tightly to the armrests of the chair. His body remained limp, head slumped forward, unresponsive. The cold surface of the metal chair pressed against his back as they secured him in place—restraining a man who had yet to awaken.

Zhibiao didn't waste time. He stood at the far end of the room, his gaze icy, cold, as he stared at Shen Yi. He didn't speak, but the weight of his stare felt like a thousand needles piercing through Shen Yi's skin. It was as if Zhibiao could see right through him, into the very core of his being, and in that gaze, there was no room for mercy, no space for hope.

"Wake him up," Zhibiao ordered in a voice that carried no emotion, as though he were giving a simple instruction for someone to bring him his coffee.

The military-haired guard, without hesitation, splashed a bucket of ice-cold water onto Shen Yi's face. The shock of it sent his body into spasms, his lungs burning as he gasped for air. His eyes snapped open, and for a moment, everything felt like it was spinning—dizzying, disorienting, too much to process.

He blinked, his vision still blurry as the cold water dripped down his face, but the pain was there—sharp, biting. His body ached as though every bone had been broken and then put back together wrong. The room around him was dim, cold, empty. The faces of the men who surrounded him were stone, unreadable.

Shen Yi's breath came in short, rapid bursts as he tried to make sense of the situation. "W-what's going on? Why am I tied up?" His voice was weak, faltering, and before he could say anything more, a harsh slap cracked across his face.

The sting of the slap was so intense that his vision blurred again, his head spinning with the force of it. His body jerked in the chair, and his face burned from the impact. The pain was excruciating, but worse than the physical hurt was the terror that gnawed at him from the inside. His hands were tied, his body immobilized, and yet he still couldn't understand why this was happening to him.

The man behind him had his hand in Shen Yi's hair, yanking his head back so violently that Shen Yi gasped in pain. The world tilted as his throat constricted, and his vision was filled with the cold, indifferent eyes of Zhibiao.

"Who are you? why you're here?" Zhibiao's voice cut through the air like a blade, low and dangerous. 

"And listen carefully," Zhibiao's voice was a growl, his lips barely moving as he spoke. "The only person who gets to ask questions here is me. Understand?"

Shen Yi's throat tightened. He could feel his heart beating painfully against his ribs, could feel the panic rising inside him. He met Zhibiao's gaze without blinking, the tension coiled tightly inside him, but he said nothing. He was trying to break free from the suffocating grip on his hair. But Zhibiao wasn't done. The man leaned closer, his voice a whisper that chilled Shen Yi's spine.

"I suggest you answer honestly if you want to keep breathing."

The words hit Shen Yi like a slap to the face. His body tensed in fear, every muscle seizing in terror. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. His eyes darted around the room, but there was nowhere to run. The only thing he could do was answer.

Before he could say anything more, Zhibiao's voice thundered, "ANSWER ME!"

The roar sent a jolt of fear through Shen Yi's body. The words that had barely formed in his mind were suddenly drowned by the sheer force of the man's voice. The grip on his hair tightened painfully, and he gasped, a sharp hiss escaping his lips.

"I don't know why I'm here," Shen Yi said quietly, eyes steady but wary. "You're the one that brought me here."

There was no pleading in his voice, no desperate attempt to soften the truth. Just a simple, clear statement—an assertion that despite everything, he was not lost to fear or confusion.

Then, without warning, the back of the man's hand cracked across Shen Yi’s face—sharp, deliberate. The sound echoed through the room like a gunshot in the silence, brutal in its clarity. His head snapped to the side from the force, a flash of white heat flaring across his cheek. The sting bloomed fast, raw and angry, and the metallic taste of iron began to spread along his tongue—his lip split where the blow had landed.

But he didn’t cry out.

He stayed still, breath sharp through his nose, gaze fixed downward as he swallowed the pain—quiet, unyielding. The defiance didn’t leave him. It only settled deeper, beneath the bruising flesh and clenched jaw. Shen Yi’s eyes lifted to meet Zhibiao’s again, this time laced with something sharper—disdain, maybe. Not loud, not foolish. Just the quiet, simmering kind that said: You don’t scared me. 

Zhibiao's lips twitched, not with kindness, but with something sharper—something cold and amused. A low scoff escaped him, mocking in its simplicity.

He tilted his head, the smirk deepening. “You’ve got that look—so calm, so composed. Like you think that’ll save you.”

Zhibiao watched him carefully, his expression unreadable now. “Keep looking like that,” he said, voice low and edged with cruel satisfaction, “and I’ll see how long that calm of yours holds.”

But Shen Yi knew better. Inside, a storm churned—questions, doubts, and a cautious hope all tangled beneath the surface. Yet outwardly, he remained composed, a quiet island amid the chaos Zhibiao had dragged him into.

Without warning, Zhibiao's hand shot out and gripped Shen Yi’s jaw, fingers digging in with bruising force. The pressure was sharp, unforgiving—enough to make Shen Yi hiss through his teeth as pain bloomed along the hinge of his jaw.

Zhibiao leaned in, his face inches away, breath slow and steady like he had all the time in the world to decide what to do with him.

“Now look at me,” he said, voice low and venomous, “and answer my question honestly... before I kill you.”

His thumb pressed harder against Shen Yi’s cheekbone, holding his face in place like he was nothing more than a specimen under glass.

"Who. Sent. You. Here?" Zhibiao's voice was deadly quiet now, almost calm—but the underlying threat was unmistakable. The silence that followed hung in the air like a heavy weight, suffocating, crushing.

“And i have no idea what are you talking about?” Shen Yi managed, his voice tight, the edges fraying but not yet torn. “I already told you—no one sent me.”

He swallowed hard, feeling the ache in his jaw where Zhibiao’s fingers still pressed. “I’m… just a student. From University A in Haicheng. I came for an art event. That’s it.”

There was a fragile edge to his words, the strain of fear barely contained beneath his calm facade. He fought to keep his breathing steady, but the weight of the moment pressed down on him. His chest tightened painfully, and he felt tears threatening to spill at the corners of his eyes.

But the tears weren’t from fear. They welled up because of the pain—sharp, raw—where that psycho had just pressed a thumb against the bruise he’d left at the corner of Shen Yi’s mouth. The sting flared bright behind his eyes, but he held himself together.

Despite everything, Shen Yi refused to let his voice break completely. He clung to the smallest shard of control, gripping it like a lifeline in the dark, because that was all he had left. Despite everything, Shen Yi refused to let his voice break completely. He clung to the smallest shard of control, gripping it like a lifeline in the dark, because that was all he had left. That was - if he were to let alive.

Zhibiao remained still, his gaze sharp and unblinking, as if measuring Shen Yi like a cold, lifeless object rather than a man. Minutes stretched between them, thick with silent judgment. Then, without warning, he leaned in close to his ear—his breath hot, a whisper against Shen Yi's skin.

"You're lying." The words were flat, final.

Shen Yi closed his eyes tightly, swallowing the rising fear, silently begging for something he knew wouldn't come—mercy. But Zhibiao had no use for such weakness.

A/N :

Double drop today! 🎉
Since I had the time (and the Zhibiao brainrot was real), here’s another chapter! 

Sorry again, ChengYi shippers 😭 But chaos is coming, and I’m here for it.
Thanks for reading! Comments fuel me 🙏💖

By the way, since it's Zhibiao x Shen yi x Du cheng Story, i need to remind you again for the tag that include warning alright? ^^ It's dark story and toxic one. 

Chapter Text

Zhibiao slammed the sketchbook down with a brutal force that made the pages tremble. His eyes, black and unblinking, bore into Shen Yi like a predator sizing up its prey. "I'll ask you one more time. Why did you draw me?" His voice was a low, vicious growl—no room for lies.

Shen Yi's throat tightened. He forced out the words, voice cold, almost defiant despite the pain burning across his cheek. "Like i said. I didn't mean to. It wasn't on purpose."

"Liar." Without warning, Zhibiao's fist crashed into Shen Yi's face, the sharp crack echoing in the small room. Blood blossomed at the corner of Shen Yi's mouth, but he refused to show more than a flicker of pain. Zhibiao was watching, waiting for weakness.

Flipping the sketchbook open, Zhibiao shoved the page with his drawn face into Shen Yi's view. "You were studying me. Drawing me like I'm some damn specimen. Don't think I don't see it."

Shen Yi's breath came uneven, but he held Zhibiao's gaze, his voice low and steady. "I wasn't finished. I was sketching everything around the park... people, the scenery. And you mister, you were just one of them."

A cruel smile twisted Zhibiao's lips, but his eyes stayed cold, calculating. "You think that excuse saves you? That makes you less of a threat?"

Zhibiao's eyes narrowed, sharp and unreadable. For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them—thick, suffocating. His gaze never left Shen Yi, who met it with unwavering defiance, eyes steady, unflinching.

"Search his bag. Everything. Phone, notebook, wallet... I want to see what he thought I wouldn't notice."

The order hung in the air like a blade. One of the men moved without hesitation, grabbing Shen Yi's worn satchel from the floor. The zipper gave a tired hiss as it was ripped open, the contents spilled onto the table in a quiet cascade: pencils, receipts, a folded map, wallet, loose paper, keys.

"Wallet," Zhibiao said, calmly.

It was handed over. He opened it himself.

Student ID. A few bills. Transit pass. Scribbled contact numbers.

 Zhibiao pulled it free and unfolded it without comment.

Then he reached the bag again—this time into the main compartment of the bag—fingers brushing against a piece of plain, crumpled paper shoved into the lining. He opened it slowly.

Silence.

His expression didn't change, but the tension shifted—like the coil of a snake tightening.

It was a sketch. The paper was slightly crumpled from being stuffed into a side pocket, but the pencil work was unmistakably Shen Yi's—precise, clean, almost too observant.

Zhibiao looked at the paper slowly, his eyes fixed on the image. A man in a dark coat. Sunglasses. The angle was casual, almost like a candid photograph captured on instinct. But the expression... it was too familiar.

Zhibiao's voice was low. "Is this supposed to be me?"

From his seat, Shen Yi didn’t flinch. His breathing had finally steadied, the tremor in his limbs hidden beneath a practiced stillness. And when he spoke, his voice was measured—quiet, but firm.

“I’m an art student,” he said. “Like I told you before. I sketch everything—faces, gestures, expressions. It’s what I do. You were just one of the models I picked for practice. If you don’t believe me… check the rest of the book.”

Across from him, Zhibiao didn’t speak right away. He stared down at the sketch, his eyes unreadable, thumb resting at the edge of the page as if testing how easily it could be torn from the spine.

“Then why did you tear the page?” he asked at last, voice low, deceptively calm.

Shen Yi hesitated. “It—it wasn’t to my liking.”

A pause.

“You mean I’m a bad model?” Zhibiao’s eyes lifted to meet his, sharp and still. There was something dark curling beneath his words, a venom hidden behind a smile that never came.

“It’s not like that. I was—”

He didn’t get to finish.

Zhibiao moved.

His hand lashed out with sudden violence, striking Shen Yi hard across the face.

The sound cracked through the room—sharp and brutal. Shen Yi’s head snapped to the side, and the force of the blow sent his chair teetering dangerously. It nearly toppled, but one of Zhibiao’s men reached forward, steadying it with a single hand, holding it—and Shen Yi—firm in place.

Pain bloomed along Shen Yi’s cheekbone, hot and immediate. He tasted blood. His fingers curled tightly around the edge of the chair, knuckles white, shoulders shaking—not from fear, but from holding himself together.

Then, finally, Zhibiao back to flipping through the sketchbook. Page after page revealed more: an old woman feeding birds, a street vendor mid-shout, a child tugging at his mother's sleeve. Dozens of faces. Dozens of moments.

Zhibiao stared at the sketch a moment longer, then shifted his gaze to Shen Yi. His tone was soft, but razor-sharp.

Zhibiao said nothing. The silence pressed in like fog. He looked down at the sketch again, studying the strokes, the attention to detail. The precision.

Shen Yi hadn’t said he was ugly.

Not directly. Not even close.

But those words—“not to my liking”—echoed in Zhibiao’s mind like a taunt. An insult wrapped in calm detachment.

Not to your liking?

Zhibiao scoffed internally.

He had women throwing themselves at him. They lined up willingly, desperate for a sliver of his attention, even on bed. He didn’t even need to ask.

And this little shit—

This little brat had the nerve to say his sketch of me wasn’t to his liking?

His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing as he stared down at Shen Yi.

Then, in one fluid motion, he reached out and grabbed Shen Yi’s face, fingers digging into his jaw with bruising force. Shen Yi hissed under his breath, the pain shooting sharp through his jaw, but his expression didn’t crumble. His gaze stayed locked on Zhibiao—sharp, defiant.

That stare.

Zhibiao paused.

There was something in that look that snagged his interest—something cold and unyielding. This kid, fragile and bloodied, still dared to look at him like that. No flinching. Not even begging. Normally, those who he tortured even begged for their life to be spared. 

His grip didn’t loosen, but his mouth curled into a slow, amused smirk.

Interesting.

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower. “I don’t care if you really are just a pathetic little art student.” His thumb pressed harder against Shen Yi’s cheek. “But you saw too much.”

There was a pause. His next words were almost whispered—like he was speaking more to himself than to Shen Yi.

“Even before you knew what you were looking at.”

Shen Yi said nothing. His breath had steadied again, though tension still coiled in his muscles, ready to snap.

Zhibiao tilted his head, studying him, then spoke again. “You made me your project?” he asked softly, mock curiosity coating each syllable. “A case study for class? And then you tore the page because it wasn’t good enough for you?”

Shen Yi met his gaze evenly—the only part of him left untouched, unbowed. “It was for class. Fieldwork. You weren’t the only subject,” he replied, voice low. “And I tore it because I made a mistake in that sketch. Not you.”

Zhibiao chuckled.

A dry, humorless sound, like it had been scraped from the back of his throat.

He rose slowly from his crouch, hands lingering for a breath longer on Shen Yi’s face before slipping away. But his gaze never left him—not even for a second. The smirk had faded. What remained was cooler. Calculating.

“But I still don’t like being watched like I’m some specimen,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Then his voice turned flat. Cold.

“And you made a mistake by doing that.”

Zhibiao's eyes narrowed slightly. He wondered, just briefly, if that sharp gaze Shen Yi kept meeting him with would still burn the same way once cold metal was pressed to his skull. Would that defiance fade? Would fear finally crack through that carefully held composure?

The thought made him smirk.

Without breaking eye contact, he reached slowly into his coat and drew a sleek, black pistol. His movements were deliberate, quiet—like a magician revealing the final part of a trick.

Then, without hesitation, the barrel pressed against Shen Yi’s temple—cold, merciless.

Time halted.

But Shen Yi didn’t move. Not a flinch. Not a breath.

His entire body had gone still, the only sign of life in him the steady rise and fall of his chest—and the unwavering stare he kept locked on Zhibiao.

As if daring him to go through with it.

As if saying, Do it, or don’t—but don’t play games.

And for some reason, that made Zhibiao’s grip tighten slightly… not on the gun, but on control.

He wasn’t bored anymore.

He was fascinated.

Truth to say, Shen Yi's heart nearly exploded in his chest. He had come to this city for an art event—nothing more. Drawing this man had been a mere habit of his to sketch whatever he saw, an unconscious reflex. He wasn't planning even planning to share or sell the sketches. He sketched this man because he also wanted to practice his sketch skill. And he was really an art student, for God's sake. How had it come to this?

Yet, despite the terror clawing at his insides, Shen Yi held his ground, locking eyes with Zhibiao as if fear were a stranger to him.

And in that fearless gaze, something shifted in Zhibiao. A flicker of curiosity sparked—unexpected, dangerous, and unyielding.

Zhibiao held the gun steady for a heartbeat longer, eyes narrowing as he studied Shen Yi's unwavering stare. Most would have crumbled, begged, or at least flinched—but not this one. There was something in that stillness, a quiet strength beneath the fear, that tangled with Zhibiao's cold calculation.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he lowered the weapon, the click of the safety disengaging echoing softly in the cramped room. "You're braver than you should be for your age," he said, voice low and rough. "Or maybe you're just stupid."

Shen Yi's jaw clenched, but his expression didn't waver. "Maybe both," he replied evenly.

Zhibiao's lips twitched into something like a smirk—a flicker of amusement, or maybe the barest hint of respect. He stepped closer, the air between them thick and charged.

"Alright," he murmured, voice low and deliberate, "maybe I overthink you. But don't forget—this isn't my mistake. It's yours, coming at me with suspicious behavior out of nowhere."

Shen Yi met Zhibiao's gaze steadily. "I wasn't looking for trouble," he said quietly. "Just doing what I do—observing, sketching. You happened to be part of that. If you felt offended for what I did, I apologized."

Zhibiao's eyes flickered with a dark amusement, as if Shen Yi's calm defiance was both a challenge and a rare curiosity. He leaned in just enough for his breath to ghost across Shen Yi's cheek.

 "But you have already stepped too far into my world, my friend."

He straightened, the smirk lingering like a shadow. "You're not walking away from this—no matter how much you want to."

Shen Yi's brows drew together, the tension etching fine lines into his otherwise calm expression. Confusion flickered behind his eyes, but his gaze held steady, locked onto Zhibiao's with a quiet defiance. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, voice low and firm. "I didn't choose to be here. And if you saw something dangerous in me, that's on you—not me. Your thoughts twisted everything. I acted normally. You're the one who made it into something else."

Zhibiao's gaze remained fixed, sharp and unreadable—like a predator sizing up its prey before deciding whether to strike or play. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous murmur, each word carefully measured and loaded with unspoken threat.

"That sketch..." he began, voice almost a whisper, "you weren't just drawing. You were trying to understand." His eyes narrowed, dark and calculating. "People who try to understand me don't walk away."

He paused, the tension between them tightening like a coiled spring. "And you," he said, voice dipping even lower, "you also happen to have caught my interest."

"Untie him."
Zhibiao’s voice sliced through the silence—low, precise, and unmistakably dangerous, like the quiet edge of a blade just before it cuts. His gaze didn’t waver, eyes cold and dissecting as they trailed over Shen Yi’s battered form. He wasn’t looking at a person. He was measuring something—fragility, resistance, value.

“Clean him up,” he added, each word deliberate. “Then bring him to my room.”

He took a step back, never looking away.

“But keep him under control.” A pause. His voice dropped colder. “No mistakes.”

The two men moved without hesitation, their movements practiced and efficient. They approached Shen Yi's bound form, the harsh scrape of metal cuffs against the chair echoing faintly in the quiet room. Fingers worked quickly, unfastening the tight restraints that had held Shen Yi captive.

As the last strap gave way, Shen Yi's muscles tensed instinctively. "What? No! Let go of me! You can't do this!" His voice was sharp, desperate, clawing against the suffocating silence as the men grabbed his arms roughly.

His protests grew louder as they yanked him to his feet—his feet barely touching the cold floor before they began dragging him toward the door. The harsh grip on his wrists left bruises burning through his skin.

But through it all, Sun Zhibiao remained a shadow in the corner of the room. Motionless, eyes unreadable, he watched with detached amusement as the scene unfolded.

He brought a cigarette to his lips, the small flame of the lighter flickering in the dim light. The glow briefly illuminated the sharp planes of his face—the set jaw, the narrowed eyes that never lost focus.

With a slow, deliberate inhale, he drew the smoke deep into his lungs, holding it for a heartbeat before releasing it in a long, controlled exhale. The tendrils of smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling, drifting through the stale air like a silent threat.

You made me your specimen? Then so will I.

The thought curled inside his mind like smoke—slow, creeping, poisonous.
I’ve never tried having sex with a man before. But him... he seems like a good place to start. A first trial. Something new to break in. Something worth keeping.

There was no hesitation. No moral question. Just the cold, deliberate satisfaction of a man who’d decided what he wanted.

A/N:
Hellowww my lovely readers! 💖 I finally finished my exams—my brain almost exploded from all the studying these past couple of weeks 😭🧠💥
Right after I was done, I treated myself to the BTS: Maps of the Soul cinema screening. Anyone else here an ARMY too? 😆💜

Anyway~ here’s the new chapter! What do you think? 👀✨
I might also update the next chapter tomorrow along with one of my other stories—so stay tuned!!

Chapter Text

⚠️ Trigger Warnings  : 🔞

Non-consensual sexual content / Rape,  Biting / Physical aggression during sexual scenes 

Shen Yi stood quietly at the edge of the scene, the room light brushing against the clean lines of his figure. A crisp white shirt clung lightly to his frame, tucked beneath a loose, light brown outer shirt that swayed gently with each breeze—plain, practical, and unassuming. His expression remained composed and detached. The soft folds of his long, beige pants lent him an air of casual elegance, almost scholarly, the kind of look that blended effortlessly into the background—quiet, observant, forgettable if not for the way he held himself.

And Sun Zhibiao didn't miss things.

From the shadows, Zhibiao's eyes dragged over Shen Yi with slow, surgical precision. His lips curled into a dry, humorless smirk.

That look—shouldn't have stood out. And yet here he was, standing there like he didn't belong to any danger, like he hadn't just stepped into something far beyond his control. Zhibiao tilted his head slightly, a glint of something unreadable flickering in his gaze.

"Look at you..." Zhibiao’s voice curled with something between amusement and hunger. "You look stunning—better than I imagined."

The gravel crunched beneath Sun Zhibiao’s boots as he closed the distance—slow, deliberate steps that carved through the stillness like a knife. His gaze locked onto Shen Yi, raking over him from head to toe with something far too intent to be called admiration. It was ownership. Hunger.

He took in the soft drape of the cream-colored shirt, the loose elegance of his pants, the delicate dip of the collar at his throat. Every detail was sharp in Zhibiao’s eyes—tempting, careless, beautiful.

Goddamn, he thought, breath slow, I never wanted a man before.
But this one...
This one made it hard not to.

Zhibiao finally stopped, the space between them narrowing to inches.

But Shen Yi didn't flinch. Didn't move. He kept his gaze fixed on the peeling wall across him, as though the wall and shadows there were more fascinating than the man standing before him. As if Zhibiao didn't exist.

That earned a twitch in Zhibiao's jaw.

With a sudden motion, he reached out and gripped Shen Yi's jaw in firm. He tilted his face upward, forcing their eyes to meet.

"I knew you looked good," Zhibiao murmured, voice low and unapologetically smug. "But I didn't know you looked this good."

His eyes lingered. Studied.

The clean line of Shen Yi's brows. The shape of his eyes—steady, even now, even when caught in someone else's grip. His pale, even-toned skin. The curve of his lips—pressed thin, tightly closed. The corner of his mouth was reddened and slightly swollen from the hit Zhibiao had given him, yet they still looked soft.

Zhibiao's tongue flicked across his lower lip, slow and instinctive, as his gaze dropped again to Shen Yi's mouth.

"Truth is," he continued, almost lazily, "at first, I was either going to kill you or sell you."

The words hung between them, heavy and casual all at once.

"But now—" he smiled, not kindly, not playfully, but with a cruel certainty—"now that I've seen you up close, looking like this..." He tilted Shen Yi's face slightly, eyes dark with intention. "I changed my mind."

He leaned in, voice brushing the edge of Shen Yi's ear.

"You'll be my plaything instead."

The silence snapped.

Shen Yi's eyes darkened as his brows pulled in sharply. Then, without hesitation, he slapped Zhibiao's hand off his face with a clean, defiant movement.

It wasn't loud. It wasn't reckless.

But it was direct.

His voice, when it came, was low and cutting. "What do you mean by that?" he said, eyes narrowing. "I'm not interested in playing with you."

For a breath, Zhibiao didn't move.

The slap hadn't hurt. But the defiance—it stung in a different way. Not like an insult. Like a challenge. And he love challenge.

Zhibiao's smirk didn't falter as Shen Yi slapped his hand away. In fact, it deepened—slow, amused, dangerous. The kind of smile a predator wears when the prey bares its teeth for the first time.

This young man... he interested him. That biting tone. That fire in his eyes.

That nerve.

Most people crumbled the second Zhibiao stepped too close. They begged. Cried. Lied through their teeth, just to make the danger go away.

But this man?

Shen Yi looked at him like he wasn't afraid to bite back, even if with a collar tightening around his neck. Like he'd already decided that if he was going to burn, he'd do it glaring straight at the one holding the match.

Zhibiao's gaze drifted over him again—slow, sharp. The soft folds of his shirt, the clean line of his jaw, the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides, tense but still in control.

He stepped in closer once more, not touching him—just standing there with his hands tucked into his pants pockets, letting the silence between them stretch tight like wire.

He tilted his head, dark eyes narrowing in amusement.

"I'm eager to see how long you can keep up this cocky little front," he said, his tone cold, lips curling just enough to flash the edge of a grin. "Let's see how long that sharp mouth of yours holds up later."

Zhibiao tilted his head, slowly. A smirk curled at the corner of his lips again—dark, unreadable, lingering like smoke.

In his mind, he already owned this man—not out of love. He would never fell in love. This was lust, twisted with something far darker. A craving laced with obsession, control, and the intoxicating thrill of unraveling him—slowly, deliberately, piece by fragile piece.

He wasn’t going to get bored of this one.

Not for a very, very long time.

----

Two days had passed, and Sun Zhibiao still hadn't returned. One of Zhibiao's man had explained that he had matters to attend to and couldn't come back for the time being. Not that Shen Yi was particularly eager for his return. 

Shen Yi had spent the last two days confined to the room, watching the TV that had been left for him. He had checked the room the day before—nothing unusual. It was just a standard bedroom, but the sterile, indifferent quality of it made him feel more like a prisoner than a guest. Despite the relative peace these two days had brought, Shen Yi knew better than to think it was a reprieve. He couldn't afford to relax. Who knew when that maniac would return and torment him again? The looming threat of Zhibiao's unpredictable cruelty made it impossible to feel safe.

His mind was focused, sharp. Escape plan.

The window was too high, jumping out was out of the question. The only hope he had was getting out of the room undetected. Wan Feng, who he found out was one of his right hand man, rarely checked on him unless Zhibiao had a specific request. The rest of the time, it was just the maid outside. Shen Yi had gathered some information about the staff—one female maid and two male guards who worked in shifts, morning, evening, and night. He didn't know the layout of the building or the corridors, but today, he planned to change that.

The clock read 6:48 AM. The maid would arrive with food at exactly 7:00 AM. Time was running out.

But as he sat there, lost in thought, the door suddenly burst open. Shen Yi's breath caught in his throat. There, standing in the doorway, was Sun Zhibiao who staggered into the room, a faintly drunken air about him, his face flushed and eyes burning with something darker than mere intoxication. The heavy sound echoed like a threat.

His eyes narrowed as they locked onto Shen Yi, a smirk curling at the corners of his lips. He was not the same man who had walked out two days ago. The change in him was almost palpable. 

"Had enough rest, little Shen Yi?" Zhibiao's voice was thick, dripping with mockery. "Or do you think you're safe?" Shen Yi instinctively stood, his pulse quickening as Zhibiao took a stumbling step forward, his hand gripping the doorframe for balance, but his eyes never left Shen Yi. He knew this look—this was no longer just about control. This was about something darker. Something more dangerous.

Every muscle tensed, his instincts screaming at him to run. So he did. But Zhibiao's smirk only widened, and the maniacal energy in his eyes flared. Shen Yi's escape attempt only seemed to amuse him. 

"Let me go!" Shen Yi's voice cracked as he tried to step back, his instincts screaming for escape, but Zhibiao was already upon him. His grip on Shen Yi's waist was vice-like, locking him in place as the other hand shot up to clamp tightly around Shen Yi's throat.

"You know, you make this game so much more fun when you try to run," Zhibiao sneered, tightening his hold. Shen Yi's breath caught, his pulse hammering as panic surged through him. Zhibiao's grip was unrelenting, a sick excitement in his gaze as he watched Shen Yi's eyes flutter with desperation.

The grip around his throat loosened just enough for Zhibiao to lean in, his breath hot against Shen Yi's ear. "You're not going anywhere. You never will." He whispered the words like a promise, but they were laced with venom.

Zhibiao's lips brushed Shen Yi's skin as he inhaled deeply, the scent of his neck driving him wild. "Bathing already, huh? Smells good," Zhibiao murmured in a dark, almost reverent tone before sinking his teeth into Shen Yi's neck.

Shen Yi's body tensed, a scream tearing through his throat as pain shot through him. Zhibiao bit harder to make Shen Yi's body jerked as the searing pain exploded beneath Zhibiao's teeth. The pain became unbearable, sharp enough to make Shen Yi freeze, afraid that resisting would only make it worse. The cruel, hot wetness of Zhibiao's mouth on his skin was enough to send chills of revulsion down his spine.

Through gritted teeth, he snarled, voice raw and trembling with fury, "Damn it—don't bite me!" The words came out harsher than he intended, a desperate roar from deep within. The cruel wet heat of Zhibiao's mouth clung to his skin, sending a shiver of revulsion down his spine, but Shen Yi's eyes blazed—not with submission, but with defiance. If Zhibiao thought pain would break him, he was gravely mistaken.

Zhibiao released his bite, licking the blood from his lips, a satisfied smirk curling on his face as he traced the fresh marks with his tongue. "You know you can't get away from me, right?" he growled, his voice a twisted purr of satisfaction.

Zhibiao's lips moved from his neck, trailing up to Shen Yi’s earlobe. His mouth was warm, possessive, grazing the sensitive skin with a slow, deliberate drag of teeth. There was a twisted mockery of gentleness in the way he touched—not tender, never tender—but like a predator toying with prey it had no intention of killing… just yet.

Then, Zhibiao's hands, which had been on Shen Yi's waist, began to wander. They moved under his clothes, groping, kneading, and leaving behind a trail of discomfort and fear. Shen Yi's breath hitched, his body shuddering under Zhibiao's touch, but he fought the urge to react.

"Stop," Shen Yi whispered, trying to push the words out, his voice shaking. But Zhibiao only chuckled, a dark, dangerous sound that sent chills down his spine.

"Don't fight it," Zhibiao said darkly, his hands finding their way to Shen Yi's chest. "It only makes it worse for you." He shoved Shen Yi roughly onto the bed, the force causing him to gasp as his back hit the soft surface.

Zhibiao towered over him, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic hunger. "You're not going to get away from me. I'm going to play with you. Slowly." He laughed, the sound deep and full of malice.

Before Shen Yi could react, Zhibiao tore at his clothes, shredding them as though they were nothing more than tissue paper. His hands were everywhere, his lips trailing over Shen Yi's exposed skin like a predator savoring its catch.

Shen Yi's hands instinctively shot up to try to cover himself, but Zhibiao seized both of his wrists in a brutal grip, pinning them above his head. His lips descended without warning, latching onto Shen Yi's chest with unrelenting pressure, sucking hard at the already sensitive bud.

"A-Ah—!" Shen Yi gasped, a sharp, breathy sound torn from him before he could stop it.

Zhibiao's teeth grazed his skin, making him flinch. Another tug followed, harder this time — possessive, punishing.

"Don't—!" Shen Yi choked out, twisting beneath him, but the strength pinning him down didn't falter.

Zhibiao didn't speak. His tongue flicked again, slow and deliberate.

Shen Yi's wrists ached under Zhibiao's grip, pinned high above his head, rendering him helpless. The warmth of Zhibiao's mouth trailed over his chest, slow and consuming — not just a touch, but a claim. Shen Yi shuddered when a tongue flicked again over the now overly sensitive skin, his muscles tightening as a breath hitched in his throat.

Shen Yi's head jerked back as a quiet moan slipped out, unwilling and shamed. "Ngh... s-stop— I said stop..."

Desperation flared, and Shen Yi snapped his knee up, aiming a sharp kick toward Zhibiao’s side — a wild, instinctive attempt to break free. But Zhibiao moved with eerie ease, twisting his body to intercept. His leg hooked around Shen Yi’s in a smooth, practiced motion, shifting his weight and pressing in until Shen Yi’s thigh was trapped beneath Zhibiao’s knee. The force of his body locked Shen Yi fully in place — wrists pinned above, legs caged below.

Shen Yi’s breath stuttered, frustration and heat tangled in his chest. He couldn’t move — not his arms, not his legs, not even his pride.

Zhibiao chuckled lowly against his skin, the sound vibrating where their bodies touched. "Nice try. But you're trembling," he murmured, voice a dangerous purr. "Is that fear... or something else?"

Shen Yi turned his face away, jaw clenched tight. "It's disgust," he hissed, though the heat blooming across his chest betrayed him. His body was betraying him — and Zhibiao knew it.

Without waiting, Zhibiao's hand moved, dragging down Shen Yi's side, slow and deliberate, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. Shen Yi twisted, but he was trapped, the weight above him relentless. The hand slid further, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt, knuckles grazing the skin of his abdomen.

"Don't you dare touch me there," Shen Yi growled, but his voice cracked halfway through.

Zhibiao leaned in, lips brushing the shell of Shen Yi's ear. "You say that," he whispered, "but your body says something else."

Shen Yi flinched violently, a sharp exhale escaping him as Zhibiao's hand explored lower, stopping just at the waistband of his pants. The pause was deliberate, taunting — waiting to see how far he could push before Shen Yi snapped.

Shen Yi's heart pounded. "If you go further... I'll never forgive you."

Zhibiao smiled, and his grip on Shen Yi's wrists only tightened.

"Xiao Yi," he murmured, voice low against his ear. "I don't need your forgiveness."
His breath was hot, heavy with hunger.
"I just need to hear you moan my name when you're beneath me."

His body shivered not from cold but from the creeping dread crawling under his skin like rot. He turned his face away, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek — anything to ground himself, to stay present, to keep from falling apart.

Zhibiao snatched a bottle of lubricant from the nearest drawer without letting go of Shen Yi's wrists. 

Shen Yi's heart slammed with horror as he realized what the man was about to do. "Stop—!" His voice was hoarse and cracked. "Sir—please, don't—"

But his words were cut short as a finger forced its way inside him—rough and unyielding.

"Ah—!" Shen Yi screamed, the sound raw and desperate. Tears sprang to his eyes as he gasped, "Please... stop... it hurts!"

Zhibiao laughed coldly, eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. "Stop?" he murmured, voice low and menacing. "You're just getting started."

After a moment, Zhibiao loosened his pants roughly, showing an already hard cock. "You better hold still."

"No—please, no!" Shen Yi struggled, his voice breaking with pain and panic. 

Shen Yi screamed again, the sharp sting burning deep inside him as Zhibiao pressed his manhood inside without mercy. Every movement tore at his soul, fracturing the fragile walls he had built to survive. He twisted and writhed, desperate to break free, but Zhibiao's grip remained unyielding as he moved with ruthless force. The roughness of Zhibiao’s hold bit into Shen Yi’s skin, cold sweat slicking his back, mingling with the salty sting of tears.

Zhibiao's breath hitched, a low, dark murmur vibrating against Shen Yi’s ear. “God, Xiao Yi. you’re tight,” he growled, voice thick with twisted satisfaction. The sound was raw, edged with hunger and possession. “Makes it feel even better.” His words were punctuated by the slick, relentless pressure that seemed to consume them both.

The metallic tang of adrenaline filled the air, mixing with the faint scent of sweat and something darker—desire sharpened by control. Shen Yi’s ragged breaths came faster, shallow gasps drowned beneath the harsh rhythm, each movement sending jolts of burning pain deeper. The bitter dryness in his mouth thickened as tears streamed unchecked, carving hot trails down his cheeks.

Zhibiao’s eyes flicked downward, catching the dark stain spreading where he had forced himself in. Blood—deep, raw, and unwelcome—glistened against Shen Yi’s skin. But he didn’t care. If anything, the sting meant less need for lube, made the intrusion easier, harsher. The sight only fueled the cold satisfaction curling inside him.

With another slam, Zhibiao's hand crashed down onto Shen Yi's shoulder, holding him more firmly in place as he moved with relentless rhythm. He hadn't expected this—this raw hunger that flared hotter than anything he'd ever known. Something about the way Shen Yi twisted beneath him, the resistance, the unwillingness—it didn’t push him away. It pulled him deeper into the darkness of his own desire.

For Shen Yi, the weight of that touch was heavier than pain—it was a crushing reminder of his helplessness. The pressure, the heat, the humiliation—it all blurred together, a sick storm of pain and something else he couldn’t name. His voice trembled, cracked between gasps as he pleaded, barely able to form words.

“Stop… nghh—p-please… I—I can’t—” His voice cracked between choked gasps, breath hitching with every word. His chest rose and fell in uneven stutters, like a bird caught in a cage too small to breathe. The sound wasn’t strength. It was survival—raw, frayed, barely holding together.

But Zhibiao didn’t stop.
Didn’t even waver.

His eyes locked onto Shen Yi with that same unsettling calm—like a man admiring the storm he created.

"Sorry, darling," he said, voice cold and unyielding. "But you don’t get to say no."

The harsh sound of his words echoed in the tight space, mingling with Shen Yi’s broken breaths and the oppressive stillness around them. In that moment, silence spoke louder than anything—thick with dread, heat, and the shadow of something that should never have been awakened.

As the torment continued, Shen Yi closed his eyes, tears finally falling freely—saltwater traces of everything he was too afraid to feel. The bitter dryness in his mouth thickened as panic rose, his body swallowed by unbearable pain that seemed to tear him open from the inside. Helpless and broken, all he could do was silently wish for this nightmare to end soon—a prayer whispered in the dark corners of his shattered mind.

A/N:
Here it is, as promised. closes eyes I hate seeing Shen Yi hurt… but it’s Zhibiao we’re talking about, TvT
If you’re wondering, “Where’s Du Cheng?” — don’t worry, he’s still around. Actually, he’s glaring at me right now.
…So is Shen Yi, to be honest.
Zhibiao, on the other hand? He’s just smirking in contentment. Figures.

Chapter Text

Du Cheng was becoming increasingly frustrated. Four days had passed since Shen Yi's disappearance, and there was still no trace of him. The last footage they had found was from the CCTV near the university, showing Shen Yi entering a mini-market and then taking a bike home. The bike's license number was obscured, leaving them with nothing concrete.

After hours of reviewing footage, they identified Shen yi in the vicinity. Following each one, they tracked Shen Yi's route to a park near his residence. But that was where the trail went cold—the CCTV in the park had been "under maintenance" and had mysteriously broken. Du Cheng, Old Yan, and some officers from Weihe City had scoured the area, but it seemed like every lead turned to dust.

"Old Yan, have you found anything?" Du Cheng asked, his voice tense.

"Nothing," Old Yan replied, his face grim. "I've asked everyone around, but no one has seen him. There was, however, an incident yesterday in this park."

Du Cheng's interest piqued. "An incident?"

"Yes, an old man was shot. His son found him already covered in blood after he went out to buy some water." Old Yan's voice was low, the weight of the story settling between them.

Du Cheng's pulse quickened. "A shooting?"

Old Yan nodded. "The son however, said he didn't hear any gunshots, and his father mentioned something about a 'young man being taken' before losing consciousness."

Du Cheng exchanged a look with Captain Han Zhi Ye whose a Police captain in Wei He Police Bureau like Du Cheng. Could this be a clue? Was it possible that the missing piece of the puzzle lay in this old man's final words? They couldn't afford to ignore anything now.

------

Hell.

It was the only word Shen Yi could think of. Not metaphorically, not poetically—literally. This was hell.

His body trembled beneath the cold sheets, pain lancing through him with every slight movement, as if his very flesh remembered the violence done to it. The dull, burning ache in his lower half screamed the truth he desperately wished he could erase. His limbs twitched involuntarily—shocked nerves misfiring—as he lay there, tangled in sheets that reeked of him.

The scent, musky and heavy, clung to his skin like filth. The taste of the man still lingered on his lips—raw, bruised, bitten open. Shen Yi tried to shift, just slightly, but pain shot up his spine, forcing a stifled gasp past his teeth.

He never imagined something like this would happen to him. Not in his lifetime. Not like this. Not by a man.
And not by someone like him.

He had woken up in the arms of the very man who had torn him apart the night before. Sun Zhibiao. The name alone sent nausea curling in his gut.

The humiliation burned deeper than any bruise. Deeper than the aches in his battered body. He couldn't even cry properly. There were no loud sobs, no dramatic outbursts. Just silent, bitter tears soaking into the pillow as his limbs refused to move, too drained, too humiliated to even tremble.

Every part of him hurt—especially his lower half. His thighs ached like they'd been forced too far apart. There was a raw, pulsing throb deep inside him that left no room for denial. That man had taken him. Broken him. Used him.

He had been fully awake. Fully aware.

That was the part that made it worse. There were no drugs to blame, no altered states to retreat into. He had felt every second of it. The touches, the restraint, the violation. His limbs had fought back—but not nearly hard enough. Zhibiao had been too strong. Shen Yi's strength, sharp tongue, and pride—all of it had meant nothing against brute force.

He remembered Zhibiao's hands holding him down—fingers bruising his wrists, forcing his legs apart. The expression in his eyes: cold, triumphant. Like a predator cornering prey.

He remembered the kiss—violent, mocking. His head had been yanked back so he couldn't even turn away. The moment those lips pressed against his, Shen Yi had wanted to bite through his own tongue just to block it out.

Zhibiao cornered him with that twisted smirk, lips curled in something between amusement and hunger. He had grabbed him—hands like iron—and no matter how Shen Yi had fought back, it hadn't been enough. His wrists had been pinned, his legs forced apart, his protests ignored. He'd screamed. Kicked. Bit. Nothing worked.

Zhibiao had leaned close, hot breath ghosting against Shen Yi's cheek, whispering something mocking before crashing their lips together in a rough, devouring kiss. Shen Yi had turned away, but a hand had gripped his jaw tight, holding him in place like a prize being broken in.

"Do you know that you had such soft lips, pretty thing," Zhibiao had murmured after, then kissed him again—slower this time, deliberate. Cruel. His breath hot and close, his tone like he was complimenting a new purchase.

It made Shen Yi's stomach turn. He had screamed. Cursed. Tried to twist his body away. But Zhibiao didn't care. He'd touched him anyway. Palmed his chest. Pinched his nipple until Shen Yi gasped—not out of pleasure, but from the shock of it. Then the man had grinned wider, like Shen Yi's reaction had been a green light.

The worst part?

His body had reacted. That shame stung sharper than any slap. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was panic. But he'd moaned. Not because he wanted it—but because the body could be manipulated like any other object. And Zhibiao knew how to use pain and pleasure like tools.

He remembered the horror. The burn. The brutal stretch as something foreign forced its way inside him without warning. No pause. Just searing pain and Zhibiao's weight pressing him down.

He remembered his screaming. Thrashing. Digging his nails into anything he could find—cloth, skin, the air.

"Stop! That hurts—STOP!"

But Zhibiao hadn't stopped.

The harder he screamed, the harder Zhibiao moved. The sound of skin slapping skin. The weight pressing down on him. The hands pinning his thighs open. The fire tearing through his insides.

He had only smiled. And then kept going.

Again. And again. And again.

There were moments Shen Yi thought it might end. Moments where Zhibiao stilled, only to start again—worse, deeper, rougher.

By the time it was over—if it ever really ended—Shen Yi wasn't even sure he was awake anymore.

The torment had started the day Zhibiao finally appeared — drunk, silent, and filled with something far worse than madness. That was the first time he touched him, the first time he broke him. And ever since then, that man done it everyday he got the chance.

Now he woke up to an already cleaned room. Fresh sheets. As if nothing had happened.

Except everything in his body screamed otherwise.

Shen Yi moved slowly, carefully, trying not to make a sound as he sat up. He shifted toward the edge of the bed, aiming for the bathroom.

"Where do you think you're going?"

The voice came from behind him — low, cold, brushing past his ear like a snake's hiss.

Shen Yi froze, his entire body locking up. Rage and revulsion coiled in his throat, but he swallowed both.

"...Bathroom," he muttered. "I need to pee."

Zhibiao's arm slowly unwrapped with theatrical slowness, and he said, almost lazily, "Go ahead. But try anything smart, and I'll make last night less gentle."

Shen Yi said nothing. Gentle your ass! His glare was sharp and cutting, but it couldn't hide the exhaustion in his body as he pulled himself up. He stood — and take the bed runner to cover his naked body — then walked with slow, limping steps toward the bathroom.

Each step burned. Each movement felt like glass tearing through his insides.

Once inside, he shut the door with trembling fingers, then locked it before he breathed tiredly.

Then, slowly, he forced himself to the mirror.

What looked back was not him.

Bruises and hickeys bloomed across his neck and collarbone like wilted violets, stark against the pale of his skin—ugly, violent reminders of hands that didn't know gentleness.

Bite marks sank deep, raw and deliberate, claiming him in places no one should. His lower lip was torn, the split crusted with dried blood, swollen from silence he couldn't afford to break.

His eyes, rimmed in red, stared blankly—dry now, emptied of tears. He had cried. Not from fear. But from the pain. And shame. Bitter, suffocating shame. For allowing it. For not fighting harder. For letting himself be degraded, stripped of even the smallest shred of dignity. The hurt wasn't just in his body—it lived in his bones now, in the way the world had cracked and realigned around the agony.

His fingers gripped the sink edge tightly—white-knuckled.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

"Open the damn door."

Shen Yi jumped, startled. "Just a minute!"

The banging paused.

And then the door slammed open.

Zhibiao stood there, dark eyes narrowed, fury written across his face.

"I said no funny business, didn't I?"

Before Shen Yi could react, he was yanked forward by the hair and dragged back into the bedroom like a rag doll. His body thudded against the mattress, limbs too slow to resist.

"You bastard—!"

He didn't finish. Zhibiao's hand closed around his throat. Shen Yi gasped, fingers clawing, feet kicking. Just when the edges of his vision began to blur, the pressure eased—and then came the kiss. Brutal. Invasive.

Shen Yi coughed, his chest heaving when Zhibiao finally let go.

And something snapped.

He swung. A weak, shaky punch—but it landed.

Zhibiao barely flinched.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

Three vicious hits cracked across Shen Yi's face. His lip split wider. Blood dripped to the floor.

"You son of a bitch..." Shen Yi hissed, eyes blazing with hate. It was the first time he cursed aloud. The words came from someplace deeper than rage—someplace broken, defiant.

Zhibiao just laughed.

"Fuck! That fire in your eyes...it turns me on. Shall we go again?"

He moved in.

But a knock interrupted him.

"Mr. Sun, it's Wan Feng. Just a reminder—your ten o'clock with Mr. Ding is confirmed."

Zhibiao growled softly, then looked down at Shen Yi—bruised, a little trembling, but still glaring at him like he was ready to bite his throat out.

And then he smiled—that slow, self-satisfied curve, the kind that settled like a noose around the throat. The way a hunter might smile when the prey still breathes, just enough to suffer.

"Fine," he said casually, as if he were asking for a cup of tea. "I'll be back to continue our little... interaction once my meeting's over."

Sun Zhibiao let out a low laugh and turned toward the bathroom, leaving Shen Yi alone on the bed, his body still aching, his heart burning with anger.

Wan Feng cast a brief glance in Shen Yi's direction — unreadable — before silently stepping out of the room and shutting the door behind him.

And this wasn't over.

Not even close.

He had found his favorite toy.

And Sun Zhibiao never shared his toys.

A/N :

Shen Yi, I'm so sorry for all the torture Zhibiao gave you 😭
But anyway — HELLOOWW my lovely readers! How’s it going? I hope you’re doing alright 🫶
What do you think of this chapter? Was it okay? Let me know your thoughts!

And yes... there will be times when a chapter might be long as…
a never-ending train of Shen Yi’s inner suffering.
(Or, you know, just... really long.)

Chapter Text

A/N:
Dear lovely readers, I made a mistake TvT I accidentally mixed up Chapter 8 and 9!
What I wrote in Chapter 8 was actually meant to be Chapter 9… and vice versa 😭 No wonder I was so confused when I tried to check Chapter 9, like—“Wait, I thought I’d already written the next part after this one. Why is it different?”
So I re-checked each chapter… and yep, turns out I mixed them up.
Oh my god, how did I even manage that hahaha—so sorry T^T
But no worries! Here’s the real Chapter 8. Nothing changed in the content, just placed them back in the correct order hehe 💦💕

Haicheng Police Department

"Director Zhang, we've searched every lead on Shen Yi's disappearance and the evidence points to a kidnapping in Weihe City" Du Cheng reported, voice tight with frustration as he stood beside Director Zhang, who frowned at the grainy CCTV footage flickering on the screen. "We've also reviewed nearly all the cameras around the university and their hotel. Yet there's no sign of him returning. The only clear footage shows him taking a bike that dropped him at a park close to the hotel—then he vanished. He went in... but never came out. But it's also because of the broke Footage around the park."

The room fell heavy with silence. The park wasn't large; they had checked every person who entered or left—ordinary citizens, nothing out of the ordinary.

"However, there was a shooting in that same park," Old Yan said quietly, voice low and rough. "An elderly man was shot. His son told us that before slipping into unconsciousness, the old man mentioned something about a young man being taken by 'them.'"

All eyes turned to Old Yan, except Du Cheng, who remained silent, lost in thought.

"Who exactly are 'them'?" Chief Zhang demanded sharply.

Both men shook their heads.

"No witnesses saw anything suspicious?" she pressed.

"No, Chief," Old Yan answered. "We questioned everyone nearby. No one saw a thing."

"So our only lead is a man in a coma?" she said, voice tight.

"Yes, but..." Du Cheng rubbed his temple. "He's elderly, frail already. The gunshot made it worse. We don't know if—or when—he'll wake."

Chief Zhang exhaled sharply, rubbing her tired eyes. Another strange case without a clear trail. Shen Yi wasn't a local there—but he was also under their protection. If they couldn't keep one person safe, what did that say about them as law enforcers?

"Li Han," she called.

"Yes, Chief?"

"Go through the footage again. Every detail counts—someone lingering too long, a car parked where it shouldn't be. Anything. We need a thread."

"Yes, ma'am."

The meeting broke with grim determination. The department plunged back into the darkness of unanswered questions.

-----

Another tormenting day had passed—slow, suffocating, relentless as a nightmare carved in flesh.

Shen Yi pressed his body on the cold bed, every muscle trembling beneath bruises that throbbed with dull, unyielding pain.

Yes. That man had done it again last night—taken him, over and over, without consent. A relentless violation repeated like a ritual, each time stealing more than just his body.

The door had just clicked shut behind Zhibiao's retreating figure, leaving the room suffused in heavy silence. His eyes clung to the open window—the only crack of light in this gilded tomb—where weak sunlight filtered in like a cruel reminder of the world he'd been ripped from. The stale air pressed in on him; he'd begged the maid to turn off the air conditioning today. He craved the cold sting of something real, even if it was just a whisper of wind brushing the curtains.

Since the moment they dragged him here, he hadn't set foot outside. Not once.

When he'd dared to ask for fresh air, Zhibiao's hand had crashed into his cheek, sharp and unforgiving. "Plotting to escape?" the man snarled, eyes dark with possession and suspicion. Shen Yi had wanted to spit, Yes, I am—but the words would have invited disaster. So he lied instead. "I just need some air," he said quietly, voice steady despite the tightness in his chest. There was no fear—only exhaustion, and the quiet urge to reclaim a sliver of space. Zhibiao only scoffed and spat, "Open the window yourself if you want it."

So he did.

He inhaled shakily, muscles sore but from enduring the way Zhibiao claimed him, as if breaking something that wouldn't fight back. Shen Yi was wondering if Mr. Xu was searching for him? Had anyone noticed his absence? The questions gnawed at him like acid. Regret pooled heavy in his chest—why hadn't he gone straight back to the hotel? Why had he need to wander to that damn park? Why had fate twisted its knife and led him to him—to Zhibiao?

That week had been a blur of violence. It didn't happen every night, but when he started, he wouldn't stop — sometimes it lasted almost until dawn. Sex brutal enough to leave him gasping, skin breaking under a cruel mercilessness; silences that screamed louder than any shout, when Zhibiao worked behind his laptop like a predator stalking his prey. Once, desperate, Shen Yi had begged for a sketchpad or paints—anything to fill the hollow hours. Zhibiao never responded.

Shen Yi pushed himself upright, legs weak and trembling as he staggered toward the bathroom. The routine was a twisted ritual—clothes folded, water running, another day drained of hope. Zhibiao's presence haunted every shadow; Shen Yi started to flinch at the slightest noise, a constant victim of unseen threats. Aside of them had sexual activity, Zhibiao wasn't violent unless provoked like resistance to his twisted control—but the storm his name summoned was enough to keep Shen Yi imprisoned in his mind.

Yet the thought of escape never died. Not even a day.

After dressing, Shen Yi crept to the door, cracked it open just enough to peer out. Two guards stood sentinel, rigid and polished. They turned at the sound, nodding with a formality that felt like mockery—respect reserved for a prisoner in a golden cage.

"Anything you need, Mr. Shen?" one asked, voice flat, mechanical.

His heart thundered. A plan formed in his mind—fragile, desperate.

"Wine," he said quietly. "Can I have wine please? Or is that also forbidden by him?"

The guard looked at each other before nodded and vanished down the hall without hesitation. The corridor was empty except for one man, lingering with uncertainty.

"Could you help me move something inside? It's heavy," Shen Yi said, forcing a tight, brittle smile.

The guard hesitated, suspicion flickering, but stepped forward.

The door slammed shut.

Shen Yi gripped the heavy ceramic vase standing by the table—a fragile weapon in his trembling hands. He swung, the vase crashing against the guard's skull with a wet crack. The man's body went limp, sliding to the floor in a sick heap.

Shen Yi's chest heaved with ragged breaths.

"Sorry," he whispered, though the man was beyond hearing.

His body still sore and hurt. But there's no time to linger.

His escape wasn't simple.

He dashed for the door—and then froze.

Another shadow loomed in the corridor.

A second guard, his face twisted in alarm.

No time to think. The fire escape—his only chance.

He ran to it, hands fumbling at the latch before it gave way with a soft click. Cold air rushed in as he yanked the door wide before he slipped through the opening, gripping the railing tight as he descended into the night, every clang of his footsteps swallowed by the hum of the city and the thundering of his own heartbeat.

Shen Yi's heart slammed against ribs like a frantic drum.

The concrete stairs echoed beneath his hurried steps as Shen Yi descended, each movement pounding through his limbs like a drumbeat of urgency. The fire escape twisted down the side of the building, the iron railing cool beneath his scraped fingers. He clung to it tightly, breath sharp and shallow. Twenty-seventh floor. Twenty-sixth. Twenty-fifth. His legs burned, his lungs ached—but he didn't stop. Couldn't.

By the time he reached the 22nd floor landing, his legs gave out from exhaustion, sweat clinging to his skin like a second layer. He collapsed against the railing, chest heaving, every breath scraping his throat raw. His whole body trembled — muscles burning, feet screaming.

He stayed there for a moment, just trying to breathe, to stay upright. But he couldn't stop. Not now. Not when freedom might be just beyond that door.

With a quiet groan, he forced himself to move. He gritted his teeth, hands trembling as he pushed off the wall and dragged his body forward. One step. Then another.

Finally, he reached the door. He shoved it open and staggered into the corridor with his heart roared in his ears.

There—just ahead—the elevators.

A small group of hotel guests stood waiting, dressed in crisp shirts and eveningwear, chatting idly. Shen Yi slowed as he approached, his face flushed, hair damp, shirt clinging to his back. One woman turned, eyes flicking over him with a puzzled frown. A man beside her whispered something, glancing his way. But no one said a word. The elevator dinged.

The doors slid open with a soft chime, and Shen Yi slipped in beside them, keeping his head low. His reflection stared back at him in the brushed metal walls—sweat-slicked, wide-eyed, alive. The guests continued their polite silence, one adjusting his tie, another scrolling absently through a phone.

As the elevator descended, it stopped at the 18th floor.

The doors opened.

Two men in black suits walked past in a hurry, speaking low into their walkie-talkies. Hotel security. Their pace was brisk, tense—but measured. They couldn't run, not here. Not where guests might see. Shen Yi saw the earpieces, the tight expressions, the flicking eyes. They were looking for someone.

He froze.

They didn't look inside. Just passed by, voices clipped.

"Still no sign—check the eastern stairwell next."
"He couldn't have gone far. Keep your eyes sharp."

The doors slid shut again.

The chase was on.

Escape was no longer a wish—it was a fight for survival.

Shen Yi didn't breathe until they were descending once more. The lights above the door blinked steadily down: 12... 10... 6...

Finally, the ground floor. The lobby.

As soon as the doors opened, Shen Yi stepped out fast, slipping past the group without a word. The vast, polished floor gleamed under his slippers as he crossed it, heading straight for the exit. Almost there. Almost free.

He reached the lobby doors.

"Hey! You—stop!"

A sharp voice cracked through the air behind him.

A guard.

Shen Yi didn't look back. His hand was already on the glass door, the weight of freedom so close it nearly knocked the breath out of him.

Behind him, heavy footsteps thudded—Zhibiao's men closing in.

The moment Shen Yi pushed through the lobby doors, a firm hand yanked him back by the arm.

"Got him!"

A guard's grip clamped around him like a vice, jerking him away from the entrance. Another joined quickly, flanking him on the other side.

Shen Yi struggled, his breath ragged with panic. "Let go of me!" he gasped, twisting violently in their hold. "Don't touch me—get off!"

Not many people were around at this hour — just a bellhop in the far corner and a concierge distracted by a phone call. The guards acted fast, dragging him toward a side exit of the hotel, away from the main doors and glass walls, where no guests would see what was happening. Secrecy above all else.

The polished floor slid under Shen Yi's bare feet as he kicked and writhed, the thin hotel slippers flung off by the force of his struggle. His muscles burned with defiance, but the guards were stronger, trained, and unmoved by his resistance.

"Help—someone, please—!" Shen Yi shouted, voice cracking as he fought against their iron grips. "I'm being taken—help me!"

One of the guards cursed under his breath and barked into a walkie-talkie.
"We've got him—west wing. Moving now."

Before Shen Yi could scream again, a gloved hand clamped over his mouth, cutting off his voice mid-breath.

"Shut up," the guard hissed near his ear. "You want the whole damn hotel on us?"

Shen Yi thrashed harder, eyes wide with panic, muffled cries escaping against the guard's palm. His heels scraped the floor, legs kicking, heart hammering like it might burst through his ribs — but they dragged him on without pause, deeper into silence.

Shen Yi didn't wait.

With a sudden jerk of his arm, he shifted his weight and drove his elbow back hard. The blow landed square against one guard's stomach. The man grunted and staggered, loosening his grip just enough. Shen Yi wrenched free and took off again.

He didn't look back.

Chapter Text

A/N:
And this is the one that’s supposed to be in the right place! 😭 So for those of you who already read the mixed-up chapters… please forgive me >.<

Psst—have you heard the song Golden by Huntrix? I haven’t watched the movie (or was it a drama?) that it’s from, but the song is really nice xD

Out of the hotel now—into the night air, lungs burning. The pavement pounded beneath his feet, the world narrowing into pure instinct. He ran past a row of manicured shrubs, across a quiet side street, into the dark web of alleyways behind the hotel. Somewhere behind him, heavy boots slammed the ground in pursuit. Someone shouted his name, or maybe just a curse.

He turned sharply into a narrow alley, the buildings towering close like a cage of brick and shadow. Garbage bins blurred past. His breath rasped in his chest, legs screaming. He swore he'd never run this much in his life — and never like this. And it's not just running, but running for his life.

Then suddenly his foot caught on something.

The ground rushed up too fast.

He hit hard.

So hard that a flash of pain tore through his knee as it slammed into the concrete. A strangled gasp tore from his throat as his body crumpled forward. His hands scraped the pavement, skin splitting raw, and the sharp sting was immediate. Blood seeped through torn fabric. His palms burned. His knee throbbed—wet, hot, blinding. But there was no time to feel it. No time to breathe.

His lungs were on fire.

His legs, already trembling from the sheer force of sprinting down endless concrete stairs—eighteen floors without stopping—were about to give out. His thighs screamed. His calves cramped violently beneath him. He could still feel the brutal jarring of every step from the fortieth floor to the twenty-second, the frantic stumble in the stairwell echoing like gunshots in his skull. His chest heaved. The air wouldn't go in. It was thick. Heavy. Like breathing through gauze soaked in smoke.

"He's here! I see him!" someone shouted from the alley entrance.

Shen Yi's head whipped around, vision tilting. His body felt boneless, used up, wrung out like a rag. He cursed under his breath, tasting blood in his mouth, and forced himself upright. Every part of him rebelled—his knee blazed, his back ached, and his arms shook from trying to catch himself. His legs were jelly. Shaking. His knee and his butt screamed in agony. But he moved anyway.

He had to.

He stumbled forward, breath wheezing through clenched teeth. He could barely hear over the pounding in his ears. The noise of pursuit behind him blurred into a hum—shouts, footfalls, the slap of boots closing in. His limbs were numb, uncoordinated, running purely on terror now.

He didn't know how much farther he could go.

But he didn't stop.

He ran. Again.

Limping now, but faster than he thought possible. Gritting his teeth. Every step was agony, but the thought of being caught again—dragged back to that room, that man—was worse.

He darted left, then right, deeper into the labyrinth of the city's backstreets, lungs raw and eyes wild with desperation.

He wouldn't stop.

Not now.

Not ever again.

Zhibiao's cold voice haunted him still, echoing in his head: You belong to me.

And in the shadows, Shen Yi felt the walls closing in—not just outside, but inside himself. The fragile hope that had kept him alive was cracking, splintering beneath the weight of fear and pain.

His vision blurred, a wave of dizziness washing over him like a threat. The edges of the world swam, darkening at the corners, but he clenched his jaw and forced himself to stay upright.

He couldn't afford to collapse.

He would fight.
He had to.

The shout echoed closer and closer now. Every breath he took felt already burned. He threw down a trash bin behind him, heard the crash of someone stumbling over it.

Then—light.

He burst out of the alley onto another street. People stared. He looked wild—bloodied, pale, desperate.

A hand caught his wrist again.

"Hey—hey! Are you okay?"

He flinched hard, eyes snapping up to meet a young man's gaze. His voice was calm, his expression deeply concerned. "Do you need help?"

Shen Yi wanted to scream yes, but his mouth was dry. Behind him, running footsteps pounded.

The man saw the fear in his eyes. "Come. Hide. Now."

Shen Yi hesitated. He didn't know this man. Could he trust him?

More voices shouted in the distance. The decision was made for him.

The man grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the nearby restaurant. Shen Yi tried to pull back—but they were already inside. The man led him past the kitchen, past the startled workers, and into the storage room. He slammed the door shut and locked it, pressing his ear to the door.

"Let me go," Shen Yi murmured, breath shallow, the words slipping out more from weariness than defiance. His voice wavered—not pleading, just spent.

The man froze, startled by the trembling edge in Shen Yi's voice. "I—I'm sorry," he stammered, hands half-raised in uncertainty. "I just... I didn't want them to find you. Whoever they were." He stepped forward, hesitant, but to Shen Yi, that movement felt like a threat—sharp, looming, wrong. His instincts screamed louder than reason. Every step the man took carved a deeper sense of unease into his chest, as if danger had just taken a human shape.

Shen Yi backed away, heart pounding so hard it hurt. His heel caught the leg of a table, sending a glass clattering to the floor and shattering into sharp fragments. He stumbled, breath short and ragged, his body trembling from exhaustion. Panic tightened in his chest like a vice.

Before he could catch himself—his legs gave out.

He collapsed.

His knees struck the floor with a dull, heavy thud. A sharp hiss tore from his throat. "Tss—ah..." He winced, curling forward as pain flared through his right knee. The same one he'd scraped earlier on the concrete. It hadn't had time to clot. The impact ripped the wound open again, and though it wasn't deep, the sting was sharp, raw. Thin streaks of blood soaked through the torn fabric of his pants.

His body was finished. Not unconscious—but completely spent.

"Whoa—! You're hurt," the man blurted out, freezing in place as his eyes dropped to Shen Yi's leg.

Shen Yi instinctively flinched, dragging himself backward with what little strength he had left. His breath hitched, eyes wild, but the man didn't move closer. He raised both hands slowly, as if calming a frightened animal.

"I'm not going to touch you," he said gently. "But your knee's bleeding. Did you fall?"

Shen Yi's fingers dug into the floor as he pushed himself back, wincing with every inch. His scraped knee dragged against the surface, sending sharp pain up his thigh. He couldn't even form words—his throat was tight, breath shallow, eyes locked on the man like he was the next threat. Suddenly his body swayed as his vision blurred. Not from tears—but from the weight of it all. His breath was shallow and rapid, chest rising and falling like he'd just outrun death itself. And maybe he had.

The man rushed forward instinctively. "Hey—careful—"

Shen Yi flinched violently and screamed. "Don't—!" His voice cracked, trembling with more than just fear—there was exhaustion, there was desperation. A reflex more than a plea. He didn't even know if the man was trying to hurt him. He just couldn't take it. Not one more hand. Not one more grip.

The man halted instantly, arms raised slightly—not in defense, but in surrender.

He didn't speak at first. Just stood there, watching him with something quiet and unbearably soft in his eyes. Not pity. Not quite. Something deeper. Like regret for the world being so cruel.

Shen Yi blinked, slowly—his gaze unfocused, distant. A ringing filled his ears. His limbs felt cold now, bloodless. The pain in his body dulled into something distant, almost like a hum beneath the skin.

Then everything tilted. The room spun, colors fading at the edges.

And then—

Darkness.

He slumped sideways, breath catching in his throat before slipping out in a soft, broken exhale.

The man lunged forward just in time.

Shen Yi's body went limp, tilting sideways—but he caught him, arms wrapping around the smaller figure before he could hit the floor. The sudden weight knocked the breath from his chest, but he held on, lowering them both gently.

"Shit—hey, hey—" he murmured, voice shaking as he cradled Shen Yi against him.

Panic surged. For one terrible second, he thought Shen Yi had stopped breathing. He tried to check for a pulse, fingers pressing just under the jaw.
There. A beat—fast, frantic, but steady.

Relief punched the air from his lungs.

"You're okay," he whispered more to himself than anyone else. "You're okay... just passed out..."

With careful arms, he gathered Shen Yi closer, lifting him off the floor. The man was far too light. Every part of him felt like it had been through hell—his skin fever-warm, clothes clinging damply with sweat, his head lolling with exhaustion.

He carried him into the bedroom, pushing the door open with his shoulder. The bed was unmade, but it didn't matter. He laid Shen Yi down gently, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead. Shen Yi didn't stir.

Without wasting another second, he hurried to the bathroom. He grabbed a clean small towel, ran it under cool water, and returned quickly. Kneeling beside the bed, he began to wipe the sweat from Shen Yi's face and neck, careful, almost reverent. His hands trembled.

The man didn't speak. His fingers trembled slightly as he wiped the sweat and grime from the stranger's clammy skin. The faint, stale scent of damp cloth and dust lingered in the quiet room. Shen Yi's breathing was shallow, irregular — barely noticeable. The man's chest tightened with worry. He had no idea who this person was.

Should I change his clothes? The question gnawed at him. The shirt clung to Shen Yi's skin, soaked through with sweat and dirt. Leaving it on risked sickness. But Shen Yi was unconscious. He couldn't ask permission. Would he want to be touched like this? The uncertainty weighed heavily.

He dipped the worn towel again into the small bowl of cool water, wringing it until it was damp but not dripping. The sound of water trickling was the only noise in the otherwise silent room. Carefully, almost reverently, he brushed the towel across Shen Yi's scraped knees and palms. The skin was pale and bruised, fragile as porcelain. He held his breath, hoping he wasn't causing pain.

Once the wounds looked clean enough, the man placed the towel down and stood, his eyes scanning the sparse room. His heart raced as he found a bottle of betadine and some cotton balls. He hurried back, the cold air brushing against his arms as he knelt beside Shen Yi again. Gently, he dabbed the antiseptic over the wounds, careful not to jar the fainting figure.

His gaze flicked to the damp shirt again. Shen Yi shivered slightly, a faint tremor passing through his body. The man swallowed hard.

I don't even know your name... but you can't stay like this.

His fingers hesitated at the collar of the soaked shirt. The fabric was heavy and cold, clinging to wet skin. Slowly, with utmost care, he loosened it. He imagined how vulnerable the stranger must feel — exposed and silent. Piece by piece, he removed the damp clothing, mindful of every movement.

Finding a dry, loose shirt nearby, he slid it gently over Shen Yi's frame, making sure he was covered and warm.

He settled down beside him, eyes fixed on the faint figure's pale face. In their depths flickered a storm of emotions — worry etched deep like scars, sorrow that pressed heavy on his chest, and a tenderness so quiet it almost felt like a silent promise. The wooden floor creaked softly beneath him, the sound loud in the suffocating stillness. His voice dropped to a gentle murmur, barely audible. "Rest now. You're safe now, brother."

The first thing Shen Yi felt was the throbbing pulse behind his eyes.

He shot up with a gasp, chest heaving. For a second, he didn't know where he was—eyes darting around the dim room, heart slamming against his ribs like it was trying to escape his chest. His throat burned from the scream he hadn't realized he'd let out, still echoing faintly in his ears.

It was a nightmare—no, a memory. Zhibiao's voice, the weight of him, the helplessness, the way no matter how much Shen Yi struggled, it wasn't enough. The phantom sensation still clung to him like oil. His hands trembled as he reached up, pressing his fingers against his forehead, trying to will the ache away.

He barely had any rest. His legs still trembled faintly under the blanket, every muscle screaming from too much running, too little recovery.

He groaned softly, trying to sit up, but his body resisted—sore, drained, and weak. His breath came short, tight in his chest, like he was still trapped in that room. Cold sweat dampened his back despite the blanket that lay warm and heavy over him.

He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, but the fear refused to leave. It clung to him, same as the pain.

Shen Yi paused, blinking blearily around the room, only now registering where he was. It wasn't his dorm. It wasn't Zhibiao's place either. The space was quiet, dimly lit by early evening light slipping through navy curtains. The decor was clean, minimal—dark blue sheets, white walls, and a subtle scent of something herbal in the air.

Wait. This wasn't his home.

His heart skipped.

He looked to the side, eyes scanning the corners of the room — unfamiliar furniture, unfamiliar air. Nothing made sense. No clues. No anchor. A thread of panic tugged at his chest as he shifted beneath the blanket, and in a sudden rush, he kicked one foot out in an attempt to rise.

But the moment his body lifted, nausea punched him like a wave from the gut to the back of his throat. The room lurched violently. His vision smeared at the edges, black spots swimming in his eyes. His knees buckled beneath him as he collapsed back onto the bed with a strained, pained breath.

He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his palm against his forehead as he waited for the spinning to stop — breathing through the tremor in his chest, through the rising dread pressing against his ribs.

When the wave passed, Shen Yi forced himself to sit upright, arms shaking as he tried to focus, tried to remember.

What happened... after the chase?

Bits came back in fractured flashes—the dark alley, his breathing ragged, the distant echo of footsteps behind him. Someone grabbed him. Not Zhibiao. Someone else. A man. He'd dragged Shen Yi into a restaurant, then up into a room—

This room.

His chest tightened. He didn't know who that man was. Didn't see his face clearly. Didn't even know if he was safe. Good guy? Bad guy? A stranger was still a stranger.

He shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his weight in the blanket's warmth, trying to ignore the dizziness still clinging to his skull. But then—his hand brushed against his knee, and a sharp sting tore through the fog in his head. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, hissing from the pain.

And then he froze.

The Bandages.

He looked down slowly. His knee had been cleaned, the skin no longer streaked with dirt or blood. White gauze wrapped the joint, neat and careful. Antiseptic clung faintly to the air.

The clothes.

There was still a dull throb, but the pain meant little compared to the wave of realization crashing over him.

Someone had touched him.

Someone had taken care of him while he was unconscious.

His heart began to pound again—not in gratitude, but in fear.

His eyes widened in horror.

The shirt he was wearing wasn't his. He hadn't been wearing this last night. This wasn't also what he had on when he collapsed.

Someone changed me.

His blood ran cold.

"...No."

His breath hitched. His heart began to pound violently, thudding against his ribs like it wanted to escape. Did that man touch him? Undress him? Was this the same cycle again—one monster traded for another? Another stranger who saw him broken and weak and decided to take advantage?

Shen Yi gripped the blanket in shaking fists, curling inward. His chest rose and fell too fast. Panic twisted inside him like a knife, sharp and cruel. His body trembled, his breaths came in short, painful bursts that made his ribs ache.

No—no more. Please, no.

He was still a student. He just came to this city for one event. Just one. And now everything—his dignity, his safety, his life—was unraveling.

Then—

The door clicked.

His head shot up, body locking in place as the door opened slowly.

The man stepped in. He looked startled to see Shen Yi awake—his eyes wide for a moment, then softening into relief.

"You're awake—thank god," the man breathed, quickly crossing the room.

Shen Yi's panic exploded.

He jerked away instantly, dragging his exhausted body toward the far edge of the bed, pressing himself into the corner like a trapped animal. "Don't come closer!" his voice cracked, raw with fear. He could barely breathe.

The man froze.

Confusion flickered across his face, and then slowly, realization dawned. His eyes dropped to Shen Yi's trembling hands, his wide, panicked gaze.

Chapter Text

The man froze.

Confusion flickered across his face, and then slowly, realization dawned. His eyes dropped to Shen Yi's trembling hands, his wide, panicked gaze.

"I'm sorry," the man said after a long silence, his voice low. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just thought you needed help."

Shen Yi didn't answer. He just looked at the man with shoulders trembling as he tried to breathe, to think, to hold on.

"I'm not going to touch you. I swear. I just want to help," the man said, walking slowly at a distance. "My name's Di Di. Wang Didi. I own this place."

Another silence stretched between them.

"I saw you running. You looked like someone who running from someone and didn't have anywhere left to go," Didi added gently. 

Still, Shen Yi said nothing. Just sat there, knees drawn up slightly, hands trembling in his lap.

"I won't call anyone. Not the police, not anyone. You don't even have to tell me your name," he said, voice calm and patient. "But I can get you food, water, and you can rest here too. I already helped treat the injury on your knee."

Shen Yi's eyes flickered at the mention of his injury, but his body didn't move. The fear wasn't leaving him. Not yet. He had never felt so scared in his entire life—not like this. Not even in that monster's room.

No. He had been scared then, yes. But not like this. Not as much as he was feeling now.

He wasn't this scared back in that room.

Maybe because he already knew what would happen there. The same hands. The same pain. The same sick rhythm.

But now—outside—anything could happen. Anyone could touch him. Anyone could smile and still have hands like his.

It wasn't the pain that haunted him.
It was the way someone could want him that way.

Didi didn't know what had happened to this man to make him react like this, and he didn't try to force him to talk. He simply stayed where he was and sat on the nearest chair, his hands clasped together and resting on his thighs. He watched Shen Yi with a quiet kind of sadness in his eyes.

"Alright. And... thank you for... treating my injury," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Shen Yi's eyes stayed locked on Di Di. His body was still tense, muscles coiled tight as if one wrong word would send him bolting. He didn't trust this—didn't trust him yet. A stranger, claiming to help, speaking in soft tones in a place he didn't recognize... it could easily be another trap. Another trick wrapped in gentleness. He'd seen worse—monsters dressed in kindness.

"You don't believe me," Di Di said softly, reading the alarm behind Shen Yi's silence. He kept his distance, hands loose and visible at his sides, a picture of calm and nonthreatening patience. "That's fair. The state you're in... anyone would be terrified."

Shen Yi's jaw tightened, but he didn't speak. His eyes flicked briefly to the door, then back to Di Di—measuring, weighing, still breathing through his mouth like he might need to flee at any second.

"I don't know what happened to you," Di Di continued, voice dropping softer, almost gentle. "But I saw the blood. I saw your face. You were running like your life depended on it. And if someone's chasing you—whoever they are—I'm not about to hand you over."

Shen Yi looked away for a long moment, eyes flickering with wariness. Then slowly, reluctantly, he glanced back. His lips parted as if to speak but pressed shut again. Every inch of him screamed mistrust, a raw instinct sharpened by everything he'd been through. Yet beneath it all, his legs trembled, his knee throbbed with pain, and exhaustion was pulling him down like a heavy weight.

He hesitated, the fight inside him wavering.

Then, almost imperceptibly, Shen Yi gave a small, defeated nod.

Di Di's expression softened into a quiet, patient smile—relief, but not triumph. He slowly rose to his feet. "You actually fainted earlier and slept for about ten hours. Because you were injured and covered in dirt, I helped clean you up before treating your injury and—"

At the mention of 'cleaned you up,' Shen Yi's memory snapped back. His breath caught in his throat, and panic surged again. His hands flew up instinctively, covering himself as if trying to shield from an unseen threat.

"You... what? You changed my clothes? You... what... to me?" Shen Yi's body trembled so violently that his words came out incoherent, broken. Di Di was momentarily confused by the question and the man's terrified reaction—he acted as if he had just...

Oh god. Was he—

"Sir, it's not—" Di Di's voice softened, his hands raised slowly, palms open and visible in a gesture of peace. "Please, don't misunderstand. I didn't do anything to you. I swear."

He stood up and took a careful step back, giving Shen Yi space while keeping a watchful eye on him. "I'm sorry for changing your clothes without your consent, but you were unconscious when I found you. You were covered in dirt and blood, trembling from the cold. I only washed the dirt off your arms and legs, treated your wounds, and since your clothes were soaked through and torn, I changed you into some clean ones I had here. I was afraid that if I didn't clean you up, your wounds might get infected."

Di Di's voice softened even more, almost a whisper now. "I turned away as much as I could. I didn't—I never touched you in any other way. You have to believe me."

Shen Yi's breath came in short, shallow gasps. His eyes were wide, filled with terror and disbelief, flicking to the door as if searching for an escape. His body curled tighter, his hands clutching his clothes like a shield.

Di Di felt a sharp pang in his chest—seeing a man so broken, so mistrusting, and knowing the horrors that must have brought him here.

He lowered himself carefully back onto the chair, keeping his voice soft and steady. "I know you don't trust me yet. And that's okay. I'm not asking you to. But I'm here only to help you. I swear."

Shen Yi swallowed hard, trembling, but he didn't move to flee. His eyes flicked back to Di Di's calm face, searching for any sign of deceit. Minutes passed like hours.

Then, slowly—almost imperceptibly—his hands unclenched.

Di Di said nothing, just stayed there, patient and silent.

And in that quiet space, for the first time in a long while, Shen Yi allowed himself a fragile flicker of calm.

"Have you eaten anything before you fainted?" Di Di asked gently.

Shen Yi was silent for a moment, then shook his head softly.

Di Di offered a small, reassuring smile and stood up. The movement made Shen Yi flinch slightly, his eyes narrowing with caution as he watched this man named Di Di.

"I'll get you some water, and maybe something to eat," Di Di said calmly. "You should rest for a bit while you wait. It won't be long."

Shen Yi's chest tightened again, anxiety bubbling up as Di Di began to step away. Panic clawed at his thoughts: He's leaving? Will he really not tell those men about me? What if this is all a trick?

His body tensed, breath quickening.

Di Di paused, glanced back with a soft smile that carried no cruelty, only understanding. "I'm not lying," he said quietly, voice calm and steady. "I want to help you. No one else needs to know you're here. I promise"

That small reassurance settled some of the storm inside Shen Yi, just enough for him to try and relax again, though his eyes never stopped watching.

Didi smiled warmly as Shen Yi nodded in response. There was a subtle relief on the young man's face, even if it was shadowed by pain. 

"I'll be right back," he said softly. "You need rest."

He stepped out of the room, leaving Shen Yi alone in the dimly lit space. The door clicked shut behind him, and the faint sounds of the village at night drifted in from the hallway.

Next, Didi prepared a simple herbal congee, a comforting rice porridge often consumed when unwell. He combined rice with water and added slices of ginger and a few jujube dates for added warmth and nourishment. As the congee simmered, he set the table with a cup of warm tea, known for its soothing properties.

Returning to Shen Yi, Didi set the tray down beside him. "I've prepared some medicine, congee, and tea for you," he said. "Take the medicine first, then have some congee and tea."

Shen Yi nodded appreciatively, his fatigue evident but softened by Didi's care. "Yes. Thank you," he murmured, reaching for the medicine. Didi nodded with gentle smile still plestered on his face.

Di Di settled back into the same chair, his gaze quietly fixed on Shen Yi as he slowly sat up to take the medicine and sip the warm tea. The heat seemed to ease some of the tension that had gripped Shen Yi's shoulders, if only slightly.

Di Di smiled again, his eyes softening with genuine concern. "So... what's your name? And, uh... why were those men chasing you? Did you owe them money or something? Wait—if that's too personal, you don't have to answer. I won't press."

Shen Yi parted his lips, hesitating for a moment as if weighing whether to trust this stranger. Then, with a quiet breath, he began to explain everything to Di Di—everything except the part where he was sexually harassed by that man. 

-----

The sound of shattering glass pierced the heavy air in the manor.

Sun Zhibiao stood amid the wreckage of what was once a crystal decanter, the crimson wine now bleeding across the polished marble. His eyes were wild, blazing with rage. Around him, a line of guards stood rigid, their heads bowed in fear.

"One man," Zhibiao hissed, his voice low but venomous. "One. Pathetic. Weak. Man. And you lost him?"

Silence answered him.

With a roar, he kicked the nearest guard in the ribs. The man grunted, doubling over but not daring to retaliate.

"You worthless sacks of shit! I gave you weapons, numbers, orders. And you come back empty-handed?!"

"I apologize, Mr. Sun," one guard dared to speak, his voice trembling. "He... he was injured. We tracked him to Zhuxi Road, but then he vanished. Possibly helped by someone."

Zhibiao's expression twisted into something dangerous—his grin was too sharp, too stretched. Not joy. Fury.

"Then we'll find the fucker who dared to take what's mine," Zhibiao said, voice low and venom-laced. "I want every CCTV camera on that road checked. Hospitals too—if he so much as limped through a doorway, I want to know. I'll be coming myself. Get the car ready."

His eyes burned with a terrifying calm. "I'm bringing him back with my own hands."

"Yes, Sir."

As the room emptied, Zhibiao remained still. He stared at the closed door, breathing heavily. Slowly, he licked his lower lip, murmuring to himself.

"You ran from me, Xiao Yi... Good. Now I won't be bored. But when I find you—oh, you'll regret making this a game."

----

"You were kidnapped?!" Didi nearly screamed, his voice cracking with disbelief.

Shen Yi winced, instinctively raising a hand to shield his ears. "Please—keep your voice down," he muttered, his voice tight.

Didi's eyes widened with guilt, and he quickly glanced away. "Sorry," he whispered. Then, after a breath, his words came tumbling out in a rush. "Did they think you were a spy or something? Oh my god, this... this isn't simple."

His voice trembled, laced with panic and confusion. Shen Yi blinked, taken aback by the intensity of his reaction. He hadn't expected Didi to unravel like this — though, he supposed, any normal person would. Still, it felt strange, watching someone else break apart over what he had forced himself to survive.

"It's okay," Shen Yi said quietly, though the words felt hollow on his tongue. "I ran away. I'm safe now."

He wasn't sure if he was trying to comfort Didi... or convince himself. The lie tasted thin.

"Okay, okay. That's right. You're now have already escape from them."

Minutes slipped by in a haze of half-formed questions and Didi's trembling voice recounting every terrible thing he could imagine. His panic, his sorrow — all spilled out for Shen Yi to hear. And Shen Yi just sat there, quietly absorbing it all. The shock. The horror. The sympathy. 

And for a moment, Didi's expression softened. The panic faded from his features, replaced by something quieter — almost wistful. He stared at Shen Yi's face, unmoving, unspeaking.

Unnerved by the sudden shift, Shen Yi frowned. "Is something on my face?"

Didi blinked, as if waking from a dream. "Ah! No—sorry, it's just..." He hesitated, eyes lingering a second longer. "You look like someone I used to know. My older brother."

Shen Yi tilted his head, his voice softer now. "Your brother? Where is he now?"

The question landed like a stone in still water.

Regret flickered in Shen Yi's chest the moment he saw it — the sorrow that swept across Didi's face, deep and unguarded.

"I—sorry," Shen Yi said quickly. "You don't have to answer."

But Didi just smiled faintly. "It's okay. His name was Qing Mo. He passed away five years ago. Accident. I was reminded of him when I saw you. You have his eyes."

Shen Yi didn't know what compelled him—but his fingers twitched slightly at his side, hesitating. He wasn't someone who offered comfort so freely, especially not with touch. For a long moment, he said nothing, only watching Didi with a rare, quiet look in his eyes—more observant than comforting, but still oddly gentle. 

"It's Shen Yi."

"I'm sorry?" The sudden words caught Didi off guard.

"It's Shen Yi. My name."
Didi blinked in surprise. It was the first time the man had offered that. Slowly, a smile crept onto his face—Shen Yi was finally starting to open up.

A while later, Didi ventured another question. "How old are you, anyway? I’ll be 23 this year."

"I'm 20," Shen Yi replied with a soft laugh. "I guess that makes you Di-ge."

Didi grinned. "I like the sound of that."

They talked quietly, the tension between them easing. Didi shared how his father had pushed him into an accounting major.
"I nearly went bald from the stress," he joked.

Laughter followed—a brief, fragile moment of peace. Shen Yi almost forgot the terror that still lingered at the edges of his mind. And Didi was relieved to see him finally relax, looking less guarded, less afraid.

Meanwhile, in a sleek black office, a man in a dark suit stood before Sun Zhibiao.

"We found him."

Zhibiao stood, wine forgotten. "Bring the car around. I want everyone ready."

He paused in the doorway, a cruel smile tugging at his lips.

"Let's bring you home, kitten"

"You need to call someone by the way. Family, friends—anyone."

Shen Yi thought of that and wanted to do so, but he hesitated. Didi, sensing the weight of his silence, gently pressed the phone into his palm.

Shen Yi didn't take it right away. He stared at the screen, the glow casting a pale hue across his exhausted face. His throat felt tight. This wasn't just a call—it was a thread, the only one left.

After a beat, he took the phone, his fingers stiff and clumsy from the cold. He took a glance at Didi who looked at him with determination before start typing the only number he always remembered. No hesitation now. He pressed call.

The ringing tone echoed in his ear, each pulse sharp, unbearable.

Then—
"Hello?" came the familiar voice on the other end.

Shen Yi exhaled, a quiet breath that trembled just once.

"...Mr. Xu. It's me. Shen Yi."

"Shen Yi?! Are you really shen yi? Are you okay? Where are you?"

"I don't know where I am, but I'm still in Weihe City. I think—"

The door slammed open with a thunderous bang, jolting him and Didi in place.

Shen Yi froze.

Standing in the doorway, cloaked in black, was the face that had haunted every one of Shen Yi's nightmares.

Sun Zhibiao.

"Hey, who the hell—" Didi began, but the words barely left his mouth before a sharp blow struck him down. He crumpled to the floor, barely conscious.

"Y-you—" Shen Yi stammered, eyes wide in terror. He backed away, knocking over the chair. The phone slipped from his hand, clattering to the floor.

Zhibiao stepped in slowly, like a predator.

Shen Yi turned and ran, but the room was small. The only exit was already blocked.

Zhibiao lunged. He grabbed Shen Yi by the hair, yanking him backward with brutal force.

"No! Let go of me !" Shen Yi screamed, struggling.

Back on the phone, Mr. Xu heard the chaos. "Shen Yi?! What's happening?! Shen Yi?!"

Then—silence.

The call dropped.

Mr. Xu turned pale. He grabbed his keys and his wife's hand.

"We're going to the police. Now."

Chapter Text

Twenty minutes after Xu Yiduo received the desperate call from Shen Yi, he and his wife arrived at the Haicheng Police Bureau. They looked fragile, like people who had been waiting on a thread of hope that had nearly snapped. Xu Yiduo's face was pale, lips pressed into a thin line, and his wife's eyes were red-rimmed, tears barely held back.

Inside the station, Du Cheng met them immediately, sensing the urgency.

"You got a phone call from Shen Yi?" His voice was careful, almost afraid to confirm what he suspected.

"Yes..." Xu Yiduo's voice cracked. "At first, his voice was calm. Almost like he was safe — but then there was a loud bang... a sudden change. His breathing grew ragged, frantic.  I tried to reach him, but all I could hear were footsteps — fast, pounding — and then his screams. He begged... he begged to someone to let him go. He rarely beg, Officer Du."

His wife wept quietly, clutching Xu Yiduo's arm as if that small touch could somehow protect their son. Shen Yi had been their child in every way but blood — raised from a boy into a man, but still their boy. Although Shen Yi lived alone in his parents' house, Mr. Xu often insisted that he come over to study art at his place instead. He frequently invited Shen Yi to move in, saying it was dangerous for a child to live alone. But Shen Yi always declined, preferring the solitude of his own home.

Thankfully, their houses were close to each other, so Mr. Xu could visit whenever he wanted—and Shen Yi could do the same.

Du Cheng's eyes darkened with resolve. "So, he managed to call you after escaping — even if just for a moment before they found him again."

"Yes," Xu Yiduo said, showing the number on his phone. "This was the number he called from."

Du Cheng wasted no time, jotting it down and calling Li Han. "Locate this number — now."

Mrs. Xu's hands trembled as she grabbed Du Cheng's wrist. "Please, find him Officer Du. He's scared, and we don't know what they're doing to him."

Du Cheng swallowed the lump in his throat. "We will. I promise."

But the silence that followed in the minutes after was deafening. No more calls and no news. Just aching worry that clawed at their hearts. What if Shen Yi was already gone? The thought made Xu Yiduo's hands shake, and his wife's quiet sobs filled the empty spaces around them.

Then after the long wait, Li Han's voice crackled, sharp and urgent. "Captain Du, I have a location. Hu Che Road, Weihe City. That's where the phone pinged last."

The team prepared to move immediately, racing against time — and against an unknown fate.

Sun Zhibiao's grip was relentless, his weight pressing down on Shen Yi's arm so hard that every struggle only sent sharp bolts of pain shooting through his joints. Not to mention his injured knee. Shen Yi's breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, chest rising and falling beneath Zhibiao's oppressive hold. Every muscle in his body screamed for release, but the cold, merciless force that pinned him rendered his efforts futile. The room was heavy with a stifling silence, broken only by the faint scrape of footsteps as guards moved about, and the quiet rasp of Shen Yi's uneven breathing.

Zhibiao's eyes gleamed with cruel amusement as he loomed over him, his voice low and dripping with menace. "You think you can run from me, huh Xiao Yi?" His other hand slid from Shen Yi's neck down to grip firmly at his hips, tugging sharply enough to make Shen Yi's breath hitch painfully. "I don't care how far you go. No one escapes me."

Shen Yi swallowed hard, his eyes darting around, searching desperately for any sign of escape or reprieve. But there was none. Just this cold, suffocating presence that crushed him, body and spirit alike. He fought back a shiver that wasn't just from pain. It was something deeper — the chill of helplessness, of being hunted and cornered, and worst of all, knowing Zhibiao was always one step ahead.

"How... how did you find me?" Shen Yi's voice was hoarse, brittle as a thin thread about to snap. His gaze locked with Zhibiao's — defiant, yet shadowed by something else. Fear. Unease. A fragile flicker of hope buried beneath the weight of despair.

Zhibiao snorted, a sound void of any real laughter. "Did you forget who I am? There is no escape from me. Especially for something I've claimed." His fingers tightened briefly before trailing down with deliberate cruelty, squeezing before yanking at Shen Yi's clothes to expose vulnerable skin. Shen Yi gasped sharply, a raw, involuntary sound.

"Did that man touch you?" Zhibiao's voice was a low growl, menace lacing every syllable.

But Shen Yi's silence answered him instead to make him upset even more.

Zhibiao's grip tightened painfully, drawing a sharp hiss from Shen Yi.
"I said, did he touch you?!"

"No! He didn't touch me, alright?!" Shen Yi burst out, his voice wavering despite the anger behind it. His heart pounded — not just from the pain, but from the raw humiliation flooding through him. It was a shield, a lie, a desperate truth all at once. Saying otherwise would only invite more cruelty.

Satisfied, Zhibiao gave a small wave of his hand, and the guards moved without hesitation. The tension in the room thickened instantly.

Didi was dragged to his feet with a groan, barely able to stand. His head hung low, blood trailing down the side of his face—hot and wet against his cheek. They'd hit him hard. Hard enough that his vision swam and pain pulsed through his skull.

He forced his eyes open.

And when their gazes met, Shen Yi felt a sharp stab of guilt twist deep in his chest.

Didi had come for him. He'd stepped into this nightmare to help—and now he was caught in it too.

"Let him go," Didi growled, voice rough, locking eyes with Shen Yi. The silent plea was unmistakable — I will protect you, endure it for me.

But Zhibiao's eyes darkened, narrowing. His hands that had been gripping Shen Yi's body now traced slow, possessive lines across his waist, pulling his shirt up halfway with a casual cruelty. "You seem to care a lot for him," he observed, voice smooth but venomous. "Tell me — do you even know who I am?"

Didi's jaw clenched tightly, no sign of recognition but fierce defiance shining in his eyes. Zhibiao laughed coldly, savouring the moment like a predator tasting fear. "Clean slate," he muttered, settling on the bed and dragging Shen Yi into his lap, locking his hands around Shen Yi's waist like iron chains.

The room felt smaller now, the air thick and suffocating.

Zhibiao's gaze flicked to Didi, his voice dropping to a whisper that carried the weight of finality.
"You thought you could hide him. Keep what's mine away, even for a day."

Didi's breath hitched, but his body didn't move. He couldn't. Not with those hands on him. Especially the pain in his head.

Slowly, Zhibiao stood, pulling Shen Yi up with him, still holding tight, his grip unwavering. The cold edge in his voice left no room for argument.

"Lesson one," Zhibiao murmured, voice dark with amusement. "No one touches what belongs to me. And you, Xiao Yi... are mine to keep."

Shen Yi's eyes narrowed, his voice sharp and cold. "I'm not anyone's to keep. Especially not yours."

Zhibiao let out a low laugh—genuine, amused, and maddeningly calm. The sound echoed like a private joke only he understood.

"Shen Yi, Shen Yi, Shen Yi..." he drawled, savoring the name like a sweet on his tongue. "You never fail to entertain me. That's what makes you so... interesting."

Sun Zhibiao's arms that were wrapped around Shen Yi like a steel trap—firm, cold, and possessive. His grip wasn't violent, but there was no room for escape. Shen Yi could feel the press of Zhibiao's breath near his ear, the low hum of satisfaction laced in every word.

"Lesson one," Zhibiao murmured, voice dipped in a dangerously smooth tone. "No one touches what belongs to me. And you, Xiao Yi... you are mine to keep."

Shen Yi's body stiffened. He tried to shove the arm off him, but Zhibiao's grip was unyielding. "I'm not anyone's to keep. And especially not yours," he spat, venom threading through every syllable.

That earned him a chuckle. Not a soft one, but deep, cruelly amused—like a predator humoring its prey.

"Shen Yi, Shen Yi, Shen Yi..." Zhibiao said his name like a hymn, slowly, savouring it. "You never fail to entertain me indeed. That's what makes you interesting."

In one seamless motion, Zhibiao shifted. The hand around Shen Yi's waist slid up to his chest, momentarily pressing him tighter, before turning him with almost practiced ease. Shen Yi stumbled slightly, caught off guard by the sudden turn—then found himself caged between Zhibiao and the wall.

Now face-to-face, Zhibiao stood too close. His hand came up again, gently, mockingly, to tilt Shen Yi's chin upward. His eyes, dark and gleaming, scanned every flinch, every tightening muscle in Shen Yi's jaw.

"You've always had that fire in you," he said softly. "Even when trembling."

Shen Yi didn't answer. His breathing was shallow, but his eyes didn't break contact. There was fear—yes—but there was also hatred, burning quietly behind it.

Zhibiao leaned in, voice barely above a whisper. "It makes breaking you all the more... satisfying."

The sound of scuffling broke the tension like a gunshot.

"Get the hell away from him!" Didi's voice rang out, hoarse and furious.

Zhibiao's expression didn't shift at first. His hand still lingered at Shen Yi's chin, eyes locked onto his like a predator toying with prey. But the moment he turned his head toward the noise, the amusement in his smile began to fade.

Across the room, Didi was struggling violently against the grip of one of Zhibiao's guards, wrists twisted behind him. His legs kicked against the polished floor, shoes dragging. The veins in his neck strained as he tried to break free, teeth clenched, eyes wild with fury.

"Let him go, you bastard!" he shouted again, voice cracking with rage and desperation.

Zhibiao watched in silence, the faint curve of his lips flattening. The glow in his eyes dimmed, slowly iced over with something far colder—darker.

A stillness fell, eerie and suffocating.

He turned fully now, back straightening, hand dropping from Shen Yi's face as he turned his attention to the struggling man. His gaze was no longer amused—it was calculating, flat, like a mask had fallen into place.

"Say, Xiao Yi," Zhibiao said slowly, still facing Didi but speaking with a calmness that unsettled more than a shout ever could, "do you like action-thriller movies?"

Shen Yi, pressed against the wall, heart pounding, felt a sick churn in his stomach.

Zhibiao stepped forward, his shoes making soft clicks against the floor, voice carrying like a silk thread tightening around their throats.

"Have you ever watched a film about a bloody battle?" he asked, head slightly tilted—but his eyes never left Didi. "Where the hero charges in, trying to save someone, all bold and self-righteous?"

Didi stopped struggling, just for a beat. His chest heaved, muscles trembling, but his glare remained fixed—fierce and unyielding.

Zhibiao's expression twitched—barely—but it was there. Something twisted behind his eyes. Not excitement. Not thrill. Anger.

If Shen Yi had looked at him with that kind of fire, he might've smirked, maybe even chuckled. That kind of defiance in his toy? Delicious.

But coming from this stranger?

Zhibiao felt something simmer inside his chest—not desire, not amusement, but insult. Like this man's glare dared to see through him. Like he was being looked down on.

He hated it.

If it had been Shen Yi glaring at him like that — eyes fierce, jaw clenched, the heat of defiance sparking behind every breath — Zhibiao would've felt a rush of pleasure. A thrill in his bones. That fire, that resistance, was what made his little toy so fun to play with. But this man... this outsider, this nobody — when he glared at Zhibiao with that same look, it didn't ignite him. It offended him.

Worse — this was the man who'd tried to steal what belonged to him.

It felt like being judged. Like being challenged by someone beneath him. And Zhibiao did not take kindly to being looked down upon.

His smirk faltered.

The faint curve of amusement on his lips dropped away, replaced by something colder, flatter. A silence stretched over the room — not heavy, but sharp, like a blade being drawn.

Then Zhibiao released Shen Yi's wrist with a flick, letting him stumble back. The air between them felt instantly colder, like all the warmth had been sucked away the moment Zhibiao stepped forward.

Deliberate. Unhurried.

His boots thudded dully against the concrete floor, echoing in the empty space. Every step was like a countdown.

He stopped only when he stood directly in front of the guard who had Didi pinned — the man still straining, his arms caught, his eyes wild with fury.

"Hold him still," Zhibiao said softly, almost like a whisper.

Didi stiffened.

"What are you going to do to him?" Shen Yi asked, his heart pounding with a rising sense of dread.

Didi  instinct screamed at him to fight, to break free. But the guard's grip tightened, and Zhibiao's presence loomed like a shadow that couldn't be outrun.

"Stop! Zhibiao, please. He didn't do anything. Please..." Shen Yi barked, reaching out instinctively trying to stop Zhibiao, but a heavy hand grabbed his arm — one of Zhibiao's personal guards.

Zhibiao didn't even look at him. His gaze remained fixed on Didi, but a slow smile curled his lips again. It didn't reach his eyes. It was hollow. Plastic.

Leaning forward just enough to unsettle, Zhibiao's voice was low and calm, every word dripping with menace. 

"You see, Xiao Yi," he began, still in that calm, lecturing tone, "I really do hate doing things like this. It's unnecessary. Wasteful. Stains the floor. Not to mention that I need to clear everything once I'm done with it." He exhaled, mockingly sad, as if burdened by the role he had to play. "But sometimes..."

He cocked his head slightly.

"...sometimes people force my hand."

Didi didn't blink. His chest rose and fell quickly, but his eyes never looked away. His expression burned with the kind of hatred that came from pure principle — not fear. He looked at Zhibiao like he was human filth.

Zhibiao noticed.

And he didn't like it.

"That look," he muttered, almost to himself. "That damn look like you're better than me." He reached into his coat and, slowly, deliberately, withdrew a small black pistol — sleek and deadly, like it belonged to someone who enjoyed the silence after a shot more than the bang itself.

The tension in the air twisted, suffocating. Shen Yi's stomach turned, a bitter taste flooding his mouth. His limbs refused to move fast enough. He tried again to lunge forward, but his legs buckled as panic gripped him.

"Zhibiao—!" he shouted.

Zhibiao finally turned his head, just enough to glance back at him. "I told you I don't like people touching my things before," he said, tone still soft — like he was explaining a rule to a child. "Especially when someone took and hide it from me..."

He turned back to Didi.

"I would never let them free to make the same mistake again in the future. So..."

Didi braced himself. He didn't look away. Didn't flinch. If anything, his gaze burned hotter.

Zhibiao's expression didn't flicker. His finger squeezed the trigger and pointed his gun towards the man's head.

A muffled pop — quick and cold — like a whip cracked into silence.

Didi's body jerked once in the guard's grip before going limp. Blood bloomed from his shirt, staining the fabric dark. The guard let him drop. His body crumpled to the floor with a sickening thud that seemed to echo forever.

Shen Yi couldn't move.

The image seared into his mind — Didi’s eyes still open, his chest no longer rising, the floor around him slowly darkening with blood. Silence followed, so absolute it rang in Shen Yi’s ears like a scream.

His legs gave out.

He stumbled back, crashing to the ground, breath caught somewhere in his throat. His lungs refused to work. His fingers trembled violently, as if his body were trying to scream the panic he couldn’t voice.

Zhibiao turned.

There was no remorse in his eyes. No satisfaction either. It was like he had wiped something off his shoes.

He walked back, step by step, until he stood in front of Shen Yi again. His hand lifted with chilling gentleness as he brushed a stray strand of hair away from Shen Yi's face, tucking it behind his ear like a lover would.

"Now, do you see?" he whispered.

His thumb ghosted over Shen Yi's cheek.

"You run, people die."

Shen Yi trembled under his touch. His mind reeled, unable to comprehend the loss fast enough to grieve. Didi's warmth — his voice, his effort to protect him — was already gone, like a breath stolen too soon.

Zhibiao leaned closer, his breath brushing Shen Yi's ear as he murmured:

"Let’s not make a habit of that, hm? I’d really hate to kill someone who has nothing to do with… my work."

There was a pause for a while before he straightened, smoothing down Shen Yi's clothes as if nothing had happened. Like it was all part of a performance.

“Take him to the penthouse. And clear any evidence.”

Zhibiao’s voice was calm, almost bored — as if he hadn’t just taken a life.

With that same unhurried grace, he turned his back to the room, walking away. Behind him, a corpse lay cooling on the floor. A trembling man was dragged in his wake, his wide, stunned eyes locked on the lifeless body that had died because of him.

And in the space they left behind, the silence pressed in like a weight — thick, suffocating, and impossible to bear.

Chapter Text

⚠️ Trigger Warning:

This chapter contains bloody violence, emotional manipulation, and threats of torture. Please read with caution.

The car rolled through the dim streets, headlights slicing through the thick quiet of early dawn. The city was just beginning to stir, but inside the vehicle, there was only a suffocating stillness.

Zhibiao reclined slightly in his seat, one arm propped lazily against the window as he watched Shen Yi from the corner of his eye.

Shen Yi sat motionless, seatbelt still strapped tightly across his chest. His eyes were wide, unfocused—staring not at the city lights blurring past them, but at the shaking fingers resting on his lap. His hands trembled uncontrollably, the memory of earlier still etched into every muscle. His jaw clenched, breath caught in his throat, as though he were afraid to breathe too loudly in fear of replaying it all again. The screams. The blood. Didi's face.

Zhibiao's lips curled slightly. Ah, good. It was sinking in.

The fear. The helplessness. The guilt.

"We'll go to Warehouse first," he ordered the driver casually. 

"Yes, Boss," the man replied without turning.

He let the silence linger, savoring the stillness of Shen Yi's shattered state, letting the dread brew longer before the next blow.

They arrived soon after, the car slowing as it turned off the main road and entered a gated area. Gravel crunched under the tires as the vehicle came to a slow, deliberate stop in front of an old, windowless warehouse. One of Zhibiao's men was already waiting by the large sliding door. As the engine cut off, the man approached, leaning in to speak through the window.

"It's ready, Boss. We followed your orders."

"Good," Zhibiao replied, stepping out.

The man circled around to the other side, opening Shen Yi's door without waiting for a signal.

Shen Yi barely registered it. He didn't even lift his head at first—his mind still looping through the last scene in the car, caught between the look on Didi's face and the haunting stillness that followed. 

He flinched sharply as a firm hand gripped his arm—Zhibiao's—yanking him upright. His legs trembled, barely able to support him, knees wobbling from the sudden crash of adrenaline. Yet, the man's hold was steady, unyielding, as he guided Shen Yi forward through the dim hallway. Every step felt heavy, like dragging a weight inside his chest, but there was no choice but to follow.

It wasn't until they reached the threshold of the warehouse that Shen Yi blinked.

This place—it wasn't a penthouse. It wasn't anywhere he recognized.

He turned his head, eyes finally regaining focus as he looked around. The cold concrete. The stale air. The rusted metal doors. The faint scent of iron and rot.

"...Where ar—" he began, voice hoarse and quiet.

But before he could finish, a scream tore through the stillness.

High-pitched. Ragged. Agonized.

It hit him like a jolt of electricity—freezing him in place. His breath caught. His knees locked.

Another scream followed, louder this time, and full of something Shen Yi had only heard once before: a plea for death. The raw, breaking sound of someone who had nothing left to give.

He turned slowly.

Zhibiao was already watching him, standing just a step ahead. The man's smile deepened.

"You'll want to see this," Zhibiao said, almost gently, as he reached for Shen Yi's arm and tugged him forward.

Shen Yi's feet moved against his will. Whether from the force of the pull or the numbness seeping through his body, he couldn't tell anymore.

They rounded the corner. And there—under the harsh, buzzing light of a single overhead bulb—was a chair.

Blood streamed down the man’s battered face. His lips were split, swollen to the point of tearing. One eye was nearly swollen shut, the other just barely opened—red-rimmed and wet. His entire body shook beneath layers of torn, stained fabric. His clothes hung loosely, some parts shredded from the abuse, others soaked dark with blood. Bruises bloomed across his chest, arms, and neck like grotesque ink stains.

Tears rolled freely down the man’s face, carving thin lines through the blood. His breath came in shallow, broken sobs. A low whimper escaped him—fragile, pitiful, human.

The other men standing around him all stepped back immediately at the sight of their boss, except the one that grabbing his hair. They bowed slightly, lowering their eyes.

Zhibiao ignore them before his attention returned to Shen Yi who just stood there frozen with eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

Zhibiao didn't say anything at first. He just watched the horror settling in Shen Yi's eyes.

Then he leaned in, speaking low, smooth, and quiet into his ear.

"I thought you deserved to know the cost of your previous action."

Shen Yi didn't move. Not even a blink.

The man in the chair turned his face toward him weakly, his bloody mouth trying to form words. And Shen Yi just stared back, the sound of his heartbeat louder than anything else.

Zhibiao stepped forward, hand still loosely gripping Shen Yi's arm as if presenting him with a display. The dim light flickered above, casting elongated shadows across the concrete floor, and the stench of iron and sweat hung thick in the air.

Shen Yi remained frozen in place, breath caught somewhere between his chest and throat. His gaze landed on the man in the chair—bloodied, bruised, face nearly unrecognizable beneath the swelling and red. The man was barely conscious. His body twitched at every sound, as if anticipating more pain.

Shen Yi's legs felt numb. He wanted to move, to step back, to blink away this nightmare. But he couldn't. His feet were rooted, his heart pounding too loudly in his ears.

Zhibiao leaned in closer to him, voice casual yet sharp as a blade. "You know who this guy is?"

Shen Yi's throat tightened. His lips parted, but no sound came out.

“That person is that man’s uncle,” Zhibiao said, his voice low and composed as his fingers slid through Shen Yi’s hair—slowly, deliberately. Not out of affection, but with a cold, patronizing mockery. Like one might stroke the fur of a caged animal—something owned, something small and helpless.

His touch made Shen Yi flinch, but Zhibiao didn’t stop. He watched him closely, almost amused, eyes drinking in every twitch of Shen Yi’s expression, every shift of breath, every trace of recognition that began to surface.

“The same man who hid you from me,” Zhibiao continued, fingers threading through the soft strands again, not to comfort, but to remind him—you belong to me, and nothing you do goes unseen.

“He even lied to my face,” Zhibiao went on, tilting his head slightly, the faintest curl playing on his lips. “Saying he never saw you before... when you were just right inside the room in his own place?”

He gave a low, amused chuckle, the sound dry and cruel.

“So he’s going to die for that lie, of course. But I thought you deserved to see why.”

Shen Yi didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes were drawn back to the man in the chair.

The restrained man, despite the swelling that nearly sealed his eyes shut, blinked hard—slowly lifting his gaze. For a moment, the recognition was faint. But then his bruised face contorted, and his blood-crusted lips parted in a gasp too weak to be a sound.

There was a flash—something desperate, almost pleading, buried beneath the horror in those eyes. Shen Yi felt a sick wave roll through his chest. His stomach twisted. He took a small step back without meaning to.

Zhibiao, now standing just behind him, leaned forward slightly. His voice dropped lower, near his ear. "You see, I don't punish people for helping me. Of course. I will kill betrayer and a thief."

"Stop," Shen Yi choked out, voice cracking.

"Why?" Zhibiao's tone turned almost curious. "He wouldn't be here if you hadn't run, Shen Yi. You tried to leave. People like him would be the one that pay for your mistakes."

The words sank like poison into Shen Yi's gut.

"You’d also be thinking about running again later, wouldn’t you?" Zhibiao murmured, his voice now a near-whisper behind Shen Yi’s ear. "Just one more time. One more attempt."

“But every time you try... someone will scream like this,” he continued, gesturing subtly toward the bound man with a tilt of his chin. “Someone will end up like him. And you’ll know—you caused that. I will keep torturing them before killing them. Piece by piece.”

“No. Don’t. I promise I won’t run again.”

He turned fully, standing between Zhibiao and the bound man now, his voice trembling but steady enough to carry meaning. “Please. Stop hurting him. I will never leave again. I swear.”

There was no defiance in his tone—just desperation. A hollow, aching plea from someone who was willing to throw himself back into the cage if it meant sparing someone else from its jaws.

His eyes didn’t waver.

“I’m not the kind of person who forgives, Shen Yi,” he said, his eyes fixed on him without a blink. “Anyone who helps you—anyone who lies for you—they will pay. Slowly. Painfully.”

He tilted his head just slightly, watching the faint flicker in Shen Yi’s expression. There was no need to raise his voice. Every word he said was sharp enough.

“But,” Zhibiao continued, a cruel edge curling his lips, “there is one thing you could do… to free him from what's coming.”

Shen Yi’s breath hitched. His eyes lifted cautiously, desperation beginning to pool just beneath his lashes. Zhibiao saw it—the way his throat moved as he swallowed, the quiet hope that maybe, maybe he could stop this.

And Zhibiao smirked.

“Kill him.”

The words hit like a brick wall. Shen Yi froze, his mind blanking in the silence that followed. Then slowly, disbelievingly, he turned toward Zhibiao.

His voice was hoarse. “What…?”

Zhibiao didn’t flinch. “I said kill him. That’s the only mercy I’ll allow.”

Zhibiao motioned lazily to one of his men, who promptly handed him something—a pistol.

"No one will touches him anymore," Zhibiao said coolly. "You do it."

The gun was pressed into Shen Yi's hand. Cold. Heavy. Real.

Shen Yi stared at it, then at the man in the chair, then back at Zhibiao. His fingers trembled. His knees almost buckled beneath him.

"You want him to stop suffering, don't you?" Zhibiao's voice was gentle now. "Put him out of his misery. It's the kind thing to do. You owe him that much."

The room fell into an unbearable silence, broken only by the restrained man's shallow breaths and faint whimpers.

Shen Yi's heart pounded so violently he thought it might tear through his chest. The weight of the pistol in his hand felt like a verdict.

He didn't move.

Zhibiao smiled faintly, unfazed. "Or don't. Watch him suffer longer. It's your choice."

That was the worst part—Zhibiao meant it. It was a choice, but either way, Shen Yi lost.

His hand trembled harder now, teeth clenched against the rise of nausea threatening to consume him.

Shen Yi stood frozen, the pistol heavy in his grasp like it had fused to his bones. His arm hung limp at his side, but the tremor running through it betrayed his inner collapse. His breath came shallow and quick—almost hyperventilating—as if his lungs were trying to reject the air itself.

Zhibiao said nothing more. He didn't need to. His presence at Shen Yi's side, calm and watchful, said enough.

The uncle—barely conscious—lifted his bloodied face, mouth parting weakly. A rasp escaped, so faint Shen Yi could barely make it out.

"...don't... please..."

Shen Yi's eyes widened. "No—no, no, no, I'm not—" His voice cracked, hoarse, like something torn at the edges.

He turned sharply to Zhibiao. "I'm not doing this."

Zhibiao only tilted his head. "A shame. He would've died faster by your hand. I suppose we'll just draw it out instead."

He gave a casual flick of his fingers.

One of the guards stepped forward again.

"No—stop!" Shen Yi cried, stepping instinctively between them. The motion was instant, desperate. "Please, don't—don't touch him!"

Zhibiao's smile widened.

"Then do it yourself," he said softly. "One clean shot. Quick. No pain."

Shen Yi stood there—shaking, sweating, the cold metal digging into his palm. His mind fractured beneath the weight of this moment. The echo of screams. The image of Didi's broken, pleading gaze. The memory of failing once already.

He could taste bile in the back of his throat.

Shen Yi's knees buckled slightly. The gun clattered as it slipped from his fingers, bouncing on the concrete floor with a metallic clang that felt deafening in the silence.

"I can't," Shen Yi whispered. "I can't—please, don't make me."

Zhibiao was still. Then he stepped forward, picking up the pistol from the floor with gloved fingers. For a long second, he examined it. Then, in one smooth motion, he turned toward the man in the chair—raised it—and pulled the trigger.

Shen Yi flinched violently as the shot rang out.

The uncle slumped in the chair, a sudden stillness overtaking his broken form.

Silence fell. He wasn't breathing anymore.

Shen Yi collapsed to his knees.

His hands clawed at the floor, not from any sense of intention—but because he needed to feel something that wasn't cold steel or blood or judgment. His body rocked forward slightly, shaking with a grief he couldn't scream out loud. His lips parted, soundless. His eyes welled—not from sympathy for the dead, but from the soul-breaking horror of knowing he had watched it happen.

Watched it. Caused it. Allowed it.

Zhibiao stood over him like a god surveying a broken disciple.

"Now," he said, crouching down again, tone soft like a lullaby. "Every time you think of escaping, remember this moment. This weight. And ask yourself—who dies next?"

Shen Yi didn't answer.

His face was turned downward, hair falling across his eyes, tears sliding silently down his cheeks.

He didn't scream.

He didn't beg.

He just knelt there in that bloodstained room, the cold floor beneath him and the monster beside him.

And somewhere inside him, something quietly fractured.

A/N:
Helloww lovely readers~

Are you all okay? TvT

I honestly feel so bad for Shen Yi...
He’s such a sweetheart, yet he ended up meeting a devil like Sun Zhibiao.
As much as I don’t want to put him through this, Zhibiao’s character is that cruel. T_T

Chapter Text

Hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. Du Cheng's foot hovered over the gas pedal, trying hard not to slam it down completely.

They were on their way to Wei He City—where Shen Yi was. After the unexpected call from him, they immediately tracked the number and, once the signal location was confirmed, Du Cheng dropped everything and headed straight there.

Who would've thought Shen Yi was still being held there—hidden right under their noses, while they desperately searched for a man who had seemingly vanished into thin air?

Du Cheng's jaw clenched, fury simmering beneath his skin. The kidnapper wasn't just dangerous—they were smart. Smart enough to keep Shen Yi out of sight for so long, which meant they weren't some small-time criminal. Whoever it was... they were calculated and cunning.

His foot pressed the gas pedal harder, the speed creeping up enough to make Jiang Feng and He Rong Yue shift nervously in their seats. But none of them said anything. They knew that their Captain trying so hard to save a life that currently was on the line. 

If they were even a second too late, someone could die.

Thanks to the traffic, it took them two and a half hours to finally reach the location—when it would've normally taken Du Cheng only an hour and a half. But the moment they arrived, something immediately felt wrong.

The streets ahead were blocked off with caution tape, officers standing guard as crowds gathered behind the barriers, murmuring anxiously. The air was thick with tension and smoke, the acrid scent of burning wood and chemicals searing their lungs even from a distance. Red and blue emergency lights flashed relentlessly, casting eerie glows across the faces in the crowd.

Several fire trucks were parked haphazardly near the source of the chaos, hoses uncoiled like serpents across the pavement. Firefighters moved quickly, shouting orders to one another as they fought the blaze. Black smoke billowed into the sky, dense and furious, clouding the horizon like a storm.

At the center of the disaster, a store—or what used to be one—was completely engulfed in flames. Its windows had already shattered from the heat, jagged glass glinting on the ground below. Flames licked greedily at the walls, eating through the roof, and the fire had almost spread to the adjacent building, threatening to consume everything in its path. Firefighters were actively battling the blaze, hoses blasting powerful jets of water toward the heart of the inferno. The water hissed and steamed on contact, but the flames roared back with terrifying persistence. The crackle of fire and the distant wail of sirens created a symphony of dread.

Du Cheng's chest tightened. His heart pounded as he slammed the brakes, pulling the car into the nearest space beside the other police vehicles.

He was already out the door before the engine had fully stopped, the others right behind him.

A police officer standing by the barricade moved to stop them but quickly stepped aside when Du Cheng flashed his badge.

"What happened here?" Du Cheng asked the officer, his voice sharp.

"We're still figuring that out," the officer replied. "Trying to determine if it's an accident or arson. The people in those cars over there are the owners of the buildings on either side. But when we asked about the one in the middle..." He hesitated. "They said it belongs to a young man named Wang Didi. No one's seen him yet. We don't know if he was inside or—" The officer trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence. "What about you? Something bring you here?"

"We came to save a kidnapping victim." Du Cheng's eyes scanned the burning structure. "Is Captain Han around?"

"He's on leave today. Captain Li's leading the scene," the officer answered, then gestured for Du Cheng to follow.

They crossed through the chaos toward a man speaking into a walkie-talkie, his expression tense.

"Captain Li," the officer called, saluting.

The man turned, nodded once at the officer, then looked over Du Cheng and his team.

"And you are?"

"Du Cheng, Haicheng Police Bureau," Du Cheng said, reaching out to shake his hand.

"How can I help you, Officer Du?"

"I'm here in connection with the kidnapping case reported in this city. Captain Han was previously involved, but I understand he's unavailable today."

"Oh—Captain Du, right? The one Han mentioned in the briefings," Captain Li said, nodding in recognition. "The case from near Hotel Y? I've been briefed on it in case someone from Haicheng showed up. So it's you, then."

Du Cheng nodded. "Yes. We got a call this afternoon from the victim—Shen Yi—but he wasn't able to give a clear location. We tracked the phone signal... and it led us here." His eyes returned to the raging fire.

Captain Li followed his gaze, expression sobering. "Let's hope this isn't the place. We'll go in as soon as the fire's under control—should be any minute now. But if someone was inside..." He sighed deeply, dread flickering in his eyes. "Let's just hope that's not the case."

Du Cheng hoped the same — that no one had been caught in the fire. That Shen Yi wasn't inside. That they had somehow arrived in time.

But a tight knot twisted in his chest as he stared at the smoldering remains of the building.

After what felt like an hour — maybe longer — the firefighters finally managed to subdue the last of the flames. Smoke still lingered thick in the air, curling upward in lazy spirals as the fire trucks quieted. Water streamed down the charred walls, mixing with ash and soot on the pavement. The air smelled of scorched wood, melted plastic, and something far worse — something human.

Once the structure was deemed stable enough, police officers, firefighters, and Du Cheng's team moved in with caution. The interior was a blackened ruin — walls half-collapsed, ceiling beams scorched and sagging. Every step crunched on broken glass or splintered debris.

Du Cheng kept pushing forward, his heart pounding like a war drum.

Then came the voice.

"I found human bodies here!" someone shouted from the second floor.

Du Cheng froze, blood draining from his face.

Cold sweat broke across his brow. His limbs moved before his mind could catch up — he bolted up the cracked staircase, his boots slipping slightly on the wet steps. Smoke still curled around him, clinging to his clothes, his lungs.

He reached the room.

Two burned bodies.

One was curled on the bed, skeletal limbs scorched black and twisted grotesquely, melted into the fabric and springs, while the other was collapsed on the floor.

The air was suffocating. The stench unbearable.

Du Cheng's pulse roared in his ears. Could one of them be Shen Yi?

No. No. No.

He stepped closer, hands shaking as he reached for a flashlight. They needed identification — something. But the bodies were so far gone. Clothing was mostly burned away. Skin had melted and fused to surfaces. It was nearly impossible to tell gender, let alone identity.

Still, something about the one on the bed made his stomach churn.

A shoe. A scrap of dark fabric near the body.

It looked too familiar.

"Get forensics up here now!" Du Cheng barked, his voice tight with panic. "Bring body bags and anything to confirm identity — fast!"

He didn't realize his hands were clenched so tightly until someone touched his arm and he flinched.

"Sir..." one of his team, Jiang Cheng whispered. "Do you think...?"

Du Cheng didn't answer. He couldn't.

Because if that body on the floor was Shen Yi—Then they were too late. And he had failed as a police office to save an innocent man. 

Everyone moved quickly, using gloves to carry the bodies downstairs. It was hectic.

Some officers moved quietly through the charred room, taking photographs from every possible angle — scorched walls, melted furniture, the twisted remains on the bed and the floor. Flash after flash lit up the blackened space, creating brief flickers of sterile light in the suffocating gloom.

The forensic team crouched over the bodies, their gloves brushing ash and burnt fabric as they began a slow, meticulous inspection. Swabs were taken. Bone fragments noted. The burns were too severe — nothing recognizable was left. No faces, no skin, no chance of visual identification.

Du Cheng stood at the threshold, tense and silent, watching everything unfold with a cold dread crawling up his spine.

He Rong Yue arrived, her eyes sharp but shadowed by a quiet grief. She knelt beside the floor body, murmuring something to the forensic examiner before helping collect samples — teeth, fingernail fragments, anything that might help with DNA analysis. Even she said nothing more. The heaviness in the air spoke enough.

Then, from the far side of the room, an officer emerged. His hands, gloved and careful, carried a scorched evidence bag — half-melted, fragile.

"I found this near the wall, maybe thrown before the fire spread here," the man reported, placing the remains gently onto a tarp.

One by one, he began pulling out the contents.

A large, smoke-blackened book. A warped phone, screen shattered and covered in soot. A pencil. And then—
A burnt wallet.

Captain Li stepped forward and picked it up. Carefully, he peeled it open, revealing a half-burned ID card barely clinging to its shape.

His brow furrowed as he held it closer to the light. "Shen Yi."

Thump.

Du Cheng's heart dropped. The air left his lungs in a slow, invisible gasp.

He turned, eyes locking on Captain Li. "What did you say?"

Captain Li held up the card. "This ID... the name is Shen Yi."

He handed it over.

Du Cheng took the wallet with trembling fingers. The leather crumbled slightly at the edges, but inside—clear enough to read, burned around the corners—was Shen Yi's name, printed next to a charred photo.

It felt like the room cracked in two.

All the noise faded. The static of voices, the murmur of equipment, even the dull hum of emergency generators—all of it vanished beneath the deafening silence now ringing in his ears.

His pulse pounded unevenly, breath caught between disbelief and dread.

No.

No, no, no—

He stared at the ID card again, as if willing it to say something different. As if the name might shift into someone else's. But it didn't. It stayed the same. Shen Yi.

The weight in his chest collapsed inward. Panic clawed at his throat. His knees threatened to give, but he stood still, his mind spiraling.

He couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it. Did he fail to save him?

No. It was yet to be confirmed.

The bodies were burnt beyond recognition, so they needed DNA tests to confirm identity. To make sure if the body was indeed could be belong to Shen Yi.

"Rong Yue, please run DNA tests to check if one is indeed Shen Yi."

Du Cheng’s voice was low, clipped — the kind of restraint that barely held desperation in check.

He Rongyue nodded. "Yes, sir."

The room reeked of scorched metal, ash, and something sourer — the unmistakable stench of burned flesh. Walls blistered from heat stood cracked and crumbling. The body lay curled and unrecognizable in the middle of the blackened floor, little more than fragmented bone and charcoal-soaked remains.

Without a word, Rong Yue knelt beside it, her gloves already on, her tools laid out neatly beside her. She moved gently, brushing away soot, lifting the edge of ruined fabric, searching for anything she could use — blood residue, softened bone, the fragile curl of preserved tissue.

Du Cheng stood behind her, arms crossed, the weight of exhaustion and dread written in the hard lines of his posture. His gaze locked on the corpse, yet his mind fought to resist the image forming there — it couldn't be Shen Yi. Not yet. Not until they knew for certain.

As long as the DNA results hadn’t confirmed it, there was still a thread of hope. Fraying, yes — but still there.

He Rongyue retrieved a small strip of skin, buried beneath what was once the shirt’s inner lining. A sliver of tissue. Burned along the edges, but intact enough to test. She sealed it into a sterile container, then scraped a bit more from the underside of a fingernail. Every piece mattered.

Neither of them noticed the presence behind them.

Just beyond the burned doorway — what remained of it — the silhouette stood.

Watching them in silent.

A/N:

Helloww lovely readers! 💖 How are you? I hope you're doing well~

Today’s chapter is a special one for our Du Cheng, who’s working hard to uncover the truth behind Shen Yi’s case 🕵️‍♂️ But... the two of them won’t be meeting anytime soon. Or will they? Hehe~ Let’s see what happens 👀✨

Hope you enjoy the chapter! 💕

Chapter Text

A sudden jolt snapped Shen Yi from the fragile threads of sleep. He shot upright in the massive bed, the sheets tangled around his legs, heart pounding against his ribs like a frantic drumbeat. Cold sweat clung to his skin, the remnants of a nightmare still wrapped tight around his chest, refusing to let go.

His fingers curled into the twisted sheets, knuckles white with tension. Each breath came uneven, ragged, catching in his throat as the nightmare clung to him like smoke—two men, their lifeless eyes glassy and vacant, blood staining their faces, staring at him. Eyes full of fury. Accusation.

And in his hand… a gun.

He froze. The image was hazy, but sharp enough to make his stomach turn. What had he just seen? Had he killed someone? Those faces… there was something familiar about them, something buried too deep to grasp.

Who were they?

Why were they dead?

And why did he have the gun?

Questions spiraled inside his head, tightening his chest with each new thread he couldn’t untangle. Panic brewed low in his gut.

His wide eyes darted around the room, trying to ground himself, but the sleek, unfamiliar space only deepened the disorientation. It wasn’t a hospital. It wasn’t a hotel. And it certainly wasn’t anywhere he recognized.

The room was dim, cast in a heavy veil of silence broken only by the faint hum of the central air. Cool indigo shadows spilled in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, cutting across the minimalist interior like bruises of light. Beyond the glass, the distant sprawl of the city blinked faintly—too far away to offer any warmth. The skyline was unfamiliar, blurred by haze, tall towers stabbing upward into the night like cold monuments.

Everything inside the room felt meticulously arranged: sleek, modern furniture with harsh corners and surfaces that gleamed like they’d never been touched. A low-profile leather couch sat under a glass coffee table, perfectly clean. A tall, narrow shelf held a few black-spined volumes lined up neatly, their presence lending the room a quiet, unsettling gravity. The walls were dark, smooth, and bare—no paintings, no personal touches, no traces of life.

As Shen Yi shifted to rise from the bed, a sudden wave of dizziness swept over him. His head throbbed faintly, and his vision blurred around the edges for a moment. He steadied himself with one hand pressed to the mattress, breathing through the strange, disconnected fog in his skull. That was when he noticed it—an uncomfortable tug near the inside of his arm.

His gaze dropped.

A thin IV catheter had been taped to his skin, the plastic tube now limp and trailing onto the sheets. He blinked, disoriented. He didn’t remember being ill, let alone needing to be hooked up to anything. The last thing he could clearly recall was—

He frowned. What was the last thing again?

With careful, slightly trembling fingers, Shen Yi peeled the tape away and pulled the needle out, hissing softly at the sting. A small bead of blood welled up, but he ignored it, wadding the nearest corner of the blanket against it.

Dragging his legs over the edge of the bed, he stood up slowly. Every movement felt strange, like his limbs had been sleeping longer than he had. The marble floor was cool beneath his bare feet as he shuffled toward what looked like a bathroom, the muted reflection of city lights bending across the glass walls.

But after only a few steps, he felt it—something tugged against his ankle with a faint metallic clink.

His breath caught.

He looked down.

A steel chain, slim but solid, was fastened around his right ankle. It trailed across the floor, disappearing into the base of the bed’s frame where it had been anchored out of sight. The cold of the metal seeped into his skin like a quiet insult, deliberate and calculated.

Shen Yi stared at it, his brows drawing together in quiet disbelief. A chain?

Why? Why would there be a chain on his leg?

He bent down instinctively, trying to inspect the shackle more closely—but the motion made his head spin violently. The world tilted sideways, and before he could catch himself, his knees gave out and he dropped back with a soft thud onto the cold floor. A breath escaped his lips—half groan, half frustration—as he pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to steady the swirl in his skull.

The dizziness lingered for several seconds, dull and hazy, as if something in his body still hadn't caught up with being awake. His muscles felt strangely light, like they'd been still for too long, unused. Had he been unconscious? Drugged?

Only when the fog gradually lifted did he glance again at the chain circling his ankle. The metal cuff fit snugly, neither cutting into the skin nor loose enough to slip off. He tugged at it once, then twice, testing the lock with his fingers. As expected, it didn’t budge. 

 Of course it needed a key.

He exhaled slowly, grounding himself.

The sharp rhythm of his heartbeat had softened, but a strange hollowness lingered in his chest—like the echo of something he couldn’t quite name. With a stiff motion, he turned his head and followed the length of the chain with his eyes, letting his gaze trail along its path. It glinted in the low light, coiled once near the bed leg before stretching out into the open space.

It wasn't short. In fact, it gave him more reach than he’d assumed at first glance.

Shen Yi’s brows furrowed as he took in the length of it, and a quiet calculation flickered in his eyes. If he judged it right… he could reach a decent portion of the room. His eyes scanned the space again—past the marble-topped side table, the thick rug that absorbed the sound of his movements, and then paused on the closed bathroom door, just a few feet away from where he stood.

The chain could reach that far. Maybe.

He glanced back at the point where it was anchored—bolted to the wall, thick and secure, the clasp around his ankle just loose enough to be tolerable but impossible to slip from. His confusion deepened, pressing into his sternum like a silent weight, but he swallowed it down. Questions could wait. Right now, he needed to move. To feel the ground beneath his feet. To make sure he still had control over something.

Bracing himself, Shen Yi slowly stood again—more cautiously this time.

His bare feet sank slightly into the plush carpet. One hand reached out to the bedpost for balance, the cool wood grounding him, while the other hovered instinctively in front of him, curled slightly, like a dancer preparing for the next step. The world still felt a little off. Not in a dizzying way, but skewed—as though everything had shifted a few centimeters from where it was supposed to be. A dream half-forgotten, still clinging to the corners of his vision.

He inhaled. Took a step.

The chain slithered behind him, dragging across the floor with a soft, metallic rasp. It didn’t resist—yet the sound alone was enough to send a flicker of unease down his spine.

Another step. Then another.

He approached the door slowly, one cautious breath at a time. The bathroom stood silent and dark ahead, its tall frame looming like a portal. He hesitated for just a second, palm hovering near the handle, then pushed it open with a muted creak.

Cool, stale air drifted out to meet him.

The bathroom was immaculately clean—almost sterile. The kind of place that looked like no one ever used it, even though it was clear someone could. A row of high-end products lined the edge of the sink, untouched. Towels folded to geometric perfection. The bathtub gleamed, deep enough to drown in.

Shen Yi stepped inside slowly, the soft clink of the chain against the tile a quiet reminder of his reality. His legs still felt unsteady, and a slight pressure pulsed in his temples. Reaching the sink, he turned the handle.

Cold water rushed out in a clean, steady stream.

He cupped his hands beneath it and splashed the water onto his face, letting the chill shock his nerves. Once, twice—he kept going until the numbness in his skin grounded him, until the fog behind his eyes began to fade. Droplets slid down his jaw, tracing the sharp lines of his chin and neck, soaking the collar of his shirt.

He braced himself against the edge of the sink and slowly looked up at the mirror.

His reflection stared back—calm, expressionless, almost untouched by the disarray he felt inside.

His face looked… fresh. His skin was clear, hair neat enough that it hadn’t seen true dishevelment in days. There were no bruises, no cuts, nothing visible to mark injury or trauma. But the ghost of adhesive from the IV tape before still clung faintly to the crook of his arm.

How?

He pressed his lips together, eyes narrowing slightly at his own reflection. The chain. The IV. This place. The unfamiliar bed. 

Had he been sick?

Had someone drugged him?

Was he… recovering from something?

His gaze drifted down to the sink basin, then back up at his own eyes. And that dream—or memory—flashed again behind his vision. The bloody body. The gun in his hand.

Was—was it real?

Or was it just a dream?

His throat tightened.

“You’ve awoken, I see.”

Shen Yi jumped, his breath catching in his throat. He hadn’t even heard the door open.

Who in the world?

His head turned sharply toward the bathroom door, breath caught mid-motion as he registered a figure standing there. A man. Leaning casually against the frame, arms folded across his chest in a posture too relaxed to be anything but intentional. He was dressed in black—a fitted t-shirt clinging to his frame, dark trousers hanging loose at the hips—and wore a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes and watched him with a strange intensity.

At first, Shen Yi didn’t react. His brain, still fogged and reeling from the dream and took a moment to catch up to what his body instinctively understood.

He didn’t know who this man was.

Not right away.

But his spine had already stiffened. His stomach had already clenched. And something deep inside, something primal, was urging him to step back. 

Then came the flickers—disjointed memories, flashing like broken film reels:

He was kidnapped. Hit.
And the worse of all was those time when he forced himself on Shen Yi.

His breath shuddered as the recognition slammed into him.

He knew that face now.

Sun Zhibiao.

The name came with a jolt like ice water down the spine.

Shen Yi stumbled back a half step, his hand tightening on the edge of the doorframe. The metallic sound of the chain dragging across the floor seemed louder now—like a warning bell ringing in his ears.

"You." Shen Yi said, frowning deeply.

And still, Zhibiao didn’t speak. He just tilted his head slightly, that smirk deepening as if amused by the delayed recognition. As if waiting for it.

For Shen Yi to remember exactly who he was dealing with.

Zhibiao, who had been leaning casually against the door frame, pushed off and walked slowly toward him. Shen Yi remained still, his gaze sharp and unwavering, watching every deliberate step.

When Zhibiao stopped right in front of him, amusement flickered across his face — that same cruel smile that always seemed to get under Shen Yi’s skin. Shen Yi hated that expression. It promised danger beneath the calm.

But despite the irritation, he forced himself to stay steady. There were questions burning in his mind that needed answers.

"Where am I?" Shen Yi asked, his voice steady but stern. "And why am I chained?"

 “It is your punishment.” Zhibiao said casually, his voice was relaxed and unhurried.

Before Shen Yi could speak again, Zhibiao’s hand reached out, fingers lifting Shen Yi’s chin with disarming gentleness—yet the control in his touch was unmistakable. He tilted Shen Yi’s face up, eyes trailing over the elegant line of his jaw to the subtle tension around his lips. Zhibiao’s gaze lingered there far too long, and something dark flickered behind his eyes.

There was a heat—hungry, possessive—rising in his expression.

Shen Yi slapped his hand away sharply, face taut with disgust. But it didn’t stop Zhibiao. The man’s hand returned immediately, this time firmer as it seized his jaw again. His other hand caught Shen Yi’s wrist before he could retaliate.

“You being feisty like this,” Zhibiao muttered with a low chuckle, leaning in close, his breath brushing against the shell of Shen Yi’s ear, “makes me turn on, you know that?”

Then, without warning, his tongue traced a slow line against Shen Yi’s neck.

A visible shudder ran through Shen Yi’s body, not from desire, but from revulsion. He turned his face away, teeth gritted, trying to pull back, but Zhibiao was already moving. The hand on his wrist shifted down, curling around his bottom cheek, yanking him forward until he was pressed flush against him. The grip was firm and unyielding.

“Trying to run again?” Zhibiao’s voice dropped, his tone darkening. “Go ahead. Try. But just remember…”

He leaned even closer, his mouth brushing against Shen Yi’s skin as he spoke each word slowly, deliberately:

“Every time you run—everyone who helps you… dies. One. By. One. Like those two losers.”

Shen Yi’s body went rigid.

His breath caught.

those two?

His mind flashed to the nightmare. The grotesque image of Wang Didi's lifeless eyes. His uncle’s blood-soaked shirt. He thought it wasn’t real, that it was just a dream—his mind tormenting him while he slept.

But now…?

Shen Yi’s eyes widened, horror dawning in slow, crushing waves.

His lips parted slightly, but no sound came. Just silence—thick, suffocating. The air felt heavier suddenly. The world narrowed to the low echo of Zhibiao’s words and the racing thud of his own heart.

So it wasn’t a dream.

It was real.

People died because of me…

A/N:
Hello lovely readers, what’s up y’all?! Have you heard about Revenged Love and ABO Desire? If not, you’re missing out—the dramas are amazing! I actually watched them when they were first released, but only just now got the chance to mention it here, hehe.
Anyway... enjoy this chapter! ^^

Chapter Text

⚠️ Trigger Warning: 18+ Content

This chapter contains quite explicit sexual content. So It is intended for mature audiences (18+) only. Reader discretion is advised, especially for those sensitive to depictions of psychological tension and blurred emotional boundaries.

Downstairs in his study, Zhibiao poured himself a glass of whiskey, the decanter catching the low lamplight like a blade of gold. The amber liquid swirled slowly as he tilted the glass in his hand, watching it catch the faint glow like liquid fire. He didn’t drink immediately—just stared at it, as though reading something hidden in its depths. The silence of the room was interrupted only by the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock, each second stretching thin and sharp like a blade on skin.

He brought the glass to his lips and took a slow sip, the burn sliding down his throat with familiar weight. Exhaling through his nose, Zhibiao let his fingers tap against the polished mahogany surface of the desk, but his eyes were unfocused. The documents laid out before him—contracts, shipment schedules, coded ledgers, envelopes stuffed with political bribes—meant to be reviewed tonight, all blurred together into one indistinct mass.

His thoughts weren’t here.

They were still upstairs.

On him.

The man curled beneath silk sheets and heavy blankets, pale and feverish, skin sheened with cold sweat. Shen Yi had trembled when Zhibiao laid a hand to his forehead earlier—his body weakened, pliant from exhaustion and whatever trace sedative was still burning through his system. Yet even then—even now—those sharp, calculating eyes hadn't dulled.

Zhibiao chuckled under his breath, low and humorless, almost fond in its cruelty.

How fragile he looked like that. Fever-drunk, breath uneven, eyes clouded yet defiant.

Good.

He didn’t want a toy that broke too easily.

Zhibiao leaned back in his chair, letting the glass dangle between his fingers. He already had his claws in him. Shen Yi didn’t need to know how deep they ran. But he would. Sooner or later, Shen Yi would understand that no matter how many times he resisted, clawed, screamed in his head, or shut himself down with silence… he was already here. In his bed. In his world. In a cage with velvet walls, one that moved with him like a shadow.

Knowing his mind couldn’t settle on business tonight, Zhibiao set the whiskey glass down with a soft clink against the polished wood. The amber liquid still shimmered from the motion, catching the low light like a pool of flame. But it no longer interested him. The contracts and logistics meant nothing now—they never did when Shen Yi occupied his thoughts.

He rose from his chair, hands slipping casually into his trouser pockets, and made his way out of the study. His footsteps were slow, unhurried, echoing faintly along the marbled corridor as he approached the grand staircase and ascended them with the same deliberate ease he applied to everything, his presence lingering in every space he passed.

Upstairs, the hallway was dim, shadows stretching long under the subtle glow of the sconces lining the wall. The bedroom door stood slightly ajar, the soft rustle of movement within pulling him like gravity. He stepped inside.

There he was.

Shen Yi lay curled on the bed, tangled in the blankets. The fever hadn’t broken yet—Zhibiao could see it in the way his brows knit even in sleep, the faint twitch of his fingers against the sheets, as if fending off something in a dream. His skin was too pale, mouth slightly parted as his breath came shallow.

Zhibiao stood beside the bed in silence, gazing down with an unreadable expression. For a moment, he didn’t move. Just looked.

Then, with the back of his hand, he reached out and brushed it against Shen Yi’s forehead. Still warm. Too warm.

The doctor had already come and gone—brought in quietly, no questions asked. He’d administered medication, injected a high-dose vitamin cocktail, and explained that the fever  most likely the body reacting to extreme stress. Mental strain manifesting physically.

Zhibiao’s personal doctor, who had been attending to him for years, knew the importance of treading carefully—especially now. Delivering this particular advice was no easy task, and he doubted it would be welcomed, given the kind of man Zhibiao was. But it had to be said: for the time being, Zhibiao needed to keep his hands off Shen Yi. No intimacy. No sex. Not until Shen Yi’s body had fully recovered and his strength returned.

Zhibiao narrowed his eyes at the doctor, his gaze sharp as a blade. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “You dare to order me?” he asked, voice laced with irritation.

The doctor had expected this reaction, but he remained composed. “Mr. Sun, I would never presume to order you,” he replied calmly. “It’s merely a medical recommendation. Shen Yi’s condition is still fragile. Not to mention, I notice a line what appears to be a small surgical scar behind his head. Any added physical or emotional stress—especially sexual activity—could worsen his state rather than help him recover.”

Zhibiao scoffed quietly, turning his head slightly as if the doctor’s words left a bitter taste in his mouth. His fingers curled loosely at his side, the nails tapping restlessly against his thigh.

“Fragile,” he repeated under his breath, as if testing the word, weighing it with disdain. “He’s mine. I know how to handle what’s mine.”

The doctor didn’t flinch. He’d known Sun Zhibiao long enough to recognize the dangerous edge in his tone—but also the stubborn protectiveness buried beneath it.

“I understand,” he said, his voice steady. “But your concern for him won’t mean much if his body collapses under pressure. I’m only telling you this because I believe you don’t want to break him permanently.”

That earned a cold glare from Zhibiao. His jaw tightened.

The silence stretched for a beat too long before he finally turned away, walking toward the window with heavy, deliberate steps. Outside, the city lights flickered far below, distant and insignificant.

Of course, the man knew Zhibiao well—he had been his personal physician for years, one of the few who understood where the line was and never dared cross it. There was no warmth between them, no familiarity outside professionalism. Zhibiao didn't allow that. And the doctor didn’t expect it either.

“I won’t touch him,” he said flatly, eyes narrowing. “But if he gives me a reason to do so... I won’t stop myself.”

The doctor didn’t respond. There was no point. With Zhibiao, the distinction between control and cruelty had ceased to exist long ago. 

He quietly placed the small container of medicine on the side table—pills to help bring down Shen Yi’s fever and stabilize his vitals. "Twice a day. With food, if possible," he said with a final glance, though he didn’t expect Zhibiao to follow the instructions precisely.

Soon after, the doctor finished and stepped back, gathering his things in silence. One of Zhibiao’s men approached from the hallway, giving a small nod before escorting him out. The door shut behind them with a soft click, the sound quickly swallowed by the thick silence that remained.

Back to the present, Zhibiao’s fingers lingered in the air, then slowly withdrew. He watched Shen Yi's sleeping form with unreadable face, the fragile rise and fall of his chest. 

Zhibiao sat motionless beside Shen Yi’s sleeping form, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting sharp shadows across his angular face. His dark eyes burned with an intensity that seemed almost too fierce for the quiet room. He watched every subtle rise and fall of Shen Yi’s chest, every shallow breath that betrayed the fragility beneath the stillness.

His fingers hovered for a moment before moving, tracing slow, reverent lines over the delicate curves of Shen Yi’s face. He memorized each detail as if it were a map only he was allowed to read—the smooth arch of his forehead, the faint crease of his brows pulled slightly together in discomfort, the gentle sweep of his eyelashes resting against pale skin, the sharp line of his nose, the firm curve of his jaw. Finally, his fingers paused at the lips—thin and dry from fever, yet impossibly soft, as if inviting him to touch, to taste.

A restless hunger flared inside Zhibiao’s chest. Shen Yi, so vulnerable and quiet in this moment, stirred a fierce desire that clawed beneath his skin. He wanted him—badly. But it was not simply the craving for physical closeness. What he longed for was the spark, the fire behind Shen Yi’s defiant eyes while beneath him—the way those eyes burned with fury and submission intertwined, the harsh, breathless moans that echoed in the darkness during their darkest moments. That was the real temptation, the intoxicating power play that no fever or weakness could replace.

Zhibiao’s jaw tightened, frustration rising like a bitter tide. The ache of want without release twisted inside him, raw and unforgiving. He groaned low, the sound muffled in the quiet room, his body betraying him with its hardness despite the cold distance he forced between them.

With a sharp exhale, Zhibiao stood abruptly, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor. The quiet room no longer calmed him—it agitated him. The sight of Shen Yi lying there, pale and motionless, only amplified the storm clawing at his insides. He cast one last glance at the sleeping figure, but there was no tenderness in it—only a smoldering frustration.

His strides were swift and deliberate as he exited the bedroom, his footsteps echoing down the corridor with purpose. His body thrummed with impatience, his hunger coiled too tightly to be ignored.

As he reached the living room, he found Wan Feng standing by the wall, ever vigilant. Without slowing his pace, Zhibiao turned his head slightly, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

“Watch him,” he ordered. “I don’t want him out of your sight. Not for a second. Anything happen—you report it to me immediately. Understood?”

Wan Feng gave a sharp nod. “Yes, sir.”

Zhibiao didn’t wait for further confirmation. He was already walking, already burning. Every second spent in that apartment only made the need claw harder at his chest.

Outside, Yun Zhi stood waiting beside the sleek black car, eyes flicking up as Zhibiao approached with urgency in his stride.

“Drive. To the hotel—and call someone. I need to fuck,” Zhibiao snapped as he climbed into the back seat, the door slamming shut behind him.

Yun Zhi didn’t speak. He simply gave a small nod, calm and efficient as always, before starting the engine. The tires rolled over the pavement with quiet urgency, the car slipping into the stream of city lights, swallowed by neon haze and the distant hum of midnight traffic.

Inside the vehicle, Zhibiao leaned back against the seat, but there was no ease in the motion. His jaw was locked tight, muscles coiled beneath his clothes like a spring pulled too far. His fingers twitched against his thigh, as though even his body couldn’t tolerate the restraint much longer.

The silence between them was thick—heavy with the tension that clung to Zhibiao like a second skin. Only the low growl of the engine filled the space, punctuated by the occasional flicker of headlights cutting across the tinted windows.

His eyes stared blankly at the passing blur of the city, but his mind was far from calm. The heat in his veins hadn’t cooled—it had only grown sharper, more restless. The ache refused to fade, coiling lower in his stomach, throbbing with the need for release.

Zhibiao stepped into the suite, the door clicking shut behind him like a final seal. The woman was already there—legs crossed, gaze heavy with invitation. Her smile curled with practiced seduction, but Zhibiao didn’t bother to return it. He didn’t care who she was. She was a placeholder, nothing more.

He crossed the room in long, deliberate strides, stripping off his jacket and shirt as he went. The hunger in his eyes wasn’t for her—it was for someone else entirely. Shen Yi. That name pulsed behind his eyes like a fever.

Their mouths collided, all teeth and heat. Her fingers clawed at his back, pulling him closer, but Zhibiao was already pushing her down onto the bed, his grip unforgiving. Fabric tore under his hands, scattering buttons across the sheets. She gasped, half in surprise, half in thrill, as he loomed over her, breath ragged.

His hands roamed over her figure—tracing her face, grazing her shoulder, lingering at her chest with a possessive edge. Then, without hesitation, he thrust into her body , the motion raw and unrelenting. And even as their bodies tangled in a rhythm that was more force than finesse, his mind was elsewhere. Every thrust, every growl, every whispered curse—none of it was for her.

“Ugh… Xiao Yi…” he muttered against her skin, voice hoarse, almost broken. He didn’t care if she heard—he barely registered her at all. His nails dug into her hips as he moved faster, harder, chasing something that refused to be caught. The woman beneath him moaned, her breath hitching with each motion, but it was meaningless noise. A hollow echo in a room that felt colder than it should.

In his mind, it was Shen Yi beneath him—eyes locked onto his with that maddening defiance, lips parted in something between rage and surrender. Zhibiao could almost feel the heat of that imagined stare, the tension in Shen Yi’s jaw, the way his body would resist just enough to make it intoxicating.

“Say my name,” he growled low, not to the woman, but to the phantom in his head. “Say it like you mean it.”

The woman whimpered something incoherent, her hands grasping at his back, nails dragging across his skin. “God… you’re intense,” she breathed, voice trembling between pleasure and uncertainty. “Don’t stop…”

But Zhibiao wasn’t listening. He shoved her wrists aside, his grip firm, eyes glazed with something darker than lust—something bordering on obsession.

She moaned again, softer this time. “You’re… nghhh… different than I expected,” she whispered between gasps, trying to meet his eyes. “Rough. And I like rough guys… oh God…”

But even as he neared the edge, it wasn’t satisfaction that met him—it was emptiness. A yawning void that no body could fill, no moan could silence. Yet the hunger didn’t fade. It twisted deeper inside him, sharp and relentless.

Zhibiao’s jaw clenched. His eyes didn’t move, but his voice cut through the silence like a blade.

“Don’t ask questions,” he said flatly. “And shut up.”

The woman blinked at Zhibiao’s cold command, but instead of recoiling, she turned toward him with a glint in her eye. Something about his sharp tone seemed to excite her. She leaned in and kissed him again—slow, deliberate, her body pressing against his as if trying to draw heat from his skin.

Zhibiao kissed her back, not with affection, but with hunger. Her breath hitched as she pulled away just long enough to speak.

“I don’t care who you’re thinking about while you’re fucking me,” she whispered, lips brushing his jaw. “But I like it. You can pretend I’m that Xiao Yi you mentioned… so, care for another round?”

Zhibiao stared at her, face unreadable. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. The mention of Shen Yi—his Xiao Yi—was enough to stir the ache again. The desire. The obsession.

Without a word, he rolled over her, claiming her once more.

And they continued—again and again—until the room was quiet, the sheets tangled, and both bodies lay spent in the dim glow of the city lights filtering through the curtains.

But even in exhaustion, Zhibiao’s mind didn’t rest. Shen Yi’s name still echoed in his thoughts, louder than any moan, sharper than any touch.

A/N:

Hellow my lovely readers~ How was the chapter today? 🥺
By the way, don’t be too surprised if you noticed a slight change in how I describe certain ahem mature moments in this one 😳 I was trying out a different tone, hehe.

But tell me—do you think Zhibiao is actually starting to care for Shen Yi here? Or is it still just that twisted possessiveness? 👀 I’d really love to hear your thoughts! 💕 Feel free to share them in the comments!

Also, tomorrow I might start editing “The Invisible Thread” and “Through Shattered Light.” If I finish them, I’ll post right away. If not… well, let’s see how lazy I get ahahaha 🤭

See you in the next chapter~ ♡

Chapter Text

The overhead lights in Du Cheng's office flickered faintly against the quiet hum of the city below. Files were stacked in uneven piles across his desk, open case folders scattered like puzzle pieces he was still trying to solve. His brows were furrowed as he flipped through another report, pen tapping absently against the wooden surface.

A soft knock echoed against the heavy door.

Du Cheng didn't look up. "Come in."

The door creaked open, He Rongyue stepped in with her white coat trailing behind her and a large white sealed envelope in her hand. Her steps were slow, hesitant, and her face lacked the usual spark of clinical satisfaction that came with solving a mystery.

Du Cheng finally looked up. His gaze flicked to the envelope, then narrowed at her expression. "You've got something?"

Rongyue nodded, wordless at first, before stepping closer to the desk. "The DNA results," she said quietly. "They just came in."

Her voice cracked—just barely—but enough for Du Cheng to notice. He stood up from his chair, eyes narrowing as they searched her expression. The envelope in her hands suddenly felt heavier, more ominous. He didn't wait for her to hand it over—he reached out and took it himself, his fingers brushing against hers in a brief, cold moment of contact.

They had waited two long weeks for this. Two weeks of silence, of questions gnawing at the back of his mind. And now... the answer had arrived.

Du Cheng broke the seal in one clean motion and pulled out the thin sheet of paper inside. His eyes scanned it quickly, line by line—then stopped.

The crease between his brows deepened.

"What the hell is this?" he muttered.

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried weight—like thunder from a distance. He looked up at He Rongyue again, her face unreadable except for the tension in her jaw and the slight droop in her shoulders.

He read the result again.

Name matched: Shen Yi.

"No..." His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible.

"It's confirmed," she said softly. "The DNA match is positive. The body... it's Shen Yi."

He looked up at Rongyue. "You're sure?"

She bit her lower lip. "Positive. The tissue samples from the charred body... they're a perfect match to Shen Yi's profile in the database."

Du Cheng stared at her, then down at the paper, and back at her again. Du Cheng's breath caught. He stared at her, searching her face for any sign of a mistake—some glimmer of doubt. But there was none. Her eyes were downcast, her voice steady despite the sadness in it.

"No," he said, almost instinctively. "No, that's not—" He looked back down at the report, reading it again, as if the words would magically change the second time. But they didn't.

The room was too quiet.

Du Cheng slammed the paper down on his desk with a sharp thud, the force echoing off the walls. He Rongyue flinched, barely managing to suppress it, her fingers curling against her coat.

He took a long, harsh breath, then leaned over to the office phone on his desk and punched in an internal extension.

"Officer Yan. My office now, please."

His voice was clipped—controlled—but the tremor of emotion underneath was unmistakable.

A few minutes later, the door opened with a soft creak.

Old Yan stepped in, looking a little tired but alert. "You called?"

Du Cheng didn't say anything at first. He picked up the test result, his eyes still not meeting Old Yan's. Then, without a word, he extended it toward him.

Old Yan took the paper with a puzzled frown. "What is—"

He didn't finish the sentence.

His eyes moved down the page. Silence fell again, heavier than before.

And then his breath hitched.

"...Shen Yi?" he whispered, disbelieving.

Du Cheng turned away, jaw clenched so tight it ached. He didn't want to see the look on Old Yan's face. Didn't want to admit it himself. His hand gripped the back of the chair, knuckles white.

No one said anything for a moment. Just the soft rustle of paper in Old Yan's trembling hands.

"Impossible," he muttered, almost to himself. "This—this doesn't make sense. Shen Yi can't be..."

Du Cheng's voice finally broke through. Low. Rough.

"We failed, Old Yan. We failed."

Old Yan finally exhaled and lowered the paper. "This doesn't make sense," he said, shaking his head. "This really doesn't make any damn sense."

But no one had an answer.

Only the paper remained on the desk between them—white, clinical, and cold.

------

The room was steeped in quiet luxury, its design a masterclass in understated opulence. Cream-toned walls, recessed lighting, and hardwood floors gave it a polished warmth, while the tufted headboard and plush bedding offered comfort without intimacy. It was a space meant for transience—elegant, efficient, and emotionally sterile. The kind of room where secrets could be buried beneath silk sheets and no one would ask questions.

Sun Zhibiao lay sprawled across the bed, half-covered by the beige duvet, his breathing slow but never fully surrendered to sleep. Even in rest, his senses remained alert. Years of living a double life had trained him to wake at the slightest disturbance. A knock, soft and deliberate, echoed through the room.

His eyes opened instantly.

Brows furrowed, he didn't move. "Who is it?" he asked, voice low, edged with irritation and sleep.

"It's Wang Feng, Mr. Sun." came the reply—calm, composed, familiar.

Zhibiao exhaled through his nose. "Come in," he murmured, still facing away, his body heavy with sleep but his mind already calculating.

The door opened with a muted click. Wang Feng stepped inside, dressed in black, his posture straight and respectful. He bowed his head and eyes remained lowered, not out of fear, but out of discipline. In Zhibiao's world, eye contact was reserved for moments that demanded it.

"I've been informed by that person that t

he order before was successfully carried out," Wang Feng said, his voice steady.

Zhibiao's eyes snapped open again, sharper now. He shifted slowly, turning to face his subordinate. The smirk that curled on his lips was subtle, but unmistakable—a predator pleased with the kill.

"No complications?" he asked, voice silk over steel.

"No one suspicious. No loose ends. Everything went as planned."

Zhibiao sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist. His gaze didn't waver. He studied Wang Feng like a chess master reviewing the final move of a game already won.

"Good," he said, voice low and satisfied. "Tell that person to keep things smooth. No mistakes. Ever."

"Yes, sir."

Zhibiao waved a hand dismissively. "You may go."

Wang Feng bowed again and exited without another word.

The door clicked shut, and silence reclaimed the room.

Zhibiao leaned back against the headboard, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips. His eyes drifted toward the city skyline beyond the glass—tall buildings glowing like embers against the fading dusk. He stared, but he wasn't seeing the city. He was seeing Shen Yi.

That face. That defiance. That vulnerability.

He imagined Shen Yi that currently asleep in the penthouse, unaware of the strings being pulled around him. The thought sent a thrill through Zhibiao's spine. His plans had unfolded perfectly. No mistakes. Just the slow tightening of control.

He'd been away from his penthouse for days—caught up in business, logistics, and the final stages of a scheme that revolved around Shen Yi like a moon tethered to its orbit. When the pressure mounted, he'd summon a woman to help him unwind, a temporary release from the tension coiled in his chest. But it was never enough. What he truly craved was Shen Yi—his body, his presence, the quiet defiance in his eyes. That was the relief he wanted, the addiction he couldn't shake.

The others were only distractions. Flesh without meaning. But Shen Yi... Shen Yi was the storm he liked. But as much as he's craving for his body, it was inconvenient for him to do so. Traveling between his working site, office, and penthouse just to indulge his desire would be inefficient. 

Zhibiao's fingers drummed lightly on the duvet. He hated being apart. But punishment was necessary. Shen Yi had tried to run—from this very hotel. That act of rebellion had sharpened Zhibiao's instincts, made him more possessive, more watchful.

Still, he was confident. Shen Yi wouldn't dare again. And even if he did... Zhibiao would always able to find him. 

----

Shen Yi sat in silence, the chain around his ankle cold and unmoving. The room was quiet—too quiet. He wasn't truly alone. Zhibiao had left behind two guards to watch him and a few maids to handle cleaning and cooking. But they were shadows in his world, speaking only when necessary, moving around him like he was fragile glass—or a ticking bomb.

Zhibiao hadn't come for days. And Shen Yi couldn't feel more relieved.

He felt free. Or at least, as free as one could feel while chained to a bedpost by the ankle.

It had been ten days since the fever broke. Ten days since Zhibiao last touched him, last whispered possessive promises against his skin. Shen Yi didn't know if the man was busy, distracted, or had simply grown bored. He hoped for the last. He prayed Zhibiao had moved on to someone else.

But right now, boredom was beginning to gnaw at him.

He'd read every book in the room—twice. Some pages were dog-eared now, corners softened from restless fingers flipping them over and over again, trying to pretend the words could still distract him. But they couldn't. The stories had faded. What remained was the silence between them.

He no longer wanted to escape.

Not because he'd grown comfortable—but because he feared that another attempt would cost someone else their life.

Again.

Zhibiao had made sure of that. Turned freedom into a loaded gun pointed at other people's heads. Shen Yi could still see the blood in his dreams—still heard the soft, deliberate sound of a body hitting the floor. He wasn't allowed to forget.

But even so... he wanted to go outside.

Not to run. Not to scream for help. Just to feel the sun again. The real kind. Not the one that bled weakly through tinted glass, dulled and distorted by a penthouse window. He missed the weight of the wind. The chaotic noise of the street. The simple freedom of choosing where to walk—even if it was nowhere at all.

Instead, he was tethered. The chain around his ankle scraped softly every time he moved, a cold metal kiss against skin already rubbed raw in places. It stretched far enough to let him use the bathroom, to walk the room's perimeter in slow circles like a caged animal. But never further.

Just enough.

A gift, Zhibiao had said.

A leash, Shen Yi had replied in silence.

He'd asked for art supplies before—pencils, charcoal, anything at all. Something to keep his hands busy, to quiet his mind, to fill the long, suffocating hours with something other than silence and helplessness. He was an art student, after all. Sketching and painting had always been second nature to him—his way of breathing, of making sense of the world. Now, stripped of that one outlet, boredom gnawed at him like rot beneath the skin. It wasn't just the stillness—it was the emptiness. Like something vital had been carved out of him and left hollow.

Yet that crazy guy had only smiled that sickening half-smile, the one that meant no even before the words came.

"Later," he said. "If you behave."

As if Shen Yi were a dog.

No, not even that. A dog might've earned affection.

He was a possession. A toy Zhibiao refused to discard. And every request was treated like a performance test—be quiet, be good, be soft. Then maybe, maybe, you'll get something.

Shen Yi scoffed aloud at the thought. That man was indeed had called him a plaything before. A toy. Something to be kept, used, and admired. 

Frustration surged through him like a wave. He grabbed the ceramic vase from the nightstand and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall, shards scattering across the floor like broken thoughts.

The sound drew immediate attention.

The guard stationed outside entered swiftly, eyes scanning the room. Shen Yi sat on the edge of the bed, panting, his chest rising and falling with fury. The guard didn't speak. He didn't ask questions. He simply turned to the hallway and called for the maid.

She arrived moments later—the maid was mid-fifties, with graying hair pulled into a neat bun and a quiet, cautious demeanor. She carried a broom and dustpan, her movements practiced and efficient. But when she looked at Shen Yi, her eyes softened with something else: concern. Sadness.

Shen Yi didn't meet her gaze. His eyes were fixed on the wall where the vase had shattered, as if the fragments held answers he couldn't reach.

The maid had been reassigned to Zhibiao's penthouse not long after Shen Yi was brought here. She'd worked at  Zhibiao's hotels before, just another cleaning staff member. And when the order came, she didn't protest. The pay was the same. The hours were manageable. She also knew—when her boss gave an order, there was no negotiation.

She didn't know Zhibiao in detail. Few did. But she'd heard enough.

He was cold. Ruthless. He was also a man who changed bed partners like seasons. But this young man... Shen Yi was different. He was the first one Zhibiao had kept this long. The staff whispered about it—maids and even guards. But they spoke in hushed tones. Too much talk could cost them their jobs. Or worse.

She'd seen the dark side of her employer. Not the full picture, but enough to feel the chill in her bones. Enough to know that kindness had no place in his world. So she swept the shards quietly, carefully, never speaking unless spoken to.

And as she worked, she stole one more glance at Shen Yi—this young man trapped in silk sheets and golden chains. A prisoner dressed in comfort. A soul slowly unraveling.

A/n:

Hello, lovely readers!

I finally managed to update the next chapter—sorry for the delay! TvT I’ve been so busy I barely had time to touch my laptop. How are you liking the story so far?

Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos—they truly mean a lot. I actually have two stories: one about Du Cheng and Shen Yi(Horror), and this one that technically focuses more on Sun Zhibiao and Shen Yi. Hehe

which genre do you prefer? Horror or action thriller like this? I’d love to hear your thoughts! For me, I love horror more, but I’ve realized this genre I’m working on isn’t too bad, more like I'm obsessed (hiding my face while peeking). Since the real series leans more toward bromance, and honestly, Chinese bromance series are my current favorite.

And adding Sun Zhibiao as a ruthless character really turns up the heat when i imagine Shen Yi character in the drama Hahaha. 

there was other fans even wondering what if Sun Zhibiao and Shen yi real character met each other, it would be like bamm 0_o  And that's where Zhibiao x Shen yi born within me.

What about you guys? ^v^

Chapter Text

⚠️ Trigger Warning: Mature Content. Reader discretion is strongly advised. Please proceed only if you feel comfortable engaging with intense and potentially triggering material.

The soft click of the lock turning barely stirred the silence of the room, but it was enough to rouse the shadows. The door creaked open at 2 AM, letting in the dim light from the hallway. And there he was—Sun Zhibiao—framed in that sliver of darkness, his figure cutting through the stillness like a blade.

He didn't speak and eyes landed directly on the bed.

There, bathed in moonlight and unaware of the looming presence at his door, Shen Yi lay on his side. Breathing slow. Chest gently rising and falling. His features soft in sleep, lips slightly parted. Fragile. Quiet. Still.

Zhibiao's tongue pressed against the back of his teeth as something dark flickered in his expression.

Desire.

Possession.

That sick hunger he'd never quite hidden.

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him with a soft thud. Removed his navy blue suit and tossed it onto the armchair. Loosened his tie, slow and deliberate. Each movement stripped away the illusion of civility until only his intent remained—bare, predatory.

He unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt as he moved, footsteps silent across the floor. His gaze never wavered from the figure in bed.

Shen Yi.

God, he'd been waiting for this.

Waiting to touch what he'd claimed. Waiting for that face to be his again, up close. Not just from the surveillance cameras—but here, within reach. Zhibiao stood beside the bed, shadow draping over Shen Yi's calm, sleeping expression. His eyes lingered on the soft curve of his cheek and the way the stray strands of hair brushed against his temple.

He reached out, fingers hovering just inches from Shen Yi's face, not yet touching. Just watching. Drinking him in. The quiet rise and fall of Shen Yi's chest was maddening. Zhibiao's jaw tightened. He put his palm before to the side of Shen Yi's face and leaned closer, breath brushing against his skin.

Zhibiao then reached out with another of his hand, fingers brushing along Shen Yi's jaw—delicate and cold. His eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheeks. His mouth—soft, vulnerable, pink—parted just slightly with each breath.

Zhibiao's fingers slid to Shen Yi's shoulder. With a quiet tug, he turned him onto his back, the blanket sliding down to reveal the narrow curve of his collarbone beneath the loose shirt.

And then, his lips crashed against Shen Yi's with feral hunger, no patience, no warning—just pure, unfiltered craving. His hand cupped the side of Shen Yi's face, thumb pressing into the cheekbone as if to hold him in place, to own him, to keep him from slipping away like he always tried to do.

Shen Yi jolted.

A muffled gasp. A flutter of lashes. Confusion.

His hands came up instinctively to push—but Zhibiao didn't let up. He deepened the kiss, teeth grazing Shen Yi's lower lip like a threat, like a promise. He wanted him to feel it even in sleep, wanted his taste to burn into him, wanted—

Shen Yi's fists weakly pushed at his chest, but the lack of strength only fed the fire.

Zhibiao finally pulled back, breath heavy, eyes dark.

Shen Yi stared up at him now—half-lucid, chest heaving, lips damp from the kiss. His brows furrowed in confusion, terror, exhaustion.

"Zhi...biao—?"

"Shhh." Zhibiao's thumb wiped his bottom lip, smearing the kiss he'd just stolen. "Days didn't see you, now you looking more delicious than ever, kitten."

His voice was low, almost gentle. But the heat behind it—obsessive, consuming—made it terrifying.

Shen Yi didn't answer. Didn't move. His body frozen, heart racing. He didn't cry, didn't beg. He just lay there, eyes wide, the heavy silence between them pressing like a vice.

Zhibiao tilted his head. Smirked.

Zhibiao didn't wait. His lips crashed against Shen Yi's again, fiercer this time. Shen Yi's body jerked beneath him, hands instinctively rising to push him away, but Zhibiao caught both wrists and pinned them above Shen Yi's head, locking them in place against the mattress.

Shen Yi's feet kicked in the air, frantic, as if the motion alone could lift him out of this moment, out of this man. But Zhibiao had already shifted—no longer beside him, now fully on top, pressing down with weight and heat and hunger.

His mouth moved over Shen Yi's with relentless force, lips and teeth and breath all tangled in a rhythm that felt more like consumption than affection. It wasn't a kiss. More like devouring.

Shen Yi gasped against him, chest rising in panic, but Zhibiao didn't pull away. Not yet. Not until he'd burned the taste of him into memory.

Finally, Zhibiao released him, pulling back just enough for air. Shen Yi coughed, breath ragged, lips red and damp from the assault.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Shen Yi snapped, voice hoarse, fury flaring in his eyes. But instead getting a verbal replied, he widen his eyes as Zhibiao fingers gripped the fabric of Shen Yi's shirt, knuckles white with force—and then, with a savage pull, the cloth tore open, buttons scattering like broken promises. Shen Yi gasped as cool air hit his chest, the sudden exposure making his skin prickle.

"What the hell—Zhibiao!" he shouted, twisting beneath him.

But Zhibiao didn't flinch. His grip stayed locked around Shen Yi's wrists, pinning them above his head with unrelenting force. His eyes were glued to the bare chest beneath him, pupils blown wide, breath coming in sharp bursts.

"Damn," he muttered. "You're a man, but you make me want to be inside you every damn time. You drive me insane, Xiao Yi."

Shen Yi's body went rigid, every nerve screaming to fight, to escape—but Zhibiao leaned in, mouth hovering just above his skin, close enough to make him shiver.

"Get off me," Shen Yi snarled, twisting hard, but Zhibiao's grip didn't budge. His fingers dug into Shen Yi's wrists, and his weight pressed down like a cage.

"I'm not here to ask," Zhibiao growled. "I'm here to take what's mine."

Then, without releasing his hold, Zhibiao shifted his weight, dragging Shen Yi's pants down with one hand—rough, fast, unforgiving. Shen Yi gasped, now fully exposed, panic rising like bile.

And when Zhibiao reached for unzipping his pants, breath ragged, arousal plain in the way he looked at Shen Yi. Shen Yi's breath caught. The sight of him—hard and ready—sent a fresh wave of fear through his chest. Then Zhibiao began to force his way in, slow and deliberate, where Shen Yi was still tight and unready.

Shen Yi screamed—sharp, raw, the pain blooming below unbearable—while Zhibiao moaned, lost in the heat that wrapped around him. His movements shifted, slow at first, then faster, relentless, rocking the body beneath him with growing hunger.

Shen Yi's cries blurred into broken moans, pain and confusion tangled in every breath. His body trembled beneath Zhibiao's weight, muscles straining, breath hitching with every thrust that tore through his resistance.

"It—hurts. Zhibiao, I... please..."

His voice cracked, barely more than a whisper, swallowed by the rhythm of flesh against flesh. But Zhibiao didn't slow. Lips brushed Shen Yi's cheek, then claimed his mouth—deep, possessive, silencing the protest with heat. The kiss tasted of hunger, of triumph, of something darker that made Shen Yi's stomach twist.

"You feel too good and so tight like it was specially made for me."

The words poured into him like poison and fire. Shen Yi turned his face away, but Zhibiao followed, lips grazing his jaw, breath hot and ragged.

"Don't fight it. You're mine. Say it."

A hand slid up Shen Yi's chest, fingers grazing a nipple—then circling it, teasing, pinching just enough to make him gasp. His back arched involuntarily, a sound escaping his throat that he didn't recognize as his own.

"Stop—ah—don't..."

The moan slipped out before he could swallow it, shame flooding his face. He bit his lip, hard, as if pain could erase the betrayal of his own body.

"Your mouth says no. But your body..."

Zhibiao's fingers pinched harder, cruel and deliberate.

"It begs."

Shen Yi squeezed his eyes shut, trying to disappear into the dark behind his eyelids. But the sensations wouldn't let him. Every thrust, every touch, every word carved deeper into him. His body burned, not with desire, but with humiliation—his skin too hot, his chest too tight, his breath too shallow.

He hated the way his body responded. Hated the heat blooming low in his belly. Hated the way Zhibiao's voice made something inside him shudder.

And yet, he couldn't stop the next sound from escaping—a broken, breathless whimper that made Zhibiao smile against his skin.

Zhibiao's smile lingered against Shen Yi's skin, but it wasn't soft. It was feral—like he'd won something sacred, something he'd been starving for.

"You hear that?" His voice was low, reverent. "That sound you make... it's mine."

He thrust deeper, slower now, savoring every inch, every tremble. Then his breath hitched, hips stuttering as pleasure overtook him. A shuddering moan escaped his throat as he spilled inside Shen Yi, body trembling with release.

Shen Yi's own body arched—as a wave of sensation broke through him. His release came in silence, outside, shameful and raw. Tears spilled freely down his cheeks, not just from pain, but from the humiliation that soaked through every inch of him. Shen yi closed his eyes, thinking it's finally over.

But Instead, he felt it—Zhibiao still inside him, still hard, and now moving.

"No—" A sob tore from his throat. "Stop. Aren't you finished?!"

Zhibiao leaned in, lips brushing Shen Yi's ear.

"I did. But I'm not done."

A slow thrust followed—deliberate, cruel, like a promise he had no intention of breaking.

"You think one time is enough? After everything I imagined?" His voice darkened, bitter. "Those women never satisfied me. Not once. Because of you."

Another thrust. Harder.

"So why should I stop now, when I'm still hard for you?"

Shen Yi's eyes flew open, panic rising like a flood.

"No... please, I can't—"

"You can." Another thrust. "You will."

The rhythm quickened, relentless. Shen Yi's body betrayed him again, moans spilling from his lips no matter how tightly he clenched his jaw.

"Ah—nngh... stop..." His voice cracked, breath hitching. "Zhi... Zhibiao... please..."

But Zhibiao didn't stop. He watched Shen Yi unravel, each sound a thread pulled loose.

"Don't... I—ahh... I hate you..." A sob laced with pleasure. "Why does it feel... like this..."

And with that, the room filled with the sounds of two men—one lost in obsession, the other drowning in despair. The sun began to rise, casting pale light across tangled sheets and bruised skin.

Eventually, they slept.

One with a quiet smile, limbs heavy with satisfaction, wrapping himself around the other like possession made flesh.

The other had passed out—tears drying on his cheeks, brow furrowed, breath still uneven.

Chapter Text

The afternoon light slanted through the narrow window, casting pale gold across the polished floor of Shen Yi's confined room. He sat there, motionless, spine pressed against the wall, knees drawn up as if to shield himself from the emptiness. The days had blurred—each one bleeding into the next, marked only by the rhythm of Zhibiao's presence.

This place, once unfamiliar, had become a cage. Not just for his body, but for every thought that tried to escape. The silence was no longer quiet—it was oppressive, gnawing at his chest with every breath.

Zhibiao stayed here now. Slept here. Took him almost every night.

Shen Yi's body ached from it—tired in ways sleep couldn't fix. His limbs felt hollow, his skin too thin. The nights were long, cruel, and filled with the kind of intimacy that left him feeling less like a person and more like a possession.

Last night had been no different. Zhibiao had whispered against his neck after it was over, voice low and satisfied.

"I'll leave you be tomorrow," he'd said. "You need to collect yourself. Don't want you passing out before I've had my fill."

Shen Yi hadn't replied. He couldn't. His throat had been raw, his mind frayed.

Now, he sat by the window, watching the light shift across the floor. The promise of one night's reprieve did little to soothe him. It only reminded him how little control he had—how even mercy was something Zhibiao dispensed like a gift.

He heard the door open.

Zhibiao emerged from the bathroom, steam trailing behind him like a ghost. His body was wrapped in a bathrobe, damp hair clinging to his forehead, and that sick smile already curling on his lips as he walked slowly toward Shen Yi.

Swallowing the lump of defiance, Shen Yi finally dared to break the silence. "Zhibiao," he called softly from the doorway, voice steady despite the ache inside. "I want to go outside. Just for a while. I can behave. I promise."

Zhibiao's steps halted mid-stride.

A long pause followed—thick, suffocating. Then Zhibiao's voice, cold and unyielding, slithered through the room like a whip. "Outside? Do you think you have that freedom? You belong here—within these walls, under my watch. No."

Shen Yi's shoulders slumped, but he forced himself to hold his gaze steady. "I just want to breathe. You can have someone watch me. Put that stupid chain on me if you want. I'm not asking for much. It's suffocating in here."

Zhibiao's laugh was low, laced with cruel amusement.

"Suffocating?" He stepped closer, eyes gleaming. "Good. You should learn what consequences feel like."

Shen Yi's mind raced, bitter frustration twisting through him like wire. Even if he managed to step beyond the threshold of this room, escape was a fantasy. Every inch of the estate was shadowed by unblinking eyes—guards stationed like statues, cameras sweeping every corridor, and Zhibiao's presence looming like a storm cloud.

He wasn't just a prisoner of four walls.

He was trapped in a cage made of invisible chains—and the very real one Zhibiao had locked around his ankle.

"But.." Zhibiao didn't laugh this time. He stood still, robe clinging to his damp skin, eyes gleaming with something colder than amusement. The silence between them stretched, taut as wire.

"If you want to go outside" he said at last, voice low and almost thoughtful. "You need to earn it."

Shen Yi's spine stiffened. "How?"

Zhibiao stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until the scent of steam and skin filled Shen Yi's lungs. He stopped just beside him, gaze lingering.

Then, with a strange gentleness, he reached out and brushed Shen Yi's hair back from his face—fingers trailing through the strands like he was petting something fragile.

Shen Yi flinched, but didn't pull away.

The gentleness didn't last.

Zhibiao's hand slid deeper, fingers curling into Shen Yi's hair before gripping it—not violently, but firm enough to make Shen Yi hiss through his teeth.

"Show me you've learned your place," he murmured, leaning in. "Right here. Now."

Shen Yi's breath caught. "What do you mean?"

Zhibiao tilted his head, still holding the grip, forcing Shen Yi to look up at him.

"Kneel," he said. "Look me in the eye and say you belong to me. Say you want to be mine. And would never think of an escape anymore."

The words landed like stones in Shen Yi's chest.

He stared at Zhibiao, searching for a crack in the mask, a hint of joke or something. And yet there was none. Only hunger and control.

"I—"

Zhibiao's grip tightened just slightly, enough to remind him who held the reins.

"No lies. No hesitation. You want the garden? Then give me truth. Give me devotion."

Shen Yi's gaze flicked to the window. Afternoon light spilled across the floor, warm and golden. Outside, the wind stirred the trees. He hadn't felt fresh air in weeks. His skin longed for it. His lungs ached for it.

One hour. One breath.

He then slowly put down his feet and lowered himself slowly to his knees, every movement deliberate, every muscle screaming.

"I belong to you, Zhibiao" he said, voice steady but hollow. "I want to be yours. And I would never try to escape from you."

Zhibiao smiled, satisfied. He released Shen Yi's hair, brushing his thumb across his cheek like a reward.

"Good job," he said, voice smooth with satisfaction. "Tomorrow, you'll walk outside. With someone I choose."

He leaned in, close enough for Shen Yi to feel the heat of his breath. "But listen carefully—if I hear even a whisper of you trying to run, if I see one step out of line..."

A pause. A smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"I'll kill everyone in your little... family. And you? You'll never see the sun again."

He turned and walked away, leaving Shen Yi kneeling—body trembling, pride bleeding, but eyes locked on the light beyond the glass.

----

Morning came slowly, bleeding pale light across the room, soft and cold against the shadows clinging to the corners.

Shen Yi stirred, lids heavy, his breath catching the moment he became aware of the arm slung firmly around his waist. Zhibiao's hold was unyielding even in sleep, a quiet, unconscious claim. His chest pressed solid and warm against Shen Yi's back, his breath fanning over the side of his neck in slow, even waves. 

Day after day, this was the routine. Wake up. Breathe through the ache lodged somewhere between his ribs and his throat. And if he's lucky enough, Zhibiao would leave him untouched through the night. Regardless the hollow days that kept filling him. Still, there was a quiet gratitude—bitter and reluctant—that the man had finally allowed him into the garden outside. 

Of course, there was always someone watching him, always a shadow trailing behind. Zhibiao claimed he knew Shen Yi had given up on escaping, but still... he wanted proof. A little more certainty.

A weary sigh slipped past his lips, the sound barely more than a whisper in the stillness.

Had it been a month? Longer? He had asked himself that same question in the first days after the kidnapping, back when time still had edges and meaning. But now, the days bled together into an indistinguishable haze—no sunrise or sunset felt different, no night darker than the last. The concept of time had dissolved into something shapeless and endless.

He wasn't the type to seek out crowds or outings. Before all this, his days were spent in quiet corners—paintbrush in hand, sketchbook balanced on his knee, learning new techniques under Mr. Xu's patient guidance.

Right. Mr. and Mrs. Xu.

The thought surfaced like a ripple in still water, unsteady and unwelcome.
Were they worried?
Did they even know?

He pictured Mrs. Xu fussing with the tea set, her brows drawn tight, and Mr. Xu at the studio, staring at an unfinished canvas but not really seeing it. The image was so vivid it ached. But just as quickly, another question slipped in—what if they weren't worried at all? What if they believed he had simply gone off on one of his whims?

That question haunted him daily, looping through his mind like a broken reel. And Zhibiao had also found out about them as Shen Yi cared people. One wrong move, and that maniac would kill them without hesitation.

He'd also learned that from a brief conversation with Mrs. Cheng a few days ago—where Zhibiao went to a business trip. The maid who always brought him breakfast. She wasn't close to Zhibiao, didn't know much, but she'd heard things from former staff at the hotel.

Zhibiao never kept anyone longer than a night.

One night. That was his pattern. Use, discard, forget.

So when they heard about Shen Yi, the staff whispered maybe—just maybe—the man had finally fallen in love.

Shen Yi scoffed internally, a cold chuckle rising in his throat.

Love? Fucking love?

That man knew nothing about love. Nothing but sex and the twisted wiring of a psychopath's brain.

Zhibiao kept him because he was fun to break. Fun to use. That was all.

Everything else was just a story people told themselves to make the monster seem human.

"Wake up already?" Shen Yi flinched as he felt a touch on his lips as he was too immersed in his own thought.

But even so, he refused to answer the man. He felt the bed behind him moved deeper as the man now sit and stretching his body. While Shen yi back still facing him.

"I heard you've behaved well these past few days," Zhibiao said, voice smooth with satisfaction. "That's good. So I was planning to reward you—with a painting set. Would you want that?"

Shen Yi's ears twitched. He sat up abruptly, eyes wide with disbelief.

"You will?" His face showed only surprise, but inside, a flicker of joy sparked. Something to do. Something related with his passion. Something that could break the monotony of this hell.

Zhibiao smirked. "One condition."

Shen Yi's brows furrowed, confused. "What?"

"Kiss me. A hot one."

Shen Yi's confusion hardened into a glare. "What?!"

"Don't make me repeat myself. You heard me. You want the reward? Then do as I say."

"You said it's because I behaved. Why the sudden change of mind?" He scoffed, laying back on the bed. "Forget it."

But before he could settle, his ankle was yanked—Zhibiao's grip firm, eyes dark with irritation.

"I said: kiss me. Or I'll kiss you. And trust me, once I start, I won't stop at just your lips, Xiao Yi."

Shen Yi's hands curled into fists so tight his nails dug into his palms. His jaw locked, each muscle drawn taut as if the pressure alone could keep the heat in his chest from spilling out. His eyes found Zhibiao's—sharp, defiant, a glare like the edge of a blade that dared to cut.

He moved, slow and deliberate, pushing himself up from where he'd been lying until he was kneeling on the mattress. The air between them thickened. Zhibiao sat beside him, his gaze heavy with a predator's patience. That faint, crooked curl of his lips was almost a smile—almost, but not quite.

Shen Yi's throat felt tight. His breath came shallow, as if every inhale scraped against something jagged. He had never kissed anyone before. Every time before, Zhibiao had been the one to take, to press until the world narrowed to his grip and his breath. And Shen Yi... had only endured.

Now, the weight of the moment pressed on him differently— as a demand. A silent, unyielding command in Zhibiao's gaze: Your move. 

He hesitated, then leaned in, lips brushing Zhibiao's—soft, tentative, barely a touch.

Zhibiao chuckled. "I said a hot one, kitten."

The nickname echoed in Shen Yi's mind, twisting his stomach into tight knots of disgust and fury. His pulse hammered painfully, a wild fire blazing through his veins. Without thinking, he reached up and gripped Zhibiao's face with both hands, fingers digging just enough to claim control, to push back against the weight of the unspoken ownership that hung between them.

He pressed his lips hard against Zhibiao's, forcing himself to mimic the touch that had been inflicted on him so many times before. His lips moved cautiously at first, then with more certainty, sucking gently as if to reclaim a piece of himself lost in every forced encounter. He fought the rising heat curling deep in his chest, the fierce ache that threatened to overwhelm him.

Zhibiao responded immediately, his tongue slipping inside with a smooth, practiced motion that tasted of danger and desire. Zhibiao's hand slid up to the nape of Shen Yi's neck, fingers tightening just enough to pull him closer. The kiss deepened, breath growing scarce as their bodies leaned into the electric pull between them—each gasp and sigh a battle between submission and rebellion.

When they finally broke apart, Zhibiao exhaled a slow, satisfied sigh, eyes dark with hunger and something else—admiration, maybe? He didn't give Shen Yi time to catch his breath before pulling him back in. His lips trailed down, soft and teasing, to suck at Shen Yi's lower lip like it was the sweetest candy, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.

"Mmm," Zhibiao murmured, voice low and rough. "Sweet."

The hunger in his eyes ignited again as his fingers found the edge of Shen Yi's robe. With deliberate slowness, he tugged it down and it pooling around his waist like a silken surrender, baring pale, smooth skin beneath. 

Zhibiao put his hand on Shen Yi's back, fingers curled possessively against bare skin, when the knock came.

Zhibiao stilled, his breath caught mid-motion as the heat between them fractured.

He cursed silently, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he pulled back just enough to glare toward the door.

While Shen Yi, felt the interruption like a lifeline. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, relief and embarrassment tangled in his throat and he thankful to whoever knocked the door. 

"Come in," Zhibiao said, voice clipped and cold, the edge unmistakable.

The door creaked open. Wang Feng stepped inside, eyes respectfully lowered, though the tension in the room was palpable.

He bowed, then straightened. "Forgive me for interupting. But I want to inform that Mr. Wu is downstairs, sir. He said he had an appointment with you here today."

Zhibiao's nostrils flared. His gaze flicked to Shen Yi—half-dressed and lips parted.

"Alright, tell him to wait." he said to Wang Feng.

Then, to Shen Yi, he spoke beside his ears in low and deliberate: "We'll continue later, kitten."

He turned and strode out, leaving Shen Yi alone in the charged silence, robe fallen, heart pounding with still clenching fists.

A/N:
Hello my lovely readers 💕✨ Here’s a double update for you guys today 🎉📖 I honestly don’t know what else to say hahaha 😅 but I really hope you’ll enjoy this chapter 💖💭

Chapter Text

⚠️ Warning: This story contains mentions of drug use. Reader discretion is advised.

Zhibiao changed into a tailored suit—sleek, dark, and sharp enough to match his mood. The interruption upstairs still lingered in his mind, but he pushed it aside as he descended to the penthouse lobby, where Mr. Wu Baihao was already waiting.

Wu stood with his usual relaxed posture, hands in his pockets, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Congratulations," he said as Zhibiao approached. "The numbers came in this morning. You didn't just hit the mark—you shattered it."

Zhibiao offered a cool smile. "Of course. You know that I don't aim for average."

They settled into the lounge, drinks served without request. The conversation flowed easily—project milestones, unexpected returns, future expansions. Then, as Wu leaned back to stretch, his gaze drifted toward the entrance.

A man was walking past—elegant, quiet, with a guard trailing behind him. Wu's eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity flickering across his face.

Zhibiao followed his line of sight and saw Shen Yi stepping into the garden, sunlight catching on his pale skin, robe fluttering slightly in the breeze.

"Who are you looking at?" Zhibiao asked, voice low, alert.

Wu turned back, expression unreadable. "That guy. You know him?"

Zhibiao's jaw tightened. "Yes. He's my new pet."

Wu raised his brows, amusement lighting his features. He clapped his hands once, a soft sound of surprise.

"Damn, Mr. Sun. You never failed to surprise me," he said, leaning forward, palm resting on the arm of the couch. "Your taste never fails to impress. Always something pretty."

Zhibiao didn't react, but his posture shifted—arms spreading across the back of the couch, relaxed, almost performative.

"But I've never seen you with a man before," Wu continued, voice casual, eyes sharp. "Did I miss something? Or did your preferences suddenly evolve?"

A mocking smile tugged at Zhibiao's lips, shadowed by a trace of disgust "Nah. Never did it with a man before. Never even thought about it."

He glanced toward the garden again, eyes lingering on Shen Yi's silhouette.

"He's the first. Never expected it, but... he's interesting enough to keep as my new pet."

Wu's gaze lingered on the garden entrance, then drifted back to Zhibiao with a slow smile. "Interesting enough to keep, huh?" His tone was light, but the glint in his eyes was anything but casual. "You say that like you've already tested his limits."

"He's... you know?" Zhibiao traced the air idly, searching for the words to pin down Shen Yi's attitude. "Fun to play with. And a pretty man, too. The first time I saw him, He gave me this sudden thrill of defiance, a challenge that made me wonder how he'd act on my bed. How...that fire in his eyes would look when he's beneath me. So I made it happen."

Wu clasped his hands in disbelief, smiling so amazed at the man after the explanation. He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees, voice dipping into something more intimate. "And gave himself to you?"

Zhibiao's lips curved—just barely. "No. He's not easy to tame. He barks and bites every chance he gets. And I make sure he's punished for every act of disobedience. Every time."

Wu chuckled, clearly entertained. "So he resists. That's new for you. Why keep him if he keeps resisting?"

Zhibiao shifted, draping his arms across the back of the couch as if the whole room belonged to him, eyes narrowing with lazy amusement. "Because the moment resistance breaks... when they finally kneel—" his smile deepened, cold, "—that's the sweetest victory."

Wu's brows lifted, something between surprise and intrigue flickering in his gaze. "You sound... dangerously invested."

Wu tilted his head, studying him. "But what if he never kneels?"

Zhibiao's gaze shifted from lazy amusement to something sharper, colder. The faint smile never left his lips. "Then I'll break him slowly. Strip away every shield he hides behind until there's nothing left but the obedience I want."

Wu let out a quiet huff of laughter, the sound carrying more amusement than warmth. His lips curved, eyes glinting as he regarded Zhibiao like someone watching a familiar act unfold. "Still the same, Zhibiao. Always breaking your toys before you claim them."

He leaned back casually, hands resting lightly on his thighs. "Tell me..." His gaze sharpened, the corners of his mouth twitching with intrigue. "Would you be interested in bringing this one to our little party?"

Zhibiao's eyes narrowed slightly, a faint, calculating smile curling his lips. "Our little party, huh?" He paused, voice low and steady. "I don't usually share my toys... but maybe this one's worth showing off."

He leaned forward just a fraction, the hint of a challenge flickering in his gaze. "But don't get any ideas—he's mine first."

-----------

The VIP room pulsed with low music and dim, moody lighting. Velvet-lined walls soaked in the scent of expensive liquor and cologne. A few high-profile guests lounged on leather couches, murmuring over crystal glasses, but the energy shifted when Zhibiao entered.

He wore a tailored black suit, sharp as a blade, the lapels catching the light like polished obsidian. His presence was magnetic—cool, composed, and unmistakably dominant. Every step he took was deliberate, every glance a silent command. He didn't need to speak to own the room.

Behind him, Shen Yi followed.

He wore a black and gold sequined jacket, the shimmer catching the bar's ambient glow with every movement. A delicate floral pin—white petals tinged with orange—rested near his collarbone, incongruous in its softness. Beneath the jacket, a sheer black top clung to his frame, elegant but vulnerable. A string of pearls circled his neck like a leash disguised as jewelry.

Shen Yi's hairstyle is effortlessly striking—short, dark, and tousled with just enough wave to suggest movement and texture. It's the kind of look that doesn't scream for attention but commands it anyway. The slightly messy styling gives it a modern, casual edge, while the natural volume adds softness around the face. He's just looking so damn attractive right now to make the four people inside looking at him with amazed and stunned.

Zhibiao settled into the center couch, legs crossed, one arm draped over the backrest like a throne. Shen Yi stood for a moment, uncertain, before Zhibiao gestured with a flick of his fingers.

"Sit."

Shen Yi obeyed, lowering himself beside Zhibiao carefully, making sure not to touch him. His expression was stern and upset, still unsettled from the slap he had just received.

The burn on his cheek lingered—not from pain, but from the harsh reminder of his position. Zhibiao had made it brutally clear: refusal was not an option.

A server approached, eyes flicking between the two men. Zhibiao ordered whiskey, while Shen Yi said nothing. With a casual tilt of his head toward Shen Yi: "Same goes with him."

Shen Yi remained silent, his posture composed but tight. The sequins on his jacket shimmered under the low light, catching every eye in the room.

Across the table, Mr. Wu lounged with a woman curled against his side, her fingers tracing the rim of his glass. He raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his voice.

"So you indeed dare show him off like this," he said, pressing the word this like a challenge.

Zhibiao chuckled, the sound smooth and self-satisfied. "Of course. Here he is. My beautiful possession—Shen Yi."

Shen Yi's jaw clenched, but he didn't move.

Another man seated beside Wu leaned forward, swirling his drink. "Not only successful in business, but you have excellent taste in partners. Heard you've kept him for quite some time. That's a first."

Zhibiao's smile widened, basking in the praise. "Of course. Anything I choose must be perfect."

He turned to Shen Yi, hand reaching out to grab his jaw—not gently, but with a firm grip that forced Shen Yi's face toward him.

"And this one," he said, voice low and deliberate, "is so much better in bed."

The table laughed. The woman beside Wu giggled behind her glass.

Shen Yi's eyes burned.

God knew how much he wanted to beat this man.

How dare he speak about him like that? As if he were a product. As if his body, his pride, his silence were just part of Zhibiao's collection.

He had already been used. Bent. Broken in private.

And now—now Zhibiao was humiliating him in front of his friends, reducing him to a brag, a conquest, a thing.

Shen Yi's fingers curled into fists in his lap. Because as much as he wanted to beat this man, he couldn't. 

The VIP room grew louder as the night stretched on. Laughter echoed off velvet walls, glasses clinked, and the scent of expensive cologne mingled with smoke and sweat. Music pulsed low from the speakers, a sultry rhythm that matched the mood.

Mr. Wu sang along to an old pop ballad, off-key but enthusiastic, while the woman beside him giggled and fed him fruit from a crystal dish. Another man challenged the group to a drinking game, and soon the room was filled with shouts and teasing dares.

Zhibiao didn't participate much—he sat back, whiskey in hand, watching with a faint smirk. His presence was enough to command attention without effort.

Shen Yi remained silent in the corner of the couch, legs crossed, hands folded neatly in his lap. He hadn't touched his drink. He hadn't spoken. Thankfully, Zhibiao hadn't forced him to join the games or the singing. He was there to be seen, not heard.

Then Mr. Zhang, who had been sitting across from Mr. Wu, leaned forward with a half-drunk grin.

"By the way, I have a new product," he said, voice slurred but eager. "Just came in last week. Imported. Clean. And strong."

The room quieted slightly, attention shifting.

Mr. Zhang pulled a small vial from his jacket pocket and held it up between two fingers. "This stuff? Makes you feel like you're floating. Perfect before sex."

Mr. Wu laughed and intrigued. Asking if it was edible. But Zhibiao didn't react immediately. He swirled his whiskey, eyes unreadable.

Shen Yi's whose silently drinking his orange juice that he had ordered before, felt his heart thudding quietly in his chest. Feeling not so good at this conversation.

Mr. Zhang leaned toward Zhibiao. "You should try it with your pet. Bet it'd make him even sweeter."

Zhibiao's eyes flicked to Shen Yi. A pause. Then he smiled—slow, deliberate and dangerous.

Mr. Wu, slouched and grinning, asked, "Did you ever give him any drugs before?"

"No" 

"Woah, did you hear what I just heard?" Mr. Wu asked, laughing hysterically as if it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Mr. Zhang joined in, chuckling, both clearly already half-drunk.

Mr. Zhang reached into his pocket again and pulled out a small square of blotter paper printed with a cartoonish smile. He handed it to Zhibiao. "Make him try this first. See how he reacts before the real thing."

Zhibiao held the tab between his fingers, inspecting it like a rare coin. He didn't look at Shen Yi right away. Instead, he let the silence stretch, savoring the moment.

Then he turned, voice calm again. "Open your mouth."

Shen Yi heart stopped. He-he's joking right?

His lips remained closed, jaw tight, eyes flicking toward Zhibiao with disbelief and quiet defiance. The room held its breath, the air thick with anticipation.

Zhibiao didn't repeat himself.

Instead, he set down his glass with a quiet clink and leaned in, slow and deliberate. "Open your mouth," he said again—lower this time, but colder.

Shen Yi turned his face slightly away.

Without warning, Zhibiao grabbed Shen Yi's chin, fingers firm, and forced his face forward. Shen Yi gasped, startled, but Zhibiao was already pressing the tab against his lips.

"Don't make me repeat myself," he said, voice like steel wrapped in silk.

Shen Yi tried to pull back, but Zhibiao's grip didn't loosen. The paper was pushed past his lips, onto his tongue, with two fingers—no longer gentle.

"There," Zhibiao murmured, releasing him. "Let's see what kind of reaction you'll give."

Shen Yi sat frozen, the taste of paper bitter against his tongue, humiliation burning hotter than fear.

The others laughed, clapped, and raised their glasses, offering the same to their ladies. But unlike Shen Yi, the ladies accepted eagerly, consuming it like candy—without hesitation or doubt.

Zhibiao leaned back, calm and composed as ever, as if nothing had happened.

Shen Yi swallowed hard, a cold dread settling deep in his chest.

The laughter faded into a distant, low hum—warped and hollow. Shen Yi blinked, struggling to focus, but the room seemed to tilt—not in reality, but in perception. The velvet walls deepened, shadows pooling darker. The lights glowed too soft, too warm. Sounds stretched and curled around him like thick smoke, suffocating and endless.

His heart pounded, his vision got blurred, and he guessed it was from the drug.

Zhibiao watched him with quiet interest, one arm draped over the back of the couch, whiskey on his hand. His gaze was clinical, almost bored, but beneath it was something else—curiosity, maybe. Or anticipation.

Shen Yi's breath hitched, and he pressed his fingers between his brows, squinting against the swirling haze.

The room pulsed around him.

He didn't just hear the music anymore—he felt it thrumming in his chest, like a second heartbeat. The laughter floated, muffled and distant, as if underwater. Colors shifted and bled at the edges, deepening and softening all at once. The world grew too much and not enough simultaneously, slipping just beyond his grasp.

Zhibiao leaned forward, eyes locked on him. "How do you feel?"

Shen Yi didn't answer. Words felt foreign—slippery and unreachable.

Zhibiao's eyes darkened slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leaned forward towards Shen Yi, folding one arm around his waist with casual ease.

"Not much of a talker when you're losing control, huh?" His voice was low, almost teasing, but carried an edge of warning beneath the surface.

He studied Shen Yi for a long moment, as if savoring the sight of him unraveling. Then, with a deliberate calm, he added, "Good. That's exactly where I want you."

Shen Yi's fingers curled into his lap. He wanted to hold onto something real, something solid. But everything was slipping—his control, his sense of self, even the boundaries of his own body.

He needed to go out for some air. Maybe...just maybe that would make him feel better. 

"I need to use the bathroom," he said, voice barely audible.

No one responded at first. Then Mr. Wu laughed, waving him off. "Don't fall in, sweetheart."

Zhibiao didn't speak. He simply tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly, as if calculating whether to allow it.

Then he nodded before drinking his whiskey again.

Shen Yi stood, legs unsteady. The floor felt soft beneath his feet, like walking on velvet. He moved through the room slowly, each step deliberate, trying not to show how the world was bending around him.

The hallway outside was dim and quiet, a relief. The bathroom door was heavy, cool to the touch. He slipped inside and locked it behind him.

Silence.

He leaned against the sink, gripping the porcelain edge with both hands. His reflection stared back—pale, wide-eyed, unfamiliar. The lights above flickered slightly, or maybe that was just the drug.

His throat tightened.

He turned on the tap, letting cold water run over his fingers, grounding himself in sensation. The chill helped. A little.

Shen Yi closed his eyes, trying to breathe through the rising panic. He didn't know what the drug would do. He didn't know what Zhibiao would do. But he knew he couldn't stay in that room much longer.

And as he busy trying to focus his head as he keep shaking it, a man came inside the bathroom. 

Why can't I even have a moment alone in the bathroom without Zhibiao following me?

Chapter Text

In another room of the same bar, laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the air. Du Cheng sat among his colleagues — Jiang Feng, Director Zhang, Old Yan, He Rongyue, Li Han, and three other officer from their team. They were celebrating the successful closure of two difficult cases, a hard-won victory that felt deeply meaningful to everyone.

Old Yan raised his glass solemnly. "Even though Shen Yi's case breaks my heart, let's also toast to him. He helped us a lot on that one case before."

The group fell quiet for a moment, the weight of loss settling between them. Though most had never met Shen Yi personally, Old Yan's words resonated. They all felt the sting of disappointment that they hadn't been able to save the young man, but also a fierce resolve that his death wouldn't be in vain.

Thanks to Shen Yi's detailed sketch, the criminal they had been hunting was finally caught—a breakthrough that brought a mix of relief and sorrow to the team. As the gravity of their achievement settled, the group raised their glasses together, the warmth of the toast mingling with their bittersweet remembrance of the young man who had helped bring justice.

Conversations slowly picked up again, laughter bubbling beneath the surface of their thoughts. The room buzzed with camaraderie and reflection, a delicate balance between celebration and the shadow of loss that lingered just beyond the edges of their joy.

Du Cheng sat quietly for a moment, the weight of the evening settling on his shoulders. Then, the familiar urge to visit the bathroom tugged at him. He excused himself from the table with a nod, standing and weaving his way through the crowd as the laughter and chatter followed him like a distant echo.

The dimly lit hallway leading to the bathroom felt cooler, quieter—an unexpected calm after the lively room. He pushed open the bathroom door, and his gaze immediately caught a figure slumped over the sink. The man gripped the porcelain tightly, knuckles white, his body trembling as though on the edge of collapse.

Du Cheng's brows furrowed, a flicker of concern crossing his face. Something was off. But the urgent pressure to relieve himself outweighed his instinct to intervene for the moment. 

He moved toward the nearest stall, but his eyes kept darting back to the man at the sink. The stranger's shoulders shook slightly, as if fighting to keep himself upright. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on his brow under the harsh bathroom lights.

Something about the man's posture—rigid, strained—felt out of place in the midst of a celebration.

Du Cheng finished quickly and moved toward the sink to wash his hands. The cold water splashed over his skin as he took a moment to steady his thoughts, glancing cautiously at the man still gripping the sink nearby.

When he turned, Shen Yi's eyes locked onto him with sharp intensity. "You..." Shen Yi's voice cracked, thick with anger and pain. "Why are you here? Are you feeling not satisfied yet for what you did to me again? You wanna...shoved another one of those into my mouth again?!"

Du Cheng blinked, caught off guard by the harsh accusation. He didn't recognize the man, though something about his face felt oddly familiar. "I'm sorry? I think you mistook me for someone else, sir. Are you...okay by chance?" he said cautiously.

"Am I okay?" Shen Yi scoffed loudly, his body swaying as he struggled to stand upright—more like trying hard but faltering under the drug's heavy grip. His hand shot forward, weakly gripping the man's collar, the tremor in his fingers betraying how little strength he had left. Yet his voice, though cracked and uneven, still burned with hatred. "You... how dare you feed me that... that thing!"

His words tumbled out, too loud, the sound reverberating strangely in his own ears. He blinked hard, the man's face shifting, doubling, his own voice sounding warped in his head. "Isn't—ruining me—enough for you?! How much... how much do you intend to break me?!" His breath hitched, cracking into a bitter laugh before trembling into silence.  Tears streamed down his face, heavy and unrelenting, even as he barely noticed he was sobbing.

As the drug's effects peaked, his body then melted like jelly, warmth flooding him uncontrollably. Du Cheng reacted instantly, steadying him before he could collapse hard against the floor.

"Let go of me, you fucking bastard!" Shen Yi struggled fiercely in Du Cheng's arms.

Du Cheng's eyes narrowed with concern and confusion. 

What the hell is this man talking about? Is he on drugs or what?

He carefully repositioned Shen Yi, steadying him as the man swayed under his grip. Du Cheng's sharp eyes swept over him—skin flushed an unnatural shade, pupils wide, every movement jerky and unfocused. The erratic words, the strange outbursts, the way he clawed weakly as if fighting shadows that weren't there... it all screamed of someone far from sober.

To be honest, this man indeed stood out. Refined features, sharp in a way you don’t often see. Clear and smooth skin. Even in our department, no one carries that kind of presence.

Du Cheng exhaled through his nose, the corners of his mouth twitching despite the situation. "Sir... are you drunk?" he asked, the words slipping out before he could stop himself. The moment they left his mouth, he blinked in disbelief, cursing silently at how idiotic it sounded.

of course he's drunk you idiot. Du Cheng mentally slapped himself for that. 

"Drunk?" Shen Yi scoffed bitterly, voice trembling. "You... you fucking shoved it into my mouth, you fuckin—ugh!"

A wave of nausea hit him hard, twisting his stomach like a storm. He doubled over, clutching his abdomen as the world around him spun uncontrollably. Colors stretched and bent, sounds distorted into a slow, hollow echo. His limbs felt heavy, yet disconnected — like he was melting into the floor while still trapped inside his own body.

A strange warmth spread through him, a burning flood that was both comforting and terrifying. His thoughts raced and then stuttered, unable to focus on anything real. Time lost meaning — seconds dragged like hours, and moments snapped too quickly to grasp.

His breath came uneven, shallow, and his eyes darted wildly, haunted by shadows and shapes no one else could see. The nausea twisted into a cold panic rising inside him — a desperate need to escape that only tightened his chest.

Du Cheng kept his voice steady, moving closer to keep Shen Yi from collapsing. "Hey, hey. Sir, stay with me. Don't collapse on me now. Do you come here with anyone? I will send you to your friends or family you're here with, alright?"

Shen Yi's lips quivered, trying to respond, but his body trembled too much. The drug's grip was tightening, dragging him deeper into a surreal nightmare from which he couldn't wake.

Shit, how much alcohol did he drink to make him like this?

"Headache... hot... please... make it stop," Shen Yi whimpered, his voice trembling and broken as tears streamed down his face. His words came out disjointed, slurred by the drug's grip, laced with fear and helplessness.

Du Cheng stared, confusion and concern warring in his expression. But deep down, this face—the way it flickered in his memory—felt unnervingly familiar. A tight knot formed in his stomach, but he couldn't place where he'd seen this man before.

They had celebrated the success of their investigation in Wei He earlier—after all, this was a new case they'd accidentally picked up in this city. So, there was no reason he should have met this man during the investigation. Right?

Du Cheng's mind raced, frustrated at itself. He prided himself on having a sharp memory, able to recall faces and details with ease. But now, this one slipped just beyond reach.

"Sir, what's your name?" Du Cheng asked carefully, trying to anchor the man to reality.

However Shen Yi was already too far gone, his words slipping into incoherent fragments, his body sagging under the weight of something Du Cheng couldn't name. The officer's chest tightened with unease. He had no idea that the man in front of him was under the grip of drugs; to Du Cheng, it looked like a case of someone so drunk he had lost all sense of reality, muttering nonsense without restraint.

But then—those words. Someone shoved it into him. The phrase replayed in Du Cheng's mind like an alarm. His jaw clenched, a darker thought breaking through. Was he abused? Had someone forced something on him?

Panic and worry surged all at once, pushing past his usual steady composure. Without hesitation, Du Cheng eased Shen Yi's body upright, his hands careful as he tugged at the man's clothes just enough to check. His breath stalled in his chest as he braced himself for bruises, cuts, any mark that might confirm his fear.

But there were none. No purpling bruises, no abrasions, no hidden welts beneath the fabric. To his surprise—and faint relief—Shen Yi's skin was smooth, pale, almost unnervingly flawless, as if it had never known violence at all.

Before he could make sense of it, the bathroom door swung open with a sharp clang, startling him into spinning around and tugged down the man's clothes back. He cursed himself quietly for behaving like a pervert caught red-handed.

A tall figure entered—dressed in a black suit, dark sunglasses, and a fitted black mask. The faint glint of an earpiece peeked from under his collar. Every movement was precise, deliberate. His sharp eyes swept the room, landing instantly on Shen Yi, who was now whimpering weakly against the cold tile wall, his frail body trembling as if caught between fear and delirium.

"Yes, Sir. He's here," the man spoke calmly into his earpiece. Du Cheng squinted, warily watching the stranger. 

"Noted. We'll bring him back to the car," the man replied before shifting his focus to the two men across.

Shen Yi slumped and had his back resting against the cold tile wall, eyes closed, trembling. The tall man now finally glanced at Du Cheng, his expression unreadable but tinged with surprise.

"Sir?" he asked, voice edged with confusion.

Du Cheng mirrored the confusion, eyes flicking between the man on the floor and the suited stranger. The man shook his head slightly, as if dismissing a troubling thought, then composed himself.

"Pardon me, sir, but I need to take him back home," he said firmly.

Du Cheng rose slowly, blocking the path. His gaze flickered between the suited man and Shen Yi, suspicion tightening in his chest.

"You know this man?" Du Cheng asked, voice low but suspicious, unwilling to let this unknown man simply take Shen Yi away. Who knew if this man was not a good man but a mafia? "Wait—who even are you?"

The stranger's eyes darkened briefly. "Who I am is none of your concern. I'm here to take him back, as ordered by my boss. So please don't hinder my job."

Du Cheng's jaw tightened, irritation flashing at the man's curt tone. "Are you one of his friends? I apologize, but I need to be sure you're not some creep trying to kidnap a random man." His voice was sharper now, his grip firm, signaling he had no intention of backing down. 

The man remained silent at the accusation—because in truth, Shen Yi was indeed a kidnapped victim, taken at his boss's command.

At that moment, another man in the same black attire stepped inside the bathroom. His eyes widened slightly—a stunned reaction mirroring the first man's earlier surprise. He glanced quickly at his supposed partner, as Du Cheng assumed, exchanging a silent communication with a subtle shake of his head—a clear refusal or disagreement with whatever plan the other was considering.

Without hesitation, the second man reached out to grab Shen Yi. But Du Cheng's reflexes kicked in instantly; his hand shot out, gripping the newcomer's arm firmly before he could move him.

"Answer my question," Du Cheng demanded, pulling his badge from his jacket pocket and holding it up firmly. The cold metal gleamed under the harsh bathroom lights, a silent assertion of his authority.

The two suited men exchanged a quick, loaded glance—unspoken words passing between them. The tension thickened, heavy with silent warning.

The first man let out a weary sigh before finally responding. "Yes, he is our boss's... relative. Now, please, let us take him back home."

Du Cheng remained unconvinced, doubt gnawing at the edges of his instincts. Yet as he watched the second man lift Shen Yi with unexpected care, even murmuring an excuse before taking him into his arms, he forced himself—against every hesitation—to believe they truly intended to bring him home.

If only he knew the truth beneath it all—how deeply he would come to regret and hate that moment.

-----

"Xiao Feng, where's your captain?" Old Yan asked Jiang Feng, his tone calm but laced with concern. Jiang Feng's face was flushed pink from the alcohol, his speech slightly slurred but steady.

"He, uh... hic... went to the bathroom, sir," Jiang Feng replied casually, offering a weak smile.

Old Yan shook his head softly. "Check on him, please. Don't want him wandering off looking for a girlfriend here. Though, he's not that type of man... but who knows if someone's caught his eye."

Jiang Feng gave a quick, respectful salute. "Sir, yes, sir." He pushed himself up from his seat and stumbled slightly as he made his way toward the bathroom.

When Jiang Feng finally reached the bathroom door, he paused, then pushed it open. Inside, he found his captain standing by the sink, brows deeply furrowed, as if lost in thought.

"Captain?" Jiang Feng called, stepping in. "Something bothering you? Old Yan's been looking for you—you've been gone a while. I thought you only came to take a leak."

Du Cheng blinked, pulling himself from his thoughts. He gave a slow shake of his head, though the crease between his brows remained. "There was a young man in here earlier. Looked drunk—heavily drunk. But... something about the way he was acting didn't sit right. It wasn't like any drunk I've ever seen. And his face was also somewhat familiar..." Du Cheng trailed off, the words hanging unfinished.

"Maybe he just had too much to drink," Jiang Feng replied casually, shrugging it off. "Some people get weird when they're drunk. Not to mention we've been in this city for two times already for cases. You might accidentally saw him somewhere. It happens all the time."

Du Cheng pressed his lips together, clearly unconvinced, but he forced himself to let it go. "Yeah. Maybe you're right." He glanced back at the door, his unease lingering. "I just hope he makes it home safely."

A/N:
Helloww my lovely readers!! 💕✨

I finally updated—thank you so much for waiting patiently 🙏💖 Sorry it took a while, things have been so busy and honestly a bit tiring lately TvT 😮‍💨

I won’t ramble too much this time, but I hope some of your curiosity gets answered in this chapter 👀 For those of you who guessed it might not be Zhibiao… you’re correct 😏🎉

Anyway, I really hope you enjoy the update 🖤 Happy reading!! 📖✨ 

Chapter Text

Trigger Warning / Mature Content: Reader discretion is advised due to sensitive and explicit material in this chapter.

Zhibiao's breath hitched as he murmured, "Ahh... Xiao Yi," the name slipping from his lips like a confession. Beneath him, Shen Yi lay sprawled across their bed, his body pliant, his gaze glassy with intoxicated bliss. The room pulsed with heat—skin meeting skin in a rhythm that blurred time, each movement steeped in hunger and haze.

The drive home that night was anything but calm. Zhibiao, half-drunk and humming with the sharp edge of chemical euphoria, had no intention of behaving. The moment Shen Yi settled into the seat beside him, Zhibiao’s hand shot out, fisting the front of his collar. With a sharp tug, he yanked Shen Yi toward him and crushed their mouths together in a bruising, merciless kiss. His kiss was rough, consuming, almost punishing—teeth dragging, tongue claiming, as if he wanted to bruise the very breath out of him.

He used one hand tangled in Shen Yi’s hair, the other roamed greedily down his chest, over his waist, until his palm slid lower, shameless, fingers digging into the curve of Shen Yi’s ass and  squeezed it hard. While under the drugs effect, Shen Yi couldn't do anything but let the man do anything he wanted, like he usually did. But the difference now, was he respond the kiss and Zhibiao knew it was thanks to that drug he shoved before to Shen Yi.

After a moment, Shen Yi flinched as he felt the sharp sting of a bitten lip, letting out a muffled protest. Zhibiao only chuckled into the kiss, tasting the faint trace of blood before swallowing the sound whole. “Quiet,” he murmured against him, voice low, husky, amused. “You’re mine—don’t forget that.”

Zhibiao silently cursed under his breath as the car was too small for him to go further, and he loathed making a mess in such a confined space. But that didn’t stop him from indulging. He kissed Shen Yi again, deeper, more merciless, while his hand continued its slow, squeezing exploration, marking every inch as his. It was only the thought of the pristine leather seats—and his distaste for disorder—that kept him from taking more.

For now, he would settle for this. For the taste of Shen Yi’s lips, the heat of his body, the way his frame trembled beneath his grip. Just enough to remind Shen Yi that there was no escape, not even on the ride home.

The moment they finally stepped into their room, restraint dissolved. Zhibiao pressed Shen Yi against the door, lips trailing fire, fingers fumbling with buttons. Clothes fell in quiet surrender. Shen Yi shivered at the touch, a soft sound escaping him—half-whimper, half-moan—as if sensation itself had become unbearable. His eyes fluttered, unfocused, lips parted in silent plea.

"Stop..." he breathed, voice thin and trembling.

Zhibiao kissed the words from his mouth, slow and possessive. "Never" he whispered against his lips, his voice thick with heat.

Shen Yi gasped as Zhibiao's hand slid down his spine, arching into the touch like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. A moan spilled from him—raw, involuntary. "Stop," he whispered, voice cracking. "Please..."

Their bed creaked beneath them as Zhibiao pushed him down, the sheets cool against flushed skin. He hovered for a moment, watching Shen Yi's chest rise and fall, eyes half-opened half-closed, the way his fingers curled into the fabric, the way his lips parted with every breath.

"Xiao Yi, I never knew you're gonna be this...hot with drugs influence." Zhibiao murmured again, reverent and wrecked. He leaned in, pressing kisses along Shen Yi's collarbone, each one drawing out a sigh, a tremble, a moan.

"Lu-lunatic..." Shen Yi's voice was barely audible now, lost between pleasure and haze. "Just do...whatever you have to..do.."

“I will, kitten,” Zhibiao murmured, voice thick with heat and something darker—something not entirely his own. The drug coursing through him blurred restraint into hunger, and the room echoed with the brutal rhythm of skin meeting skin, each thrust harder than the last.

A smear of red bloomed where their bodies collided, stark against Shen Yi’s pale skin. Zhibiao saw it—registered it—but the haze in his mind swallowed consequence. All he could think was more. All he could feel was him.

Shen Yi’s moans grew louder, more desperate, each one a thread unraveling into sobs. “Ahh… ahh… I can’t—Zhibiao, I can’t—slowly…”

“No,” Zhibiao whispered, voice fraying at the edges. “You’re mine tonight.”

Shen Yi’s fingers clawed at the sheets, his body trembling beneath the onslaught. His mind floated somewhere between pleasure and panic, between surrender and something he couldn’t name.

---

Morning light crept into the room, thin slants of sun sneaking past the drawn curtains. It was not morning anymore, it's now nearly noon, and yet the world outside felt muffled, like it was waiting. Shen Yi had been awake for over an hour already. His temples throbbed with a heavy, stubborn ache, nausea rolling in his stomach like he had swallowed something spoiled.

A soft knock sounded before the door eased open. The maid stepped inside with her usual quiet grace, carrying a tray.  Steam curled from the bowl she set down gently on the table beside his bed.

"Good morning, Mr. Shen," she said in a low voice, as though she feared waking something dangerous in the house. "It's miso soup. Warm food will help with the stomach."

Shen Yi forced a small, fragile smile, his lips pale, body heavy and sluggish. He hissed softly as he shifted, reaching for the bowl and cradling it carefully, letting the warmth seep into his palms.

The young woman gasped at the sight of his pained expression, eyes widening briefly before she cleared her throat and lowered her gaze.

Shen Yi looked at her, confusion flickering across his face, but he ignored it and murmured, barely above a whisper, “Thank you.”

The maid lingered for a moment longer than usual, her eyes dim with something like sorrow. She bowed her head slightly. "I hope... you will always be strong, Mr. Shen."

Her words cut oddly deep, carrying an edge of sadness that made his brows knit. He lifted his gaze to her, confused. "Strong?" His voice was hoarse. "Why would you say that?"

The maid only shook her head, offering no explanation, and retreated quietly from the room.

Shen Yi sat still for a moment, staring at the door, unsettled. Strong? Why now? Had he... done something yesterday? 

He lifted the bowl, sipping slowly, the warm broth sliding down his throat. Yet his stomach twisted, his chest tightening—not from the food, but from the fog of memory pressing down on him. Something was wrong. 

His hand trembled. The bowl rattled softly against the saucer. He searched his mind, peeling back the haze, and then—

The bathroom.

The man's face in the dim light. Zhibiao.

And then—his thoughts grew jagged, fragmented. A hand on his wrist. The sharp scent of cologne, the way his head had spun, the weight dragging him under until he felt like he wasn't himself anymore.

Shen Yi's grip tightened on the bowl, his knuckles blanching. The soup rippled dangerously close to spilling.

That bastard.

He remembered the brutal kiss in the car. The memory was hazy, fragmented, but flashes of the night came back—of the man taking him again, harder than before, leaving pain that burned long after. The air had been heavy, suffocating, and Zhibiao had been there. His skin still prickled with phantom touches, lingering heat and pressure that refused to fade.

Now that he thought about it, his butt had hurt sharply at some point. Only then did he notice: he hadn’t been wearing any clothes, his lower body barely covered by the thin blanket. No wonder the maid had acted the way she did. But when his eyes fell on his own body, his stomach twisted—the purple bruises marbling his skin and streaks of blood staining the sheet beneath him made his chest tighten with shame and revulsion.

And then—the memory that made his chest tighten even more—how he had begged and pleaded like a whore.

His chest heaved, breath growing shallow, frantic. "No..." he whispered, shaking his head. "No, no, no..."

The images clawed back regardless, merciless.

He remembered his own voice—slurred, broken—begging.

Begging him.

Shen Yi's pupils constricted, horror colliding with rage. The taste of bile rose in his throat. He could hear it in his mind, those shameful, desperate words tumbling from his mouth as though he had wanted it. His entire body shook.

"No!" His voice cracked, loud, raw with fury. He hurled the bowl across the room. It shattered against the wall, broth splattering like blood across the floorboards.

"Damn it!" he roared, clutching at his hair with both hands. "Damn you, Sun Zhibiao!"

The sound of porcelain shattering echoed through the room, cruel and mocking, as if the world itself laughed at his helplessness. Shen Yi staggered to his feet, only to collapse again, a searing pain ripping through his bottom like fire, raw and unrelenting. Every movement sent shocks of ache radiating up his spine, a cruel reminder of what had been done to him.

He gritted his teeth, swallowing a sharp hiss, and slowly hauled himself up, fingers clutching the edge of the bed for support. Rage surged hotter than the pain, coiling tight in his chest. His hands swept across the nearest objects—lamp, book, glass—and he hurled them across the room with reckless abandon. Crash after crash echoed off the walls, mingling with his ragged, broken breaths.

Each motion was fueled by the storm inside him, a tempest of fury, shame, and helplessness. He screamed, a raw, guttural sound, more for himself than anyone else, and struck at everything in reach, as if he could tear the world apart and make it pay for what had been done. The room became a battlefield, a mirror of the chaos consuming him from the inside out.

He cursed until his throat burned. He screamed until his voice fractured, until the room was a wreck of overturned furniture and shattered fragments.

"I hate you!" Shen Yi's voice was hoarse, trembling with both fury and despair. "You drugged me, you—" His words strangled, his lips trembling with disgust at the memory of what had followed. "You made me—made me beg for you..."

He slammed his fist against the dresser, knuckles splitting against the wood. Pain flared, but he didn't stop, didn't care. He wanted to erase every trace of weakness, every memory of himself surrendering.

"I sounded pathetic!" His voice broke, cracking with something dangerously close to grief. "Like a—like a whore—" His chest convulsed with sharp, shallow breaths, eyes burning with unshed tears of rage.

His vision blurred. He braced his palms against the edge of the table, bowing his head, gasping as though drowning. His entire body shook violently.

"Why..." His voice fell into a whisper, trembling with the weight of everything. "Why did I—why did I let you..."

The silence that followed was unbearable, pressing down on him, choking him. He straightened slowly, his face pale, his eyes hollow but glinting with simmering hatred.

The room was in ruins. Shards of porcelain and glass littered the floor, soup soaked into the carpet, furniture knocked at odd angles. Shen Yi stood in the middle of it all, chest heaving, fists trembling and raw with broken skin. His face was pale, his lips pressed thin as if he could physically hold back the flood of emotions threatening to spill out again.

The doorknob clicked.

Slowly, almost lazily, the door swung open.

Sun Zhibiao stepped inside without hurry, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other resting casually against the doorframe. His gaze swept over the disaster of the room—fallen lamp, shattered bowls, papers scattered across the floor.

And then he smiled.

Not with warmth, but with that unnerving amusement of a predator who had just stumbled upon something entertaining.

"Well," Zhibiao's voice was smooth, almost playful, cutting through the silence like a blade wrapped in silk. "Looks like someone had a... lively morning."

Shen Yi's head snapped toward him, eyes bloodshot, lips trembling with unspoken words.

Zhibiao tilted his head slightly, stepping into the room with unhurried grace, his shoes crunching faintly over broken porcelain. He glanced at Shen Yi's clenched fists, at the trembling in his shoulders, and his smile widened just a fraction.

"Ah, I see..." he murmured, voice low and taunting. "You remembered, didn't you?"

Shen Yi's breath hitched. His entire body stiffened, fury rising like fire beneath his skin.

"Shut up," he spat, though his voice cracked, thin with exhaustion and rage.

Zhibiao chuckled softly, a dark, dangerous sound. "I should be flattered, really. To have you screaming my name in such a state..." His eyes glinted with cruel delight as he leaned closer, lowering his voice as though sharing a secret. "It was quite the performance, Shen Yi. You begged so sweetly."

"Shut up! I hate you!" Shen Yi's voice broke into a raw scream. His hand shot out, grabbing a small vase from the table, and hurled it at Zhibiao with all the strength he had left.

Zhibiao didn’t even flinch. He leaned away just enough for the vase to miss him, shattering against the wall with a sharp crash, shards scattering across the floor. He raised a single brow, eyes glinting with amusement, and slowly clapped his hands together, deliberate and mocking.

“Well done,” he drawled, voice low and smooth, every word dripping with sardonic praise. "You really do know how to keep me entertained."

Shen Yi's breath came in harsh, uneven bursts. His entire body shook with the force of his hatred, but his knees threatened to give beneath him.

Zhibiao crossed the room in a few easy strides, his presence looming, oppressive. He stopped just short of Shen Yi, close enough that Shen Yi could feel the faint warmth radiating from him.

He lifted a hand—and brushed his knuckles across Shen Yi's cheek, smearing the trace of dust clinging to his skin.

"You can hate me all you want," Zhibiao whispered, eyes sharp, voice dripping with mock tenderness. "But don't forget, Shen Yi... it was your voice calling for me last night. Not mine."

Shen Yi's face twisted, his chest burning with shame and fury. He wanted to strike him, to scream until his voice broke completely. But all he could do was stand there, trembling, while Zhibiao's amused smile lingered, cruel and unshakable.

Shen Yi slapped Zhibiao's hand away, his chest heaving. "Don't you fucking touch me!" he hissed, his voice hoarse and broken.

Zhibiao only chuckled, straightening as though Shen Yi's resistance was little more than a child's tantrum. "Still so fiery, even after everything." His eyes flicked around the destroyed room before returning to Shen Yi, sharp and gleaming with sadistic delight. "Do you know what I see when I look at this mess?"

Shen Yi glared at him, silent, breath ragged.

"I see proof," Zhibiao said smoothly, stepping closer until Shen Yi was forced to back against the dresser. "Proof that you remember every sound you made last night." His tone dropped to a whisper, slow and deliberate. "Every word that left your mouth."

Shen Yi's face tightened, rage and humiliation fighting for dominance. "It was not me. It was because you drugged me," he spat, his fists trembling at his sides. 

"Mm." Zhibiao tilted his head, considering him, almost indulgent. "Yes. Indid." The bluntness of his words landed like a slap. "But still..." He leaned in, so close that Shen Yi could feel his breath against his ear. "Even with your head spinning, your body was honest. It knew what it wanted."

Shen Yi shoved him back with both hands, but Zhibiao didn't stumble—instead, he let himself be pushed only a step, his grin widening, the amusement in his eyes growing darker.

"Stop twisting it!" Shen Yi shouted, voice cracking. "I would never—"

"Never?" Zhibiao cut him off, the smile fading into something colder, more piercing. He grabbed Shen Yi's chin with sudden force, tilting his face upward so he couldn't look away. "Then why did you beg, hm? Why did you cry out my name like you couldn't live without me?"

Shen Yi's lips trembled, his nails digging into his own palms as shame knotted in his chest. He tried to tear his face away, but Zhibiao's grip was iron.

"You hate me," Zhibiao murmured, his eyes never leaving Shen Yi's, his voice maddeningly calm. "Good. Hate makes you burn. Hate keeps you alive." His thumb brushed harshly across Shen Yi's lower lip. "But don't pretend you don't remember how your body answered mine. That's a reality even you can't believe."

Shen Yi's breathing grew frantic, fury flashing in his eyes even as his throat constricted with unspoken words. Finally, he spat the only thing he could manage through clenched teeth:

"I'll kill you."

For a moment, silence stretched, heavy and raw.

And then Zhibiao laughed. Not mockingly loud, but low, sinister, like the sound of a blade being unsheathed. He released Shen Yi's chin and stepped back just enough to give him space to breathe.

"Kill me?" His smirk returned, sharp and merciless. "Ah, Shen Yi... even your threats sound like promises I'll enjoy watching you break."

He turned slightly, surveying the wrecked room once more before meeting Shen Yi's eyes again. "Go ahead. Hate me. Curse me. Destroy this room if it makes you feel stronger. But remember..." His smile sharpened, almost feral. "...when night falls, it's still my name you'll choke on."

Zhibiao let that linger in the air, the weight of his words pressing down like a chain, before finally stepping back toward the door—unhurried, amused, utterly in control.

Shen Yi's trembling hands curled into fists so tight his nails drew blood. His chest burned with hatred so fierce it made him shake. And yet, beneath the fury, the shame gnawed at him, clawing deeper than he dared admit.

A/N:

Hello, everyone! Double update today to make it up to you. I hope this plot doesn’t leave you too traumatized… TvT