17 A Confession

Luo Wenchun’s black pupils contracted tightly, a trace of pain flickering through his eyes, and an endless wave of bitterness rippled quietly in his heart.

Indeed, the unequal agreement born purely out of interest, fraught with the constant danger of being implicated in a murder case at any moment, was best ended sooner rather than later. That was undeniably the wise choice.

Luo Wen’s mind instinctively began to process these words.

He thought he should be happy—ending this absurd contract meant freedom, no longer tangled with this golden, noble young master before him... Wasn’t this exactly what he had wanted back then? Hoping Lu Mingzhao would soon grow weary of him, so they could both stop struggling and resenting each other.

Yet Luo Wen found no joy within; a sour bitterness silently spread deep in his chest, pressing down so heavily it made breathing difficult.

He instinctively lowered his gaze, unwilling to let the other see the expression on his face at this moment. Turning his head away, the skin at his cheek twitched stiffly, revealing a smile more pitiful than tears.

“Okay... okay,” he stammered mechanically, “These two days... no... I don’t have much, I can pack everything up today...”

Before he finished, his throat seemed choked by something, and no more words could escape.

He tried to suppress the ache and sorrow within, but his heart felt like a dam had suddenly burst. When he turned his face aside, hot, bitter tears slipped down his cheek, dripping softly onto the floor, making faint yet crisp sounds.

So pathetic... so ugly, Luo Wen thought in near self-loathing, unable to help but raise his hand to shield the upper half of his tear-streaked face, as if by hiding it he could fool the person before him into not seeing the disheveled, broken soul beneath.

“Luo Wen... senior... darling...” Lu Mingzhao, staring at the youth who was nearly choked with sobs, was utterly stunned. What was going on in his head? How had he suddenly broken down like this?

Lu Mingzhao panicked, crouching beside Luo Wen—who hid his face but occasionally let out tiny sobs—changing the way he addressed him repeatedly before finally standing and squeezing in beside him on the sofa.

Almost forcefully, Lu Mingzhao pulled the hand that shielded Luo Wen’s face away. The other bit his lip, red-rimmed eyes meeting his gaze, expression a mixture of shock and embarrassment.

“I mean... to hell with that stupid contract,” he licked his pale lips, feeling an inexplicable rush of nervous excitement, like waiting for the reaction to his first game release, “I want to pursue you.”

Under the dim light, his sharply defined profile glowed, his eyes sparkling brilliantly, his beauty vivid and alive.

He raised his hand, gently wiping away the glistening tears on Luo Wen’s cheek, noticing the other’s shocked expression slowly fading into confusion.

In the faint light, those originally shadowed, deep black eyes gradually reflected Lu Mingzhao’s facial features. Like stars ignited by moonlight, they shone dazzlingly, impossible to look away from.

A mechanical system alert sounded faintly, as if some villain’s hatred level was dropping, but Lu Mingzhao had no mind to care.

He stared intently at the dazed young man before him, his hand trembling almost imperceptibly as it touched Luo Wen’s cheek.

After a long silence, his Adam’s apple rolled as his slender fingers slowly slid down to encircle Luo Wen’s wrist, tightening firmly and gently pulling him closer, almost like an embrace.

His deep, rich voice echoed softly in the quiet air. Compared to his usual magnetic tone, this time it carried a slight roughness and nervousness.

The once flamboyant, extravagant heir’s expression was serious and cautious, resembling not a pursuit but a solemn vow of everlasting commitment.

Luo Wen felt as though he had fallen into a dream, the scene before him so surreal, so laughably unbelievable, like a fantasy conjured by a pitiful wretch like himself.

When had a privileged, self-centered young master like Lu Mingzhao ever needed to ask if the person he pursued consented?

Yet his heart fluttered uncontrollably.

His lower lip, unknowingly bitten until stained with blood, glistened like fresh crimson lipstick; paired with the two bright tear moles beneath his eyes, he appeared almost seductively enchanting.

Luo Wen’s complexion remained pale; the tears on his face had all been wiped away by Lu Mingzhao’s earlier touch, though his long, dark lashes still held some moisture.

His pure, dark pupils reflected Lu Mingzhao’s anxious, tense face, swelling with an unfamiliar emotion—a joy like a sparrow’s leap, mingled with the cautious fear of gaining something precious yet dreading its loss.

“...What’s so good about me?” he asked abruptly, lowering his eyelids, as if questioning the man before him, or perhaps himself.

Lu Mingzhao’s grip tightened, and Luo Wen collapsed into his arms like a trembling butterfly folding its wings.

His cold, slender body leaned against Lu Mingzhao’s chest, who felt as if the fragile figure before him could shatter into pieces with the slightest harsh wind.

“Very good, especially good...” Lu Mingzhao emphasized with a slightly flamboyant tone, praising without cease. His words pulled Luo Wen’s spirit back from floating away, “Something that, once seen, you just can’t forget.”

Lu Mingzhao thought he was not lying; whether it was Luo Wen’s unique aura or the eerie statue hidden behind him, either one left a lasting impression, unforgettable.

Now, his feelings for the former had slightly shifted, but holding Luo Wen close, the familiar and comforting scent filling his nostrils... he thought it didn’t matter. So long as the one in his arms—man or woman, human or ghost—was there, nothing else mattered.

Luo Wen’s ears flushed faintly in the darkness, warmth spreading quickly from the roots of his ears to his cheeks. He leaned on the man’s strong, solid chest, clearly hearing his heartbeat mingling with his own, two pulses merging into one.

One hand pressed against Lu Mingzhao’s chest, he lifted his face; the other hand circled his neck, gently pulling downward. His voice remained cool as before but now far gentler, as if wrapped in honey, tinged with sweetness: “Mm, I’ll let you pursue me.”

He paused briefly, then added, lifting his eyes to kiss the corner of Lu Mingzhao’s mouth, gazing unwaveringly: “Congratulations, you’ve already won me over.”

His deep, focused gaze seemed to turn time into eternity, sending shivers down Lu Mingzhao’s spine. His fingers twined around a stray lock of Luo Wen’s hair near his ear. Luo Wen blinked, still stubbornly and intently watching him.

Lu Mingzhao’s expression betrayed surprise: “Just like that... and I haven’t even done anything yet?”

His mind had imagined many scenarios, but never one so effortless.

After a long silence, Luo Wen’s eyes showed confusion as he looked up at him.

Lu Mingzhao lamented miserably: “You’re way too easy to coax—what if someone deceives you?”

Luo Wen’s dark eyes silently met his: “Will you lie to me?”

Lu Mingzhao thought, aside from the system and plot which he couldn’t reveal, he hadn’t hidden anything from Luo Wen. So, calm in expression, he cupped his face and pressed a deep kiss.

“Of course not.”

His words were swallowed by a tender, entangling kiss. The burning warmth enveloped Luo Wen, whose eyes slowly closed in the dim light, forehead resting against the man’s chest, fingers climbing up the firm, muscular arm.

It was uncomfortable, yet filled with a profound sense of security.

After a long while, sweat soaked through the freshly changed shirt from that morning. Nestled in Lu Mingzhao’s arms, Luo Wen’s voice trembled slightly, eyes reddened—whether from grievance or something else, breathing uneven—as if drained of all strength, he whispered hoarsely: “...I don’t have any other shirts.”

This little rascal... Lu Mingzhao gritted his teeth, holding his waist firmly: “I’ll buy you some later, my angel.”

“...” Luo Wen said nothing, but hearing his gritted, helpless tone stirred a strange mix of bitterness and sweetness in his heart. He inhaled Lu Mingzhao’s mingled scent of sweat, eyes misting—not with previous sorrow, but with the timid bewilderment of being cherished for the first time.

Yet this somewhat melodramatic self-pity vanished without a trace with Lu Mingzhao’s next words.

“I’ll buy your clothes later, and bring some protection along.”

Luo Wen thought he misheard, disbelief flooding his eyes, but then heard him clearly add: “For tonight.”