Ning Zhuo’s waist and abdomen trembled uncontrollably—half from anger, and the other half…
He couldn’t say.
Shame surged over him like a flood, drowning him completely.
The most fatal part was—he realized he wasn’t a block of wood or stone, entirely unfeeling.
This realization nearly tore apart the pride at the core of his being.
Shan Feibai gently pressed his cheek against the side of Ning Zhuo’s neck, greedily inhaling the faint scent of rain warmed by skin.
He said something—probably something infuriating.
But Ning Zhuo’s ears were ringing so fiercely that he only caught about three words out of ten, letting the rest slip by. So his anger didn’t fully rise.
His limbs felt unbearably weak and soft, strength drained away. He shut his eyes in discomfort. “Get out.”
Shan Feibai: “No.”
“Do you even know what you’re doing?”
“I do.” Shan Feibai leaned down, pressing his forehead against Ning Zhuo’s, speaking with a reckless, childish tone: “I’m f*king you.”
A bead of sweat slid from the tip of Ning Zhuo’s nose, stinging the bite wound at the corner of his lips.
Ning Zhuo knew the state his body was in. He also knew Shan Feibai wouldn’t suddenly lose control without reason.
The invitation from the Tuner, Shan Feibai’s sudden madness, and that intelligence report…
As these fragmented clues pieced together in his trembling mind, Ning Zhuo understood.
“…Fine. Fine.”
Summoning every ounce of his strength, Ning Zhuo raised his right arm, flipping out the scorching hot gun barrel and pressing it to Shan Feibai’s temple.
As long as he pulled the trigger, this humiliating ordeal would end here and now.
Shan Feibai didn’t move. He merely tilted his head slightly, glancing at the pitch-black muzzle.
He wasn’t afraid.
Far from fear, he straddled Ning Zhuo’s body even closer, gently licking the muzzle with his soft, feverishly hot tongue, savoring the faint scent of burned steel.
The mingling of that blood-tipped, bright red tongue and the coarse, dark barrel sent a shock through Ning Zhuo’s nerves—his heart pounding violently against his ribs, his strength ebbing even further.
Ning Zhuo tightened his wrist ever so slightly, shoving the gun deeper into Shan Feibai’s mouth until it pushed a round bulge outward from his cheek.
“Listen to me, Shan,” Ning Zhuo gritted out between clenched teeth. “If you can’t make me feel good—then I’ll—mmph—”
Shan Feibai gripped his wrist, gently but firmly pressing down his feverish arm, while softly kissing the inside of his wrist.
Ning Zhuo closed his eyes.
Soon, the only scrap of dignity left on his body was the glove on his left hand.
Beneath the glove, a bite mark like a ring on his fourth finger throbbed with clear, sharp pain.
That little wolf pup who once sat on his shoulder… had truly grown up.
He’d said he liked him. Ning Zhuo hadn’t believed it.
But now—Ning Zhuo could no longer afford not to believe.
With almost savage aggression, raw and direct, Shan Feibai was confessing his “affection.”
Ning Zhuo had never known what “liking” someone felt like.
But amidst the pain, he finally found something real—drenched in blood and utterly truthful.
At midnight, the clock in the room lit up silently, announcing the arrival of a new day.
Its faint glow briefly cast a scene onto the wall, like a frame from a silent film.
A left hand hung down along the edge of the bed.
The glove had rolled back, revealing part of the pale palm.
The pulse at the wrist throbbed lightly and swiftly, the hand clenching now and then as if grasping for something—but catching nothing at all.
As the light faded, the room returned to its ancient, primordial darkness.
Ning Zhuo was drenched in sweat.
Because he’d used peppermint oil for years to stay alert, his entire body was steeped in its bitter, fresh scent. By morning, the room was thick with the mingling fragrance of mint and oranges.
Floating in this fever dream of ice and fire, Ning Zhuo drifted near suffocation, again and again.
But because he’d sweated well, the lingering low-grade fever that had plagued him for days faded without medicine—and he woke earlier than Shan Feibai.
Staring at the ceiling, Ning Zhuo felt a rare unfamiliarity.
This waking was unlike any other day before.
The shattered memories of last night slowly pieced themselves together.
Forcing himself upright, he looked down at his body.
Min Min once said he had the looks of a greenhouse flower but the life of a wild weed.
His skin marked far too easily.
So when Ning Zhuo saw the riot of colors and savage bruises covering him, he wasn’t surprised.
Most of these old scars on his body had come courtesy of Shan Feibai.
Now, he had truly been bitten by the madly impulsive Shan Feibai, branded with a mark that could never be washed away.
That mark seemed to be seared into his very soul. Just the thought of it made Ning Zhao’s heart pound with fury.
Thinking this, he propped a hand on his waist and tilted his head to look at Shan Feibai.
He raised his right arm, which had regained some strength, and lightly nudged Shan Feibai’s fair, flushed cheek with the gun barrel hidden in his mechanical arm.
The little wolf cub looked quite well-rested.
Blowing his head off would be such a waste.
So, Ning Zhao put away the gun, fished out a clean pair of underwear from the bedside drawer, pulled them on hastily, and rolled out of bed, intending to clean himself up before Shan Feibai woke.
The moment his feet touched the ground, Ning Zhao’s legs gave way, and he slid to his knees with the momentum of getting out of bed.
Clutching his aching lower back, he frowned.
But Ning Zhao quickly forced himself to stand expressionlessly through the dull pain.
He refused to show even a hint of weakness in front of Shan Feibai.
However, as soon as he took a step forward, Ning Zhao froze in place.
He felt a distinct, trailing warmth.
Ning Zhao’s scalp prickled, and the murderous intent he had just suppressed surged back with a vengeance.
Yet before he could turn around, the bed creaked.
The next second, a pair of hands wrapped around him from behind in a flustered embrace, pulling him into a tight hold.
Shan Feibai’s trembling voice came from behind him: “Ning-ge…”
Shan Feibai had woken the moment Ning Zhao left the bed.
Before he could fully process what was happening, chaotic images flooded his mind, sending sharp pain through his skull.
Once he had pieced everything together, Shan Feibai was so furious he could have gnashed his teeth to dust!
Shan Feibai prided himself on being a master of lurking in the shadows and striking decisively.
He had finally made it back to Ning Zhao’s side and had meticulously planned over a dozen ways to naturally progress their relationship—none of which involved force!
His carefully laid plans had been completely derailed!
Yesterday, the agony in his spine had been unbearable, scraping at his bones like a knife. The darkness he had long suppressed deep in his heart, like sediment hidden underwater, had been churned up entirely by the storm raging inside him.
Recalling his actions from the previous night, Shan Feibai was genuinely terrified.
Trembling faintly with fear, Shan Feibai’s gaze swept to the side.
When he spotted the oranges scattered across the floor, his heart clenched violently, and he held on even tighter.
…Ning-ge had bought him oranges.
He had only meant to act spoiled—he wouldn’t have minded if Ning Zhao hadn’t gotten them.
But he actually had.
As Shan Feibai’s blood burned with emotion, Ning Zhao said coldly, “Let go.”
Shan Feibai’s face instantly paled.
That tone—he knew it all too well.
Back then, when his father had come to “Haina” and effortlessly dismantled his carefully constructed lies, Ning Zhao had spoken to him in exactly the same way.
Years of meticulous scheming seemed to have been destroyed overnight.
Panic-stricken, Shan Feibai tightened his grip, his voice breaking with a sob: “No!”
Ning Zhao frowned.
What the hell was wrong with him?
The two of them were half-dressed and clinging to each other—was this any way to behave?
Now that his strength had returned, he ignored the ache in his back and turned around in Shan Feibai’s desperate embrace. He planted a foot on Shan Feibai’s chest and shoved him onto the bed: “Looking to die?”
Unexpectedly, Shan Feibai, driven by sheer panic, lashed out wildly.
He grabbed Ning Zhao’s ankle, hooked a leg around his knee, and flipped him onto the soft carpet, then immediately pounced on him, shamelessly clinging like glue: “You’re not leaving!”
Then, as an afterthought, he added urgently, “And I’m not leaving either!”
Shan Feibai’s panicked, reflexive reaction amused Ning Zhao slightly.
He reached up and slapped his cheek: “…Scared? Now you’re scared?”
Shan Feibai buried his face against Ning Zhao’s chest, playing dead.
“Tell me,” Ning Zhao said in a hoarse voice, casually prodding at Shan Feibai’s sorest wound, “how should I deal with you? …How about I kick you out?”
Shan Feibai’s expression twisted: “Why?”
Ning Zhao: “After what you did to me, you’re asking why?”
Shan Feibai opened his mouth, his thoughts racing as he scrambled to explain: “Yes—yes, someone did something to me. Right after you left yesterday, my spine suddenly started hurting unbearably. Later, later… I didn’t mean to—”
Just as he expected.
Hearing about the pain in Shan Feibai’s back, Ning Zhao wanted to check it for him, but seeing him so flustered only stoked his teasing instincts.
He countered, “And what does that have to do with me? Did I beg you to f*ck me?”
Shan Feibai looked dazed.
He vaguely sensed that Ning Zhao wasn’t as angry with him as he’d thought.
He lifted his head and his gaze landed on Ning Zhao’s slightly swollen chest, still marked with deep and shallow bite marks.
Shan Feibai’s heart skipped a beat, and he instinctively brushed a thumb over them.
Under such intimate stimulation, memories flooded back, and with the morning’s natural arousal…
Both of them reacted visibly.
Shan Feibai’s tail, which he had been tucking between his legs in fear, now wagged triumphantly like a happy windmill upon noticing Ning Zhao’s physical response.
“Ning-ge didn’t beg me. …But Ning-ge, do you hate this?” He nudged Ning Zhao’s chin with his forehead, eyes pleading for confirmation. “You liked it too, didn’t you?”
The memories of the latter half of last night made Ning Zhao’s skin prickle with heat at the mere thought.
But Ning Zhao couldn’t stand his smug, puppy-like expression.
He bared his teeth in a mocking sneer: “Are you in heat or something?”
Shan Feibai preened: “I’m young!”
“Yesterday, you were being controlled. I can let that slide.” Ning Zhao glared at him icily. “But what’s this now?”
Shan Feibai grew even more reckless: “This is me loving you so much I could die.”
Ning Zhao, trembling all over, grabbed his hair: “Then you can die right now!”
Shan Feibai, despite Ning Zhao’s resistance, endured the pain—and the sheer delight—to press a kiss to the bite mark he’d left on Ning Zhao’s lips: “Fine, I’ll wait for it.”
