Follow-up
Chapter 383: Kiss
A few minutes ago, inside the banquet hall—
The air was deathly still. Everyone stood frozen, their faces grim as they stared at the candy ball in the gentleman’s palm.
Due to his body heat, the strawberry-flavored candy had slightly melted, sticking messily to his skin. It gave off a sickly sweet scent, like a silent mockery.
“W-What is going on?” one of the anchors asked through gritted teeth.
No one knew the answer.
All they knew was—they had been played.
It was over.
As the disguised prop revealed its true form, the walls, floor, and ceiling began to take on the texture of flesh and blood. The darkness that had once been dispelled returned once more.
Along the long table, countless shadowy figures emerged.
But the rules that had restrained them earlier had vanished.
“This is bad! Retreat!”
The anchors realized the danger at once.
So this was why the red team’s anchor had rushed out of the banquet hall in such a panic once it all ended.
Because once the illusion was broken, everything would come back with a vengeance.
And…
From past experiences, they knew: after deceiving spirits and gods for a moment’s peace, the backlash would be unimaginably brutal.
One by one, the corpses at the table stood up. Their pallid faces flickered in and out of the deepening darkness, looking hollow and terrifying. More and more corpses emerged from the shadows, moving with stiff steps toward the scent of the living.
“Ah… AH! AHHHHHH!” someone screamed shrilly. Something unseen grabbed them from below, and in the blink of an eye, they vanished into the darkness—leaving behind only an eerie, chilling silence.
There was no way out.
The darkness had completely sealed off all exits. There was no path to escape.
The black team’s livestreams shifted suddenly from joyful celebration to pure fear and tension.
“AHHHHHHH!”
“Help! Help!! AHHH we’re doomed! There’s no way to survive this!”
One by one, the livestreams lost signal and were permanently shut down.
“There are way too many ghosts! There’s no way to survive this!”
“I’m literally cold-sweating. At this speed, I’d call this a massacre… This is terrifying. Is this like hell-level difficulty?!”
“Several anchors I follow didn’t even get to use their skills—they just died instantly!”
“This is hopeless…”
The number of survivors was dropping at an alarming rate.
Surrounded by these unrestrained, purely murderous, high-level terrifying spirits, everything was being wiped out in an instant. Only a few of the strongest anchors were still barely holding on.
Even they were only managing to delay death—escape was out of the question.
“…Fu-ck,” Anise gritted his teeth. Blood was nearly welling in his eyes. His face was twisted and furious. What started as a whisper turned louder and louder until he was almost shouting, borderline deranged: “Fu-ck, fu-ck, FU-CK!”
If he died here, then the extra life he had left behind in the gallery would be used up. And if the instance still judged him as having lost the match afterward, he would be erased by Nightmare—true death.
He had to survive.
He had to survive.
Slowly, he raised his hand.
In that moment, all the corpses around him suddenly froze in place, as if seized by an invisible force.
In the livestreams:
[Holy shit! It worked!! That’s insane!]
[Has he ever controlled this many ghosts before?!]
[No way… This is way beyond the limit he’s ever shown before…]
Veins like snakes bulged from his neck, blood vessels filled the whites of his eyes, and purplish corpse spots surfaced beneath his skin. It was like all the moisture in his body was being drained—his cheeks sank rapidly.
From the empty sleeve, his hand and wrist were nothing but bone, wrapped in a thin layer of shriveled skin. It looked horrifying.
In the darkness, countless corpses stood upright, emitting an eerie, ghostly aura—but they could no longer move forward.
Finally, a moment to breathe.
But before anyone could even sigh in relief, they saw it—
Behind the many ghostly figures, the faint outline of a terrifying woman’s corpse in white clothes slowly appeared.
Anise’s power didn’t seem to affect her.
She walked forward, step by step.
And with each step closer, the human skin on her body peeled away a little more.
Under the horrified gazes of the crowd, she shed her human-like appearance, transforming into something that could hardly be called humanoid.
A bloody, squirming mass of flesh—within which were countless miniature, underdeveloped eyeballs.
She was completely different from the other ghosts.
In fact…
She looked more like a limb, extended from the massive, living entity that was the Prosperity Hotel itself.
She crept forward on something that could not even be called legs.
Closer. And closer.
The sheer pressure of despair and impending death made it hard to breathe.
And just then—
Crack.
A faint sound echoed from a distance, like something being crushed. It passed through the squirming layers of flesh and reverberated through the air.
“……”
Silence fell again.
Under everyone’s horrified stares, the “corpse” stopped in its tracks, then abruptly turned and left.
Its speed was terrifying.
As if…
It had sensed the real culprit.
[Instance forcibly closing!]
[Instance forcibly closing!]
The whole world seemed to shake.
The once-solid ground had at some point turned into a slimy, red mass of flesh. It writhed and twitched violently, as if trying to digest the things trapped within.
The farther they ran, the harder it became to move.
Everyone struggled, forcing themselves to run forward.
Not far ahead, between the deformed flesh, a large door stood open—beyond it was a faint glow, unlike the eerie light inside. It was like a lifeline cast into the abyss of despair.
Closer!
Almost there!
They gritted their teeth, gave it everything they had—and charged through!
The moment they crossed the hotel’s threshold, the anchors’ bodies flickered—and then disappeared into thin air.
Clearly, once they escaped the hotel’s control zone, Nightmare forcibly extracted them from the instance and sent them back to the safety of the anchor lobby.
Wen Jianyan followed close behind.
Suddenly, a flash of white streaked across the edge of his vision.
“?!”
A chill shot up his spine.
Startled, Wen Jianyan snapped his head around.
The white figure had vanished.
But on the pulsing wall of flesh, he saw a faint, human-like face forming—
That bloody face twisted into a grotesque smile, its rolling eyes staring directly at him.
Wen Jianyan’s heart skipped a beat.
Not good!
The next second, the fleshy ground split open without warning. A pair of grotesque hands—like skinned human hands—burst from below and clamped tightly around Wen Jianyan’s ankle.
He stumbled.
In the “Integrity First” live stream, viewers were stunned by the sudden twist.
[?]
[!!!]
[What’s going on?!]
[Shit, this instance is trying to bury the anchor with it!]
It all happened in a blink.
Just a few seconds too late—and the doorway, which had almost returned to a normal shape, suddenly collapsed, snapping shut like a massive mouth.
The top and bottom layers of flesh clamped together, sealing completely in the blink of an eye.
The massive, grotesque tumor-like building was collapsing, and its creator had been buried beneath its ruins.
The hallway walls and ceiling had lost their original shape. Now they resembled a closing esophagus, tightening and pulsing. In the blink of an eye, the once-spacious corridor was squeezed down to the point where even extending one’s arms became impossible.
No space to breathe. No room to struggle. Everything was being devoured.
But at this point—it no longer mattered.
Wen Jianyan felt every part of him that touched the fleshy wall grow cold. Heat and life were draining from his body. A familiar sensation crept over him—
Just like that time in the amusement park, when his mind was being consumed by corruption.
His ability to think was disappearing, the edges of his vision dissolving. Everything became strange, distorted, bizarre. He seemed to be rapidly descending into chaos and madness.
Within the hallucination, Wen Jianyan saw a massive blood-red eyeball hovering above the Xingwang Hotel. It was motionless, staring at him unblinking.
Compared to it, everything else was tiny and insignificant.
Terrifying. Terrifying. Terrifying.
Every scene could drive someone mad with fear.
The disintegrating hotel of flesh and blood sat precisely at the center of the pupil, as if it had been frozen by its gaze, locked in place, exuding an ominous aura of death.
Drip.
A sound echoed from afar.
It was as though something had fallen.
Drip, drip, drip.
One after another.
Raindrops fell onto the hotel, and the moment they touched the deformed mass of bloody flesh below, the terrifying creature twitched violently, letting out a sizzling sound like a scream.
The rain grew heavier.
Wen Jianyan had exhausted the last of his strength.
His eyelids, as heavy as if filled with lead, dropped shut.
And he fell into a long, dark dream.
An invisible road stretched out over a barren wasteland.
This road led beyond the human world, connecting to a vast, eerie, and silent graveyard—and even further… to a more terrifying realm deep within the cemetery.
A forbidden place unreachable even by this road.
Born here, buried here, guarded here.
In the darkness, it felt like someone was silently chanting this over and over. Like an ancient incantation, whispered for thousands, tens of thousands of years.
At the end of the road, a town began to form.
The town was small, never expanding no matter how many years passed. No matter how many wars it endured, it never disappeared—nor could it.
It existed solely for the road.
Generations of residents lived on. Although they had long forgotten their ancestors, they continued to share the same bloodline, carrying on the same traditions.
Every person who died left behind a portrait.
Each portrait was a curse. Every deceased person became a shackle.
So long as nothing disrupted the balance, these would remain forever hidden in the dark, never to see the light of day.
Drip, drip.
In the darkness, the sound of falling rain echoed once more.
It sounded like someone crying silently, their tears falling like a torrential downpour.
In the distance, crazed murmurs drifted closer.
“It came from my dream…”
“They’re dead… everyone is dead… It’s all my fault… I can’t let it continue; I can’t… if this goes on… it’ll all be over… everything…”
“No one can have it… it mustn’t fall into anyone’s hands… it mustn’t…”
“…This is a nightmare, a nightmare, a nightmare…”
The words were just like those from his memories—but somehow, something new had been added.
Drip.
A cold droplet fell on his face.
Another drop. Then another.
“…Mmm…”
Wen Jianyan’s eyelashes trembled. He struggled, barely managing to lift his heavy eyelids.
In his chaotic field of vision—whether it was real or hallucination—he saw the fleshy wall in front of him being torn open from the outside. Pale, thin little hands reached through, wrapping around his arms, waist, and legs… and began to pull him out.
Raindrops fell on his face, washing away the blood and grime.
In a haze, he seemed to see a woman in white standing ahead, surrounded by dozens of shadowy, childlike figures.
But unlike before—this time, he could see her face clearly.
It was a sorrowful face, with terrifying bloody marks where her eyelids had been forcibly nailed shut, and eyes that were distant yet pure.
She bent down and bowed silently to Wen Jianyan.
Then she turned around and began walking away.
“Wait…”
Wen Jianyan opened his mouth, but only broken, incoherent sounds came from his throat, not forming any complete words.
He struggled to sit up:
“Wait!”
Wen Jianyan’s eyes flew open.
…Drip.
A cold raindrop fell from the dark sky, landing on his eyelid.
His eyelid twitched.
The rain slid down his lashes and fell to the ground.
The rain had stopped.
“…”
Wen Jianyan was dazed. He raised his hand and touched his damp lashes.
Everything he had just seen…
Was it a dream?
[Zzz… zzz…]
A familiar system sound buzzed in his ear.
[Instance… zzz… forcibly closed successfully… zzz…]
The sound pulled Wen Jianyan back to reality.
“…?”
He was stunned.
The instance was forcibly closed? Wait—that means…
As the thought crossed his mind, Wen Jianyan turned his head and looked toward where the Xingwang Hotel should have been.
The oppressive building and the grotesque mass of flesh were gone—nothing remained but an empty stretch of ground.
Beneath the dark sky, the earth was soaked in rain, dark and glistening.
The Xingwang Hotel…
Had disappeared.
It made sense.
After all, unlike the Changsheng Building that was built by humans, Xingwang Hotel was just a poor imitation. Once the bug someone inserted had been removed, it vanished. It wouldn’t revert to its original order like Changsheng Building.
The hallucinations he’d just experienced resurfaced in his mind.
Wen Jianyan lowered his gaze to the damp soil.
Whether it was a dream or not, many unanswered questions now seemed clearer.
Back in the Changsheng Building instance, Wen Jianyan had once wondered—how did something so beyond human comprehension, so capable of reshaping order through horror, come into existence? And now, in this new instance, he had gotten part of his answer.
Clearly, while the Xingwang Hotel was not created by humans…
The town was.
It had been built at the end of the road. Each person who died became a portrait that guarded the town, to keep the horrors at the end of the road from spilling into the real world.
Those ghosts dwelling in the portraits, wandering the town, were the same type of entities as the red-dressed corpse in the previous instance—only, perhaps because they were mere ancestral images, their horror and autonomy were far inferior.
But that peace had been shattered.
Something ominous had infiltrated the real world through an ordinary person’s dream, trying to break this seal. It killed all the town’s residents, sacrificed the children’s souls, and created Xingwang Hotel, attempting to use its mechanics to banish all the ghosts.
But just before it succeeded, the first person to be invaded—and the one who had suffered the most—woke up.
Realizing the horror of it all, she chose to end it. Carrying the key soul artifact, she threw herself into the well, stopping everything from getting worse.
Then, the instance was born.
During the period when Hugo entered the instance, it was forcibly shut down. The Nightmare system, meanwhile, tried to both erase Wu Zhu using the Box Garden node and create a mirror instance of Xingwang Hotel to requalify the dungeon as “platinum.”
Perhaps to guide the player, the creature occupying the white-clad woman’s form became the only ghost allowed to enter the mirror instance.
But maybe for that very reason, the real woman in white also entered.
Because she was constantly crying, the mirror town was shrouded in rain. That rain tried to destroy everything that entered—trying to prevent the final moment from arriving.
And in the end, the mirror instance vanished.
The rain carried over to the real instance—and…
It actually succeeded.
Everything was now as clear as day.
Wen Jianyan couldn’t help but recall the last moment he saw in his dream.
—The woman’s final gaze, and that deeply bowed head.
“…”
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to break free from his emotions. He raised a hand, wiping the rain and blood from his face, and looked up at the sky:
“Hey, hey! Live stream!”
“Didn’t the instance end? Why haven’t I returned?”
Only silence answered.
There was no response from the stream.
Wen Jianyan opened the livestream interface. Since the instance was forcibly closed, most anchors had been removed and the broadcast had ended, but his backpack and items were still usable.
He sneered to himself.
That damn Nightmare.
At the end of the Changsheng Building instance, he had “killed” Wu Zhu to gain his freedom and win the Nightmare’s trust. Although it seemed to accept that without resistance, clearly, it had never truly believed him.
Hence, the creation of Xingwang Hotel.
On the surface, it was just a normal dungeon. But in truth, Nightmare had laid trap upon trap.
Had Wen Jianyan been even a little careless, the diorama would’ve wiped out any future possibilities—or the handy “bait” item would’ve succeeded in upgrading the instance to platinum. Even if he technically won, who knew what horrors would unfold after that, given the interconnection between Nightmare and the real world.
Since Nightmare wasn’t responding, Wen Jianyan gave up on asking pointless questions.
He closed the stream interface and began searching the area for clues.
The space where Xingwang Hotel once stood was now completely empty—just pitch-black muddy ground that squelched wetly underfoot.
Suddenly, Wen Jianyan spotted something gleaming in the mud.
He paused, then walked toward it.
Buried in the soil was a shard of mirror.
He knelt and dug it out.
The irregular piece glimmered faintly under the weak light. Its surface was cold and smooth, without a speck of dirt.
The moment he picked it up, the familiar system sound rang in his ear:
[Ding! Legendary item in host’s inventory: “Mr. Mirror” is being repaired—]
Wen Jianyan blinked in surprise.
…So this was one of the mirror fragments.
He remembered shattering the mirror in the hallway with his brass dagger—watching it splinter, blood staining every shard.
One of those shards must have landed here.
On impulse, Wen Jianyan reached out and gently touched the shard with his blood-stained finger.
In the next second, a strange force pulled at him.
Then came a familiar, dizzying spin.
When he steadied himself again, he found he was standing in a very familiar place.
Darkness all around. Soft, yellow earth underfoot.
In the distance were countless silent mounds of graves. And right in front of him—
That familiar empty tomb.
“…?!”
Wen Jianyan’s heart jumped.
What—why was he back here again?!
He instinctively reached for his mask.
Halfway through searching, he realized the mask had been lost during the earlier crisis.
But strangely, even though he wasn’t wearing a mask, nothing attacked him this time.
Could it be…?
Wen Jianyan lowered his hand and looked around.
Though the place was deathly silent, the oppressive, suffocating fear from earlier seemed to have strangely dissipated.
At the same time, a familiar and eerie heat began to rise from his lower abdomen.
Wen Jianyan paused, lifted his hand, and pressed against his side.
Under the damp shirt, his skin was burning hot.
As if drawn by some unknown force, he took a step forward.
The empty tomb grew closer and closer.
For some reason, Wen Jianyan felt his heartbeat quicken.
Maybe it was tension, maybe fear, or maybe… a certain premonition. His heart pounded violently, slamming against his ribs to the point of pain.
He couldn’t help but slow his steps.
Yet the open tomb still gradually entered his view.
Only this time, it wasn’t empty.
Inside the tomb lay a man.
Jet-black hair, pale skin, runes crawling like vines—
Wu Zhu.
His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful.
…As expected.
Wen Jianyan stopped in place, gazing down at him.
He’d already thought something was strange before.
Back in the miniature world, Hugo had only gone to fetch an item at the end of the path. There was no way he could have returned to the hotel in such a short time.
Which meant the instance had already begun collapsing before the banquet even started.
And Wen Jianyan had found Hugo unconscious in the frame shop.
This was also the reason why he had concluded that Wu Zhu wasn’t the one being restrained by the prison.
After all, the banquet hadn’t even started, the restraints hadn’t been lifted—how could the prisoner have been released so quickly?
Then…
Why did Wu Zhu appear?
Images flashed through Wen Jianyan’s mind.
Hugo had collapsed unconscious on the floor, blood flowing, barely breathing—if it hadn’t been for that painting, he probably would’ve died.
As a strong anchor, even if his level wasn’t high at the time, he shouldn’t have been taken down, injured, or even killed so easily.
But…
If the source was Wu Zhu, then everything made sense.
Wen Jianyan’s fingers curled slightly.
The center of his palm still burned, as if the sensation of the other’s touch had been seared into his skin.
Don’t.
That is to say, Wu Zhu didn’t want the restraints to be lifted.
Perhaps… that was why he had been chosen as the key piece thrown into this instance.
If it had been anyone else trying to do the same, no matter how powerful, the moment they attempted to touch the taboo of this instance, they would’ve been ruthlessly killed.
But Wen Jianyan…
He was clearly an exception.
The only exception.
If he wanted to lift the seal, Wu Zhu could only write a single word—No—in his hand.
So, if this instance were to be cleared with a platinum rating, he was clearly the best candidate.
Wen Jianyan stood motionless, eyes lowered, expression unreadable, seemingly lost in thought.
The next second, a familiar voice sounded in his ear:
[Anchor has not yet completed the task.]
[Please clear the instance BUG as soon as possible.]
“……”
Of course.
The reason the Nightmare hadn’t extracted him at the last second, instead leaving him alone in a closed instance, was exactly because of this.
Wen Jianyan let out a silent, mocking laugh.
He stepped forward, crouched before the tomb, and pulled a brass knife from his backpack.
The blade gleamed cold and sharp.
He estimated the distance.
A bit too far.
Wen Jianyan considered for a moment, then braced one hand on the side. Pale skin, veins raised, fingers gripping the edge of the coffin—
He stepped inside.
Beneath him was a chest as cold and hard as marble, motionless, without the rise and fall of breath, etched with pitch-black runes—curses in some unknown language.
His hair was still damp, and cold raindrops slid down to fall on the man’s body.
Wen Jianyan glanced up accidentally—and met a pair of wide-open golden eyes.
“!”
His breath caught instantly. On reflex, he hid the knife behind his back.
The mark near his hip throbbed with pain.
Rustle, rustle.
A faint sound of movement in the darkness.
Wu Zhu lifted a hand, grasped Wen Jianyan’s waist, and slowly sat up in the coffin.
Their eyes met.
“……”
Wen Jianyan froze in place, tense, gripping the hidden knife behind him.
Wu Zhu’s gaze dropped to his hand.
He reached out and grabbed Wen Jianyan’s.
Not the one holding the knife—the other one.
Perhaps because non-humans were naturally stronger, or perhaps because Wen Jianyan didn’t resist much, his hand was easily pulled forward.
It was a ghastly sight—his fingertips were almost translucent from blood loss, and the bandages were thoroughly soaked red, no trace of white left.
Wu Zhu began unwrapping the bandages, one layer at a time.
When the last layer came off, Wen Jianyan flinched and instinctively tried to pull away—but his hand was firmly held in place.
The wound beneath was raw and gaping, showing no sign of healing.
It was caused by him gripping the brass knife so tightly to prevent it from falling.
Wu Zhu lifted the hand, golden eyes glowing in the dark as he stared intently at Wen Jianyan.
He leaned forward, scarlet tongue flicking out—
The cold tip touched the searing wound, making Wen Jianyan’s vision blacken. He nearly jerked back violently.
But the other’s grip was like iron, holding him fast.
Wu Zhu slowly and methodically licked the wound.
Once, twice, again and again.
Strangely enough, the pain began to fade.
Wen Jianyan could clearly feel the wet, soft, cool sensation left behind each time that tongue passed over the sensitive, healing flesh.
It was cold, soft, and wet.
Dangerous. Sensual.
“……”
Goosebumps rose along Wen Jianyan’s spine.
Not from fear—but something else that made him deeply uneasy.
Soon, Wu Zhu let go.
Wen Jianyan looked down.
The hideous wound, once like a centipede curled in his palm, had become a pink scar—a delicate, itchy line against his pale skin.
…Healed?
Wen Jianyan was momentarily stunned.
[Please clear the instance BUG.]
The system’s cold voice echoed again, urging him on.
It brought him back to the moment.
“I know. Don’t rush me,” he answered silently.
He rubbed the knife’s hilt.
“But Wu Zhu is awake now,” Wen Jianyan said inwardly to Nightmare. “You know what happened earlier—he’s on guard against my ambush. My ability is also on cooldown after being used. The chances of success are slim.”
[Please use the mysterious reward that has been sent to your backpack.]
Wen Jianyan blinked.
Mysterious reward?
Oh, right…
Back in the frame shop, he’d completed the “kiss the spirit for thirty seconds” task and received a mysterious reward.
He hadn’t had the chance to open it at the time, and later forgot due to being too busy.
[Would you like to open it?]
“Yes.”
He took a breath and replied mentally.
A gift pack exploded before his eyes, and the system voice chimed:
[Item: One Premium Cooldown Voucher]
[Effect: Reduces the cooldown of your ability and increases its success probability to over 50%.]
Wait—that meant…
Wen Jianyan suddenly understood.
Nightmare had made its intention clear: he was to use his ability here, deceive Wu Zhu into dropping his guard, then kill him.
Wen Jianyan looked up at Wu Zhu.
Despite following his anchor point this whole time, the other hadn’t regained speech, maintaining silence.
Those golden eyes stared at him without blinking.
It was simple.
He’d done it before—more than once or twice.
[Please clear the instance BUG as soon as possible, or the contract will be deemed invalid.]
The system’s voice was icy and mechanical.
Deceive the target, then stab him through the chest.
His palm was damp—maybe with leftover rain.
Wu Zhu still held his hand, looking down at him. His expression was blank, but his gaze…
He looked like he was waiting for praise.
Just like the other moments in this instance.
Strange memories surfaced in Wen Jianyan’s mind.
Wu Zhu stubbornly grabbing his hand… staying alone in the bathroom after being scolded… and that look in his eyes lighting up when he came back in.
“……”
Damn it.
Wen Jianyan didn’t consider himself a good person.
But he was starting to feel guilty.
He thought for a moment, then lifted his scarred hand, gently cupped Wu Zhu’s chin, and murmured:
“Come here.”
Under his guidance, Wu Zhu leaned in.
Wen Jianyan pressed his lips to his.
Soft, damp, tinged with rain.
The other’s face was right there. Those unsettling golden eyes closed.
Wen Jianyan’s hidden hand came forward—brass blade gleaming coldly.
He didn’t close his eyes.
He stared directly at Wu Zhu.
Leaned in, and gently pressed the tip of the blade to his chest.
The cold, sharp sensation was vivid and real.
Wu Zhu opened his eyes.
Wen Jianyan didn’t activate the item. Nor did he strike.
He waited.
Waited for the moment Wu Zhu would understand.
Whether he raged, went cold, or turned cruel—
Any reaction would be good.
That way, Wen Jianyan wouldn’t have to feel anything.
Those complicated, irritating, guilt-ridden feelings he hated would vanish on their own.
He was always calculating.
He was selfish, and he hated anything that made him feel uncomfortable.
He planned every move carefully, manipulated every piece on the board, and led everything to where he wanted it to go.
Even himself.
“……”
Wu Zhu gazed at the human in front of him.
Then he suddenly raised his hand, grabbed the back of Wen Jianyan’s neck, and dragged him into a fierce, suffocating kiss.
The distance vanished.
And the blade sank into his chest.
Aaaa the liar is being honest!!! Leaving it up to wu zhu omggg
Awww but i love to have a scene without people peeking
Wu Zhu is so sweet??? That amount of dedication and support, using his strengths and advantages as a god to help Wen Jianyan, and Wen Jianyan giving him affection in return…. It’s so sweet!