Chapter 17: Jealousy and Hatred

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Song Chengfeng did not notice Yan Zhuo standing on the second floor, still holding the banner and murmuring to himself. Qu Yan, expressionless, spoke sharply, “Get out.”

The command was unmistakable. Song Chengfeng looked puzzled and pointed at himself, “Are you talking to me?”

Qu Yan avoided Yan Zhuo’s gaze and quickened his speech, “Return to the car immediately, or our previous agreement is void.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Song Chengfeng scoffed angrily.

Yan Zhuo, upstairs, made a move and would be down in seconds. Qu Yan turned to Song Chengfeng and said, “I will explain later.”

Careful observation revealed Qu Yan’s unusual behavior. Song Chengfeng pondered for a moment and nodded, “Better be that way.”

He wouldn’t rashly break ties unless his own interests were affected, especially under the current circumstances.

Song Chengfeng’s footsteps gradually faded away, but Yan Zhuo pressed forward relentlessly, leaving Qu Yan no room to relax.

Only half a step apart, Yan Zhuo kept advancing until one leg forcefully slipped between Qu Yan’s legs, blocking any further movement. His upper body leaned forward until he was right at Qu Yan’s neck, his nose twitching as if sniffing a scent.

Qu Yan tilted his head back, gripping the wheelchair’s armrests tightly. “Yan Zhuo?”

No answer came. Suddenly, a moist sensation spread across his neck. Qu Yan’s pupils dilated as he glanced down in disbelief.

Half of Yan Zhuo’s face was buried in his neck, a pink tongue flickering, licking his neck like a predator savoring its prey.

Yan Zhuo had lost all reason; Qu Yan was certain of it.

Silently, two wolf ears sprouted atop Yan Zhuo’s head, and a wolf’s tail swayed behind him, making his actions appear even more beastly.

What had started as gentle licking soon turned aggressive. Yan Zhuo’s strength increased, sucking and biting roughly. Qu Yan could only endure helplessly, his brows furrowing in pain.

He felt as if he had become a piece of tender meat about to be devoured. Soon, he caught the scent of blood; his neck must be bleeding. If this continued, he truly would be consumed. Suddenly, he thought, “Yan Zhuo…”

He had to raise his hand to stop him. “Stop, Yan Zhuo.”

His crimson eyes met his without avoidance.

He was gambling—betting that Yan Zhuo wouldn’t harm him.

After a long moment, just as Qu Yan prepared to speak again, his body was lifted into the air. He gasped softly, instinctively wrapping his arms around Yan Zhuo’s neck.

The irrational youth held him tightly, leaving no chance to escape. Qu Yan watched as the wheelchair rolled away, then ascended the stairs step by step toward the second floor.

If the first floor of this villa was simply decorated, the second floor was cold and sterile.

The entire second-floor space was opened up into one vast area. Everywhere he looked, white stretched out—white walls, complex medical instruments, and a stark surgical table right in the center.

Qu Yan looked around silently, momentarily lost for words.

Yan Zhuo’s loss of reason could not be without cause. Qu Yan guessed it might be a reaction to some trauma. Could it be this place? Had it left him with bad memories? He pondered this, recalling what Song Chengfeng had said earlier, until someone set him down, and he snapped back to reality.

He was placed on the surgical table in the center. The cold surface pressed through the thin cloth against his skin. For some reason, he felt an aversion to this table and pushed Yan Zhuo away gently. “Not here.”

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Yan Zhuo ignored him and climbed up as well, snuggling against Qu Yan like a puppy, wrapping his arms tightly around him. “Qu Yan… Qu Yan…”

He murmured softly, a satisfied smile curving his lips.

Qu Yan was initially stunned that he could speak, then lost his voice at the smile. After a moment, he reached out, fingers brushing Yan Zhuo’s cheek. “Do you know who I am?”

“Qu Yan, you are Qu Yan.” Yan Zhuo rubbed against him, ignoring his slightly frightening gaze, looking more like a loyal dog attached to his owner.

Qu Yan realized this was a good chance to probe, so he continued calmly, “Yes, I am Qu Yan. Do you like me?”

“Qu Yan…” The joy on Yan Zhuo’s face slowly faded.

Was he lying? Qu Yan’s expression cooled slightly. “Or do you like Qu Zizhi?”

Yan Zhuo shook his head vehemently, “I don’t like him!”

“Then who do you like?” Qu Yan coaxed patiently.

“Qu Yan.” Yan Zhuo’s arms slackened. “Qu Yan doesn’t like me. He doesn’t like me…”

He looked pitiful, his voice soft, his tail no longer wagging.

The surgical table beneath was cold, and Qu Yan’s hands were cold too, but Yan Zhuo’s embrace was warm.

Moved, Qu Yan suddenly cupped Yan Zhuo’s face, gently stroking his soft lips with his finger. “Even if you don’t like me, I can give you a little sweetness.”

With that, he tilted his head and lightly kissed Yan Zhuo’s chin.

Like a bird skimming the surface of a lake, it wasn’t really a kiss—just a fleeting touch.

Yet Yan Zhuo reacted as if burned, trembling violently and nearly falling off the table. That almost-not-a-kiss instantly made him happy again. His wolf tail wagged twice joyfully, and he pounced on Qu Yan again, pressing against his chest, mumbling for more.

Qu Yan refused, tilting his head away. He let the “large pet” nuzzle him as it pleased.

No one knew how long Yan Zhuo’s condition would last. Song Chengfeng might have to wait a bit longer. As Qu Yan thought this, the person on him suddenly stopped moving.

Yan Zhuo had fallen asleep.

But he was very heavy and strong. Even unconscious, he clung tightly to Qu Yan without letting go.

Qu Yan had to remain perfectly still, passing time by staring at the strange instruments around him. Time slipped by, and when his eyelids grew heavy, the person on him finally stirred.

The drowsiness vanished instantly. Qu Yan composed himself, waiting for Yan Zhuo to fully wake.

“Ugh—” Yan Zhuo groaned, clutching his head in discomfort. After a long while, he lifted his head and looked around the surroundings. It was the second floor. No, he clearly remembered leaving. How could this be…?

“You’re awake?” Qu Yan’s expression was calm as he stretched out a hand. “Can you help me up? My arm’s numb.”

Yan Zhuo’s mind was still foggy, but hearing this, he reached out. Qu Yan’s hand was cold. He frowned. “Why is your hand…”

His words stopped abruptly as his eyes locked onto the exposed skin on Qu Yan’s neck.

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Qu Yan wore a light blue shirt that should have been neat, but two buttons were missing, the collar open wide, fully exposing his neck. There was a large red mark—less like a kiss and more like a bite. Against his pale skin, the mark was shockingly vivid.

Yan Zhuo dared not touch it—the thin skin was already bleeding. Suppressing his anger, he asked, “Who did this?”

“Don’t remember?” Qu Yan raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you recall what happened just now?”

Yan Zhuo tried to remember but found only emptiness in his mind, save for a throbbing pain in his temples.

Seeing he wasn’t lying, Qu Yan mentally pieced together the events and said calmly, “When you came down from the second floor, you seemed to lose your mind. After I sent Song Chengfeng away, you carried me up here, then…”

He pointed to his neck. “You did this.”

He didn’t mention the almost-kiss—it was trivial and painless. In hindsight, he didn’t even know why he had done that.

Perhaps Yan Zhuo had been too pitiful at the time.

“You did this…” It took Yan Zhuo a long while to comprehend the meaning of those words. Vague images flickered in his mind, just as Qu Yan described. So it really was him… He had done this to Qu Yan.

He actually did something like that to Qu Yan. Such marks, especially on the neck, could only mean one thing… Yan Zhuo felt his lips burn as if melting.

He should have been ashamed, but instead, like a child finally tasting candy, an untimely joy welled up inside him. He dared not meet Qu Yan’s eyes, wishing he could bury his head underground. “...I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

“It’s okay,” Qu Yan said. Yan Zhuo’s reaction was exactly what he expected. He tried to appear indifferent. “Let’s go. Song Chengfeng has been waiting a long time.”

The words “It’s okay” were like a pardon to Yan Zhuo. He jumped off the table, pausing before picking up Qu Yan. “Can you also not be mad about what happened before?”

He was pushing his luck.

Qu Yan pretended not to understand. “What do you mean, before?”

Yan Zhuo lowered his head. “At the milk tea shop, were you angry?”

“Of course not.” Qu Yan smoothed his disheveled hair and collar. “I don’t oppose you helping them and I know you’re capable, but you should be careful. You have to consider yourself first. Helping others only makes sense if you’re safe. Being reckless is not good.”

Concern shone in his eyes—not feigned at all.

Qu Yan cared for him and even praised his strength. This clear recognition sent a dizzying sensation through Yan Zhuo’s mind, making him unsure where to put his hands and feet. “I-I understand.”

So easy to fool.

Qu Yan smiled faintly at his reddened ears. It wasn’t really concern—it was jealousy and resentment.

Why could those people receive help so easily, while he could only lie helplessly on the ground, acutely feeling the painful numbness creeping into his legs?

He fostered jealousy and hated himself for feeling it.

But he would never admit it.