Chapter 20: Taming the Wolf

My body felt searingly hot, as if swaddled in magma. The wounds on my skin were being roasted, aching and itching, and Qu Yan couldn't help but want to scratch at them, though he failed to do so.

His hand was caught mid-air.

The hand that held his was cool, the fingertips smeared with something soft and smooth. Lost in a haze, Qu Yan felt his entire body drained of strength; he could only feel those cool fingertips tracing over his wounds, dissipating the heat and leaving behind only a soothing sensation.

His body slipped into a dream before his mind did. Qu Yan struggled to open his eyes just a crack. His vision was blurred, but he could make out Yan Zhuo tucking the blanket in for him. He wanted to speak, but lacked even the strength to part his lips.

In the end, he succumbed and closed his eyes. Before drifting off completely, he thought that although he had won the gamble this time, the sacrifice had been too great. Besides, Lian Jiayun had died too quickly; it wasn't satisfying enough. All in all, it was a losing deal.

The dream was hazy and hallucinatory. He didn't know how long he slept, and when he opened his eyes again, he couldn't tell if it was day or night.

Everything around him was completely unfamiliar. It appeared to be a small bedroom—it was called small because, aside from the bed, there was nothing else in the room, and the remaining space was barely enough for one person to pass through. Yan Zhuo was currently huddled in that narrow gap, his long legs curled up, looking quite uncomfortable.

Qu Yan didn't call out to him, just watched him for a while. He found it strange; he used to have to sleep with the lights on, and even then, he was easily startled awake by nightmares. Yet lately, with Yan Zhuo by his side, he had been sleeping exceptionally well.

His gaze was too intense and was soon discovered. The person who had been lost in thought stood up in a panic, bracing his hands on the bed as he leaned toward Qu Yan, as if to confirm whether he was truly awake.

"How long have I been asleep?" His throat was parched, and his words were barely a whisper.

Immediately, his lips brushed against a glass. Yan Zhuo held it with one hand. Qu Yan did not refuse, allowing him to feed him, and opened his mouth to take a couple of sips.

It was warm water, bringing a comforting moisture as it slid down his throat.

Yan Zhuo watched his expression while taking the glass away. "It's almost nine o'clock."

The candle at the foot of the bed flickered twice, and only then did Qu Yan notice that this bedroom didn't even have a window. A sense of oppression washed over him. He sat up and asked, "Where is this?"

"Yan Hangzhang's villa," Yan Zhuo replied, his voice devoid of inflection.

Qu Yan nodded, not questioning the cold tone or the way he addressed the name.

He leaned against the headboard, raising a hand to touch the gauze wrapped around his neck. His body felt clean and refreshed, and even his clothes had been changed. He recalled the vague sensations from when he was drifting in and out of consciousness; it had been Yan Zhuo applying medicine to his wounds.

"Your clothes were too dirty; it would have caused an infection," Yan Zhuo explained, perhaps seeing his confusion.

Qu Yan wasn't surprised by this answer. He shifted, clearing a small space at the edge of the bed. "Come, sit."

The room was far too narrow. With the tall Yan Zhuo standing there, the cramped space made it even harder to breathe.

Yan Zhuo hesitated for a moment before obediently sitting down. He was tall, and the bed was narrow and small; the moment he sat, he blocked most of the candlelight from the foot of the bed. Qu Yan’s vision instantly plunged into darkness. He coughed, curling his hand into a fist against his lips.

"I'll go get some water." Yan Zhuo, who had been watching him the whole time, was on edge.

"No need," Qu Yan grabbed him, stopping him from standing up. "I don't want to drink any."

As he spoke, the gauze wrapped around his neck rustled. He hadn't noticed it while lying down, but now that he was sitting up, the taut gauze poked at his throat, bringing an itch that felt both real and imagined.

Qu Yan raised his hand to adjust it, but couldn't smooth it out. A pair of hands soon appeared at his neck.

He looked up and caught the earnestness in Yan Zhuo's eyes.

Yan Zhuo moved with gentle care, carefully unwinding the gauze and shifting it slightly to reveal Qu Yan's Adam's apple. "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention earlier. Is this better?"

The way he apologized was so matter-of-fact that Qu Yan’s breathing grew shallow. He suddenly gripped one of Yan Zhuo’s fingers. "Why apologize? Forget it. Is there anything else you want to say?"

The finger curled slightly. Yan Zhuo could have easily pulled his hand away, but he didn't. "About today... I'm sorry. I promise it will never happen again."

As expected, another apology. A smile tugged at the corner of Qu Yan’s mouth as he gripped Yan Zhuo’s hand with a little more force. "Why do you always have to say sorry? Yan Zhuo, haven't I told you that I really hate those three words?"

Yan Zhuo's eyes widened instinctively. "You..."

"Oh, right, I haven't," Qu Yan interrupted him softly. "Don't apologize. This matter has nothing to do with you, and you don't need to feel any guilt because of it."

No, that wasn't it. Yan Zhuo's heart didn't feel the slightest bit lighter at these words. He would rather Qu Yan blame him; at least that would have given him the illusion that their relationship was something out of the ordinary.

Such blunt and clear words left him unable to continue his fantasies.

Qu Yan stared quietly at the face of the young man before him, and suddenly, everything became clear. "Is it because you like me?"

Yan Zhuo’s wrist trembled. He wanted to turn and run, but even though Qu Yan’s grip was loose, it felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.

His cheek was touched. Yan Zhuo saw Qu Yan leaning in toward him; his eyes were soft and limpid, and there was a small wound at the corner of his eye that had just scabbed over, looking like a blood-colored teardrop.

Then he said, "Or perhaps, to be precise, it's because you have a crush on me? Because of this crush, you place yourself in a lowly position, pitifully and prayerfully begging for my gaze and attention, even if it means losing your self-respect. Is that it..."

"Don't say it..."

Qu Yan’s mouth was suddenly covered. The remaining words were pushed back into his throat. The palm covering his mouth was scorching, which only served to highlight Yan Zhuo’s panicked and helpless expression.

"Don't say it, Qu Yan, I beg you, don't say it..."

Don't lay bare his sickness and his baseness; don't leave his disguise with nowhere to hide.

The warm breath hit his palm, and Qu Yan’s face was stained with the heat of his hand. Yan Zhuo pulled his hand away as if burned, then backed away violently. His back hit the crossbeam at the foot of the bed, the candle tipped over, and the room was plunged into darkness.

The sound of breathing grew amplified in the room. The warmth still seemed to linger on his lips. Qu Yan licked the corner of his mouth very slowly. "Come here, Yan Zhuo."

He used an almost commanding tone. "I will only say this once. Come here now, or never appear before my eyes again."

A mentally ill little wolf always needs to be properly tamed.

"Qu Yan..." Yan Zhuo pleaded in a low voice.

Qu Yan remained silent, waiting with absolute confidence.

Two seconds later, Yan Zhuo sat back in his original position and called his name in a low voice, "Will you forgive me?"

Qu Yan countered, "What did you do wrong that requires my forgiveness?"

"I..." Yan Zhuo closed his eyes tightly. "I like you..."

Qu Yan remembered that night at the apartment again. He had blocked Yan Zhuo’s words then, telling him that affection during student days didn't amount to much, but he seemed to have underestimated him. Yan Zhuo’s feelings for him went far beyond simple affection.

He took too long to think, and it gradually turned into a form of torture for Yan Zhuo. Unable to bear it, he begged, "Don't drive me away, okay? You can do anything to me... as long as you forgive me..."

"Shut up!" Qu Yan’s temple throbbed. Sure enough, Yan Zhuo had psychological issues, and his understanding of the word "like" was different from the average person. In his view, since he liked Qu Yan, Qu Yan could do whatever he wanted to him, even hurt him.

For once, Qu Yan didn't know what to say. Before, he hadn't cared about Yan Zhuo’s feelings, so he had used him without mercy. But now, faced with Yan Zhuo’s unmasked, surging emotions, could he really continue with his previous methods?

He suddenly felt a sense of self-doubt.

After a long while, he let out a sigh. "There's no need to apologize for this."

Yan Zhuo looked at him, stunned. "You... you'll let me like you?"

The phrasing sounded strange. Qu Yan corrected him, "It's not 'letting,' it's 'possible.' You can like me."

"Why?" Yan Zhuo’s throat was dry, the words forced out. "Don't you think I'm base?"

"No one would think that, and liking someone is not base or dirty." Qu Yan’s gaze was calm as he patted the head of the bewildered little wolf. "To me, Yan Zhuo, your liking is a priceless treasure."

These were the exact words he had once used to describe Song Chengfeng, and now he was giving them to Yan Zhuo without changing a thing. As long as he made good use of it, Yan Zhuo’s emotions could become his sharpest weapon. The drawback was that this kind of affection, tainted by madness and sickness, could consume him if left unchecked and handled carelessly.

Perhaps one day in the future, he would reap the consequences of today's arrogance, but at this moment, he didn't want to hesitate.

He needed Yan Zhuo, this blade.

A priceless treasure... Yan Zhuo murmured silently. His heart felt sour and swollen, thumping rhythmically, making him truly feel that he was still alive.

From hell to heaven, it had taken nothing more than a single sentence from Qu Yan.