Shen Que’s hand remained suspended in the air, his palm burning with sharp pain, quivering faintly from the force he had used moments earlier.
That brief outburst had nearly exhausted all his strength, laden with the humiliation of being manipulated, concern for his companions, and above all, fury toward the person before him for finally casting aside his mask.
The slap knocked Sheng Qixiao’s head to the side, distinct finger marks swiftly blooming across his pale cheek. He maintained the posture of having his head turned without moving for a long time. A few strands of loose hair covered his eyes, making his expression indiscernible. He slowly pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, lingering for a few seconds as though relishing the sensation, before gradually turning his head back.
The expression on his face was fully revealed to Shen Que. He was not angry, nor did he frown; the silver ornament on his forehead was tilted to one side, swaying precariously.
Time seemed to be stretched infinitely, yet also endlessly stalled in place.
Shen Que stared at those red marks with his brows unconsciously furrowing. Sheng Qixiao was far too calm, there was none of the anger he had expected, not even the slightest reaction, and for some reason, that unsettled him.
Those beautiful eyes narrowed ever so slightly, exposing a stark, undisguised sharpness Shen Que had never seen before.
Immediately after, a smile quietly spread at the corner of Sheng Qixiao’s mouth, widening little by little until it stretched over the red marks on his cheek, the expression becoming faintly unsettling under the dim light.
Sheng Qixiao raised a hand to slowly and deliberately caress his cheek as if the warmth of Shen Que’s palm still lingered there.
“Have you cooled down? Do you want to continue?”
Shen Que suddenly tightened both hands into fists; the anger surging in his chest seemed to be obstructed by something, unable to release, instead smoldering and growing even more intense.
“Sheng Qixiao, don’t go too far.” Shen Que’s voice came out strained, the lingering heat in his palms serving as a constant reminder of the moment he had just lost control.
Sheng Qixiao did not speak; he simply stood there looking at Shen Que, his light-colored eyes shimmering with a moist glint, as if soaked in water.
He looked at Shen Que’s tense jawline, watched the fists clenched at his sides trembling faintly, and took in every trace of resistance rising in his eyes.
He was waiting, waiting for Shen Que’s compromise. He understood him far better than Shen Que realized; he would ultimately yield to him.
This silent confrontation would eventually favor the more patient party.
Shen Que’s gaze also rested on Sheng Qixiao’s face while trying to find a crack in that placid smile, but he remained rock-solid as if all his resistance, all his fury, were merely tools for amusement in his eyes, only adding to the fun.
Shen Que shifted his gaze in frustration. He once again recognized that the Sheng Qixiao before him was no longer the youth who could be easily fooled by a casual word or two, or rather, that person had never truly existed.
Outside the window, the night had already deepened into an impenetrable darkness; moonlight blended seamlessly with the candlelight indoors, casting the shadows of the two onto the floor, entwined for a long while, yet still clearly separate.
Shen Que’s shoulders slumped. He fell into an unprecedented helplessness; he knew he couldn’t win, and things would ultimately develop in the direction Sheng Qixiao desired.
Perhaps from the moment he stepped into this small building, or even earlier, from the moment he met Sheng Qixiao, every struggle and every scheme of his had been revolving within the circle drawn by the other party.
He closed his eyes, and when he reopened them again, all emotions were restrained, leaving only a near-numb resignation, “What exactly do you want?”
Sheng Qixiao took off the mask hanging at his waist and placed it on the table beside them, where it overlapped with Shen Que’s mask, which had been trampled beyond recognition in the chaos.
He did not step forward but merely lifted his chin, revealing the beautiful lines of his neck. A crimson-stained slash, where fresh red fluid had already begun to clot, lay stark against the pale skin; every trace of it the result of Shen Que’s doing.
Despite having just been slapped, his eyes were full of a sense of effortless control, as if that slap had not landed on his face and that wound had become a medal.
Sheng Qixiao tapped his own lips with his fingertip with a hint of frivolousness yet undeniable command. That gesture was utterly unsuited to Sheng Qixiao himself, yet exceptionally familiar. “What do you think?”
Shen Que, too, smiled. He nodded, lifted his hand, and swept his hair back from his forehead, exposing a smooth, broad expanse of skin.
The next second, he grabbed Sheng Qixiao’s chin and violently turned his face. Without the slightest hesitation; no warning, no testing, only a surge of terrifying rage and desperate madnes, he pulled him in and kissed him fiercely.
The contact of soft lips, however, transformed into ice that refused to yield, colliding with the chill from their respective hearts.
It could hardly even be called a kiss; it’s more a savage, biting struggle to assert dominance. Lips and teeth crashed and ground against each other without mercy. One of their lips was torn open, and the taste of blood spread, seeping through their entwined mouths.
Sheng Qixiao lowered his head slightly, accepting the kiss that felt to Shen Que utterly devoid of warmth with a calm composure, even a trace of indulgent enjoyment. The deeply buried craving in his eyes finally surfaced before settling into a look of quiet satisfaction. He accepted the “tribute” without ceremony and immediately took control. His hand firmly cupped the back of Shen Que’s head, pressing him closer and deepening the kiss Shen Que had willingly offered.
Shen Que was completely enveloped by Sheng Qixiao, his senses flooded with Sheng Qixiao’s scent. His mind began to reel, and the stiffness in his movements slowly started to give way, softening little by little.
The fabric of their clothes loosened in their entanglement. Shen Que abruptly opened his eyes, pressing both hands against Sheng Qixiao’s chest and using the force to push himself back. A faint, glistening trace of moisture still lingered on his lips.
“Sheng Qixiao,” Shen Que panted heavily, his voice rough and strained as he said, “Stop right here. Don’t go any further.”
Sheng Qixiao didn’t respond. He only gave a faint shake of his head, then reached out and slowly brushed his fingertip across the corner of Shen Que’s lips, the motion carrying an almost casual intimacy. “No, that is not possible. All of this is still far from enough.”
He pressed one step closer and an invisible sense of oppression crashing down on Shen Que like a mountain.
Sheng Qixiao kissed him again.
The heavy headpiece on Shen Que’s head had been removed at the very beginning; the belt Sheng Qixiao had personally sewn was undone; the luxurious fabric made a harsh tearing sound in the struggle. In the heat of their fierce, near-scuffling entanglement, their clothes were left in disarray, scattered carelessly across the cold floor.
“Sheng Qixiao, I don’t bottom.” Shen Que was still trying to resist, but he simply could not stop Sheng Qixiao’s movements, only futilely attempting to hide himself under the quilt.
Sheng Qixiao paused briefly before tilting his head to look at Shen Que, and after a moment, he slowly spoke, “What does that mean? I don’t understand.”
“……” Shen Que froze until Sheng Qixiao pulled him over again, his long hair mixed with silver chains draped on his exposed skin, both ticklish and cool. “I said, I, am, not, the, one, below!”
“Fine, then you can be on top.” Sheng Qixiao did not hesitate at all and immediately agreed. He pulled Shen Que’s arm with force, and their positions were reversed.
Shen Que sat astride Sheng Qixiao’s waist, an instinctive sense that something was off creeping over him, though he couldn’t quite place what it was. If Sheng Qixiao had really been that flexible earlier, why had he resisted so fiercely…?
But he quickly realized that the ‘on top’ Sheng Qixiao meant and the ‘on top’ he had said were two completely different things.
“Sheng Qixiao, screw your… uncle’s…” Shen Que choked Sheng Qixiao’s neck with his hands, but he could not exert any force, only letting himself drift and sink in the other party’s storm-like invasion.
The candlelight flickered silently, illuminating the messy room and the two figures lost and sinking in desire.
His consciousness drifted along the edge of chaotic darkness; after being pushed to the limits of exhaustion, Shen Que slipped into a hazy, half-awake state. His body was too heavy to exert any strength, yet his mind was like a taut string, intermittently clear amidst the confusion.
Just on this blurred boundary, he caught a faint, almost imperceptible sigh, carrying a sense of indescribable complexity. The sound was so faint he nearly failed to catch it, yet when it reached his ears, it struck with the crushing weight of a thousand pounds.
“Your acting is actually terrible. I didn’t believe a word of it.” Sheng Qixiao pulled the quilt up, covering Shen Que tightly before he was satisfied to encircle him in his embrace. “Don’t ever lie to me again.”
Boom.
Shen Que seemed to hear the sound of something collapsing and was instantly and completely awake from his daze.
His heart pounded wildly in his chest, hitting against bone and flesh, bringing with it a faint, throbbing pain. He abruptly opened his eyes and looked directly into Sheng Qixiao’s eyes.
Countless questions scrambled on his lips, but in the end, they were all swallowed back.
“It’s almost dawn. When are you going to let them out?” Shen Que’s voice was a bit hoarse, his throat stinging from dryness.
“What’s the rush? It’s still early.” Sheng Qixiao slowly pushed himself upright, the hand resting at Shen Que’s waist giving him a light, gentle pat. “Where is the thing? Where did you hide it?”
“What thing?” Shen Que’s eyes flickered. He pursed his lips, and just as he was about to make up a lie to gloss over it, he remembered Sheng Qixiao had just said his acting was terrible, so he simply closed his eyes and pretended to be dead.
“You’re not going to tell me?” Sheng Qixiao lay back down, unceremoniously pulling Shen Que back into his arms with his chin lightly rubbing against the top of Shen Que’s head. “I’m a little tired too. Keep me company and sleep for a bit then.”
Shen Que immediately reached out to block him, pushing his shoulder away, and reluctantly opened his eyes. “Give me my clothes.”
“I’ll go by myself, you wait for me here.”
Shen Que impatiently ‘tsk’, “Give me my clothes!” His tone carried obvious impatience. At this point, he no longer had the mind to maintain the deliberately feigned gentleness and understanding from before, and his attitude was extremely poor.
Sheng Qixiao stared at Shen Que for a few seconds as if finding it amusing. He reached out and tugged at his cheek, pulling apart the anger etched across his face, then lowered his head and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
He lifted the quilt and got out of bed, carefully picking out two pieces of relatively complete clothing from the messy piles on the floor and the rattan chair. He handed one to Shen Que, asking as he dressed, “Just make do for now. Do you want me to help?”
“Get lost.”
Shen Que snatched the clothes before quickly wrapping himself up as if the thin fabric were his strongest armor.
Shen Que gritted his teeth and slowly moved off the bed while forcing himself to endure the discomfort and soreness coming from behind, his legs almost giving out when his feet touched the floor. But he straightened his back, lifted his chin, and made his way to the window in small, measured steps, raising a hand to point outside.
