Chapter 18

After much effort, Shen Zhi finally managed to settle Shen Jichuan, who had been kicking off the blankets.

Knowing the living room would turn cold late at night, he directly wrapped the young man up—a rather laborious task. Thinking the fellow might get thirsty during the night, he also poured hot water into a thermos and placed it on the living room table within Shen Jichuan’s easy reach.

Sitting beside the sofa, he gazed blankly at Shen Jichuan and suddenly recalled the boy’s reminder before falling asleep. He took out the thermometer and checked his own temperature again.

Truth be told, he hadn’t even realized he was running a slight fever. His physical condition had indeed worsened compared to his teenage years, largely due to the long-term effects of medications he had taken, which gradually damaged his health.

36.8°C.

His body temperature had returned to the safe range.

He touched his forehead and noticed he had broken a slight sweat. The faint, lingering chill in his body was gone, replaced instead by a mild warmth.

He wasn’t sure whether it was the cold medicine taking effect or the alcohol Uncle Zhou had given him.

His eyes drifted back to the figure on the sofa. He reached out, gently pressing his palm against Shen Jichuan’s cheek, then pinched his nose. He released it as soon as the boy frowned, repeating this several times until his hand was swatted away.

Shen Jichuan had hit him as if swatting a mosquito.

Shen Zhi couldn’t hold back a soft laugh.

This was, in the truest sense, the first New Year he had spent with himself.

On both New Year’s Eve and the first day of the lunar new year, Shen Jichuan had been by Shen Zhi’s side.

Only by his side.

Shen Zhi sat quietly there until the early hours of the morning.

By the time the distant fireworks outside had faded and the world fell into complete silence, he listened to Shen Jichuan’s steady breathing and felt an immense sense of peace.

That peace lulled him into drowsiness. Shen Zhi returned to the bedroom and, for the first time, fell asleep so quickly.

Shen Jichuan felt intensely hot.

It was as if his entire body had been tossed into a furnace to roast.

This heat surged through him several times, igniting like a flame, before finally pooling in his lower abdomen. He couldn’t quite describe the sensation—only that he felt like he was about to explode.

During sleep, his metabolism had slowed, and the alcohol he’d consumed had barely been processed.

Dazed, Shen Jichuan forced his eyes open. His mind and movements were sluggish as he struggled to push the covers aside—

He couldn’t.

The blankets were wrapped tightly around him.

Who had tucked him in like this? Chengzong? Or Grandma? …No, that wasn’t right—since when did he ever use such thick covers?

For a moment, Shen Jichuan thought he was back at the Shen residence, or trapped in some bizarre dream. Weak-limbed, he struggled free from the blankets. Parched with thirst, he spotted a cup on the table, unscrewed it, and gulped down the contents.

He desperately needed something cold to suppress the unbearable heat and urges raging inside him.

He drank so urgently that water he couldn’t swallow in time dribbled from the corner of his mouth, tracing his bobbing Adam’s apple before dripping to the floor.

Only after finishing did he belatedly realize: “…It’s hot water?”

There was no time to wonder who had left hot water here. The entire cup of slightly scalding liquid only made him feel hotter—he felt as if he were steaming.

He needed cold water.

Ice-cold water.

He also needed…

Shen Jichuan shook his head, struggling to stand. Dizzy and unsteady, he staggered toward the bathroom with a weaving gait.

Whoosh—!

He turned the faucet on full blast.

Shen Jichuan scooped water and splashed it on his face repeatedly before finally sticking his head directly under the faucet. He tilted his head sideways with closed eyes, gulping down several mouthfuls of cold water.

But as the cooling sensation faded, the heat coursing through his body not only refused to subside but grew even more rampant, standing up defiantly.

He braced his hands against the sink, veins bulging on his wrists as droplets fell from his damp hair.

He cursed under his breath.

Damn it, why did it have to feel this awful even in a dream?

Lowering the toilet seat, Shen Jichuan sat on it like a stool, clumsily attempting to expel the raging alcohol from his system.

Shen Zhi was a light sleeper.

Any significant noise outside would rouse him from his slumber.

When he first heard the commotion, he simply opened his eyes calmly, assuming Shen Jichuan had woken up for water.

He felt rather prescient for having prepared hot water in the thermos earlier.

The thermos would have gradually released some heat by now, leaving the water pleasantly warm. After drinking so much alcohol, warm water was better than cold—anything too harsh might upset his stomach.

Then came the sound of hurried, stumbling footsteps.

Shen Jichuan had gone to the bathroom.

The running faucet soon drowned out all other noises.

Shen Zhi listened for a long time, but the sound of water never ceased.

Frowning slightly, he sat up in bed, turned off his audiobook app, and began to worry.

Was he throwing up?

Really, this kid… he shouldn’t have let him drink so much.

Shen Zhi put on his glasses, slipped into his slippers, and headed out. He first turned on the strip lights in the living room—their soft glow was gentle on eyes adjusted to darkness.

Then he approached the bathroom door.

Clearly, the person inside had been in a rush, leaving the door slightly ajar with a narrow gap.

The sound of running water echoed from within.

Shen Zhi frowned, knocked lightly on the door, and called out softly, Xiao Chuan?

There was no response.

Only what seemed like faint, hurried breaths—perhaps just an illusion.

Growing increasingly concerned, Shen Zhi deepened his frown and pushed the door open a little wider. He looked inside, Xiao Chuan…

His pupils dilated slightly.

The rest of his words died in his throat.

Bathed in the dim, soft light from outside, Shen Zhi saw the scene inside the bathroom clearly.

—It was a sight both incredibly innocent and unbearably indecent.

Like something out of a comic book.

Earlier, when Shen Zhi had been tending to his drunken state, he had changed him into pajamas. Now, the loose, long sleep pants lay pooled on the floor, tangled around the boy’s ankles and covering his feet.

During dinner that evening, Shen Jichuan’s eyes had reddened because of the Shen family. Now, they were red again, filled with restraint and discomfort.

Hearing Shen Zhi open the door, he looked up.

Fine beads of sweat dotted the boy’s nose, his hair was damp, and his eyelashes were moist. His healthy, youthful, vibrant, and perfectly sculpted body was flushed with a faint red under his clumsy handling.

His gaze fixed intently on Shen Zhi, his movements growing increasingly rough.

Does the mirror move too? Shen Jichuan tilted his head and asked, Dreams really do make all sorts of magical things happen.

He mistook Shen Zhi, who shared his face, for a mirror that could move on its own.

Shen Zhi found it difficult to describe the shock he felt the moment he opened the door.

A shivering excitement spread from the depths of his heart to his limbs, his fingertips numb, the roof of his mouth even faintly sour from the sudden surge of emotion, uncontrollably secreting fluid.

The veneer of gentleness and composure he wore when facing Shen Jichuan was peeling away inch by inch.

Shen Zhi stood at the bathroom door, blocking most of the light from the living room. His silver-framed glasses reflected a cold gleam, his features shrouded in shadow, the look in his eyes beneath the lenses growing obscure and indistinct.

His gaze swept over Shen Jichuan’s features, slowly drifting downward—past slightly parted lips gasping for breath, past a swallowing throat, past a heaving chest, past fingers stained with desire and filth, past straight, well-proportioned legs.

Yes.

This was exactly how he had pleasured himself in his youth.

So this.

Was the full picture.

Deep in his memory, hidden beneath the quilt, a flashlight illuminating a small mirror tucked inside—that tiny mirror could only reflect his youthful, debauched face.

Eyes shifting from evasive to direct.

Innocence and lust intertwined, longing and shame entwined.

All the desires that only flowed forth in solitude—now, through Shen Jichuan’s unreserved, unashamed actions, Shen Zhi saw them laid bare.

Shen Zhi’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the doorknob. He didn’t know how much force he was using until a sharp pain shot through his forearm, forcing him to banish the surging, dark images from his mind.

He stitched his cold, composed facade back together, his eyes returning to calm.

No.

To Shen Jichuan, he was merely someone with a slight fondness for him, someone he could trust.

Going too far would only scare him away.

Shen Zhi walked up to Shen Jichuan and said softly, “Are you done? If you can’t finish, go wash up. Don’t hurt yourself and bleed—it’ll be uncomfortable.”

Shen Jichuan remained unresponsive, still staring at him.

Shen Zhi grabbed his hand to stop him from continuing, then knelt down to help pull his pants up from the floor, stopping at his calves.

But Shen Jichuan abruptly shifted forward.

Something damp and scorching brushed against Shen Zhi’s cold cheek, even knocking his silver-framed glasses askew.

“…………”

Shen Jichuan glared at him. “Not wearing them.”

Shen Zhi’s hand, clutching the hem of the sleep pants, tightened slowly. Anyone could see he was restraining himself to the extreme.

Finally, inhaling the faint, warm, musky scent at the tip of his nose, he maintained the tone one would use to coax a drunk, saying gently, “Fine, don’t wear them.”

He tossed the sleep pants into the bathroom’s laundry basket.

After all, it was this kid who did the laundry. If he wanted to hang one more piece of clothing, so be it.

Shen Zhi raised his hand, wiping the back of it across his cheek as if applying moisturizer, then reached out to help Shen Jichuan up. “Come on, let’s go to the living room. I’ll get a towel to clean you up.”

Shen Jichuan had no intention of moving. He thought, the version of himself in the mirror had no idea how unbearable he felt right now.

He was furious at being forced to stop, but as he looked at the face in the mirror, his anger dissipated before it could even take hold.

In its place arose a deep yearning.

For a moment, the reflection seemed to change its attire—no longer clad in black, abstinence-style sleepwear, but in a clerical trench coat, black silk covering the chest, golden chains winding around the body, a red veil obscuring the eyes…

Exquisite.

Seduce me.

Shen Jichuan shook his head, feeling even dizzier. The double vision before him not only failed to clear but seemed to grow more pronounced.

He thought, since this is a dream, naturally he could do as he pleased.

So he grabbed Shen Zhi’s wrist instead, pulling him forward abruptly.

Caught off guard, Shen Zhi nearly collided with Shen Jichuan’s forehead.

Shen Zhi couldn’t help but say, You… why are you so persistent? He had never been this troublesome when drunk before.

Shen Jichuan spread his legs, gripping his wrist and pressing his palm downward.

Staring straight at Shen Zhi’s face, he said bluntly, I didn’t finish. It’s uncomfortable. Help me, and I’ll sleep.

A throbbing heat.

Once, then again.

…………

Shen Zhi’s expression instantly darkened.

He slowly lifted his gaze, staring into the youth’s pitch-black, clear eyes.

The chains restraining the beast were loosening.

As if sensing danger, Shen Jichuan leaned back—but failed to escape.

Shen Zhi’s other hand was already pressed against the back of his neck, applying gradual pressure until their foreheads touched.

You said it yourself.

He gripped the back of Shen Jichuan’s neck: The bathroom isn’t clean. Come out.

He dragged Shen Jichuan to the bathroom door.

With one pull, Shen Zhi drew aside the curtain that always hung on the bathroom door, revealing a full-length mirror attached to it.

This mirror was left by the previous tenant. Boss Zhou thought it made the living room look like something out of a ghost story, so he covered it with a curtain, rarely using it.

Standing behind Shen Jichuan, Shen Zhi forced him to face his current reflection in the mirror. Perhaps the image reflected was too indecent—the youth flinched and closed his eyes.

Shen Zhi commanded:

Open your eyes. Look at me.

So Shen Jichuan had no choice but to open his eyes and look at Shen Zhi in the mirror.

The silver frames of the young man’s glasses reflected an icy, refined light. His black silk pajamas draped impeccably, neat and elegant, exuding an air of restrained desire.

Then he looked at himself.

…The contrast was utterly wretched.

The stark disparity made him curl his toes involuntarily.

A belated sense of shame crept up from Shen Jichuan’s tailbone, leaving him trembling with humiliation.

He averted his gaze, unsettled.

Shen Zhi gripped his chin, forcing him still. Don’t move.

Who are you pretending for? He let out an ambiguous chuckle, drawling, You’re trembling with excitement.

Perhaps there was some shame—youthful after all—but Shen Zhi knew Shen Jichuan must be more exhilarated right now. Likely, like him, excited to the point where his palate ached and swelled. After all—

You are me.

Who are you fooling?

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