Chapter 1: Picking Up a Madman

Chapter 1: Picking Up a Madman

A note from Xiao Qing: If you like it, stick around; if not, feel free to see yourself out. Welcome to those who enjoy it.

Please, reviewers, be lenient—don't shadowban my story (see the section notes before reading; it's a must-read. If you comment on those points without reading, it'll be treated as a malicious review).

"A new story is just starting out, and it's been tough. Report me and I'll come for you; talk trash and I'll bite back." ᵟຶᴖ ᵟຶ

Let me state once more:

The main character is timid, fragile, and prone to being pushed around.

The plot exists purely for personal indulgence—don't expect logic. If the morals bother you, the pairing isn't your thing, or you just don't like it, feel free to skip.

I don't allow bashing the characters. You're free to critique the writing, but unless it's constructive, comments will be blocked. If you're here to troll, go ahead and vent your life frustrations—I just won't respond.

—Main Text—

The village elders always said that drunkards would turn up passed out in the fields.

If you weren't careful, you'd get grabbed and forced to be someone's wife.

That day.

Wen Yu was squatting at the edge of the field picking green beans, as he always did, his back curled into a tiny ball, his whole frame thin and slight.

The bean trellis across the ditch had fallen over.

He stood still, his toes curling into the dirt.

Something over there shifted.

Wen Yu swallowed hard, a flicker of fear rising. A few tattered scraps of clothing hung from the big tree nearby.

Clutching the beans, he bent down cautiously to take a look.

It was a man—injured and pitiful.

Even caked in mud and blood, the man's chiseled features were unmistakable.

Wen Yu couldn't help but stare at the man's bare torso—broad and solid, his chest muscles straining the fabric, hard as stone.

"He... doesn't seem like the kind of drunk who'd drag someone home to be his wife."

Wen Yu cautiously raised the beans and smacked them against the unconscious man's face.

His home was a single room with mud walls and a tiled roof. He laid the man on the bed.

The bed creaked as he set him down.

Wen Yu stood by the bed, catching his breath, legs still trembling, and thought about going to fetch water.

At the earthen stove with its iron wok, he stuffed a few sticks of firewood into the firebox. The flames lit up his thin face as he crouched there, staring blankly.

He mixed hot and cold water, carried it inside, and found the man still lying exactly where he'd left him, unmoved.

He cleaned the man up. His skin was pale, his features sharply carved, and even with his eyes closed, he radiated a fierce aura.

Wen Yu undid the man's clothes—chest, stomach, ribs—all a mess of scars, new layered over old, old stacked with new, not a single patch of skin left smooth.

He tended to the man all night, and by morning, Wen Yu had even cooked porridge before the sky was fully light.

The man on the bed—Gu Junhan—had woken up a long time ago.

Wen Yu was still at the stove, reaching for firewood. As he stretched, the skin on his back pulled tight. His pants were too loose, the waistband hanging off his hips, threatening to slip down any second.

A chill ran down his back, like cold wind creeping into his clothes.

Like someone had pressed ice to the back of his neck, the cold trailing down his spine to the dip of his lower back.

His hand froze. The firewood slipped from his grip and landed by the stove. He didn't bother to pick it up, his eyes landing on Gu Junhan not far away.

He blinked. The boy's neck was thin and fragile, his Adam's apple just a small bump. "You're awake?"

Wen Yu had no idea how tempting he looked.

Gu Junhan stood there, recalling a canary he'd kept years ago. It used to look at him the same way. In the end, he'd mercifully snapped its neck.

And this one before him seemed to look at him just the same. It was enough to make a man want to sin.

Wen Yu leaned in, studying Gu Junhan's bare torso—a perfect build, clean muscle lines, though the scars made it all the more feral.

The boy shrugged off his own jacket. Too short to reach, he stood on his tiptoes, holding the jacket up to cover Gu Junhan's chest.

"I... I don't have a spare shirt. Just toss yours and wear mine."

Gu Junhan's gaze turned dark and unreadable as he eyed the boy's slender wrists. If he snapped one, would he cry?

Wen Yu sensed the man might not like his clothes. He'd heard city people were fussy about cleanliness. "Sorry, I just put this jacket on today. I don't have money to get you a new one."

Gu Junhan raised an eyebrow. "You're wearing polyester from head to toe?"

Wen Yu froze, his cheeks flushing red with embarrassment, on the verge of tears. "S-Sorry."

The man figured the boy was just timid by nature—and maybe a little dumb?

"It's fine." Gu Junhan grabbed the jacket, glanced at the porridge on the stove, crouched down, and picked up the firewood. "Need more wood?"

Wen Yu nodded weakly. "Y-Yes... please add more."

Gu Junhan seemed to pick up everything quickly. Wen Yu gave him a few tips, and he still did it all faster than Wen Yu could.

Gu Junhan was strong, and the contrast between his sculpted muscles and handsome face while doing manual labor was striking.

"Be careful not to hurt yourself," Wen Yu said obediently.

He noticed Gu Junhan was sweating and handed him a tissue, only for the man to grab his wrist. The hand was big and hot, burning Wen Yu's skin.

Gu Junhan said, "My hands are covered in ash. You wipe them for me."

Wen Yu had a sharp chin and a thin, small frame, like someone who'd been neglected for a long time. He looked down and saw his own wrist smeared with ash.

Why does he have to be the one wiping it? It's gotta be 'cause his face is too pretty—if it got dirty, he'd look like a panda!

"O-okay." Wen Yu nodded, tilting up his small face, and gently touched his forehead through the tissue.

Gu Junhan's neck was a little sweaty too, especially his Adam's apple, which didn't smell sweaty at all and actually seemed extra charming.

"You want me to wipe your neck too?" Wen Yu stammered, and to Gu Junhan, he was like a caged bird, chirping softly.

A mischievous idea suddenly popped into Gu Junhan's head. "Thanks, and while you're at it, can you wipe the sweat off my stomach too?"

Wen Yu was too innocent and just did what he was told, but unexpectedly, the man's pants bulged below his waist.

"Uh, why'd your pants get bigger? Did you lose weight?"

Gu Junhan acted like he'd just heard the funniest joke in the world. "They are pretty big. You've never seen big pants before?"

Wen Yu shook his head. "You're a head taller than me, so your pants must be longer than mine."

Gu Junhan didn't say anything, picturing Wen Yu's legs in his mind. Wen Yu tossed the damp tissue into the fire.

The porridge in the pot was fully cooked. Wen Yu glanced over. "The porridge is ready. I'll go handle it."

Gu Junhan whispered by his ear, "I'll help you with it."

The man wasn't slow like the boy; he moved quickly and set the porridge on the table outside.

Wen Yu felt he had found a good person—someone who helped with chores and had a handsome face.

But Wen Yu would never know that beneath that beautiful face hid a ruthless, murderous madman.

Gu Junhan looked at the pickled vegetables on the table. No wonder he was so skinny.