Chapter 34: “Wen Qingshi, You’re Something Else” (Side CP Branch)

Chapter 34: "Wen Qingshi, You're Something Else" (Side CP Branch)

Wen Yu found it strange that Wen Qingshi hadn't crossed his path for a whole month.

Fu Xi had turned Wen Qingshi into something neither human nor ghostly.

With an indestructible collar, Fu Xi had forged Wen Qingshi into a weapon.

Wen Qingshi was sent to the underground carnival for an entire month.

The air was perpetually thick with the mingled stench of rust, sweat, perfume, and weed.

The lights were red, staining everyone's skin the same sickly shade.

Here, there was only spectacle.

On stage, some were dancing, some were bleeding, some curled up in fetal positions inside glass boxes, some hung from the ceiling, spinning slowly.

Passion and collision were the norm.

And below, raising their glasses to take it all in—

Were the top tiers of the Western Continent—politicians, arms dealers, intelligence brokers, board members of multinational corporations, and so on. (Not related to real life.)

Wen Qingshi had no name here.

Only a cold, impersonal number.

Wen Qingshi needed to get close to his target to get the chip.

He was a fifty-something arms dealer—balding, obese, wearing three massive rings on his fingers, his gold teeth flashing under the red lights when he smiled.

The ugly, aging arms dealer noticed Wen Qingshi, walked over with a glass of whiskey, and sat down on the barstool beside him, his fat thigh nearly brushing the young man's bare knee.

"First time I've seen you here." His voice scraped like sandpaper on tin. "Wearing a collar? You a slave here?"

"Where's your owner?"

Wen Qingshi turned his head, shifting his gaze from the bottle to the man's face. His eyes had already learned to mimic a frightened cat. "No master. Would the customer like to buy me?"

The man took the bait. He reached out, fat fingers pinching the edge of the young man's collar, flipping the tag over to check it.

His fingertip traced the metal edge, his expression shifting slightly. "Top-grade goods, huh."

The word hit Wen Qingshi's ears like a needle piercing an old, scabbed wound. He wanted to laugh but held back.

"You can inspect me first if you want." Wen Qingshi watched him hesitate.

The fat man's gaze raked over him for a moment. "Come with me."

He followed the man through the dance floor, past tangled bodies and glazed stares, into a corridor.

The room contained a bed.

Round, draped in black silk sheets, with an open bottle of red wine and two glasses on the nightstand.

The door clicked shut behind them.

The fat man didn't rush to touch him. An experienced predator knew the sweetest part wasn't the entrance, but the conquest itself.

He poured two glasses and handed one to Wen Qingshi.

Wen Qingshi took it, eyes downcast, standing still and submissive.

"Strip," the fat man said.

It took Wen Qingshi eight seconds to lift his hands and let his clothes slip from his shoulders. His collarbones bared, his pants pooling at his feet.

The man's breathing grew heavier. He turned to grab the wine, and as his back faced the young man, the scar on his left wrist was carelessly exposed under the red light.

The chip was in his wrist.

Wen Qingshi knelt on his own, the instant his eyes met that disgusting man's.

"You—"

Wen Qingshi pulled out a dagger and carved into the man's wrist.

The fat man had been drugged—Wen Qingshi had coated his whole body with the sedative. In under three seconds, the man collapsed.

The chip was his. But to avoid raising suspicion, Wen Qingshi hid it under his tongue.

Still, he came back to Fu Xi injured.

The bathroom was thick with billowing white steam. A large round tub was set into the black marble floor, hot water swallowing Wen Qingshi's curled body, a thin film of blood streaking the surface like pale red clouds.

Fu Xi sat on the edge of the tub, his gaze landing on the young man's chest—the nipple piercings he'd put there himself.

The scented candle in the corner had burned down a bit. Fu Xi suddenly, out of some rare flicker of conscience, asked, "Do you hate me?"

"Yes."

Deeply.

Wen Qingshi was no longer as bitter as he'd been a month ago, as if he'd sheathed his claws.

"If my foster father hadn't pawned me off to you—"

Wen Qingshi lay in the tub, the water surface rippling gently. His fingers tightened against the smooth porcelain wall, nails scraping the ceramic. "Maybe I wouldn't be so dirty."

Wen Qingshi had learned to resign himself.

Forced to become that bastard Fu Xi's whore!!

Forced to carry out those missions.

It was too filthy.

Fu Xi reached out slowly, his fingers cutting through the steam, his fingertips brushing Wen Qingshi's cheekbone.

"Dirty." Fu Xi echoed the word.

Fu Xi seemed to savor it, like a stone in his mouth, his tongue tracing its edges, its texture, its temperature.

Then he spat it out.

"You know," he said, his fingers withdrawing from the young man's chin to rest on the tub's edge, "when I was seven, I killed a man for the first time."

Wen Qingshi's eyes went wide.

"It wasn't that I wanted to kill him."

"It was my father who made me do it. The guy owed us money. My father said, 'Go, bring back his fingers.' I went, and I brought back ten fingers, stuffed into the velvet pouch my father gave me."

He lowered his head, looking at his own hands.

"And you know what? I watched my father break in a male concubine, while my mother cried the whole time."

Fu Xi paused.

"I'm dirty too. I've touched you, touched others—men and women alike. Do you know how many people I was with the first time?"

"Eleven."

Fu Xi's face was almost unnaturally beautiful, cold and hard, like a mural on a wall, blackened by centuries of smoke and soot.

"You think you're dirty," Fu Xi's blue eyes bored straight into Wen Qingshi's, "I'm dirty too. Look, I don't care that other people have touched you—so why are you blaming me?"

Wen Qingshi couldn't listen anymore. He suddenly stood up, water splashing everywhere, and grabbed Fu Xi by the collar of his shirt. "If it weren't for you, would they have laid a hand on me?!"

"You want my body, and you want to squeeze the information out of me—Mr. Fu, how are you any better than an animal?!"

The splashed water had soaked Fu Xi's pants. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against the younger man's. "From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I wanted to drag you into the abyss."

Fu Xi's eyes, at such close range, no longer seemed cold. "Wen Qingshi, you're nothing but a toy in my hands. Even without your foster father, I would have made you exactly what you are now."

"I hate you." Wen Qingshi's lips were a finger's width away from Fu Xi's.

Water droplets slid from his lashes. "I told you, don't let me find a chance to kill you!"

Hot tears welled up, scalding, salty, and bitter, blurring Wen Qingshi's vision.

The scented candle burned to its end, and the night brought the scent of fir and cedar.

"Dirty's dirty, then."

"Wen Qingshi, give me a child."

Wen Qingshi silently pulled away, and a sharp crack rang out across Fu Xi's face. His hand was still trembling.

"Dream on!"

Wen Qingshi knew Xizhou's tech was no joke—men could get pregnant as long as you threw enough money at it.

Wen Qingshi hadn't changed at all. Even driven mad by this man before him, he still refused to yield: "Believe it or not, I'll kill everyone you care about."

"Aren't those men and women your favorites?"

Fu Xi's veins bulged, his grip iron-tight as he grabbed the back of Wen Qingshi's neck. "Wen Qingshi, you're something else."