Like a bucket of water thrown on a fire, Fu Shen’s cold laugh froze on his face. He wanted to argue with Yan Xiaohan, but restrained himself: “Forget it… stop talking nonsense and deal with your drug withdrawal first.”
Yan Xiaohan maintained his stubborn attitude: “It’s fine, I’ll endure it and it’ll pass. This place is not suitable.”
Fu Shen suddenly said: “Meng Gui, do you remember what you were doing when I found you after you were drugged that day?”
For some reason, his tone softened, even becoming gentle.
Yan Xiaohan frowned and thought for a moment, unable to recall, and shook his head. “I remember. Every time I close my eyes, that scene is before me, and I’ll probably never forget it in my lifetime,” Fu Shen lowered his eyelids. “At that time, I was still ‘Ren Miao’, and whenever I approached you, you would take a short knife and stab yourself.”
Yan Xiaohan looked into his eyes, and the answer was almost self-evident – that knife would have been stabbed directly. Fu Shen walked to his front, raised his hand to gently wipe his face, as if wiping away a non-existent tear: “Do you think I traveled thousands of miles to get here for someone else? I’ve said this until my lips are calloused, Meng Gui. I love you too much to ever consider you a burden.”
“If you really need a reason,” his tone was clearly teasing, but his attitude was extremely serious, “You remained chaste for me, so I’ll let you do whatever you want, give you anything you want. Understand?”
After encountering the autumn night white, Yan Xiaohang always felt that a large hole had been opened in his heart, leading directly to the abyss, where all his delusions, obsessions, and desires resided, never knowing satisfaction. When he was sober, he could restrain himself, but when not, he couldn’t distinguish whether it was the loss of control brought by drugs or his own ugly true nature.
Now, Fu Shenyi resolutely jumped into the abyss, and what greeted him was not the bite of a fierce beast, but a heart that was wounded yet slowly healing.
