Yu Huaiting couldn’t help but press forward like a gambler.
“What if I cause trouble and make things difficult—if I deliberately become an obstacle to you in an instance?”
“I like it.” Fu Songcheng answered without a moment’s hesitation.
This person’s “causing trouble” was either going mad and flipping the entire instance so no one could play, or pulling harmless little pranks just to get his attention.
Either way, he liked it.
“What if I cling to you every day and you can’t shake me off—what if we sink into pain together?”
Yu Huaiting’s grip on the axe loosened; he stopped pressing the wound down.
One hand braced on the table, he leaned his body forward, closer to Fu Songcheng.
As the distance between them shortened, the [Burning] judgment at their joined hands grew more intense, as if trying to burn their very bones and blood through, melt them down, and forge them together, never to part.
“I like it.” Fu Songcheng pushed straight into the difficulty.
He also leaned forward, meeting Yu Huaiting.
Their nose tips nearly touched, their breaths intertwining.
The intense burning didn’t make him retreat—instead it made his thoughts, in the extreme pain, clearer than ever before.
The killing intent the system had implanted was nothing but a fragile sheet of paper before them. Once burned through, what was revealed was two souls in resonance.
Yu Huaiting looked at those eyes so close at hand, his breathing rapid as if suffocating. “What if one day I don’t love you anymore?”
Fu Songcheng answered with a question, his voice low and certain: “Do you love me now?”
Yu Huaiting was caught off guard by the question, then ground his teeth and answered almost with resentment: “Yes.”
The Axe-Chisel of True Heart made no sound at all.
The axe was swung at one person, yet had to carve out two true hearts.
Receiving this answer, Fu Songcheng was clearly very satisfied. The curve of his eyes softened a little more, and only then did he answer Yu Huaiting’s previous question.
“If you don’t love me, I’ll still like you.”
“My liking has nothing to do with whether you love me—it depends on my own heart. Long before this, I’d already decided to like you.”
Yu Huaiting stared dead at Fu Songcheng, his chest heaving violently.
This person was like this—doing as he pleased, handling everything with ease, utterly dictatorial in his very bones, yet on the surface pretending to be kind and gentle.
They were vastly different, yet in some places cut from the same cloth.
Between him and Fu Songcheng, the one being unreasonable was clearly Fu Songcheng.
Yet Yu Huaiting couldn’t control himself, drawn to this Fu Songcheng.
A twisted, extreme joy ran wild through Yu Huaiting’s veins. The answer he’d gotten was truer than “I love you,” leaving him unsatisfied yet fulfilled.
He was so happy now, he even had the absurd urge to die together with Fu Songcheng.
Since they’d decided to be together, since even the system wanted them to kill each other—then why not, at this happiest moment, end it all in a double suicide?
Fu Songcheng keenly sensed the somewhat pathological madness in Yu Huaiting’s eyes.
He released the hand holding Yu Huaiting’s on the axe and knocked Yu Huaiting hard on the head.
“What are you thinking about.”
Yu Huaiting blinked from the knock. The thick, unmelting madness in his eyes, like a deep pool into which a stone had been tossed, rippled and then settled back to calm.
He didn’t retreat immediately, still maintaining his posture close to Fu Songcheng—only his sharpness was reined in, like a fierce beast whose fur had been smoothed but still wanted to show its claws.
“Thinking about killing you.”
Yu Huaiting candidly confessed his thoughts without reservation.
As he said this, his breath was still scorching, his gaze greedily tracing the lines of Fu Songcheng’s face.
“The system’s killing-intent implant really is annoying,” Yu Huaiting twitched the corner of his mouth. “I even feel that death is the most perfect ending for us.”
Hearing this declaration—bordering on terrifying—Fu Songcheng showed not a trace of fear, only a helpless sigh.
“You won’t kill me.”
Fu Songcheng was certain.
“You seem to know everything.”
A smile spread across Yu Huaiting’s brows and eyes. He finally let go, releasing the small axe.
With the weapon withdrawn, Yu Huaiting’s gaze fell on Fu Songcheng’s forearm, and only then did he begin to regret.
Why hadn’t he controlled himself just now?
Yu Huaiting immediately took out a top-grade recovery potion from his system backpack. He popped the cap and personally held it to Fu Songcheng’s lips.
“Consider it a reward for your confession.”
Fu Songcheng found his manner a little amusing, but obediently drank the potion from his hand.
Upside down—the tail wagging the dog.
The puppy rewarding the master.
The high-grade potion’s effect was immediate. The wound on Fu Songcheng’s forearm healed, not even leaving a scar.
Yu Huaiting stared at the perfectly restored skin for a while before relaxing.
Just then, the cake they’d ordered was brought over by the waiter.
“Cheesecake has arrived. Please enjoy.”
The two exchanged a glance, finally separated, and each obediently sat back in their seats.
For years Fu Songcheng had handled things smoothly and considerately. Forget expressing his feelings in public—he’d rarely even broken through social distance.
After meeting Yu Huaiting, he’d truly, unwittingly, done many things only a greenhorn would do.
He should loathe this unplanned scenario—yet it was so natural that Fu Songcheng hadn’t even noticed Yu Huaiting crossing his boundaries; it was so sweet that after they parted, Fu Songcheng would still repeatedly savor the heat of their intertwined breaths, looking forward to his next approach.
Apart, and longing begins.
Yu Huaiting licked his lips, obediently withdrew his hand, and honestly retreated to his own seat.
But he wasn’t calm. The moment he sat down, he picked up the knife and fork on the table. His movements were very gentle—but because it was Yu Huaiting, Fu Songcheng still felt like he was cutting a person.
“Here.”
Yu Huaiting pushed the plate toward Fu Songcheng, eyes sparkling, even thoughtfully angling the fork’s handle toward Fu Songcheng.
Fu Songcheng looked at the cake before him, then at Yu Huaiting’s look of fishing for praise, a smile flashing through his eyes.
This was how it should be—winning round after round, then celebrating past, present, and future victories.
Fu Songcheng reached out, about to take the plate.
The moment their fingertips inevitably touched lightly—
A system notification exploded in their minds.
[System Notification: Negative attribute triggered—Vertigo.]
Their movements froze.
In an instant, the world spun.
The scene before their eyes began to warp madly, doubling, their stomachs churning.
All sound and light dissolved into a chaotic mass of noise.
“Fu Songcheng!”
Yu Huaiting keenly sensed something was wrong.
The smile that had been on Fu Songcheng’s face drained away in an instant, turning paper-white.
He squeezed his eyes shut, brows twisted tight, both hands braced on the tabletop, trying to steady his swaying body.
Yu Huaiting panicked. He shot to his feet, instinctively rushing over to support Fu Songcheng—and what awaited them was an even more severe negative effect.
Closer means pain.
“Let go first.”
Fu Songcheng gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay lucid.
Yu Huaiting’s outstretched hand hesitated, then withdrew.
Even the simplest touch cost them a price. Yu Huaiting wasn’t afraid—but he worried about Fu Songcheng’s body.
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