To me, it really has been a long three months.
During the serialization period, my real life was also full of ups and downs, my mindset was unsettled, but somehow I managed to persist without missing a single day.
I’m very grateful to so many darlings who accompanied me every day, grinding through it bit by bit with me.
It was truly hard to endure—this counts as my first long-form novel.
Four hundred thousand words. Actually, the original length was going to be about a hundred thousand more, but due to all sorts of issues, I cut two instances.
During serialization, it was really hard to keep going. Every time I planted a foreshadowing, I was planning how to tie it up, but when I actually started tying up those threads, it was so painful I wanted to die.
I’m very sorry that I didn’t know the fight between Little Yu and Brother Fu in chapter 50 counted as a toxic point—I only realized belatedly after opening some comments later on.
But this part of the plot is actually something I personally really like…
And now it’s time to say goodbye to everyone.
I’ll continue updating little extras before the end of the month.
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The rain poured like a deluge. The pervasive rainwater beat against the floor-to-ceiling windows, slicing the city’s bizarre and dazzling lights into countless fragmented neon shards.
Yet the air in the room seemed drained of all moisture—anxious, sluggish, heavy.
Yu Huaiting’s voice carried obvious roughness and impatience. He grabbed Fu Songcheng’s tie and yanked this seemingly untouchable person violently toward himself.
Their nose tips nearly collided, their breaths tangled together.
Yu Huaiting radiated a vigorous, scorching aggression, like a fire ready to combust at any moment.
Faced with Yu Huaiting’s pull, Fu Songcheng instead followed the force and tilted his head up slightly, the corner of his mouth tugging into an extremely faint arc.
“Still feels like something’s missing.”
Before the words faded, Fu Songcheng’s other hand pulled a small velvet box from the nightstand drawer behind him.
The box flipped open one-handed, revealing a black silk ribbon and a seismograph.
Yu Huaiting’s movements halted. His gaze fell on those two things, his Adam’s apple rolling involuntarily.
He immediately understood what they were.
“You don’t like it?”
Fu Songcheng laughed in a low voice, those eyes that always calculated mildly now full of provocation.
“But you look very excited.”
He handed these system-enchanted items together to Yu Huaiting.
Clearly the one at a disadvantage, the one about to be controlled—yet he’d taken the lead in opening this revelry.
The instant Yu Huaiting’s rationality touched that cool metal, it declared complete rupture. Impulse and instinct took over everything.
He shoved Fu Songcheng violently down into the depths of the soft bed, his knee forcefully wedging into the other’s defenses.
The black silk ribbon was roughly torn open by Yu Huaiting, looping around Fu Songcheng’s slender, fair wrists and tied into a dead knot—but because he feared Fu Songcheng might get hurt, the knot was loose and slack.
Fu Songcheng rose slightly and kissed Yu Huaiting, waiting for his seeking.
In this instant, the boundary of reality began to blur.
Yu Huaiting was an endless hurricane, sweeping through every inch of air over this sea with devastating fervor.
And Fu Songcheng was a lone ship that had voluntarily abandoned its anchor in the storm.
As the seismograph was placed at the spot with the highest resonance frequency, Fu Songcheng’s body jerked taut from the quake, barely able to steady its center and not plummet straight through the cracks.
“Urk…”
A distorted muffled groan spilled from between his tightly bitten teeth.
Extreme cold and extreme heat.
It climbed all the way up along his spine, shattering and peeling away his rationality bit by bit.
Yu Huaiting’s hands clutched Fu Songcheng’s waist dead, his palm temperature frighteningly high, as if wanting to brand his mark there.
He joined the battlefield too.
Every collision was like striking a drum whose edges had already begun to crack.
“…Mm…”
Fu Songcheng’s voice was thoroughly shattered. His bound hands clenched the ribbon dead, unable to break free—and unwilling to.
His eyes were half-open, a thin layer of moisture welling at the bottom.
He liked this feeling of losing control—just as he’d liked falling for Yu Huaiting. Knowing full well it was dangerous, uncontrollable—yet watching him submit, watching him be docile, he still couldn’t help sinking.
His hearing was infinitely amplified. Fu Songcheng could no longer hear the thunderstorm outside the window.
The world held only the earth-shattering collapse of the seismograph in operation, and the person amid that collapse, ceaselessly adding fuel to the fire.
Fu Songcheng felt himself falling—from the towering glacier’s peak, straight down into boiling magma.
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