The sour ache that had just been pressed down surged back up uncontrollably.
He took a deep breath, turned to the storage cabinet beside him, and took out a clean, disposable heavy-duty towel.
Back before Yu Huaiting, he laid the towel over his hand and gestured for Yu Huaiting to put the glass on it.
Yu Huaiting carefully tipped the shards in his hand onto the towel, moving very slowly, afraid of cutting Fu Songcheng’s hand.
Fu Songcheng wrapped the towel securely, making sure no sharp edges were exposed, sealed it with tape, and only then threw it into the trash bin beside them.
Actually, in the Death Party rest area, there was no need to worry about anyone being cut by things in the trash—the system automatically emptied all trash bins in the early hours of the next morning.
But Fu Songcheng did it anyway. Deep down, he always chose the gentlest way of handling things.
“How long are you going to keep sweeping?” Fu Songcheng turned around, looking at Yu Huaiting still crouched on the floor, his tone softening.
Yu Huaiting looked at him and suddenly scratched his hair irritably, the broom in his hand scraping randomly at the floor twice.
“I like you.”
Yu Huaiting jerked his head up. Four words, ringing clear and firm, without the slightest hesitation.
Fu Songcheng’s brows knitted. This confession had caught him completely off guard.
“I like you—I want to be near you, I want to be with you.”
Yu Huaiting’s breathing grew a little rapid, his eyes locked dead on Fu Songcheng. “I want to see you. When I can’t see you, I feel awful.”
The more he spoke, the more agitated he got, scattering the dust and glass shards he’d gathered back across the floor.
“I don’t know why, I don’t know if it’s because of the ‘identity system,’ but I can feel that my feelings for you are real. Right here…”
He pounded his own chest hard. “Right here, it often hurts because of you.”
He looked at Fu Songcheng’s eyes, slightly widened in shock. “I really didn’t know that doing these things would disgust you so much, would hurt you.”
From the moment he’d hit Fu Songcheng last night until now, his mind had been entirely fixated on Fu Songcheng, rising and falling with Fu Songcheng’s moods—that feeling was like being gripped by the throat.
Something was lodged in his throat, unable to come up or go down.
Yu Huaiting had the air of someone throwing caution to the wind, yet his spine had slumped, losing his usual arrogance.
“Consider it me begging you.” Yu Huaiting closed his eyes, his voice so low it was almost inaudible. “Please teach me.”
“Teach me what I should do. Tell me—what exactly do I have to do to make you not angry, to make myself not so miserable.”
The wall clock ticked drip, drip.
In the silence that seemed stretched infinitely long, Fu Songcheng’s gaze fell on Yu Huaiting from above.
At this moment, Yu Huaiting was like a beast whose claws had been pulled out, trapping itself in thorns—lost and in pain.
Fu Songcheng yielded completely.
He pointed at the single sofa beside them. “Sit.”
Yu Huaiting didn’t sit. Instead, he took a small step forward, closing the distance between them—but then suddenly stopped, at exactly a spot that wouldn’t make Fu Songcheng feel encroached upon.
“You talk. I’ll listen.”
Yu Huaiting was obedient for the first time.
Fu Songcheng looked at him and let out a soft sigh. The sigh was especially clear in the quiet room.
“You say you like me—whether because of the lover identity or because of yourself, that’s your business. I have no obligation to respond to it.”
Fu Songcheng’s pace wasn’t fast; every word was enunciated clearly. “You can’t, just because ‘you like me,’ or because ‘you feel awful when you can’t see me,’ take it for granted that you can interfere with my decisions and ignore my wishes.”
Yu Huaiting urgently wanted to open his mouth to defend himself, but was stopped by a single look from Fu Songcheng.
“You need me to teach you what you should do, right? Fine, I’ll tell you. Before talking about caring, liking, or any feelings at all, you need to learn two words first—respect.”
Fu Songcheng looked at him and said, word by word, “You must acknowledge me from the bottom of your heart—acknowledge that I am an independent individual equal to you. You need to respect my decisions, even if that decision seems wrong to you. Respect my basic space, my rights, my choices, my fate.”
Fu Songcheng paused, his tone softening a little. “Before we become any other kind of relationship, we are first and foremost independent individuals with dignity.”
Yu Huaiting nodded, humbly seeking instruction.
Seeing Yu Huaiting’s emotions settle somewhat, Fu Songcheng took the initiative to raise a topic. “I’ll make you a promise too.”
Yu Huaiting lifted his head, confusion in his eyes.
Fu Songcheng shifted his gaze away a little uncomfortably. “About your ‘Sympathy Doll.’ I’ll try to reduce the frequency of stroking that doll to farm attributes.”
Yu Huaiting’s pupils dilated slightly—clearly not expecting Fu Songcheng to bring this up out of the blue.
“In fact, ever since we officially teamed up, I haven’t interacted with the doll to farm attributes.”
“Except last night. Last night I really couldn’t hold back—I slapped you twice.”
Hearing this, Yu Huaiting’s reaction was entirely beyond Fu Songcheng’s expectations.
He stared fixedly at Fu Songcheng, his gaze suddenly turning a little shifty.
He unconsciously touched his own cheek—though there was no trace there now, the burning sensation from last night seemed to linger.
He cleared his throat, his eyes drifting to the white wall beside them, and spoke weakly, “Actually… you can farm attributes too.”
The calm on Fu Songcheng’s face cracked in that instant.
He froze for a full five seconds.
In those five seconds, Fu Songcheng felt he’d thought a lot—and also thought nothing at all.
He gave Yu Huaiting a subtle, complicated look, and seeing the other’s shifty-eyed yet clearly serious expression, suddenly felt a wave of helplessness.
???
What kind of weird kink was this?
Hadn’t Yu Huaiting been accusing him of stroking the doll before?
Damn—he’d gone and stroked him into enjoying it.
Fu Songcheng took a deep breath, forcibly reining in his thoughts that were about to derail, and decided to ignore Yu Huaiting’s sick remark.
The air in the room seemed to freeze at this moment.
Yu Huaiting’s line—”actually, you can farm attributes too”—still lingered between them like an echo, like a stone dropped into stagnant water, rippling out ring after ring of something indescribable.
A suspicious flush shot up Yu Huaiting’s ears, even his neck faintly burning.
“I understand what you mean.”
Yu Huaiting took a deep breath and straightened up. His tall frame cast a shadow under the light, then, as if realizing something, he dropped to one knee and looked up at Fu Songcheng.
His tone was more solemn than ever before—completely different from his earlier flippant air when he’d said “Fu Songcheng is the boss.”
“What you just said, I’ll work hard to learn. If it makes you happy, then I’ll do it.”
Fu Songcheng looked down into Yu Huaiting’s eyes, reached out, and pressed his hand on Yu Huaiting’s shoulder, holding his body down—not letting him rise, yet also as if accepting his pledge of allegiance.
“I believe you.”
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