Chapter 26#

Eating the Little Rabbit#

The Zhen family’s domestic philosophy was passed down through generations. From Great-Grandma’s generation onward, the omegas never married—they all spent money to bring an alpha into the family as a live-in spouse.

Engels said that marriage gives families legal ownership of slaves.

The Zhen family’s “slaves” had always been male. Zhen Ye, the omega who was the sole heir for three generations, had naturally absorbed this worldview and believed that every omega should own a slave.

The kind that provides free x-services.

Although Zhen Ye wasn’t married, by rough calculation, he now counted as having one anyway.

Once he thought it through, the nature of that maintenance contract seemed to change instantly.

A contract that gives you three million, covers room and board, lets you mark a big-breasted A-rank alpha every week, and even stipulates in black and white that you must provide one hour of x-services weekly—

This wasn’t a slave contract at all. It was a free ticket to an “all-you-can-eat buffet.” He was doing the other party a favor by showing up to eat, and they were paying him three million on top of it.

His inner moral compass went splat—and was instantly knocked out.

An omega who was already addicted, and still in heat—what reason could you possibly expect from him?

Decision made, Zhen Ye bided his time and waited.

When he heard Butler Du’s door creak shut downstairs, he immediately fished out a condom and stuffed it in his pocket. Worried one might break, he grabbed two.

When a person is set on doing something bad, they never mind the extra trouble.

Zhen Ye, still in his pajamas, crept downstairs as quietly as he could. He made his way to the end of the hallway and reached for the doorknob—locked. He obviously couldn’t make a big scene picking the lock in the middle of the night, but lockpicking was actually nothing for him.

When he was a kid, he’d run wild in the compound with Cheng Zhiran, whose grandpa had worked as a locksmith and often taught the two of them how to jimmy a lock open when they forgot their keys.

That skill had been dormant for ages, never expecting to find use today.

Zhen Ye started looking around for a suitable piece of wire. He had to admit, Mr. Rong’s villa was immaculately tidy—if it were a piece of clothing, there wouldn’t be a single stray thread to be found.

He searched for a long time and found no wire. He thought, maybe he should just give up.

Let Rong Yu off the hook today.

—BOOM!

Thunder roared, and the black night was ripped open by a flash of lightning, the courtyard outside turning coldly bright for an instant.

Zhen Ye squinted.

Wasn’t there a tool shed out there?

He remembered now. He’d stayed in the He family’s villa before—houses like this usually had a wooden tool shed built separately in the yard, for the gardener to tend to the plants.

Sorry about this, Mr. Rong.

Zhen Ye grabbed an umbrella from beside the door, moved the heavy doorstop aside, and quietly twisted open the front door.

Instantly, the violent sound of rain, mixed with a strange fragrance, rushed in.

A cold wind swept through the porch, lifting Zhen Ye’s bangs. He raised a delicate eyebrow in a careless manner, scanned the thick lawn, then kicked off his slippers, leaving them by the door, and walked barefoot into the rain.

A pair of peering eyes landed on his ankle.

Zhen Ye instinctively looked up.

Everything under the curtain of rain was shrouded in a dim, dark filter. The tree shadows rustled and swayed, linked together in a dense, impenetrable wall at the perimeter.

The sound of leaves, rustling… rustling…

Other than that, nothing.

Zhen Ye stepped down from the dry porch. A flash of snow-white ankle sank deeply into the wet grass.

He walked very slowly, pausing every few steps to look up and confirm his direction in the dark. The rain was too heavy, the grass too deep—each step felt like wading through a sea of mud. The grass roots were the sea, the blades the waves. Though he didn’t feel his feet sinking into soil, there was a bizarre sensation of being dragged down by the grass, each step heavier than the last.

But that had to be an illusion. Grass couldn’t drag a person.

Finally reaching the wooden shed, the moment Zhen Ye pushed open the door, an inexplicable shiver ran down his spine.

This tool shed was much bigger than what he’d seen through the window earlier.

As if it had slowly swollen in size while he was walking over.

Zhen Ye steadied himself, convinced he was being paranoid. “How could a wooden shed grow by itself… I really need to take my meds.”

Day in and day out—dissociation, memory loss, auditory hallucinations, visual hallucinations.

Scaring himself.

Stepping onto the wooden floor, he wasn’t sure if it was rainwater seeping in, but the entire floor was damp and wet. Zhen Ye felt somewhat uncomfortable but couldn’t pinpoint where the discomfort was.

He curled his toes; the skin on the top of his foot was thin and delicate, turning slightly pale from the cold. Pale blue veins showed through the translucent skin, and the scalding blood of an omega in heat pulsed within them.

That gaze hid in the deep darkness, staring stickily.

So innocent.

A prey so utterly unguarded.

If it seized his legs and dragged him into the shadows, would he cry out in fear?

Under the haze of his body heat, the omega’s warm, fragrant scent quietly diffused through the enclosed space. It made it easy to track his movements by following that trace of aroma.

He was walking over, step by step.

Even though the main consciousness was sleeping, even though the connection had been severed, it could still extract the species of the being before it from the residual memories left in the host’s past.

A rabbit.

A fragile-boned, soft little thing.

The foot that stepped onto its vines was burning hot, the skin supple and smooth, nothing like the rough bark; its ears were even lowered, not standing up, but those hairs were soft as fuzz, fluffy… fuzz was such an endearing little thing.

It had been so long since it had seen a fresh little offering. Delighted—

Look at its throat, look at its organs, look at the heat emanating from it, making it so restless…

“What the hell is making that noise?” Zhen Ye pulled out his phone and nervously turned on the flashlight.

Butler Du had said the deep mountains were dangerous, and Zhen Ye agreed. He’d seen the news before—brown bears and wild boars occasionally roamed the nature reserve on the south mountain.

But he didn’t think a plain, unremarkable wooden shed like this would have wild animals in it.

“Rustle… rustle… hisssss…”

Zhen Ye cautiously moved forward two steps. The strange texture of the floor underfoot made his scalp tingle—not just damp, but bumpy and knobby, and it was moving…

Moving.

Zhen Ye’s body froze instantly. Slowly, slowly, he aimed the phone light downward.

The “floor” was slowly writhing.

No—not the floor! The things writhing and squirming, growing more and more agitated and excited, were segments of branches arranged together to disguise themselves as the floor, each thicker than his arm—

Zhen Ye’s breathing turned frantic.

Because he realized in panic that one of the thickest ones had coiled around his ankle.

The branch seemed to have a mind of its own. It slithered up his long, fair, supple calf, wet and slick as it crawled into his pant leg. In an instant it climbed past his knee up to his thigh, then suddenly lunged deep into the innermost place.

In the center of its vision, the poor little rabbit was attacked and abruptly bent over. Pain and panic flickered across the young man’s face. As the advance pressed deeper, his pale, delicate face gradually flushed crimson, red enough to seem like it would drip blood.

But he was still struggling, frantically grabbing at the branch through the fabric, as if wrestling desperately with a venomous snake that was writhing and trying to burrow into his body.

But he quickly realized it was futile.

The walls around him, the ceiling above—all of them began to writhe, twisting rapidly as they joined the ranks hunting him. Even though the rabbit’s body was agile, it was ultimately bound tightly by tentacle-branches surging in from all directions—two hands pinned down, pressed against his waist, and slammed him onto the ground like prey awaiting slaughter.

Let me go, get out, get out of there—! The young man’s thin chest heaved violently in fright as he shouted continuously.

Rabbits are animals that can endure a great deal of pain; they don’t cry out until truly panicked.

It tried to send him a signal, telling him it wouldn’t kill him, that it was just playing. But the rabbit’s struggles exceeded its expectations.

Zhen Ye clenched his jaw, mustering every ounce of strength to raise his bound arm, but again and again it was forced back down by the gnarled, vein-like tentacle-branches. His sleeve was pushed up in the chaos, and the supple branches left ring after ring of red marks on his snow-white skin.

The corners of his eyes were red with desperation, somewhat broken, somewhat in disbelief, a mist of tears forming over his eyes.

But he refused to show his vulnerability in front of a monster, so he bit his lip hard and twisted his head away. He wanted to use the pain of biting himself to yank himself out of this bizarre nightmare of endless falling.

“I’m dreaming… This is an illusion, it’s not real, wake up, Zhen Ye…”

The air in the cramped shed grew thick, and a strange fragrance seeped invisibly through it. The scent was hard to describe, drilling straight into his nose and throat. The young man gasped for breath, his body trembling in resistance like a blade of grass under a violent wind.

By the time he noticed the air he was breathing was wrong, it was already too late.

It was a special scent the enormous plant-creature used to paralyze its prey.

Even more tree sap, thick and potent, was carried in as it entered, slowly softening the thin, emaciated body from its rigid, death-defying resistance into a state of dazed unconsciousness.

Zhen Ye’s pajamas came loose, and his long, straight legs were controlled and folded up toward his chest. Under the catalysis of the tree sap, his limbs gradually felt light and floaty, a numbing pleasure spreading from the base of his spine. He gently narrowed his eyes, letting a dark brown tentacle-branch climb up his cheek, threading softly through his downy hair.

It’s a dream, right…

Seems like… it really is a dream.

Since it’s a dream, there’s nothing to be afraid of.

He forgot his original purpose, gradually relaxing his muscles, sinking hazily into the enjoyment of this absurd, bizarre dream. The tentacle-branch probed in through his collar, winding its way across his delicate collarbones, and pushed his pajama top up to his shoulders, exposing a large expanse of fine skin.

Lower, his sleep pants were hooked by the tentacle-claws and pulled down past his knees to fall aside. The heavy, slow segments writhed deliberately, making his scalp tingle with a chill. But whether he liked it or not, it was soon fully awakened by the rabbit’s 39-degree body heat, turning excited and frantic.

The things clinging to his body were clearly a mass of tentacle-branches, yet they seemed to possess high-level intelligence, dividing and coordinating their efforts with tacit understanding.

In his haze, Zhen Ye gave them codenames—Number One, Number Two, Number Three, and Number Four.

Number One was stroking his hair, its touch gentle and comfortable. Number Two was the most robust, thicker than his leg, loosely coiled around his waist for support, like it was holding him from behind.

Number Three curled around the rabbit bud to give him pleasure at the front, and Number Four—Zhen Ye looked down to see—Number Four was industriously boring and twisting its way around.

Zhen Ye was in heat anyway. When hormones flood the brain, a person temporarily loses their sense of shame.

Driven by some strange impulse, he craned his neck and strained to look down, wanting to see just how bizarre this scene really was. Number Four’s branch had the most distinctive form, its surface covered in dense, bark-like bumps and protrusions.

As it turned, Zhen Ye’s lower back went numb in tandem, and in that instant, an indescribable pleasure he’d never felt before shot up his spine, almost annihilating him.

When a person hits that moment of blankness, their entire body tenses, muscles straining. The spot between his legs cramped directly, convulsing and trembling uncontrollably.

He shook for about two or three minutes, and once the muscle cramp passed, Zhen Ye’s back was soaked through with sweat. He was panting heavily, his pert nose tipped with glistening beads of sweat.

The sweat drops fell, and several tentacle-branches surged over madly, fighting each other to catch them, even tangling together in a scuffle over them.

But this wasn’t over—it had only crossed a midpoint. With the earlier groundwork laid, Zhen Ye, having gotten a taste of it, accepted what came next with an even clearer conscience.

Heat steamed in the cramped space, the faint woody scent thickening until it wouldn’t dissolve. His sweat-slicked, slender waist was scooped up, turned over so he was kneeling facedown. Sweat trickled down his cheeks to his jaw, gathering on his chin, on the verge of falling.

On the ground, the vines had woven themselves into a relatively soft net, letting him support himself on it with both hands. Before long, a hollow of sweat droplets collected drop by drop on the ground between his hands.

The scent of bergamot burst forth with intense pungency as the young man’s taut belly rose and fell.

So fragrant… eat…

The vines excitedly coiled around his lustrous skin, eagerly wrapping every branch in his sweat.

In the chaos, Zhen Ye felt the vines switching shifts. It had been Number Four before, but now it was replaced by Number One, the one that had been combing his hair. Number One seemed much gentler, its rhythm slower, and whenever it felt him trembling against its skin, it would slow its pace.

Every pore in Zhen Ye’s body was open and sweating. He had never felt this good. From his waist to his toes, everything was radiating warmth and moisture.

And this heat was completely different from before. The heat of his earlier heat period was like walking under the blazing summer sun at over forty degrees, drenched in sweat but unable to get a drink of water.

The current heat welled up from deep within his organs, like soaking in a hot spring until you’re limp—exhausted, but wonderfully so.

Zhen Ye curled his toes, reaching a half-dazed state. His eyes were narrowed and hazy, a sickly satisfaction on his face. He actually thought that not having to do any work himself and being serviced in turns by monsters like this once in a while wasn’t bad at all.

He didn’t notice that in the deep darkness of the hot, chaotic shed, a cold, sinister aura spread outward from a single point in all directions.

Suddenly, a pair of crimson eyes slowly opened, like two rubies soaked in blood, hanging aloft in midair.

The eyes rotated slowly, looking down at the scene.

Then closed again.

At the same time—

In the villa’s main hall, the door was blown open and shut by the wind. Cold mist gathered at the entrance, thoroughly soaking a little rabbit slipper caught in the crack beneath the door.

A man’s pale, slender hand picked up the slipper and brushed off the raindrops clinging to it.

Rong Yu pulled open the door. His wheelchair came to a silent stop on the porch, his gaze heavy as he looked ahead.

He frowned slightly.

Without excessive expression or a single word, a powerful aura instantly collapsed outward from him in all directions.

The wooden shed seemed to feel the pressure and instantly dismantled itself in place, vanishing. The cold, strange tentacle-branches immediately became as obedient as little dogs under his command, wrapping themselves into a ball and, fawningly, offering up what was inside to him.

The tentacle-branches opened like flower petals, revealing the omega’s thin, exhausted body.

Rong Yu was silent as he raised his slender, knuckled hand. The tentacle-branches hurriedly stuffed Zhen Ye into his arms.

The nearby tentacle-branches whispered among themselves:

[The main consciousness is awake…]

[The main consciousness wants to eat the little rabbit]

[The main consciousness is holding the little rabbit like it’s retrieving a doll]

Rong Yu looked down. Zhen Ye was curled up in his arms, unconsciously muttering a few words in his sleep. He lightly pressed his palm against the omega’s cheek—the temperature was abnormally hot.

Rong Yu slowly lifted his eyelids, pinched a bit of the omega’s clothing aside and looked. His waist and stomach were covered in blue-and-red marks, stark and shocking against the pale skin.

The always gentle Alpha’s expression turned cold in an instant.

How could they have gotten the kid into this state.

The tentacle-branches observed his expression, dawdled, and extended a tiny rootlet, trying to crawl onto the marble floor of the porch.

[Host, host, will we take root and sprout in his soft belly?]

[So soft… such warm soil… we like it…]

Rong Yu gave a chilling glance:

“Get back inside.”

The tentacle-branches immediately shrank back in fright.

Hundreds of tentacle-branches stood watch at the doorway, not daring to approach even a step. They rustled their leaves in twisted agitation, watching the powerful main consciousness carry the new little rabbit back to the warm nest.

·

That night, Zhen Ye lay in the goose-down comforter, dreaming over and over again.

In the dream, someone reached out to feel his forehead, then held him in their arms, tending to him gently, and pressed a suppressant rod for him.

That hand was dry and broad. The feeling of it grasping the bend of his leg was very real. Zhen Ye, eyes closed, vaguely felt that when he struggled in discomfort, his foot kicked against the other’s shoulder.

The other person said nothing, only grasped his slender ankle, folded their fingers around it, and played with it slowly and carefully for a while. When they were done, they set it back, then leaned close to his ear and coaxed softly, “Tired? Go to sleep…”

In his extreme exhaustion, Zhen Ye tried to open his eyes to see who it was.

All he saw was a hint of scarlet thin lips, their curve faintly lifted.

When he opened his eyes again, it was already broad daylight.

But the pillow was so soft, the blanket so fluffy. Zhen Ye couldn’t resist staying in bed a little longer. The events of last night, mixed with dreams, quietly trickled back into his mind. He restlessly squeezed his legs together, kicked at the blanket twice, then rolled over and sat up. He jumped off the bed and pulled open the window to look at the yard.

The grass was green, the trees peaceful.

What wooden shed?

It must have been a dream.

Zhen Ye instantly relaxed, deciding he must have been too deeply impressed by The Magic Vine Romance and his brain had replayed it with a delay. Otherwise, how could he possibly have been done in by four vines in succession?

Zhen Ye walked into the bathroom, still trying to recall the details. Not gonna lie—although the dream was like a low-budget B-grade horror flick, it was unexpectedly enjoyable.

If he had nightmares next time, he hoped they’d follow the same quality.

Oh, right. Only Number One and Number Four had gotten a turn this time. Next time, he’d try the other two.

Zhen Ye let his thoughts wander, issuing orders to his brain, “ordering dishes” off the menu.

He took a shower, got dressed, and as he went downstairs, he unconsciously raised a hand to scratch his head.

The violent rain from last night had passed, and the weather had completely cleared.

Sunlight streamed in through the window, the Klein-blue sky dotted with soft white clouds. The spacious dining room was quiet and serene, fine dust motes swirling in the slanted columns of light.

So quiet. So comfortable.

Even Zhen Ye’s mood improved.

He saw the man by the table and greeted him voluntarily, “Good morning.”

Rong Yu looked up. Today’s rabbit was languid and lazy, but his complexion looked better than yesterday. He pulled out a chair for the rabbit, letting it sit down beside him, and couldn’t help but smile: “It’s afternoon now. You slept well.”

In his home, a child of the household sleeping in was only natural—a sign of proper rest and benefit.

But no matter what time the rabbit got up, the iron rule of the Rong household was that its stomach must always be filled.

The kitchen auntie heard the voices, saw Zhen Ye come out, and knew this was the young master the master had brought home. She called out warmly, “Young Master Zhen,” and then came to lay out the dishes.

Zhen Ye wasn’t a picky eater—he generally ate whatever was given to him.

The freshly stir-fried vegetables were fresh and sweet, the dry-steamed beef and scallion-braised sea cucumber helped restore his energy. Overall the food suited his taste, but Zhen Ye ate somewhat absentmindedly, occasionally reaching up to touch his hair.

His little gestures naturally didn’t escape Rong Yu’s sharp eyes. Rong Yu asked him, “What’s wrong? Is your head uncomfortable?”

Zhen Ye said, a little embarrassed, “It’s a bit itchy. Weird. I just showered before coming out.”

Rong Yu crooked his finger, motioning for him to come over. “Let me see.”

Zhen Ye obediently scooted his chair over and lowered his head in front of him.

Long fingers parted the soft, fuzzy brown hair, searching slowly, combing all the way down to the fluffy roots. Rong Yu’s brow arched slightly—he saw two small bumps on the top of his head.

“The little rabbit is growing its ears.”

Zhen Ye raised his head from under his hand, confused: “What? My ears are right here.”

Rong Yu looked at him, pressing his lips together in a smile: “Rabbit ears.”

Zhen Ye: “…?!”