Chapter 6#
The Diligent Rabbit#
Zhen Ye’s constitution was a real killer—his cravings came on without warning, and once they hit, they had to be dealt with immediately, or he wouldn’t get a wink of sleep all night.
He paused the video and turned onto his side under the covers. As he moved, the old tablet slid down the slope of the bunched-up blanket and wedged itself into the corner by the wall.
He preferred lying on his side because it was easier to manage, letting him get it over with as quickly as possible.
“Hah—” He sucked in a deep breath, restlessly adjusting the angle and depth. At first there was a burning, stinging soreness, but once he acclimated, a slow numbness began to spread.
He didn’t dare push too deep, afraid that without proper caution he’d damage his own organs and end up back at the hospital—yet another extra expense.
Although the doctor had told him that with two gestational sacs, he should be able to enjoy this sort of thing to the fullest, when he actually tried it himself, he couldn’t quite figure out his own anatomy.
Where it curved, where the entrance was—he couldn’t map any of it clearly. In a way, this stick he’d picked up from who-knows-where understood his internal structure better than he did.
Half the stick was inside, half outside. Zhen Ye gripped the end of it, and before long, he felt a warm, moist sensation.
His cheeks burned bright red, sweat-damp against the pillow as he bit down on one corner of the pillowcase, overwhelmed with shame. He produced so much fluid.
Just then, a loud “thump!” came from outside the door.
It was the couple next door closing their door.
But they hadn’t gone out—judging by the sound, they were eating takeout in the living room, pacing back and forth from time to time, making quite a ruckus.
Zhen Ye clamped his legs together, tensing up. Even though he knew the door was locked and no one would barge in, his lower belly and spine still went rigid.
He was afraid someone might walk past his door and catch the scent of his abnormally concentrated pheromones. Even more afraid that someone would discover him shamelessly pleasuring himself.
After all, this was a shared rental, not his real home. Separated by a thin wall from people he barely knew—it was hard to feel any real sense of security.
Hurry up… just finish quickly…
Because of his anxiety, his movements unconsciously grew heavier, almost rough.
Suddenly, he hit some patch of soft flesh, and his thighs spasmed violently—a jolt like electricity racing down his spine, both painful and tingling. He couldn’t take it, burying his face deep into the blanket and letting out two thin, pitiful whimpers.
If someone were standing by the bed right now and threw back his covers, they’d see his normally upright frame curled up like a shrimp.
From his neck to his knees, his skin was flushed red, his eyes unfocused and completely defenseless—as if a single reach could scoop him up and do whatever they pleased with him.
It took over a full minute of dazed stupor before Zhen Ye slowly got up to clean himself. His worn-out pajamas, washed thin and soft, had their collar sagging to one side, exposing the slightly protruding blade of his skinny shoulder.
He knelt on his slender calves and felt the bedsheet beneath him—there was a small damp patch.
Zhen Ye bit his lip, ears burning red. As the dopamine from his gratified urges rapidly receded, a wave of shame and self-reproach washed over him.
He was so abnormal.
How could he have gotten carried away watching a cartoon… desecrating his own childhood.
Did other people do this too?
Surely not.
He really ought to apologize to the prince and the vine.
But…
A tiny thought surfaced in the depths of his heart, speaking very softly:
I really, really like that big, thick vine.
It’s not human, but its personality is so warm and gentle. If it became human, it would probably be one of those handsome older men with chest muscles—
Suddenly, something occurred to him.
His face flushed scarlet in an instant.
…No wonder he liked Owen, that gentle, big-bodied, older-man-type doll.
It turned out that after people grew up, their seemingly strange kinks could all be traced back to seeds planted in childhood experiences.
Even as his mind wandered, he grabbed the wooden stick. It was coated with a slippery wetness, almost too slick to hold.
Zhen Ye tried to peel off the transparent condom, only to find that the tip was torn. He had no idea when it had ripped—the sticky moisture was smeared across the wood, leaving the surface sleek and glossy.
If you didn’t look closely, it almost resembled plump, lifelike human flesh.
Zhen Ye weighed the wood in his palm. It was heavy—noticeably more substantial than when he’d first bought it from the old farmer half a year ago.
Moreover, perhaps due to prolonged exposure to “fluids” and repeated friction, the stick had developed a bit of a patina.
Zhen Ye actually didn’t dare let it “soak” every day.
His grandmother used to love playing with sandalwood prayer beads, so he knew that wood was prone to cracking when soaked in water. The more precious the species, the more true this was.
That was why Zhen Ye had bought the condoms—specially to cover it.
Consider it his devoted care for his “wooden boyfriend.”
Zhen Ye tossed the torn membrane into the trash can by the foot of the bed, planning to take it out before work tomorrow.
But he was worried some of those elderly trash-pickers might catch the scent.
So he hopped off the bed on a pair of pale, evenly-proportioned bare legs, walked over to the bin, and pulled the drawstrings of the black garbage bag tight, knotting them firmly.
…
That night.
His eyeballs twitched rapidly beneath thin, faintly blue-veined eyelids, then suddenly stopped. A pair of deep, unfathomable eyes snapped open.
The premium ward was silent and still, broken only by the faint beeping of instruments and the low hum of central air conditioning blowing warm air.
Rong Yu slowly sat up and switched on the small nightlight by his bed. Weak light scattered, casting a half-lit, half-shadowed Rembrandt glow across his profile.
His eyes were half-lidded, his features noble and refined, the sort that easily gave off a cold, distant impression.
But right now, his lips were flushed red, his nostrils slightly flared, and fine sweat beaded at his temples and hairline—giving his face, in its utmost restraint, a rare hint of sensual desire.
So thirsty.
So hot.
Not the heat of an over-warm air conditioner, but a sensation from a dream—a stifled, unsatisfying feeling, as if smothered inside a cheap plastic wrap.
As though he’d been stuffed into some place, squeezed from all directions.
This pressure wasn’t exactly forceful—more like something that would tremble and shrink back at a single touch, wet, soft, and scorching hot.
This wasn’t the first time Rong Yu had felt something like this.
And conveniently, it always happened near midnight, when he sank into sleep.
As if this occurrence followed some kind of pattern.
Rong Yu hadn’t yet figured out its mechanism. He only had a vague intuition that this was his discarded leg bone, its nerves coming back to life.
He was a plant-type chimera, of a very high rank. His cells and nerves could respond to each other from dozens of kilometers away.
But this resonance was limited—like a plane’s black box lost at sea, it could only transmit the tactile sensations of its surroundings.
It couldn’t send him images to help him pinpoint its location.
So sometimes he’d describe it loosely as “like being soaked in a pot of soup.”
There was the softness of water, the burning heat of fire, and when it scorched too intensely, it brought a parched, gnawing thirst from his nerve bundles that was hard to soothe.
Rong Yu’s eyes were unreadable as he slowly cast a brief glance downward at himself.
Behind the closed door, deep in the suite’s bathroom, the gold showerhead was twisted on. Cold water rushed down the sharply defined contours of the alpha’s muscles. He stood under the stream, eyes closed, head tilted back to meet the water, trying to ease the unbearable burning.
So thirsty…
·
When Zhen Ye got up in the morning to drink water, he found his bedside cup empty.
That was strange. Last night before bed, he was sure he’d filled his thermos to the brim.
Had he sleepwalked and drunk it all in the middle of the night?
Zhen Ye’s mental state had never been great. When things grew chaotic and disordered, he tended to forget things easily.
He could even slip into a dazed, sleepwalking state, feeling like his soul floated up into the sky, calmly looking down at his own body.
Whenever that happened, he could barely remember what he’d done. Maybe he’d gone out and drunk himself into a stupor, or maybe he’d sat on the rooftop all night.
The worst time, he’d run to an empty mountain in the middle of the night, fallen off a cliff, and ended up badly injured, lying in the ICU for a week.
That was also the incident that left him with over six hundred thousand in medical debt.
So now, before going to sleep, Zhen Ye always locked the doors and windows tight, to keep himself from wandering out in a daze and doing something reckless.
Honestly, it didn’t matter if he got hurt—the important thing was not going out and attacking innocent people.
He hadn’t attacked anyone yet, after all.
But who could say whether one day his wires might get crossed, right?
Zhen Ye got dressed and headed out with the trash bag.
As he crossed the living room, his beta female roommate from across the hall was there too.
Xu Linlin loved succulents. She was squatting, tending to a newly acquired pot of ruby-red fleshy leaves. She turned her head at the sight of Zhen Ye and stood up, saying:
“Zhen Ye, you weren’t here yesterday. The landlord came by and asked me to let you know.”
Zhen Ye: “What is it?”
Xu Linlin: “The landlord said the rent’s too cheap now, so he’s raising it—starting next month, it goes up by 400.”
She went on unprompted, “Personally, I think it’s a bit too expensive. Plus, the barbecue place downstairs is open till the early morning every day, and the noise keeps me up. I’m planning to move in with my girlfriend.”
Then she remembered to ask, “Are you planning to stay?”
Zhen Ye seemed briefly dazed, as if still processing the news. He unconsciously tightened his grip on the trash bag’s twist tie, but his tone stayed calm:
“Not sure yet. I’ll think about it.”
“Alright, let me know once you’ve decided. The couple next door wants to move too, so when the time comes, we can all vacate together and settle up the utilities.”
“Yeah…”
Zhen Ye turned to head out, but Xu Linlin called after him from behind. “Zhen Ye.”
Zhen Ye looked back, confused.
Xu Linlin kindly pointed at the trash bag in his hand.
“—Your bag is torn.”
“The white trash is falling out.”
Zhen Ye: “…”
·
By the time Zhen Ye got downstairs, his entire face had gone numb.
Close call. Good thing what had fallen out was only tissues, not anything else shameful.
Thud! Into the big dumpster.
Settling onto the bus and calculating that the ride still had half an hour, Zhen Ye opened a rental app and scrolled through it.
The landlord was raising the rent, but it was winter, and the rental market was in a lull—there weren’t any good listings at all.
But if all his roommates were moving out, he’d probably have to leave too, since they were all on the same lease contract.
Moving, moving…
He hadn’t had a home for a long time anyway. Where was there left to move to?
If a magical vine really existed in this world, and it could whisk him away, that would be perfect.
He’d be happy to be imprisoned in a cave—warm and cozy, lazing around like a little rabbit living off someone else.
He drifted off into that daze, fantasizing.
But the next instant, he snapped back to reality.
—“Zhen Ye! What are you standing around for? Take table 17’s dishes, hurry up!”
Clatter—he carried a heavy stack of plates to the sink and plunged his hands into the greasy, ice-cold water.
Under the fluorescent light, the rippling water reflected a pale, exhausted face.
He bent his spine deeply, facing the churning basin, and the dry, cracked corners of his lips stretched into a painful, bitter curve.
“Alright, if I can’t be a parasite rabbit, being a diligent rabbit works too…” he muttered to himself.
“It’ll pass soon enough… Zhen Ye, don’t be so delicate. Other people get through hard times the same way. You can do it too…”
By the time he’d washed the mountain of dishes, it was nearly 1:30 in the afternoon. Zhen Ye sat by the kitchen’s back door, slowly chewing on a cheap, puffy packaged bread, feeling like he’d survived a catastrophe.
The auntie who worked alongside him saw him always eating dry bread alone and couldn’t help but say, “Little Zhen, eating this every day will give you malnutrition. Lucky for you, I brought too much food today—let auntie share some with you.”
“No need, auntie,” Zhen Ye said with a smile, politely declining. “You work so hard serving tables up front—you need to eat well. I already had breakfast, so I’m not hungry now. Thank you.”
Seeing him decline, the auntie sighed inwardly. What a handsome, polite kid.
Her daughter was about the same age, still pampered and protected, never having to lift a finger—currently a grad student at university. Little Zhen seemed educated too, so why was he here suffering?
Could his family have run into some trouble?
Other people’s private matters weren’t hers to pry into, so the auntie didn’t ask. She just watched Zhen Ye chew the bread rabbit-style, many times over, before barely managing to swallow it down. Then he walked aside and pulled out his phone from his bag.
Whenever he had a spare moment, Zhen Ye called his grandmother every day to keep her company and chat.
The moment he heard her voice, a bit of the weight in his chest lifted.
“Grandma, have you eaten?”
“I have, sweetheart. Just ate.”
Zhen Ye knew she always complained that the food her uncle brought wasn’t to her liking, so he coaxed her gently, “Then once you’re discharged from the hospital, I’ll come to your place and cook for you every day—all your favorite dishes.”
“Good, good.” His grandmother agreed, but her tone was a little vague. “Sweetheart, come whenever you can… anyway, anyway, grandma is being discharged today.”
Zhen Ye’s expression froze instantly. He thought he’d misheard: “Discharged? Aren’t you having surgery tomorrow?”
There was a silence on the other end of the line. When she spoke again, the old woman’s voice carried an abnormal breathiness: “The surgery… I’m not having it.”
“Why?” Zhen Ye’s heart suddenly sank.
“Hongming, he…” His grandmother’s voice trembled, and finally a choked sob leaked through. “He… gambled it all away.”
Like a hammer striking down without warning.
Zhen Ye clutched the phone, frozen in place, his blood turning to ice.