Chapter 4#

“Kill Me.”#

Rong Yu had been a completely normal man in his previous life. This orifice was something only the original owner possessed, and it was only now, when Mo Shu mentioned massage, that he dug it up from the depths of his memory. The original owner probably hadn’t wanted to remember this matter either, always choosing to ignore it.

The original owner was a hermaphrodite—something unheard of in the Great Zhou Dynasty. Even if such a person existed, they would have been strangled to death at birth as a monster.

Yang Shi loved her son dearly. To protect this secret, she killed all the midwives and maidservants present at the birth. And because Rong Xiuyong disliked Yang Shi, he also disliked this son by extension, rarely coming to see him, and naturally never discovered that Rong Yu was a hermaphrodite.

To this day, only Rong Yu’s wet nurse and Mo Shu, who had served him since childhood, knew of this matter.

These two were loyal to the bone, trusted confidants of Rong Yu, guarding this secret with their lives.

The massage Mo Shu mentioned earlier was no ordinary massage.

It was using his hands to pleasure Rong Yu’s private parts.

This was actually quite common in wealthy households—when young masters reached fourteen or fifteen and learned of worldly matters, their parents would arrange bedmaids to teach them the ways of the bedchamber. For the few who favored men or had special inclinations, their personal attendants and pages would also be responsible for tending to their master’s needs.

But Rong Yu’s situation was special. As a hermaphrodite, he couldn’t casually arrange maidservants to attend him, so it could only be done by Mo Shu, who knew the secret.

Way back when Yang Shi was still alive—Rong Yu was only eleven or twelve then, still ignorant of such matters—Yang Shi had already admonished Mo Shu, demanding he never marry or have children for his entire life, and only follow Rong Yu.

If Rong Yu ever took a wife in the future, Mo Shu would still serve at his side, responsible for satisfying his master’s other desires.

Mo Shu had grown up alongside Rong Yu in the manor since childhood, their bond deep. Moreover, his parents’ deed of servitude was held in Yang Shi’s hands. His mother had long agreed to this arrangement, and had even given birth to a younger brother to continue the family line.

Naturally, Mo Shu obediently agreed.

Since last year, when Rong Yu had his first nocturnal emission, Mo Shu had been responsible for relieving Rong Yu’s desires. But Rong Yu was frail and had few needs—once or twice a month at most, taken care of as long as Mo Shu used his hand or mouth to bring him to release.

As for the yin orifice below, Rong Yu loathed it deeply and never touched it. Yet this organ had already matured—sensitive and wanton. Every time warm water rushed over it during bathing, or when it was cleaned and rubbed, desire would surge forth, overwhelming him.

During baths, Mo Shu would occasionally use his fingers to soothe and knead that little orifice, to relieve his master’s desires. But he only touched the outside of the orifice—that was his duty as a servant. Inserting a finger without permission would be an offense against his master, something he would never dare do.

Rong Yu carefully reviewed this memory in his mind, took a sip of plum wine, and let out a long breath.

He had read in unofficial histories before that ancient people’s thinking was far more open than modern society, especially among the aristocratic class, whose lifestyle could almost be described as decadent and dissolute.

For someone of the original owner’s status to have only Mo Shu attending him after growing up this long—setting aside his personal circumstances—already counted as keeping himself pure.

Rong Yu raised a hand to rub his brow. In his last life, he had been living in the hospital since fifteen, learning all matters of men and women from medical textbooks—cold, clinical terms devoid of any emotion.

His own desires had been pitifully few. Living to twenty-one, he’d never even masturbated; every time it was just spontaneous emission. A veritable asexual.

He never expected that upon transmigrating, he’d land with such a sensitive, special body.

Rong Yu frowned slightly, waiting for that craving deep within his body to gradually recede. He soaked in the water for another half hour before Mo Shu couldn’t help but run in and quietly urge, “Young master, soak any longer and you’ll catch a chill.”

Rong Yu hummed in acknowledgment. Mo Shu dried his body, dressed him, and wheeled him back to the bedroom.

As they passed the corridor, Mo Shu glanced at the sky outside. “Young master, it’s snowing outside.”

Feathery snowflakes drifted down in profusion, blanketing heaven and earth in a layer of pure white.

Rong Yu lowered his eyes. “Serve the meal.”

Mo Shu nodded in assent. Just as he was about to leave, he heard Rong Yu instruct, “Bring Chu Tan in.”

Because he was disliked by his father, Rong Yu had stopped eating in the front hall after Yang Shi’s death, tired of seeing that loving father-son scene and the irritation it brought him. The Pavilion of Emerald Shadows had a small kitchen solely responsible for Rong Yu’s meals.

An abundant spread of dishes was delivered by servants in a stream, filling the entire table before they filed out one by one.

At the same time, a person covered in snowflakes was dragged in and dumped on the floor, collapsing like mud, whether dead or alive unknown.

Rong Yu kept his head down, eating the dishes Mo Shu placed in his bowl. Neither master nor servant spared Chu Tan a single glance, as if he didn’t exist.

The room was frighteningly quiet, with only the howling north wind outside and the crisp clink of chopsticks against bowls inside, alternating in turn.

After who knew how long, the figure slumped on the ground let out a deep gasp. Then, as if a corpse had come back to life, he pressed his hands against the floor and struggled to rise. But he seemed too weak, able only to half-crouch, half-kneel.

The room was warm. His stiff, frozen body gradually recovered its temperature, and a bloody flush crept onto his pale blue-white cheeks.

Halfway through the meal, a page boy came to announce that the master of the house had arrived.

Before the page could finish speaking, he was shoved aside. A tall, middle-aged man stepped forward from behind—fair-skinned, with a handsome beard, traces of having been a handsome man in his youth still visible. He wore a vermilion official robe, covered head to toe in snow, arriving in such haste it seemed he’d rushed over the moment he left his post.

Rong Yu’s expression didn’t change. He continued eating.

Rong Xiuyong grew even angrier at being ignored, slamming his hand hard on the table. “Have you no sense of propriety at all?! Is this how you treat your father?!”

“What urgent matter brings Father here? The roads are slippery in the snow—what if you should fall?” Rong Yu said this, but there wasn’t a trace of concern in his eyes. “Mo Shu, serve Father some hot tea.”

Only then did Mo Shu set about pouring tea for Rong Xiuyong.

Rong Xiuyong glanced at Chu Tan, covered in wounds on the floor, then quickly averted his eyes as if he’d seen something filthy.

He warned coldly, “I wouldn’t dare drink the tea from your rooms. I’ll say only one thing to you—do whatever wanton things you please within your own courtyard, but when there are outsiders present, restrain yourself! Lest you earn yourself the reputation of a heartless, vicious demon!”

Rong Yu leisurely sent a shrimp into his mouth, picked up a handkerchief to dab his lips, and said, “Then I’m afraid Father will be disappointed. Thanks to Lady Bai, I hardly have any reputation left in the capital at all.”

Rong Xiuyong grew even angrier, his beard bristling. “Nonsense! It’s those vile deeds you did yourself—treating human life like grass—that earned you a reputation for cruelty. What does your mother have to do with it?!”

Rong Yu raised an index finger and wagged it side to side. “Father misspoke. Naturally it has nothing to do with my mother—I was referring to Lady Bai.”

“Don’t play word games with me! Your birth mother is dead, so Lady Bai is your legal mother!”

Rong Yu curled his lips into a sardonic smile. “Father is certain he wants to discuss the matter of legitimate versus illegitimate birth with me?”

Rong Xiuyong’s facial muscles twitched. “In any case, I’m only warning you—if you don’t care about your own reputation, that’s your business, but don’t disgrace the Rong family name!”

With that, Rong Xiuyong gave a cold snort and swept out with his sleeves.

Rong Yu stared blankly at a spot of water on the table—melted snow from Rong Xiuyong’s sleeves. Seeing this, Mo Shu picked up a cloth to wipe it away.

But Rong Yu suddenly reached out and swept every dish and bowl on the table to the floor.

Crackling and crashing, the tableware shattered across the ground.

Rong Yu still felt unsatisfied. His face darkened, his gaze vicious, and he overturned the table with force, hurling and smashing everything within reach, reducing the room to chaos.

Only after he had completely vented did Mo Shu calmly call for people to clean up the wreckage. Every time Rong Xiuyong came to the Pavilion of Emerald Shadows to scold his young master, the young master would throw a thunderous tantrum after the old master left. He was used to it by now.

Mo Shu carried Rong Yu to the soft couch, gently patting his heaving chest, and urged, “Young master, don’t get angry with the old master. Harming your own body isn’t worth it.”

Rong Yu half-closed his eyes, that irritability still coiling in his chest.

He knew his illness hadn’t improved just because he’d swapped bodies through transmigration. He was still the madman who couldn’t control his own emotions.

Rong Yu lay for a long time before opening his gloomy eyes.

He half-reclined, his gaze sweeping across the dressing table beside him. His slender fingers picked and chose before finally lifting a dagger encrusted with jewels, caressing and toying with it between his fingers.

The silver charcoal in the brazier had been replaced yet again, crackling as it burned.

Only then did Rong Yu seem to suddenly remember there was another person in the room, casting his gaze upon Chu Tan like a condescending reward.

“You, come here.”

Chu Tan’s clothes were soaked through with melted snow, leaving a trail of wet footprints with each step. His appearance was utterly bedraggled, yet his spine remained straight as ever. Even with his flesh mangled and split open, his proud bones could not be broken.

Rong Yu curved his lips. “A truly stubborn one.”

Chu Tan knelt at his feet.

Rong Yu stroked the ruby on the dagger with his fingertip, speaking slowly. “Do you know your crime now?”

Chu Tan’s lips were parched, his voice as hoarse as gravel. “No.”

“After all those beatings, you still won’t learn your lesson.” Rong Yu’s tone was unhurried, a glint of interest flashing through his pale eyes. “Then if I whip you a few more times, will you confess?”

Chu Tan still spat out two words. “No.”

Rong Yu laughed.

He had just drunk wine. His complexion was still sickly pale, but his eyes were as moist and bewitching as a fox’s, and his lips were full and crimson. This face—so gorgeous, so decadently lush it bordered on the demonic—yet the words that came from it always sent chills down one’s spine like a devil’s.

“So you really are a stubborn bone.” Rong Yu drew the dagger from its sheath and used the tip to lift Chu Tan’s chin, forcing his face up.

The cold, sharp blade reflected a chilling light, mirroring Chu Tan’s slightly flushed cheeks—an omen of illness to come, caught between the sudden cold and warmth.

Rong Yu tilted his head, studying Chu Tan. “Let me guess. You’d rather be beaten to death by me than leave my courtyard. What’s your purpose? Power? I don’t have that here. Money? My second brother, though not my equal, could still keep you comfortable for a lifetime.”

“Then it can only be… what my mother left me.”

Chu Tan remained unmoved, like a silent statue. Nothing could be read from his face.

Rong Yu idly flicked his wrist, the blade tracing across Chu Tan’s face—a single inch closer and it would have cut flesh.

He spoke almost pressed against Chu Tan, his breath carrying the scent of fruit and wine, spraying across Chu Tan’s face. His voice was sinister. “Which do you think is redder—this pigeon’s blood, or your blood?”

Chu Tan still didn’t move. Even when the icy blade pressed against his throat and drew a shallow line of blood, his eyelids didn’t so much as twitch.

The smile at the corners of Rong Yu’s lips deepened, his peach-blossom eyes curving into crescents. The alcohol was muddling his brain slightly, crystalline tears clinging to his misty lashes like diamonds.

How amusing. He never thought there’d be someone in this world who feared death as little as he did.

No, that wasn’t quite right. Chu Tan didn’t fear death because he had an obsession in his heart. While Rong Yu didn’t want to live because he had nothing to hold onto.

Rong Yu’s smile faded. He straightened up and tossed the dagger to the ground with a crisp clatter.

He looked down at Chu Tan from above and said flatly, “Pick it up.”

Chu Tan picked up the dagger and held it up with both hands.

Rong Yu commanded expressionlessly, “Kill me.”

Chu Tan’s hand trembled slightly. Finally, he raised those pitch-black eyes and looked at Rong Yu.

Mo Shu dropped to his knees with a thud, panicking. “Young master, what are you saying?!”

Rong Yu: “Get out.”

Mo Shu refused, his eyes turning red. “Young master!”

Rong Yu’s tone turned cold. “I said, get out.”

Mo Shu pressed his lips together, shot Chu Tan a warning glare, and left reluctantly.

Only Rong Yu and Chu Tan remained in the room.

Outside, the north wind howled. Inside, the charcoal fire crackled.

Rong Yu spoke again. “Kill me.”

Chu Tan kept his head bowed. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“There’s nothing in this world you wouldn’t dare do.” Rong Yu laughed softly. “I humiliated you this afternoon, whipped you in front of so many people. Don’t you want revenge?”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“Is it that you don’t dare, or that you don’t want to?” Rong Yu’s voice was gentle. Once again he pressed close to Chu Tan, his palm roaming over Chu Tan’s handsome face as he offered up his own slender, fair neck.

They were so close, their posture like a pair of mandarin ducks with necks entwined—save that one was clothed in finery and nobility, the other ragged and fallen.

Rong Yu’s crimson lips brushed against Chu Tan’s ear, his voice low and slow, his scorching breath laced with wine. His hair cascaded down Chu Tan’s neck, the rich fragrance of flowers mingled with a faint scent of Chinese medicine.

A profound bitterness concealed within cloying sweetness.

Like a demon seducing hearts.

“What my mother left me is all in the dressing case—deeds, shops, banknotes… Kill me and you can have what you want.” Rong Yu’s slender fingertip traced across Chu Tan’s neck, catching the flowing blood, continuing downward across his chest and abdomen, coming to rest on the back of Chu Tan’s hand.

He grabbed Chu Tan’s knife-wielding hand and slowly raised it, whispering, “Slash open my throat, or pierce through my heart. Just one stroke, and you can avenge your grievance and go do what you need to do.”

Rong Yu’s words were deeply seductive, as if pointing at something more.

Chu Tan’s lashes trembled. His ever-calm eyes finally rippled with faint stirs. He lowered his gaze to the youth nestled in his embrace in such an ambiguous posture, probing scrutiny churning in the depths of his pupils.

Chu Tan straightened his back slightly, adding some force to his hand as he pressed the blade against Rong Yu’s chest.

Rong Yu curved his lips and slowly closed his eyes.

The anticipated pain never came. Instead, a cool dagger was pressed back into his hand.

Chu Tan returned the dagger to Rong Yu, stepped back two paces, and bowed his head submissively, repeating those words Rong Yu had heard so many times he’d grown calluses: “Chu Tan wouldn’t dare.”

Silence hung for a long moment, then low laughter spilled from Rong Yu’s lips and teeth, growing louder and louder. Rong Yu grinned, even his beautiful peach-blossom eyes weeping tears from the wild laughter.

“Hahahahaha, interesting, too interesting!”

He clapped his hands and laughed, his face—radiant as peach and plum blossoms—flush with red. Then suddenly he coughed violently, like a mañjusaka flower in full bloom, on the verge of withering from its own decadent splendor.

Mo Shu, waiting outside the door, heard the commotion and hurried in to check. “Young master?”

Rong Yu raised a hand to wipe away his tears, the fresh blood on his fingertips leaving a red smear at the corner of his crimson-tinged eye, lending his face a kind of ominous pallor.

In an instant, he returned to an indifferent demeanor, lounging lazily on the couch, half-closed eyes as if about to sleep.

“Find a physician to treat his wounds. Once he’s recovered, he can serve as a watchdog in the courtyard.”

[Author’s Note:]

Could I ask for some votes? Thank you everyone!