Chapter 41#
The first stream of water that fell when the showerhead was turned on was icy cold.
Luo Mingshan was instantly drenched through, his entire body shivering.
He froze for a moment, then looked up at Zhao Xing as the water streamed down his jaw. He didn’t dodge or flinch, still wearing that same bewildered, helpless expression: “Brother Zhao… what’s wrong?”
Zhao Xing, however, directly pulled the showerhead off its holder. He rinsed Luo Mingshan’s face with the strongest water pressure while roughly tearing open his collar, his voice cold enough to freeze: “I’m washing you clean. You disgust me.”
The clothes were ripped apart with a tearing sound, fully revealing that red mark.
Small, red, still unrecognizable as anything specific.
Zhao Xing scrubbed the red mark harshly, his gaze heavy as he looked at Luo Mingshan, dark eyes swirling with a gathering storm: “What is this? A hickey? When did you get it? Last night?”
The fierce stream of water poured down from above, some seeping into his ears, some blocking his nose and mouth.
It took Luo Mingshan a moment to react. He tilted his head slightly, barely managing to avoid the direct assault of the water, and explained: “No… it’s not…”
Zhao Xing: “Not? Not what? If it wasn’t from last night, then when? This morning?”
“It… it was just now—”
Zhao Xing was so angry he nearly ground his teeth: “Just now? You two had a round before you even got on the island?!”
“It was just now, when you… when you pressed me to the ground.”
Zhao Xing looked again and realized that the red mark really did seem to be an imprint of his own fingers.
But the fury in his mind had already peaked, and even so, it showed no sign of subsiding.
He scrutinized Luo Mingshan again, only to find his body covered in evidence of his own brutality. Luo Mingshan’s skin was fair and thin—a single pinch left a mark—and now it was mottled with purple and blue, a truly horrifying sight. Yet this only made it harder for Zhao Xing to distinguish the traces left by that other man.
Zhao Xing shoved Luo Mingshan against the wall: “Fine. Then tell me yourself—where did he touch you? He must have touched your mouth too, right? Your lips are so red—how long did he kiss you?”
Zhao Xing growled through gritted teeth as he leaned in.
The water temperature gradually rose, steam filling the bathroom, tinting Luo Mingshan’s face and lips a delicate pink, adding an unexpected air of seduction.
—Was this how he looked beneath that man, too?
Zhao Xing was so angry he wanted to kill, so agitated he felt like losing his mind.
An emotion he had never experienced before flooded his heart, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue and a painful constriction in his chest.
He hurled one humiliating question after another, but when Luo Mingshan opened his mouth to answer, Zhao Xing clamped his hand over it, refusing to let him speak.
Zhao Xing used his rough thumb to scrub harshly at Luo Mingshan’s lips, as if that could erase another’s traces.
But the more he rubbed, the redder they became.
That vivid red seemed to constantly remind Zhao Xing—this place had already been tasted by someone else.
Zhao Xing’s fingers slid down from Luo Mingshan’s lips, gripping his chin tightly. Then he forcefully leaned in and bit down hard on Luo Mingshan’s mouth.
Luo Mingshan’s entire body went rigid.
Zhao Xing wasn’t much better.
The moment his lips touched Luo Mingshan’s, he forgot what he was supposed to do.
In the cramped bathroom.
Zhao Xing held the showerhead in his left hand.
It had been aimed at Luo Mingshan’s face, but now the water stream washed over both their faces.
Water slid down their cheeks, converging at the place where their lips met, then flowing down together.
Along with the water, all of Zhao Xing’s impulsiveness, rage, and irrationality drained away.
The showerhead clattered to the floor, and Zhao Xing instinctively tried to pull back.
But he forgot they were still lip-locked; Luo Mingshan’s lips were gently tugged by his movement.
Zhao Xing’s mind was a blur. Just as he was about to part his lips and put an end to this chaotic scene, Luo Mingshan lightly licked the seam of his lips.
—With a hint of naive seduction, like a young fox just discovering desire.
Zhao Xing exploded.
To go from violence to calm required an unexpected kiss.
But to send a mind that had just regained rationality spiraling back into chaos—that, too, only took a single kiss.
The moment Luo Mingshan pressed his lips against his, only one thought remained in Zhao Xing’s mind: How could he be so good at this? How many times had he kissed Cheng Yu?!
That thought circled in his mind, took root, sprouted, and grew into a towering tree in an instant, shattering all his reason and composure.
He pinned Luo Mingshan against the cold wall, roughly tearing at his clothes, biting at his lips without any tenderness.
Sensing the reaction beneath him, he paused.
Then, gripping Luo Mingshan’s chin, he leaned down to whisper in his ear, his words vicious and vulgar: “Baby, you’re getting turned on that easily? How slutty are you? How long did someone else train you?”
Luo Mingshan’s body tensed, his ears and neck flushed crimson. He turned his head away uncomfortably, trying to push Zhao Xing off: “It’s not like that, Brother Zhao… don’t—”
Zhao Xing forcibly turned his head back, cutting him off with hatred: “Luo Luo has already sold himself, who knows how many times he’s been used. Let big brother have a little fun too, what’s the harm?”
“No…” Luo Mingshan closed his eyes, struggling to control the unfamiliar surging desire within him. His voice was hoarse and dry. “…I haven’t been used by anyone.”
Zhao Xing’s hand, reaching for the body wash, suddenly stopped.
He narrowed his eyes: “What did you say?”
Luo Mingshan opened his eyes to look at Zhao Xing. Blood smeared the corner of his mouth, the rims of his eyes were red, and his lashes were wet—couldn’t tell if it was water or tears.
He said: “After Cheng Yu took me to the ground, I argued with him…”
Luo Mingshan’s breath was hot, his thoughts a mess, but he still tried to find the right words: “…When he saw that I’d only been pretending to comply before, he threatened to sell me to the production team, to have me brought onto the island and become everyone’s public slave. I thought of you being here, so I agreed.”
Zhao Xing stopped all his movements. The violent aura around him gradually dissipated. He narrowed his eyes, his emotions turning complex.
Zhao Xing: “Are you telling the truth?”
Luo Mingshan: “…Yes.”
Zhao Xing: “So you haven’t been someone else’s lover? You haven’t been touched by anyone else? You haven’t been kissed by anyone else?”
Luo Mingshan was about to shake his head and say no, but he paused.
He looked at Zhao Xing, his lashes fluttering, a hint of unconscious seduction in his expression: “Only kissed by big brother.”
“…That doesn’t count!”
“Then, no.”
Zhao Xing shoved him out of the bathroom, coldly tossing out: “Go out first. Think carefully about what you’ve done.”
After closing the bathroom door, Zhao Xing glanced down, then expressionlessly picked up the showerhead and hung it back on the wall.
He turned the temperature to the coldest setting, letting the icy water pour down over his head, washing away all the chaos and impulse.
The blind rage slowly dissipated, and his shattered reason came back to life.
Zhao Xing punched the wall, then covered his face and slowly crouched down.
…Fuck.
He had almost… he had almost become an animal.
The frigid water poured relentlessly from above, over and over, forcing Zhao Xing back to calm.
Once he was calm, he began to review his actions, which had seemed so irrational just moments before.
He admitted it now: he was already halfway bent, no longer straight.
He admitted it: he had a pathological possessiveness over Luo Mingshan.
He admitted it: he was no different from those beasts outside who were seduced by Luo Mingshan’s looks, filled with lustful thoughts, their minds full of nothing but depravity.
When Zhao Xing turned off the water, his fingertips were already as cold as ice.
He changed into a bathrobe and walked out of the bathroom.
Luo Mingshan had already changed into his loungewear and was cooking in the kitchen.
The loungewear in the White Tower was the simplest white T-shirt and shorts, revealing Luo Mingshan’s long, shapely limbs.
But his skin, usually as fair as jade, was now dotted with bruises.
Like fine white porcelain covered in cracks.
Hearing the sound, Luo Mingshan turned around.
When he saw Zhao Xing, his face paled slightly, and he spoke hastily: “…Brother Zhao, I’ve reflected on my actions. I know I was wrong. I just wanted to make you dinner, so you could eat when you got out of the shower. Please don’t be mad.”
Zhao Xing walked over and saw on the table a lopsided, half-assembled sandwich: “This is your cooking?”
Luo Mingshan: “I’m still learning…”
“Keyword detected—cooking, master. May I ask if you wish to cook?”
They both turned to look. A cylindrical robot on the counter suddenly lit up. It spoke again: “What would master like to eat? As long as you place the ingredients on my tray, I can have it ready in ten minutes!”
Luo Mingshan glanced at the pathetic sandwich on the counter, pursed his lips, took some rice from the fridge, and placed it on the cooking robot’s head: “Cook porridge.”
“Understood. Please wait ten minutes.”
The robot automatically moved to wash the rice and cook the porridge.
Luo Mingshan looked at Zhao Xing: “It’ll be ready soon.”
But Zhao Xing stepped past him, picked up the mangled sandwich on the counter, and took a bite.
Luo Mingshan: “You can’t eat that!”
Zhao Xing: “Is it poisonous?”
Luo Mingshan: “…No.”
Zhao Xing wolfed it down in two bites, then drank some water from the side: “Alright, let’s hear your reflections.”
Luo Mingshan stood up straight, looking a bit nervous: “I shouldn’t have followed Cheng Yu out from underground. I shouldn’t have insisted on coming to the island to find you, knowing that Brother Zhao didn’t want to see me and wanted to cut all ties with the people underground. I shouldn’t have become your burden and trouble…”
As Zhao Xing listened to Luo Mingshan’s “reflections,” his mind began to wander.
His gaze traveled from the bruise on Luo Mingshan’s calf—where he had kicked him—upward, finally settling on the corner of his mouth.
The corner of his mouth was bruised purple, his lower lip obviously broken, with a visible bite mark that looked vividly red and alluring.
Zhao Xing forced himself to look away, but after a moment, his eyes involuntarily drifted back to his lips.
This happened several times.
Until Luo Mingshan cautiously spoke: “Brother Zhao, I’m done.”
Zhao Xing hadn’t really listened to him, so naturally, he didn’t comment on his self-reflection. His gaze swept over Luo Mingshan’s lips once more, and he asked: “Do you hate me?”
Luo Mingshan’s eyes widened slightly, as if he didn’t understand.
Zhao Xing: “I almost raped you just now. Do you hate me?”
Luo Mingshan’s expression suddenly grew a little unnatural. But when he looked up at Zhao Xing, his eyes were clear and transparent, without a trace of resentment. There wasn’t even any fear or lingering terror.
He shook his head and said softly: “I know Brother Zhao did it for my own good. You thought I had been foolish and done something wrong, so you wanted to teach me a lesson this way, to make me remember, to protect myself, to learn self-respect and self-love.”
Is that so?
The beating near Central Lake—maybe it had really been for those reasons.
But the violence just now? Not necessarily.
Zhao Xing could clearly distinguish whether he had truly wanted to discipline Luo Mingshan or had been unable to suppress his own anger and jealousy.
Even if he couldn’t distinguish it himself, his body—which had only gradually calmed down after more than ten minutes under the cold shower—was more than enough to help him tell the difference.
Zhao Xing studied Luo Mingshan again.
Luo Mingshan stood obediently before him, his eyes free of any resentment or fear, cleanly displaying dependence and trust—docile, quiet, and beautiful.
But his lips were bitten and bruised, and his fair neck bore several fingermarks. At first glance, it looked like traces left by rough sex, adding an extra layer of ambiguity.
Zhao Xing reached out and touched Luo Mingshan’s face, his thumb lightly stroking the corner of his mouth.
Luo Mingshan tilted his head slightly, like a little pet secretly rubbing against Zhao Xing’s palm.
Zhao Xing’s eyes darkened little by little, but his thoughts gradually cleared.
But after all, Luo Mingshan was his little slave, his little dog.
He wanted him—was that not allowed?