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I’ve noticed that people who go around wearing masks don’t tend to be very smart.” “…” “Ah—that doesn’t include you, my lord,” Zhao Yunlan added, making it worse. “Of course not.”
The Emissary’s heart sank. The man really was incredibly astute. It was likely that he wouldn’t be able to hide the truth from him for much longer.
“There are always things that you can’t control. Either you become strong enough to solve every problem, or you just forget it. It’s not good to obsess over them. That just eats up your mental RAM.”
Nonchalantly, he let the Emissary take his hand.
When their eyes met, Shen Wei looked down with a soft smile. His expressions and language were always so reserved; to Zhao Yunlan, it seemed like every single look on Shen Wei’s face concealed thousands of words.
It made him feel as if someone had pinched the tip of his heart, leaving it feeling tender in more ways than one.
Shen Wei swayed. He didn’t reply, but he did take the opportunity to wrap his arms tight around Zhao Yunlan’s waist.
Looking at Shen-laoshi’s dazed, blank face, he couldn’t resist tousling his hair.
The intensity of Shen Wei’s gaze was so heavy it was almost palpable.
He had noticed earlier that something wasn’t quite right with Shen Wei, and the mood was a bit off, but Zhao Yunlan was still delighted by this development. He offered no resistance when Shen Wei yanked him close, or when Shen Wei pushed him up against the wall roughly and found his mouth, nearly tearing at his lips.
“Babe, you’re a little wild.”
In the dim light, he was more beautiful than ever, rendering Zhao Yunlan suddenly breathless.
Shen Wei leaned closer and kissed him—again and again and again, ravaging and plundering.
The only sound was a man panting like a wolf that had known only starvation for many, many years.
Zhao Yunlan said nothing, but in his head, he named a little doll “Lin Jing” and stabbed it until it was full of needles like a porcupine.
Their gazes met in the rearview mirror.
“No,” Shen Wei said, a little distracted. “It’s for selfish reasons. It’s because of…someone.”
“I’ve never been inside the Soul-Executing Emissary’s territory. Aren’t you going to invite me up?” Shen Wei paused, then nodded. “Gladly.”
“You mean you saved yourself from feeling awkward and instead you get to watch me feel awkward, right? Did it make you happy seeing me do all those stupid things?”
What Shen Wei
feared the most was not knowing just how much he had already guessed.
His tone naturally lightened on the last few words, as if that were his usual way of showing that he cared—a vague way that was hard to pinpoint. Shen Wei’s throat went dry. His heart hurt as if it had been scratched.
It gave him the sense that Shen Wei was always silently watching him depart. Behind his smiles, Zhao Yunlan’s heart was heavy.
He was always alone, and Zhao Yunlan felt sympathy for him.
The smothered emotion he’d seen in Shen Wei’s eyes back in the hotel room sparked fear in him; there was something there that he almost didn’t dare touch.
For a moment, Zhao Yunlan thought the heartless black cat was about to cry. His heart melted.
Well-mannered and gentle, he seems to have a mysterious connection to Zhao Yunlan.
Zhao Yunlan, who has met him occasionally in the past through his work, is one of the only people who doesn’t find him intimidating.
LAOSHI: A term used to refer to any educator, often in deference. Can also be attached to someone’s name as a suffix.
(shun way)
