In that moment.
Jing Mian’s mind was in a whirl.
Fulfilling marital obligations?
He even thought he had misheard, or perhaps what Mr. Ren was saying wasn’t what he had misunderstood it to be.
Jing Mian held his breath slightly and whispered in confirmation, “Is it… a kiss?”
Mr. Ren paused for a moment before replying, “No.”
The man’s voice was deep, with no fluctuation, carrying an imperceptible hoarseness: “Making love.”
Jing Mian’s breath hitched.
Instantly, his heartbeat became erratic.
Mr. Ren, as always, was direct.
A sudden wave of heat burned up his back and the tips of his ears, even his neck felt warm. Jing Mian’s fingers curled, and he suddenly found himself at a loss for words: “Is it… now?”
Mr. Ren: “Now.”
Jing Mian’s heart skipped a beat.
Ren Xingwan repeated, “Is it okay?”
Jing Mian licked his dry lips, “Y-yes.”
…
In the darkness, Jing Mian felt Mr. Ren grasp his wrist.
The palm was slightly warm, with long, broad fingers, exerting an undeniable force, thick and distinctly tactile.
The next second, that hand exerted a slight force.
Jing Mian felt himself being abruptly pulled, his body brushing against the soft sheets, moving to the center of the large bed.
Jing Mian’s breath caught, his heartbeat erratic.
When his lips were kissed, due to the position, Jing Mian’s waist was pinned, surrounded by a familiar scent, so even if he was kissed breathless by Mr. Ren, there was no escape.
Later, moonlight fell on the floor, slowly creeping onto the bed.
It then covered Jing Mian’s body, while the pajamas were scattered, covering the floor.
The night was silent, occasionally disrupted by suppressed sounds.
Perhaps earlier, Jing Mian hadn’t realized what fulfilling marital obligations truly meant.
After all, in his impression, Mr. Ren was always reticent and cold, even ascetic. Compared to ordinary people who inevitably have desires, the man seemed to have shut off such needs and sensations, so much so that Jing Mian couldn’t even imagine what out-of-line things might happen when sharing a bed with Mr. Ren.
In fact, Jing Mian was wrong.
…and quite drastically so.
He thought he and Mr. Ren would be the most serene and desireless newlywed couple, but in reality, it was quite the opposite, even more so than others… excessively so.
For example, at first, he could still stay clear-headed, his ears red, his vision clear.
Even initially, they could briefly converse, expressing needs.
Later, biting his lip, barely suppressing sounds.
Then, tears streaming uncontrollably, lips and teeth becoming indistinct, sounds uncontrollably spilling out, turbulent and out of line.
Finally, his mind hazy, only able to whisper pleas in the brief moments he could speak.
Too much time had passed, probably several hours past midnight.
Jing Mian was at his wit’s end; although Mr. Ren would listen to him, his actions responded inversely to his requests.
In his dazed consciousness, awakened by a sudden intrusion, Jing Mian pursed his lips, tears sliding down the bridge of his nose.
His strength long gone, Jing Mian could only instinctively bite his lip and say, “Mr. Ren…”
Then, the following dialogue ensued:
“…Isn’t it ‘brother’?”
Jing Mian murmured softly, “Hmm?”
Mr. Ren asked, “Who am I to you?”
“My… husband.”
“That’s not what your husband wants to hear.”
Jing Mian’s lips were dry, “Darling?”
This time, Jing Mian felt a rising sense of crisis.
“…Wrong.”
“MianMian, who am I to you?”
The violently shaking vision came to a halt, and his consciousness finally gained a brief clarity. With tears blurring his eyes, Jing Mian hugged the pillow, pondering for a moment before softly saying, “Brother.”
What followed,
Not only was it not suppressed, but it intensified even more.
Moreover, whether it was because Jing Luo had said something to Mr. Ren, Mr. Ren seemed to mistakenly believe… that he had questioned his capabilities. Thus, his brother bit the back of his neck and physically refuted this notion.
Jing Mian: “…”
He would have to talk to Jing Luo about this later.
Eventually, the night gradually faded, and dawn peeked through.
For the first time, Jing Mian realized that a person’s thighs could tremble so violently.
And fulfilling marital duties could go to such an extent.
Jing Mian wasn’t quite sure how often marital duties were supposed to be performed, vaguely understanding it might be two to three times a week. But regardless of the frequency, for Jing Mian, the duration… was a bit too much.
Does everyone go on for so many hours?
Until four or five in the morning?
It was only after some discussion that Mr. Ren finally stopped.
Jing Mian’s eyelashes fluttered, and in his daze, he half-awoke to find the sun already high in the sky.
The beam of light from the floor-to-ceiling window fell on the edge of the bed, revealing a messy corner of the room. The clothes on the floor had been picked up, folded, and placed on the armchair.
The furniture was illuminated by the morning light, and Jing Mian was slightly stunned, feeling surprisingly refreshed, with no lingering discomfort. If it weren’t for the residual sensation of swelling, he might have thought that yesterday was just a dream with Mr. Ren.
He fumbled for his phone, the screen lighting up, the battery dangerously low.
He discovered it was already half past twelve.
Immediately after, the phone automatically shut down.
Jing Mian: “…”
Even his phone’s battery gave out before he did.
Fortunately, he had taken leave from school. Jing Mian pursed his lips, his pupils suddenly contracting as he remembered the live stream he had promised last night, which he had completely missed.
He had missed it for the entire night.
So much so that he hadn’t even opened the stream to explain by noon the next day.
Jing Mian’s lips curled in bitterness.
He vaguely noticed that his eyes seemed swollen, the corners slightly sore, and his throat dry, craving water.
As if he was dehydrated everywhere.
Jing Mian propped himself up, moved to the edge of the bed, and bent down to put on his slippers.
Then he realized that the pajamas he was wearing were new, several sizes too big, but the sleeves and pant legs had been rolled up, so the length was just right.
…The pajamas were also put on by Mr. Ren.
Jing Mian froze for a few seconds, his face flushing red.
He tried to stand up, but as soon as he exerted force with his calves to support his body, he fell back down.
His knees hit the floor with a soft thud.
Jing Mian: “?”
He was completely stunned.
Given the current situation.
Jing Mian took a slight breath, could it be… that he had been made so weak in the legs from being done?
Impossible…
But before Jing Mian could make a second attempt, he suddenly heard footsteps approaching from a distance.
Jing Mian’s heart raced.
He instinctively didn’t want Mr. Ren to discover his current predicament, so he quickly and laboriously got up, attempting to cover up the fact as if nothing had happened.
However, the footsteps had already stopped.
For some reason, Jing Mian’s figure paused. Although he didn’t meet Mr. Ren’s gaze, he inexplicably felt the other’s eyes on him.
Before Jing Mian could speak, the next moment, he suddenly felt his body being lifted into the air.
“!”
A firm, resilient arm encircled his waist, while another hand supported his back and the bend of his legs. A familiar scent enveloped him, and Jing Mian realized that Ren Xingwan had picked him up.
…And it was a one-armed carry at that!
As Jing Mian wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, he was forced to lean slightly forward.
Perhaps he had noticed it before—the noticeable difference in their builds—but Jing Mian hadn’t expected that Ren Xingwan could effortlessly carry him downstairs using a method most men would struggle with and often avoid.
Mr. Ren asked, “Would you like some water?”
Hearing the man’s voice, Jing Mian paused for a moment, then nodded. “Yes.”
Mr. Ren asked, “Are you hungry?”
At this question, Jing Mian suddenly realized he had missed breakfast and whispered, “Yes.”
Mr. Ren asked, “Is it because you’re hungry that you can’t walk?”
Jing Mian choked.
This question…
After a few seconds, Jing Mian’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly as he replied calmly, “…Yes.”
He couldn’t very well say it was because of what you did last night.
Steadily moving from the second floor to the first, Jing Mian was placed on a chair next to the dining table, where a small elm tree by the bed stood tall and lush, its leaves flourishing.
Mr. Ren handed him a glass of water.
Jing Mian gulped it down. The water wasn’t cold, but it was refreshing.
It felt like salvation.
Soon after, Mr. Ren handed him a white bundle. Jing Mian took it, puzzled, and found it cool to the touch—a clean gauze wrapped around ice.
Jing Mian: ?
Ren Xingwan spoke softly, “…For your eyes.”
Jing Mian was startled, his heart skipping a beat.
The cool, soft touch pressed against his eyes, and Jing Mian squinted slightly. It was clean, refreshing, and indescribably comfortable.
Jing Mian thought.
Perhaps Mr. Ren was just fulfilling his obligations.
Even so, he felt that anyone who entered into a contractual marriage with Mr. Ren would undoubtedly find it an incredibly fortunate thing.
As his thoughts wandered, a small bowl of steaming green bean porridge was placed in front of him, accompanied by shrimp dumplings, steamed buns, and corn.
Though it was already noon, Mr. Ren had somehow known that he still wanted breakfast and had perfectly hit his taste buds. Jing Mian silently picked up his spoon.
He said, “Thank you, sir.”
Ren Xingwan sat beside him but showed no intention of picking up his chopsticks.
Jing Mian couldn’t help but ask, “Aren’t you eating?”
“Hmm.”
Mr. Ren lowered his gaze and spoke quietly, “I woke up early. It’s time for lunch now.”
Jing Mian, “…”
Suddenly, the porridge didn’t taste so sweet anymore.
Though unsure if Mr. Ren was making a metaphor or a comparison, Jing Mian felt a pang of embarrassment.
The sweet porridge slid over his tongue, and Jing Mian’s Adam’s apple bobbed as warmth flowed down his throat.
The air fell into silence.
But after a while, Jing Mian suddenly heard Mr. Ren’s voice:
“It seems you’ve grown up.”
Jing Mian, who was biting into a shrimp dumpling, “?”
Their eyes met.
The man’s handsome, chiseled face remained cold and composed, though slightly silent, before he averted his gaze:
“You don’t call me ‘brother’ anymore.”