It wasn’t until Ren Congmian appeared that Greek truly realized Li Shengwen had been right.
…This time, they had truly provoked someone they should never have crossed.
Not only did they provoke him, but they also committed such a despicable act with no room for redemption or turning back.
Greek’s fixation on Jing Mian wasn’t something that happened overnight. Even before Jing Mian joined the Me. Team, Greek would often watch Sheep’s livestreams, studying his gameplay, staring unblinkingly at the eyes above the mask, and listening to the gentle yet cool voice through his headphones.
But back then, Sheep was just a student streamer, only nineteen years old, fresh into university—naturally, he had no noteworthy background or connections to speak of.
Later, a series of events unfolded. Jing Mian suddenly wore a ring, openly admitting he was married. Yet this didn’t deter Greek; instead, it only made him itch with even greater desire.
This time, when both sides arrived in M City for the provincial competition, Greek had tried everything to stop Jing Mian from coming—even resorting to slandering him on forums. But not only did his plan fail, it also brought Ash, who had quit gaming for years but suddenly logged back in overnight.
Moreover, Greek had vaguely guessed that Song Xianyang might have some untouchable figure backing him, though it only served to put Li Shengwen on guard.
Who could have imagined that behind Jing Mian stood the all-powerful Ren family?
In other words, even Li Shengwen’s father wasn’t fit to carry the shoes of the Ren family’s patriarch.
At this thought, Li Shengwen, who had rushed to the homestay and now stood frozen in place, no longer felt the pain from earlier—only an all-consuming chill.
Li Shengwen spotted Song Xianyang at a glance. Hesitating at the door, he didn’t dare approach.
Song Xianyang glanced at him, expressionless.
“He’s still breathing. What’re you scared of?”
His tone was lazy and disdainful.
Only then did Li Shengwen muster the courage to run to Greek’s side and check his injuries—likely Song Xianyang’s handiwork. Greek had been beaten senseless, his face swollen and horrifying, smeared with blood. But then Song Xianyang’s low voice cut through the air:
“…This isn’t the first time, is it?”
At that moment, Li Shengwen, with his back to Song Xianyang, couldn’t hide the panic and terror flashing in his eyes.
“There’ve been plenty of similar rumors before, haven’t there?”
Song Xianyang lowered his gaze. “What role did you play in all this?”
“An accomplice? A bystander?”
Song Xianyang continued, “Or were you the one cleaning up his mess? If anyone refused, you’d throw money at them to shut them up?”
Li Shengwen’s face paled, then flushed, rendered speechless by the accusations.
Song Xianyang frowned, pulling another cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. “You’re really twisted, huh.”
“Watching your boyfriend do these things.”
Li Shengwen said nothing, only lowering his eyes as his hands trembled.
Song Xianyang looked at him indifferently, the ember of his cigarette glowing in the haze. “Are you two the legendary ‘scum gong and cheap shou’?”
Li Shengwen: “…”
Song Xianyang averted his gaze, glancing down at him. “Even if this attempt failed, it doesn’t erase what Greek’s done before. We’re not here for justice—just punishment severe enough to quell the rage.”
His words were calm and measured, yet they sent chills down the spine.
Li Shengwen looked up, voice shaking. “You’re not really eighteen, are you?”
Such decisive and logically clear methods, discovering Jing Mian’s disappearance immediately, finding him right away, searching out the medicine bottle, and even recording the confession on his phone—even if he tried to take it back now, there was no way out.
This didn’t seem like something a kid who had just graduated high school could pull off.
“Yeah, it’s not.”
Song Xianyang averted his gaze, speaking nonchalantly, “Add ten years to that. Just a baby face.”
Li Shengwen’s eyes flashed with surprise and realization.
No wonder. No wonder he had felt something off about this person from the start. A newcomer, yet his identity was shrouded in mystery—daring to challenge Mobo in a PK and winning, then successfully joining Jing Mian’s club.
He should have been on guard from the very beginning.
Li Shengwen’s voice trembled as he spoke, “…Are you Ren Congmian’s man?”
Then, as if connecting the dots, he gasped, “Jing Mian—he’s the one who married into the Ren family not long ago?”
Song Xianyang narrowed his eyes at him, scoffing, “Do I have any obligation to answer you?”
Li Shengwen sat amidst the mess, falling silent.
Rumors had circulated before that the head of the Ren family had quietly gotten married. The news was tightly guarded, known only to a select few in the business circle who had been invited. But Jing Mian’s identity had been kept under wraps, so while people marveled at Ren Congmian, they were clueless when asked about his spouse.
Who would have thought that the treasured gem Ren Congmian held so dear was actually Sheep, the faceless esports player?
The air grew still for a moment.
Song Xianyang frowned at the small bottle in his hand. “What are the side effects of this drug?”
Li Shengwen kept his head down, silent.
Song Xianyang’s voice turned icy. “Don’t make me ask twice.”
……
“No side effects. Just a regular aphrodisiac.”
Li Shengwen’s voice was laced with suppressed fear. He gritted his teeth. “It’ll metabolize by the next day, and it’s not addictive—it’d show up in tests. But the effects are strong. For someone experienced, it’s manageable, but for someone with little experience, the potency multiplies.”
“If you don’t go at it all night, there’s no way to shake it off.”
“……”
The cigarette in Song Xianyang’s mouth fell to the ground.
The moment the car door slammed shut, Jing Mian felt his heart sink with it.
Then, it began pounding violently.
Mr. Ren kissed him.
Held securely in his husband’s arms, Jing Mian was supported at the waist, his slightly dazed head and tousled hair cradled in the man’s large hand, so he wouldn’t slump from gravity.
It wasn’t tiring—just deeply secure.
Jing Mian’s eyes fluttered shut as his tongue was claimed, invaded. Normally, a kiss this intense would have him squirming or pleading for mercy.
But now, his throat was parched, like a man dying of thirst in the desert catching sight of an oasis’s cool spring. There was no thought but to chase it, to yield.
Or perhaps, the only one who could quench his thirst was Mr. Ren.
Lying back on the seat, Jing Mian’s vision filled with the sleek black ceiling of the car. If he tilted his gaze slightly, past the gaps of his husband’s shoulders, he could catch a glimpse of the deep blue, silent night sky through the window.
Jing Mian’s eyes were moist as he blinked, finding a brief moment to speak amidst the deep kiss. He asked, “Husband, have you kissed someone before?”
“No.”
Ren Xingwan lowered his gaze, finally meeting Jing Mian’s eyes up close. In such an intimate atmosphere, Jing Mian seemed to sense a spark flickering between them. He heard his husband ask in a deep voice, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Jing Mian seemed to gather a sliver of clarity to answer, “It’s just… it feels really nice.”
Jing Mian whispered, “Kissing Brother makes my legs weak.”
…
Those words seemed to ignite something.
Before Jing Mian could react, Ren Xingwan had already leaned down, sealing his lips once more. At the same time, the hand around his waist tightened, lifting him up as he was kissed, settling him onto his husband’s lap.
His heart felt like it was about to explode.
Mr. Ren was really good at this.
And Jing Mian wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination.
But this kiss was even more overwhelming than before, as if Ren Xingwan wanted to devour him whole. It wasn’t until Jing Mian was gasping for air that his husband finally released him, leaving him dazed and nearly oxygen-deprived.
Mr. Ren’s hands had always been beautiful.
Pale and slender, with distinct knuckles, faint veins visible on the back, and subtle blue vessels—all signs of restrained strength. They were so distinctive that some fans could recognize him just by his hands, unable to resist screenshotting them repeatedly.
So when those broad, slightly cool fingers slipped beneath his clothes, Jing Mian couldn’t help but shiver, his lashes trembling as warmth pooled in his eyes.
A current of restless heat surged along his spine, creeping up the flushed nape of his neck, sending shivers through his entire body.
Even though he instinctively tensed, Jing Mian found that the coolness perfectly balanced the scorching heat—it felt incredibly good.
He honestly told his husband so.
…
Perhaps the medicine was making Jing Mian increasingly honest. Or maybe, deep down, he had realized that honesty would lead to marital duties he could hardly handle.
Soon, the car seats and backrests were strewn with indistinguishable clothing.
The confined space of the vehicle amplified every sensation, making them unbearably vivid.
Jing Mian thought to himself—after all, it was he who had been drugged this time. Strictly speaking, Mr. Ren was merely helping him. If he felt unsatisfied midway, he couldn’t demand more from the other man. After all, in this situation, Mr. Ren was sober, without any long-suppressed desires that needed release.
So he couldn’t overstep.
At first, Jing Mian had still urged him on, kissing his cheeks, even pressing his lips clumsily against Husband’s when the pace grew rough and relentless.
Later, he turned his back to Husband, head bowed, feeling tears stream down the bridge of his nose before dripping silently onto the seat, vanishing without a trace.
After that, the tears wouldn’t stop.
His words grew slurred, lips bitten, voice spilling out uncontrollably—broken and shameless.
This was the second time they had fulfilled their marital obligations. Under such circumstances, Jing Mian mused silently, in a place that wasn’t home, Mr. Ren would naturally remain restrained and reserved.
But later, Jing Mian realized that this matter wasn’t entirely up to him.
At certain moments, it wasn’t even up to Mr. Ren.
They were even more reckless than the last time.
He had long lost track of time.
Occasionally, when things grew too intense, his vision swayed violently with the car’s movements. While the drug’s effects gradually eased, Jing Mian also discovered that begging for mercy only made things worse. He suddenly felt grateful that they were in a secluded homestay near the outskirts—no matter how outrageous they were, no passerby would notice.
Objectively speaking, it didn’t seem like he was the one who had been drugged.
…It was more like Mr. Ren.
After all, the one pleading for a pause midway was him, while the one silently refusing with actions was Mr. Ren.
Before his consciousness blurred completely, Jing Mian faintly recalled a brief exchange between them:
“I really like…”
Mr. Ren slowed slightly but didn’t stop. “Like what?”
Jing Mian tilted his head slightly, voice hoarse. “Like this.”
“…Wrong.” Mr. Ren nipped the nape of his neck, murmuring softly, “MianMian, say it properly. Husband doesn’t understand.”
The familiar scent of Brother enveloped him, filling every breath.
In a dazed moment, Ren Xingwan heard Jing Mian lower his voice to a whisper:
“I like fulfilling obligations with Husband.”
…
But that didn’t seem to be the answer the other wanted.
Because Jing Mian thought he heard Mr. Ren’s deep voice ask, “Do you like Husband, or do you like the obligations?”
Jing Mian turned his face slightly, eyes fluttering shut in hazy confusion as he murmured:,
“I like Brother.”