Jing Mian’s figure suddenly froze.
Somehow, his pupils gradually constricted.
His spine tingled, his heart pounded wildly, his legs refused to obey, and his feet felt heavy yet weak.
Because unlike any tone Husband had ever used before, this was an abnormality that any sober bystander could detect.
Gentle yet restrained.
Rather than the usual cold and imposing aura of Husband, at this moment, he inexplicably softened.
Perhaps Jing Mian was going mad.
This sounded more like…
Brother’s voice.
Maybe the alcohol had mellowed Husband’s presence, causing him to have such an illusion. Jing Mian thought, how could Mr. Ren possibly get drunk? To be precise, given Husband’s personality, he would never allow himself to get drunk.
Suddenly, he remembered that Mr. Ren had mentioned attending a wine tasting on his last night in W City.
Could he have gotten drunk at the wine tasting?
But hadn’t Mr. Ren said that the wine tasting was just a pretext, mainly for discussing projects and collaborations?
After hesitating for a few seconds, Jing Mian obediently walked over, taking off his coat and placing it on the side sofa.
“Husband, are you feeling unwell?”
From this angle, the dim lighting only faintly outlined Mr. Ren’s deep and striking profile, his expression obscured in the shadows.
Jing Mian leaned slightly forward, crouching down as he tentatively asked, “There’s still a bottle of hangover medicine at home. Would you like some?”
Mr. Ren didn’t respond.
It was the dead of winter, and drunkenness left one’s consciousness most vulnerable. The door had been left open earlier, letting in cold air that could easily chill the body, even leading to a fever.
Worried, Jing Mian reached out, wanting to check Mr. Ren’s temperature.
Before he could make contact, his wrist was suddenly grasped.
The grip was neither too tight nor too loose. Unlike the usual limpness of a drunk person, Mr. Ren was the opposite—his palm even felt slightly warm.
Jing Mian felt both flustered and awkward.
The drunken Mr. Ren was clearly rejecting him.
Still, when Jing Mian tried to pull his hand back, he couldn’t break free.
That hand held him firmly, the warmth insistently enveloping him. Jing Mian had almost no strategy for handling such sudden situations, so after waiting a moment and finding no change, he softly called out, “…Husband.”
“I won’t touch you,” Jing Mian pleaded helplessly in a small voice. “I just want to get the medicine.”
“Medicine?”
Mr. Ren repeated.
Just as Jing Mian was about to respond, his waist was suddenly pulled. In an instant, he was lifted from his crouch and seated on Mr. Ren’s lap, his legs forced apart as he sank down.
Jing Mian: “!”
Mr. Ren drew him closer, their chests pressing together through the fabric. The man seemed to be studying him intently as he asked, “Are you feeling unwell somewhere?”
His voice was just as excessively gentle as before.
But not only were their chests close—this position inevitably brought their faces near enough that Jing Mian had to lean back slightly to keep his breathing steady.
Jing Mian unconsciously held his breath. The sudden shift left him with no escape from his fluster, his words stumbling as he explained, “No, it’s not me who’s unwell.”
Mr. Ren asked, “Then why take medicine?”
Even while being held, Jing Mian remained utterly docile.
He didn’t struggle, maintaining his original position as he was slowly pulled tighter into Husband’s embrace.
Jing Mian said, “This is for Husband to eat.”
Mr. Ren lowered his gaze, his faintly glowing pupils not entirely clear under the lamplight. The man’s thin lips pressed together slightly as he asked, “If a year ago, the family proposing the arranged marriage to the Jing family hadn’t been the Ren family, would you have accepted?”
“…?”
Jing Mian was somewhat confused.
Though he didn’t understand Mr. Ren’s meaning, Jing Mian still answered accordingly: “No.”
Ren Xingwan parted his lips and suddenly asked, “What if it had been the He family from the north side of town?”
…?
The He family?
Jing Mian held his breath slightly.
The He family from the north side of town was an influential household.
Their wealth and power were illustrious and undeniable, a true aristocratic lineage.
“If the He family had proposed the marriage, would everything be different now?”
Husband’s voice remained gentle, yet inexplicably low and hoarse.
Jing Mian’s pupils trembled in surprise.
For a moment, he forgot to breathe.
Whether it was the current atmosphere or the conversation between Mr. Ren and himself, everything felt unusually different from normal.
His heartbeat pounded without warning. Jing Mian pressed his lips together, feeling at a loss as he responded with confusion, “Did someone say something to you?”
“……”
Clearly, Mr. Ren hadn’t gotten the answer he wanted.
His waist was pulled tight.
“What were you going to give me to eat earlier?”
Mr. Ren suddenly asked.
“…Hm?”
Jing Mian seemed to snap back to reality, parting his lips. The word “medicine” had only just begun to form when it was instantly swallowed by lips carrying a cool yet intoxicatingly rich scent, invading his mouth along with Mr. Ren’s dominant, scorching taste.
Since the step of prying open his lips was skipped, there wasn’t even a chance to pull away slightly. Fingertips brushed against the nape of his neck as the air was thoroughly plundered, tongues tangling in a conquest that left Jing Mian trembling and nearly breathless.
The heat made his mind feel equally unclear.
“MianMian, have you been drinking?”
Mr. Ren pulled back slightly and murmured, “Your mouth tastes like alcohol.”
Hearing this, Jing Mian’s face instantly flushed red down to his neck: “……”
That was Husband’s alcohol.
The taste in his mouth was the intense intoxication left behind by Mr. Ren.
Jing Mian could hear the frantic pounding of his heartbeat in his chest.
He wasn’t sure if it was coming from himself.
Amidst this overwhelming heat, when Jing Mian suddenly felt a chill, his senses—already heightened in the dim light—quickly picked up on something unusual.
Jing Mian felt a broad hand slip beneath his clothes, the touch warm yet slightly cool. Somehow, a sense of danger—like the kind that makes one’s throat tighten—instinctively arose.
Jing Mian realized that his drunken Husband seemed… intent on fulfilling their marital duties.
His thoughts inexplicably returned to two weeks ago, when he had been drugged by Greek. Mr. Ren had traveled a long distance to find him, and though it wasn’t yet time for them to fulfill their obligations, Husband had helped him without even returning home first.
In Jing Mian’s view, the unusual state of drunkenness wasn’t much different from his own drugged condition back then.
Since Mr. Ren had helped him, it was only right that he return the favor.
However, having experienced it twice before, Jing Mian knew that if he had classes tomorrow morning, he’d likely have to skip them.
Fortunately, tomorrow was the weekend.
But just as Jing Mian’s thoughts were wandering chaotically, they were abruptly interrupted. His eyelashes fluttered as he shrank back slightly, murmuring, “Husband…”
“Your fingers are a little cold…”
Mr. Ren’s hands were beautiful, but whenever they were used for other purposes, while it made Jing Mian shy, it also stirred an inexplicable sense of guilt in him, a delusion that a divine gift was being tainted and sinking into depravity.
Ren Xingwan asked, “Cold?”
Mr. Ren paused his hand but didn’t withdraw it. “Sorry, I just got back from outside.”
Jing Mian replied, “It’s fine.”
Just when he thought Mr. Ren was only apologizing verbally while his hands did the opposite, Jing Mian suddenly realized that the movements had genuinely stopped.
The relief came too abruptly. Jing Mian didn’t react immediately, staring blankly at Mr. Ren.
So, when he was placed on the sofa, a question mark popped up in Jing Mian’s mind.
The webbed space between the thumb and index finger gripped the back of his knee, spreading his legs apart while slowly pressing them down, nearly touching his shoulders.
His vision flipped rapidly. As Jing Mian stared dazedly at the ceiling, Mr. Ren leaned down. The boy’s pupils abruptly constricted, his palms trembling as he pushed against Mr. Ren’s shoulders in shock.
Duty was one thing, but an unexpected situation that went beyond duty was an entirely different matter.
“…Mr. Ren!”
Jing Mian raised his hand, pressing the back of his fingers against his lips, but it was completely futile. Moisture quickly welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision.
He had initially thought that a drunken Mr. Ren would be no different from usual, perhaps even colder and more reticent. But after interacting with him, he sensed that the man’s aura had softened somewhat, even becoming gentle and restrained, evoking a fluttering urge to draw closer.
But soon after, Jing Mian realized he was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
Husband… seemed angry.
Many thoughts flashed through his mind, but only this one lingered briefly. Subconsciously, Jing Mian vaguely perceived and acknowledged this fact.
After a long while, Jing Mian found that calling him “Husband” seemed ineffective, if anything, it made things worse. Suppressing his trembling, he softly changed his address: “Brother…”
…
“Brother… stop for now, Husband…”
Jing Mian wasn’t sure why Mr. Ren was drunk, nor why he had inexplicably brought up the He family. The fleeting thought from earlier was too absurd, he couldn’t even bring himself to ask. But if it meant stopping this, he was willing to try anything.
The night outlined the other man’s silhouette. Even drunk, Mr. Ren appeared as composed and restrained as ever—only his actions told a different story.
Mr. Ren licked his lips.
When he lifted his head, a thin strand stretched under the light before snapping.
Jing Mian’s face was completely flushed, his mind blank, utterly short-circuited.
The dim wall lamp in the distance seemed to cast a faint, warm glow over everything in the living room at that moment.
“MianMian.”
Jing Mian responded, “Hmm?”
“Do I smell strongly of alcohol?”
Jing Mian’s brain had stopped functioning. Tears slid past the corner of his eye as he maintained his position, dazed. “A… little.”