Su Yiran noticed Ting-ge’s condition was clearly abnormal, so he quickly put down his book and stepped forward in concern.
“Ting-ge, what’s wrong?”

Gu Yuanting seemed not to hear him and gave no response. His gaze was dark and sinister as he stared at Su Yiran, breathing rapidly, his body faintly trembling—it was hard to tell if it was from excitement or fear.

Su Yiran grew anxious, hurriedly checking Ting-ge’s body up and down. He held him, gently smoothing his back.
“What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell anywhere?”

Gu Yuanting remained unmoved by his words and unresponsive to his touch. His mind buzzed loudly, despair and distortion intertwined. After a long moment, he glanced toward the book Su Yiran had just put down.

Following Ting-ge’s gaze, Su Yiran turned toward the Daoist Canon of the Mystical Path on the desk behind him.
“Right, why are you reading this?” he asked. “And those other ones… about parallel universes, string theory, and so on?”

Gu Yuanting fixed his dark gaze on Su Yiran, then, after a pause, let out a strange smile.
“What do you think?”

Su Yiran blinked, puzzled by Ting-ge’s meaning.
“I also saw books on life sciences and the occult—why are you studying these?” he asked, turning to retrieve the book from the desk.

But the moment he turned, his wrist was suddenly gripped in a vice-like hold.

Gu Yuanting thought he was leaving, and with a thunderous roar in his head, he yanked Su Yiran back. His gaze was unfocused, tinged with madness.
“Where are you going? Are you leaving?”

Su Yiran felt the pain from Ting-ge’s grip, but he didn’t mind it—he simply stepped forward and embraced him, patting him.
“Ting-ge, no, I’m not leaving. I was just going to get the book.”

But Gu Yuanting had already lost his reason. He couldn’t hear Yiran’s words. His head throbbed again, chaotic images flashing through his mind, crushing him with despair. His eyes darted wildly around the room, muttering under his breath.
“No… no, you can’t go anywhere. No one can take you from me. No one…”

“Ting-ge? Ting-ge?” Su Yiran called, realizing he couldn’t hear him. In his panic, he kept calling out—when suddenly the world spun. Gu Yuanting had scooped him up and was striding toward the bedroom.

Sensing something, Su Yiran wrapped his arms around Ting-ge’s neck and fell silent.

If they shared a moment of tenderness, maybe Ting-ge’s emotions would calm down.

Su Yiran was laid gently on the bed. He was just about to pull Ting-ge in for a kiss when he saw him straighten up, lock the bedroom door from the inside, and—out of nowhere—produce chains and handcuffs.

He walked toward Su Yiran slowly, eyes full of a disturbing intensity.

Su Yiran: “…???”

…

…

…

Day turned to night again.

Gu Yuanting sat silently on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the sleeping Yiran.

He sat for a long time without moving, then leaned down and placed a light kiss on Yiran’s lips before rising and leaving the room.

Before stepping out, he made sure to lock the door from the outside.

Moments later, he returned from downstairs carrying a bowl of porridge, calling softly,
“Yiran… Yiran.”

Su Yiran stirred at the sound of his voice and slowly opened his eyes. As his consciousness returned, a wave of soreness spread through his body, making him let out a muffled groan and furrow his brow.

Gu Yuanting instantly reached out in alarm.
“How do you feel?” he asked, pausing as a sharp pain clenched his chest. “Does it hurt?”

Su Yiran glanced at him and shook his head.
“I’m fine.”

He noticed his body felt clean and that he was dressed in fresh sleepwear—clearly Ting-ge had bathed and changed him.

Gu Yuanting looked flustered.
“I… I’ve already applied medicine. Let me check again.”

As he spoke, he lifted half the blanket, wanting to inspect the sore areas again.

Even though he’d been careful not to hurt Yiran too badly, his skin was far too delicate—some spots still looked pitiful, and the sight had shocked and filled him with regret when he’d come back to his senses.

Recalling last night, Su Yiran’s face flamed as Ting-ge’s hand came near. He quickly pushed at him.
“No need, no need—hey—”

In pushing him away, he was about to sit up when his gaze froze on his left wrist.

Beneath his sleeve, a black handcuff was locked tightly around it. The chain between had been lengthened, the other end secured to the bedpost.

Su Yiran: “…”

Gu Yuanting stiffened when he saw Yiran had noticed, but his worry over Yiran’s body overrode everything, and he continued his inspection and re-applied the medicine despite the protests.

Su Yiran’s face was as red as a boiled shrimp. He obediently let Ting-ge finish applying the ointment and pulling his clothes back into place—when he suddenly felt something odd at his ankle.

Pulling back the blanket, he saw a similar black shackle on his left ankle. This chain was longer and attached to the bedframe, allowing him to move freely. As he shifted, the metal links clinked together with a crisp sound.

Su Yiran: “…”

His face was no longer red or hot. After a brief silence, he rubbed his forehead and looked at Gu Yuanting. He hadn’t yet spoken when Ting-ge, spooked by his gaze, shot to his feet.

He grabbed the porridge from the bedside table, tested the temperature.
“It’s a bit cold. I’ll get you a fresh bowl,” he blurted before fleeing the room—nearly tripping at the doorway.

Su Yiran silently watched his hasty retreat, noting how Ting-ge still remembered to shut the door—and how the soft “click” of the lock followed.

Su Yiran: “…”

Sigh, silly Ting-ge.

Like this, he still wanted to imitate the domineering CEOs in trashy romance novels, playing some bizarre imprisonment game?

Looking at the handcuff on his wrist, he noticed it had clearly been specially modified so it wouldn’t hurt him. The same was true for the one on his ankle.

After a while, he heard the door open again. Gu Yuanting carefully entered with a steaming new bowl of porridge.

Seeing Yiran’s eyes on him made his hands tremble, almost spilling the porridge. He steadied himself and said,
“You… you slept too long, you must be hungry. Have some porridge.”

“Mm. Give it to me.” Su Yiran extended a hand, gesturing for him to pass the bowl.

Hearing that, and seeing Yiran looking as if he wasn’t angry—acting like everything was normal—Gu Yuanting felt almost pardoned.

Instead of handing it over, he sat on the bed, scooped a spoonful, tested it, then fed it to Yiran.

Su Yiran didn’t argue, drinking the porridge without fuss.

Relieved, Gu Yuanting fed him spoon after spoon until the bowl was empty.
“Still hungry? There’s more downstairs.”

“I’m full.” Su Yiran took the empty bowl and set it on the bedside table. The soft “tap” as it touched the surface made Gu Yuanting flinch.

He knew what was coming.

Would Yiran be angry? Hate him?

…Would he be despised for what he’d done?

After all… he had done something unforgivable.