This was a highly unconventional divorce agreement.

Lin Zhu lowered his phone, his hand instinctively rising to brush against the skin where the text had been written. Line by line, stroke by stroke… his mind naturally conjured the expression on the man’s face as he wrote it.

When the man was in a pleasant mood, his peach-blossom eyes would slant upward and the corners of his mouth would tilt slightly, making him so breathtakingly handsome that one couldn’t look away.

Yet no matter how vivid the image in his mind, it couldn’t match the visceral thrill of seeing it with his own eyes. Lin Zhu suddenly felt a wave of regret, thinking to himself: Did I really sleep that soundly last night?

He hadn’t felt a single thing the entire time.

That being said, Lin Zhu had indeed slept incredibly well. His body felt entirely weightless, as though he had broken completely free from the bonds of gravity and was anchored to the earth by only a single, slender thread.

And the end of that thread was likely held firmly in Yan Ruojun’s hand.

He is my anchor, my harbor, and the island of pleasure that keeps me lingering, Lin Zhu thought to ourselves.

As the thoughts swirled, he suddenly felt the skin beneath his fingertips burning hot.

He couldn’t resist leaning his upper body back slightly, only to discover that a portion of the text cascaded past his waistband. He immediately tugged his pants down a fraction, exposing a section of his lean, chiseled abdomen.

Lin Zhu was an Alpha.

This biological trait granted him an exceptionally robust physique. In his day-to-day life, he never slacked on core training, which only served to define his musculature further. However, Lin Zhu had never trained specifically for aesthetics, so his frame still retained the slender elegance of a youth. Yet the moment his shirt was lifted, the sharp lines of his V-cut obliques became strikingly apparent, with faint veins pulsing just beneath the surface of his skin…

Paired with his signature brooding, aloof countenance, it was exceptionally alluring.

Lin Zhu himself didn’t think much of it. The sleep pants he wore were elastic, requiring him to keep one hand hooked on the waistband to prevent them from snapping back up.

So with one hand holding down the fabric, Lin Zhu used his other hand to trace the text he hadn’t seen yet, lowering his head to get a clear look.

This time, he didn’t need to snap a photo with his phone; a cursory glance was enough to read everything plain as day.

…Right across his left abdomen, Yan Ruojun had penned his signature in a flamboyant, sweeping cursive script, the characters elegant and slightly slanted.

Only now did Lin Zhu realize that this was a divorce agreement unilaterally signed by one party—and just like the plot described in the original novel, it had been single-handedly delivered by the man himself.

Having lingered against his skin through the night, the frosty words had been thoroughly warmed by his body heat, radiating an uncharacteristic warmth.

Looking at it, Lin Zhu couldn’t help but let his lips curl into a smile.

Right at that moment.

Holding his phone to his ear and instructing whoever was on the other end of the line, the man strode through the bedroom door. He walked right into the sight of Lin Zhu pulling down his waistband and halted in his tracks, admiring the marks he had left on the youth’s body.

Chen Yuan’s voice filtered through the phone speaker: “President Yan, you have two meetings scheduled for today, and a business interview later this evening. Are you certain you want to postpone all of them? If we do this, your upcoming itinerary is going to be incredibly tight.”

Yan Ruojun provided a definitive confirmation. “It’s fine. Arrange it that way.”

As the man spoke, he tilted his head and winked repeatedly at Lin Zhu, his expression exactly as mischievous and teasing as Lin Zhu had imagined.

That slightly upturned chin seemed to say: Like what you see?

Lin Zhu was thoroughly amused by the “overbearing CEO” monologue he had conjured in his own head. His smile widened until he had to lift a hand to touch the corner of his mouth, barely keeping his expression under control so he wouldn’t look completely foolish.

Seeing that the man wouldn’t be off the phone anytime soon, Lin Zhu silently rose and headed into the bathroom, entirely shirtless, to freshen up.

Yan Ruojun followed him step-by-step.

While Lin Zhu brushed his teeth and washed his face, Yan Ruojun leaned against the doorframe talking to his chief assistant, Chen Yuan. He appeared entirely focused on work, yet his gaze never deviated from Lin Zhu’s body…

Lin Zhu thought secretly to himself: He’s like a cat that acts cold and aloof but is actually incredibly clingy.

As he finished washing up, Yan Ruojun happened to hang up the phone.

Lin Zhu wiped the water from his face with a towel, carefully dabbing away the droplets cascading down his chest so as not to smudge the ink. Suddenly, the man behind him spoke:

“It’s waterproof.”

Lin Zhu glanced at his reflection in the mirror, offering no significant reaction. After all, this massive wall of text was situated entirely below his collarbone; any shirt with a decent collar would easily conceal it.

Compared to the text, the hickeys Yan Ruojun had left along the side of his neck were infinitely more conspicuous.

Lin Zhu turned around noncommitally and strode right up to the man. Just as he extended his arms to wrap him in an embrace, the man pressed the edge of his phone against Lin Zhu’s chest, blocking him.

“…Bro, what are you doing?”

The man simply crossed his arms, leaning the side of his forehead against the doorframe as he looked down at Lin Zhu. His long neck pulled into a striking curve, and the dense cluster of marks covering it looked several times more intense than Lin Zhu’s own.

Yan Ruojun said, “We are in the middle of a divorce. Didn’t you see the divorce agreement I wrote all over you?”

Lin Zhu felt a touch embarrassed, muttering, “Oh…”

Yan Ruojun asked, “What does it feel like?”

Lin Zhu pondered the question seriously for a moment. Suddenly, he pulled the man gently into his embrace, leaning down to whisper in his ear, “I think…”

As he spoke, he nipped lightly at the man’s earlobe before finally finishing his simple sentence: “…Bro, you’re still the one who’s throwing a tantrum.”

The man pressed his palms against Lin Zhu’s shoulders, though he applied no real force. His tone carried a distinct allure: “Really? How come I wasn’t aware?”

A short while later.

Using the pretext that “such legal documents must always be executed in duplicate,” Lin Zhu successfully coaxed his “divorcing” partner back onto the bed. But the moment he peeled back the man’s clothing to take a look—he realized that Yan Ruojun barely had a single patch of unmarred skin left.

Of course, to say he “just realized” would be a bit disingenuous. In truth, Lin Zhu was the sole perpetrator behind this entire sight.

The man’s neck hadn’t been the only area to suffer; no part of him had been spared, especially Lin Zhu’s absolute favorite spot. It was still swollen and red.

Lin Zhu stared for a long long time, completely unable to bring himself to set the pen down. It was the man lying flat on the bed who took the initiative to roll over, exposing his slightly more intact back.

Though in reality, it wasn’t much better.

Yan Ruojun’s shoulder blades were heavily patterned with marks. The lower section of his back appeared somewhat cleaner, but any further down dissolved back into a tragic sight.

Truthfully, Lin Zhu hadn’t used much force, but the man’s skin was exceptionally fair, and the layers upon layers of handprints left a lingering trace even now.

He looked so pitiful.

But that was merely on the surface. Last night, the two hadn’t progressed to anything involving a temporary marking, yet they had pushed every other dynamic to its absolute limit—resembling two severe skin-hunger patients operating in tandem, giving absolute vent to the morbid, roaring greed deep within their hearts.

…Until they had touched the very depths of each other’s souls.

A black signing pen rested on the nightstand. Lin Zhu snatched it up, uncapping it with a crisp click. The tip of the pen descended slowly onto the man’s spine, tracing a path all the way down to his lumbar vertebrae, before clearly signing his own name right next to the faint indentation of his dimples.

Stroke by stroke, crystal clear.

The exact moment he lifted the pen, the man burying his face in the pillow suddenly spoke: “Puppy Lin, have you ever considered that I might not be as good of a person as you think I am?”

Lin Zhu’s hand froze. Before he could utter a word, Yan Ruojun continued: “If I truly had your best interests at heart, I should have let you return to where you came from. After all… these two worlds are entirely different.”

The man spoke cryptically, but Lin Zhu understood his meaning perfectly.

He leaned over, his arms shifting slightly to effortlessly roll the man into a side-lying posture. He then embraced him from behind, murmuring softly, “Bro, I don’t feel like anything is different.”

“If I absolutely had to name a difference…” Lin Zhu tightened his embrace, stating with absolute certainty: “…I live much more happily here.”

Yan Ruojun didn’t turn around. He simply leaned back into the embrace slightly, responding only after a long silence: “Then you’re completely doomed. I’m going to claim you entirely as my own.”

Lin Zhu couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle. His arms tightened further until his skin pressed flush against Yan Ruojun’s. He leaned into the man’s ear and whispered, “I’m much worse than you think. I already did that a long time ago.”

“…”

Inside the System Space.

The blue sphere of light completely abandoned its usual timid demeanor, frantically slamming itself against the floor as its electronic voice shattered into a near-screech: [Main System N001! What on earth did you just do?!!!]

And it had been trapped in this state of absolute hysteria for the entire night.

The white sphere of light extended a small energy tendril to scratch its non-existent ear, complaining, “You are being incredibly loud. If the host could actually hear your voice, he would have been driven mad by your auditory pollution.”

“Do you possess even a shred of customer service etiquette?”

The blue sphere remained completely unhinged: [How could you transmit the original novel text and the mission logs directly into the book world, let alone permit the protagonist to read them?! This is a severe violation of the System Handbook…!]

[The Main Bureau is absolutely going to hold us accountable!!]

After a hysterical outburst, the blue sphere was suddenly overcome with grief, projecting the sheer despair of a living entity waiting for its demise. It kept chanting under its breath: [We are dead. We are absolutely dead… we’re definitely getting sent back to the factory to be scrapped…]

Hearing this, the white sphere let out a sigh, its tone laced with profound world-weariness: “That’s just how a job goes. It really makes an entity lose its temper! Young system, you are still far too green.”

The blue sphere summoned its courage to shoot back: […What does this have to do with working?! This is entirely the consequence of you, the Main System, repeatedly violating regulations just to illegitimately harvest points through the host!]

The white sphere didn’t even flare in anger, responding with complete nonchalance, “Yeah, so what? Go ahead and report me then.”

The blue sphere: […………]

It harbored a powerful suspicion that the exact second it accessed the report interface linked to the Main Bureau, a sudden electrical surge would strike from behind and fry it into absolute oblivion. To this day, it still didn’t comprehend what kind of virus the Main System had deployed to completely shatter the other subsystem module.

Seeing that the minor system was practically inflating itself with irritation, the white sphere offered a benevolent explanation: “It’s perfectly fine. As long as the protagonist doesn’t contemplate destroying the entire world, there won’t be any real consequences. The Main Bureau doesn’t care about trivial matters like this.”

The blue sphere: [How could that possibly be true…]

The white sphere dramatically extended a tendril to cover the area where a mouth should be. “Oh my, so you didn’t know…”

“The runaway NPC who caused our transfer in the first place only triggered such severe consequences because he completely destroyed his own world and went absolutely feral at the Main Bureau!”

It opened a virtual display interface, pointing toward a heavily pixelated, censored section, and countered: “Look at the protagonist of this world. What could he possibly accomplish?”

“At most, he’ll just give the host a ‘one pregnancy, three babies’ scenario!”

“Besides, this host is truly incredibly endearing!” The white sphere propped its hands on its hips, declaring loudly, “I might never encounter a host this easy to scam—ah, I mean, a host this kind-hearted ever again!”

The blue sphere: […True, he did hand over ninety million points for absolutely nothing.]

The moment the words fell, it paused for a beat, then added: [Main System, I detect that the mission progress has surged to 50%. The critical plot points are about to be entirely reconciled…]

The blue sphere glanced at the silent, heavily censored display screen. It quietly shrank back into its corner, unable to resist its overwhelming urge to complain. Slamming its forehead against the floor, it wailed in absolute exhaustion:

[Even this counts as a pass?! I want to submit an application for a program self-check!]