Warning : Mature content (R18), rape simulation  

Probably because they were too caught up in the act, Zhuo Fan’s screams had long faded into the background. Wen Muyan lifted his head, panting heavily, only then processing what Xiao Han had just said. Feigning anger, he snapped, “How would I know? I’ve never been raped before!”

His cheeks flushed a delicate pink, though it was hard to tell if it was from shame, rage, or something else entirely.

Xiao Han kept a tight grip on his hands, aware that this part of the script leaned heavily on internal monologue. If he had to recite lines while performing, he was afraid he'd break character.

The basement air was bitterly cold, near freezing, but the two of them—entwined in such intense physical exertion—were drenched in sweat. Despite the fire of his own desire, Xiao Han kept track of Wen Muyan’s responses with practiced care. But even he had his limits. With a deep thrust into Wen Muyan’s tight, burning channel, he gave a few forceful snaps of his hips before letting out a low, guttural moan of ecstasy.

“Now you see… You could stand to learn a little from this…”

Wen Muyan's body shuddered violently beneath him, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggled to breathe. Hearing Xiao Han’s taunting words, he clenched involuntarily around him and groaned, voice rough and strained, “This kind of thing… No one wants to learn about… ahh…”

The tremors wracking Wen Muyan’s body only stoked Xiao Han’s fire. His head burned with heat, but he managed to restrain himself. His voice, low and frigid, dripped with venom: “Wen Muyan, do you really think you haven’t suffered enough? Or are you just a little slut who was born to enjoy this? Look how tight you’re clenching around me.”

In the original script, the line was meant to humiliate Wen Muyan—but Xiao Han’s tone, rough and husky, carried a lascivious undertone that blurred the line between cruelty and desire.

In Wen Muyan’s ears, every word curled like smoke, dark and seductive. The sensations overwhelmed him, his stomach tensing involuntarily. With a hoarse moan, he instinctively tilted his chin up, seeking a kiss.

Xiao Han froze in alarm.

With visible restraint, he resisted the urge to lean down. His breath quickened, and he murmured, almost in disbelief, “Where the hell is your head? What kind of person being raped reacts like that?”

Wen Muyan bit his lip, looking sheepish. “I forgot…”

Even Xiao Han couldn’t help but feel exasperated. The man’s wet, lust-filled gaze nearly drove him mad. After a few final, brutal thrusts, he reached his climax, shuddering deeply.

But the poor “cannon fodder” Wen Muyan was left without release. His body trembled, denied even the smallest touch. Powerless, he couldn’t even reach down to help himself.

His eyes, pleading and glazed with desperation, locked onto Xiao Han. And yet Xiao Han, defying the script’s harsh logic, picked up a discarded shirt and pants from the floor and draped them over Wen Muyan’s naked body.

Then, his tone abruptly turning mocking, he shouted, “Get this man out of here. He’s dirtying my place.”

And at that very moment—something unexpected happened.

Zhuo Fan, who had witnessed the entire assault on his friend, had at first gone numb, unresponsive. But suddenly, as if struck by lightning, he broke free of the men restraining him. He lunged forward, snatched the pistol from the floor, and aimed it at Xiao Han with trembling hands. His face was streaked with tears, and his voice cracked: “Xiao Han, I didn’t expect it. I really didn’t expect you to hate me this much. Humiliating me wasn’t enough—you even went after Muyan! He’s innocent! All he did was like me—what’s so wrong with that? Let us go! Or I’ll kill you, and we’ll die together!”

Neither of the two men—who had long anticipated the scene unfolding like this—looked surprised.

Xiao Han glanced at the trembling gun barrel, then at Zhuo Fan’s tear-streaked face. A thin, disdainful smile tugged at his lips as he calmly wiped the sweat and stains from his body. He looked at Zhuo Fan, then at the collapsed Wen Muyan, and said lightly, “Alright. Open the door. Let them out.”

“But, Young Master—” one of the bodyguards started, only to be silenced by a raised hand.

Xiao Han tilted his chin up and stepped closer, smiling coldly. “You really think you’ve got the guts to shoot?”

“Don’t—don’t come any closer!” Zhuo Fan cried, stumbling back toward Wen Muyan. He helped him up, wrapping an arm around him. Wen Muyan, barely able to stand, shakily pulled on his clothes. His legs trembled, but he forced himself not to look back. Together, they staggered toward the exit.

“Young Master, should we go after them?” asked one of the men quietly.

Xiao Han’s expression darkened, his voice cutting through the air. “Chase them. Report their whereabouts constantly. If you lose them… don’t come back.”

“Yes, Young Master.”

*

The cat-and-mouse game dragged on for three days.

Xiao Han wasn’t entirely sure what the script wanted anymore—just that whatever came next couldn’t possibly be good.

He grew increasingly uneasy. At times, he even found himself thinking it might be easier just to follow the original plot to the bitter end. If he had to drop to his knees and lick Zhuo Fan’s shoes in humiliation, so be it. He’d grown used to swallowing his pride. A little groveling wouldn’t hurt.

But now… the story had shifted. He no longer knew what the next scene would be. He couldn’t even reach out to Wen Muyan to discuss it, since the man was with Zhuo Fan now.

At last, on the third day, the fog in his mind began to lift. The haze receded, and the next sequence of the plot finally started to take shape.

The lighting in the room was dim. Xiao Han sat beneath the overhead lamp, lost in thought. His elbows rested on the armrests, fingers interlocked. The light cast a blurred shadow of him on the ground, vaguely resembling a bird with wings outstretched. He stared at the shape for a long moment before slowly lowering his hands.

He needed to make a decision. He knew Wen Muyan was likely going through the same mental struggle, weighing his own next move.

The following morning, Xian Fu came to report that Zhuo Fan and Wen Muyan had been cornered in a warehouse in the suburbs by their people.

Xiao Han gave a slight nod. He closed his eyes, quietly contemplating what was to come. He had a plan—but frustratingly, he could no longer predict what the next day held. The script seemed to be stripping them of their divination abilities, gradually and deliberately.

Still, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. A future full of unknowns was a real future—unlike this scripted one, where every step was like a leash yanking him down a predetermined path.

Even so, the filth of the script clung to everything. If he defied it too openly, who knew what the consequences might be?

“Bring a few people. Come with me,” Xiao Han said abruptly, finishing his glass of milk. He wiped his mouth with precision and stood from the sofa in one swift motion.

Xian Fu frowned. “Young Master, there's no need for you to trouble yourself with such trifles. Just have the subordinates retrieve Young Master Zhuo Fan and bring him back.”

Xiao Han shook his head, offering no further explanation. “Let’s go.”

“…Yes.”

*

During those three days, Wen Muyan had been uncharacteristically silent. Thanks to his foresight and preparations, he’d managed to keep a step ahead of their pursuers—but emotionally, he remained distant, even cold, toward Zhuo Fan.

It was a stark contrast to the warmth and tenderness he had once shown him. Yet, Zhuo Fan harbored no suspicion. After all, Wen Muyan had just endured something horrific—something, in Zhuo Fan’s eyes, beyond forgiveness or healing. If it had happened to him, he was certain he would have considered suicide. That Wen Muyan could still sit before him, composed as though nothing had happened, was unfathomable.

Zhuo Fan had no idea what lay ahead, nor what inner torment Wen Muyan was quietly enduring.

“Muyan, we’ve already spent one night in this warehouse,” he said, his tone light, almost naive. “Where are we going now?”

Wen Muyan, seeing Zhuo Fan’s calm expression, shook his head with a trace of resignation. “We’re not going anywhere else. We stay here.”

“For what?”

Suddenly, the screech of tires and the sound of hurried footsteps echoed outside the warehouse, answering the question without words.

“Oh no, Xiao Han’s men found us!” Zhuo Fan gasped. He grabbed Wen Muyan’s arm, panic rising. “Muyan, come on, let’s hide—quickly!”

But Wen Muyan remained seated, unmoving.

“There’s no need to hide anymore. In a place this small, where could we possibly run?” he said with a tired sigh, his hand tightening around the grip of his pistol.

He closed his eyes to rest and added calmly, “We’ll wait for them here.”

“But…” Zhuo Fan murmured, frowning as he paced anxiously nearby.

A dull thud rang from the front of the warehouse. The heavy door had likely been forced open. Moments later, the unmistakable sound of boots echoed as the pursuers drew closer. Then, the intruders stepped into view.

Wen Muyan, calm and expressionless, kept his gun raised with steady hands. Zhuo Fan, trembling despite his efforts to stay composed, instinctively hid behind him. The men who had just entered treated the two as if facing a deadly threat—all of them raised their weapons, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

Then Xiao Han appeared.

Draped in a long black coat, he strode forward with deliberate confidence. With a single, effortless motion, he gestured for the heavily built men stationed at the door to retreat. They obeyed instantly, withdrawing behind him and standing motionless, as immovable as mountains.

His cold, impassive gaze swept over Zhuo Fan and Wen Muyan before the faintest hint of a smile curled at the corner of his lips.

“It’s been three days since we last saw each other. Seems like you two had a great time,” Xiao Han said, his voice low and mocking. “But do you really think you can still escape me today?”

Wen Muyan held his gaze for a long moment, searching his eyes—but found nothing there. Taking a deep breath, he replied evenly, “You’ll have to ask me to hand over the weapon in my hand first.”

Xiao Han raised an eyebrow, then burst out laughing. “Ah, Wen Muyan… You do realize that a single word from me would turn you into a sieve, don’t you?”

With a casual flick of his hand, he accepted a pistol from one of his men. Disengaging the safety, he pointed the barrel squarely at Wen Muyan’s forehead.

Wen Muyan didn’t flinch. Unwilling to show even a hint of weakness, he raised his own weapon, mirroring the motion. The standoff escalated instantly, the tension thick in the air—so heavy it felt like even a whisper would ignite it.

The silence stretched, heavy and electric.

“Stop it!” Zhuo Fan, who had been shielded by Wen Muyan all this time, finally couldn’t take it anymore. He rushed between the two men, arms flung wide to separate them. But even he wasn’t sure whom he should be protecting. His eyes darted back and forth, looking desperately from Xiao Han to Wen Muyan, his voice trembling and thick with emotion. “I beg you, don’t hurt each other because of me! It’s all my fault!”

At that moment, both Wen Muyan and Xiao Han felt as if they’d internally vomited blood.

“Xiao Han, aren’t you here just to take me away?” Zhuo Fan’s tone suddenly firmed with resolve, though his face was streaked with tears. “Fine. I’ll go with you—as long as you leave Muyan alone. I’ll follow you.”

He tried his best to suppress his sorrow and act noble, determined to show that he was willing to sacrifice himself for his friend. Of course, he wasn’t secretly pleased to be the center of attention between two tall, handsome, rich men fighting over him. Right?

“If I kill him, you’ll have no choice but to follow me,” Xiao Han replied coldly. His icy voice radiated utter indifference. He never once took his eyes off Wen Muyan, ignoring Zhuo Fan entirely.

“You and your men—drop your weapons. Otherwise, before you even shoot me, there’ll already be a hole in your head,” Wen Muyan said, voice calm and firm, eyes locked onto Xiao Han’s. The intensity of his gaze, despite the hostility of the moment, carried a strange intimacy—so lingering it could almost be mistaken for affection between lovers.

“Alright,” Xiao Han said slowly, “let’s see who’s faster.”

His hand remained steady on the pistol, unmoving, but inwardly he was crying. His arm was throbbing—painfully, intolerably—and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold it up.

“No!” This time, Zhuo Fan’s panic was real. Clenching his teeth, he stepped directly in front of Wen Muyan, shielding him with his own body.

“Xiao Han, Muyan’s saved me so many times. I won’t let you kill him in front of me. If you’re going to shoot, then start with me!”

Xiao Han’s lips curled in disdain. He was seriously tempted to grant this idiot’s ridiculous wish—to shoot him right then and there. The guy was so obsessed with this performative, selfless “friendship” that it eclipsed everything else—even love.

If this were a top stopping a cannon-fodder bottom from sacrificing himself and threatening the main bottom… wouldn’t the top usually get burned alive?

But in this situation...

Xiao Han’s brows furrowed deeply. What frustrated him most was that Zhuo Fan’s body now completely blocked his line of sight, making it impossible to communicate silently with Wen Muyan through glances. Were they seriously going to have to follow the script and shoot each other?

Even if he knew he wouldn’t die, just thinking about the pain made him want to scream. Rather than endure that…

Just then, a hand shot out from behind Zhuo Fan and pressed firmly against his cheek.

Before Zhuo Fan could react, Wen Muyan, summoning all his remaining strength, shoved him hard against the wall.

Wen Muyan let out a groan and rubbed his shoulder, muttering, “My arm hurts so bad I can’t even lift my weapon…”

Xiao Han was speechless for a moment. Then, seeing his subordinates frozen in place, he abruptly waved them off. His brows furrowed as he turned to Wen Muyan and scolded in an exaggeratedly serious tone, “How can you treat our precious Zhuo Fan like this?!”

Before Wen Muyan could even respond, Xiao Han gave him a solemn thumbs-up.
“Good job.”

“…”

 

--

Author’s Note:
Comrade Bastard Xiao, I swear I didn’t intentionally write such a character for you!…

 

Translator : DarNan