Does It Hurt?

The file Cao Nanyu had given Xuan Zhe contained several candid photos of Wen Shuang. More accurately, they were photos of his rental apartment. It was no exaggeration to say that he had ruined a perfectly good home beyond recognition. Every time he moved out, the place had been too horrific to look at, so the landlord had kept photos, which eventually ended up in Cao Nanyu's hands. When Xuan Zhe saw them, his first thought had been: A pigsty.

A person's habits were extremely difficult to change, especially once they had settled into adulthood. So when Wen Shuang went to open the door, Xuan Zhe had thoroughly prepared himself. He had planned to turn around and leave if it was too filthy, though a small part of him had been hopeful as well. After all, perhaps the prodigal son had turned over a new leaf.

The one-bedroom apartment was not large, and the decor was nothing remarkable, but everything had been sorted neatly and the floors gleamed. It was worlds apart from his preconceived impression.

Wen Shuang handed Xuan Zhe a pair of new slippers. Worried that this great Buddha might not be used to such a humble temple, he smiled and said, "President Xuan, please make do. Would you like plain water or tea?"

Xuan Zhe made a puzzled sound before replying, "Plain water is fine."

Wen Shuang went to prepare dinner while Xuan Zhe sat on the sofa and observed the surroundings. There was not even a speck of dust on the table. Sometimes, once a seed of suspicion was planted, even the slightest doubt could make it flourish into tangled branches. Xuan Zhe had no choice but to confront the question again: Could a person truly change so completely, from beginning to end? As if they were two entirely different people.

Through the kitchen glass, Wen Shuang glanced at Xuan Zhe. The man was holding a cup of water, his knuckles long and elegant, his wrist lean, a silver-white watch resting upon it and making him appear especially noble and refined. They were both men... Wen Shuang looked down at himself and quietly sighed.

There were only two simple bowls of egg noodles, but the chopped scallions made them look appetizing, and their fragrance was equally tempting. Seemingly casually, Xuan Zhe asked, "Who taught you how to cook?"

"My grandmother," Wen Shuang blurted out.

Xuan Zhe's movement stalled before quickly returning to normal.

He clearly remembered that the file had stated Wen Shuang's paternal grandparents had died one after the other when he was five. Going back three generations from him, there had never been any grandmother. So had she taught him through a dream at night? Xuan Zhe cast a deep, meaningful glance at the person across from him.

It was not that Wen Shuang had let his guard down. He simply could not imagine that, as a minor cannon fodder character from the original novel—someone Xuan Zhe might consider it a waste of time even to glance at—he would somehow qualify for the great demon king to memorize his entire dossier.

The noodles were good. After Xuan Zhe finished eating, he felt the foul air that had been buried in his heart all day sweep away. Then he suddenly said, "Tomorrow. Come somewhere with me."

"Huh?" Wen Shuang froze, then hurriedly answered, "No problem. Is Assistant Cao not going?"

Cao Nanyu was practically a treasure chest. Usually, when he was around, there was little need for anyone else.

"He has something to do tomorrow." After saying that, Xuan Zhe rose, intending to take his leave. Wen Shuang quickly saw him out.

Watching the car disappear at the intersection, Wen Shuang felt a strange softness rise in his heart. He actually rather wanted Xuan Zhe to stay a while longer. After all, it was the first time a friend had visited his home... Forget it. Xuan Zhe probably did not want to be friends with him at all. Wen Shuang pursed his lips, then ran to a street stall to buy two pounds of edamame before happily going home.

Before going to sleep, Xuan Zhe sent him an address and told him to arrive at the entrance by eleven the next morning. He would come over after his meeting.

The boss was so busy. Tomorrow was Saturday. Feeling sorry for him, Wen Shuang searched the place on his phone and discovered it was one of the top entertainment clubs in the city, a money-burning den for high society. Wen Shuang immediately sat up straight and began looking up what he should pay attention to. In the end, he reached one conclusion: as long as you had the status and money, you could walk in wearing nothing but boxer shorts.

Wen Shuang quickly decided what to wear the next day, then wrapped himself in his blanket and fell asleep in seconds.

Elsewhere, Xuan Zhe sat in his study, where only a single desk lamp was lit. Most of the room had been swallowed by darkness, making him seem especially lonely as he stood within it. Wen Shuang's file lay at hand, its edges no longer quite new, proof that its owner had reviewed it many times.

A bold guess gradually surfaced in Xuan Zhe's mind, but it seemed utterly absurd. He would have to be mad to believe in ghosts and gods. Yet often, the more inconceivable a possibility was, the closer it came to the truth.

Wen Shuang arrived outside the club at ten thirty the next morning. The security guards nearby had sharp eyes, and anyone without a black card or invitation was refused entry. Wen Shuang had neither, so he stood beneath the shade of a tree across the street, occasionally locking eyes with a security guard who had noticed him.

A silver sedan drove past Wen Shuang, the wind it stirred carrying an air of arrogance. Yet before long, the car backed up and stopped squarely in front of him. The window rolled down, revealing a still-handsome face with a mocking expression. The man looked Wen Shuang up and down, then rubbed his chin and sneered.

The gesture was unbearably greasy. Wen Shuang resisted the urge to claw out a palace with his toes and tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"What, changed your tastes?" The man's voice had an intentionally lowered, breathy rasp. Wen Shuang was genuinely worried that the next second, he would switch into the voice of that puppet from Saw. It was torture on the ears.

They knew each other? Wen Shuang's heart jolted, but he truly could not find any memory related to the man. He could only nod awkwardly. "Mm."

Today, Wen Shuang wore black pants outlining his long legs, a gray inner layer beneath a khaki trench coat. The casual yet slightly formal outfit made him look just like a pampered young master raised by some wealthy family. Standing beneath the tree with clean, handsome features, he was truly eye-catching.

"You're here..." The man's smile widened. "No sugar daddy again? Fine. You look pretty good today. Come with me?"

Wen Shuang's first instinct was to look around for a brick.

The terrible impression left behind by the original owner was deeply ingrained. Wen Shuang had completely cut ties with the past, hoping time would wash away some of those traces. Yet this man's constant contempt and humiliation reminded him that the pits the original owner had dug were endless. Wen Shuang's smile faded, and he became fully alert. "No, I'm waiting for someone. Please help yourself."

"Waiting for someone? Is the person you're waiting for better than me?"

Wen Shuang sneered inwardly. He was so ordinary, yet so confident.

Wen Shuang took a step back, making his attitude obvious. But that seemed to anger the man. He got out of the car, his expression darkening as he pressed forward aggressively. "You can't understand it when I talk to you nicely, huh?" Then he narrowed his eyes, looking as if he had figured something out. "Or is the money not enough? Name your price."

Wen Shuang said, "I'm not short on money lately. If you're feeling pent-up, want me to find you a place? Nothing but top-quality options." He had never even seen a place like this, yet he spoke with complete confidence.

The faint contempt in his tone angered the man, who reached out to grab Wen Shuang.

For some reason, that movement viciously stimulated Wen Shuang's nerves. He had always had an exceptionally tolerant temperament. Especially after coming to this world, he had lowered himself as much as possible to avoid stepping on landmines. But in his former world, he had also grown up deeply cherished. He might not have had enormous wealth, but he had never suffered from exposure and hardship. Along the way, he had mostly encountered people who protected and guided him. His heart was perceptive and delicate; it would not be an exaggeration to say he had been gently carved bit by bit with a knife. That was why, even bearing the original owner's identity, Wen Shuang could still draw kindness from some people. But choosing to endure did not mean he had to endure everything and everyone.

To put it another way, even a clay figure had some temper. Wen Shuang was no exception.

Suddenly, he did not retreat. Instead, he slapped the man's hand away and turned to leave amid the other man's startled expression.

"Stop right there!" the man roared, stepping forward to seize Wen Shuang by the collar.

Wen Shuang began seriously considering how likely he was to win if they fought.

Forget it. Better to lose the fight than lose face. He would fight first and worry later!

Wen Shuang had never been in a fight, but men—so long as they had even a little fire in their blood—had that potential buried in their bones.

In a flashy red sedan not far away, Li Junshan watched the scene with a broad grin, the corners of his mouth nearly reaching his ears as he hurriedly made a bet with Lei Wenxu. "I bet the moment Zhao makes a move, Wen Shuang will drop to his knees and beg for mercy."

Lei Wenxu neither agreed nor disagreed. Instead, he looked toward the rearview mirror with interest. "What does President Jiang think?"

Jiang Suqing was there as well.

He was smoking in the backseat, his gaze fixed on Wen Shuang, his emotions unreadable. He had already clashed with Jiang Ning several times over this person. No matter how he looked at Wen Shuang—from above, below, left, or right—aside from that face, there was nothing worth taking notice of. Naturally, Jiang Suqing also thought Wen Shuang would surrender soon. That familiar fawning expression would appear on his face, enough to turn anyone's stomach.

Yet all three of them were proven utterly wrong.

Wen Shuang was about the same height as Zhao Tuo, but Zhao Tuo had been a good-for-nothing in his early years and loved fighting. His strength completely overwhelmed Wen Shuang's. With one yank, Wen Shuang nearly lost his footing. But the fierceness in the young man's eyes only grew stronger. He clamped down hard on Zhao Tuo's wrist, then viciously lowered his head and bit him.

They were already fighting. Why care about technique?

"Fuck!" Jiang Suqing abruptly sat up straight, realizing something was wrong. "This little bastard is serious! Xuan Zhe brought him along today. Don't let anything happen!"

Lei Wenxu also unfastened his seatbelt, intending to get out and help. But a black Maybach sped past them. Its excellent braking system let it stop exactly where it braked, and a tall figure stepped out of the car. By then, Wen Shuang had already grabbed Zhao Tuo by the hair.

"Ah!" Zhao Tuo cried out in pain, forced to tilt his head with that vicious pull as he roared, "Fuck! Who the hell pulls hair in a fight?!"

Wen Shuang tugged even harder, though his tone remained polite. "I said my price is five million now. Sir, do you want me?"

Xuan Zhe's brow twitched. He could clearly see Wen Shuang's eyes filled with disgust.

Zhao Tuo cursed, "Even if you threw yourself at me, I'd have to think about it. Giving you five hundred would be me taking a loss!"

"That's enough." Xuan Zhe grabbed Wen Shuang's wrist and said, word by word, "Let go."

That cool, low voice instantly dragged Wen Shuang out of his escalating rage, sobering him at once.

Wen Shuang froze. "President Xuan?" His grip loosened, and he staggered two steps before ending up beside Xuan Zhe.

Having lost so much face, Zhao Tuo could not vent his anger unless he beat Wen Shuang into the dirt. He had not even recognized the king of hell standing beside Wen Shuang. Raising his fist, he was about to strike when Xuan Zhe cleanly sent him flying with a kick.

"Fuck..." Seeing that Xuan Zhe was angry, Jiang Suqing and Lei Wenxu silently withdrew their hands from the car doors in perfect tacit understanding and sat properly back down.

Wen Shuang's collar was in disarray, and red marks from Zhao Tuo's earlier rough tugging covered his neck, as though a rope had been looped around and tightened there. The sight was shocking. Xuan Zhe's fingers twitched, and he could not stop himself from raising a hand to brush against them. "Does it hurt?"

Wen Shuang lowered his head. "It doesn't hurt..."