The Domineering CEO's Vain Trophy Husband 12

Ming Yao knocked on Lin Zhi's door. After receiving no response from within, he opened it.

The past few days had seen heavy rainfall, and the morning sky was overcast with clouds, making the light somewhat dim.

Lin Zhi's curtains were drawn halfway open. His blanket was pulled up to his neck, and because he was lying on his side, half of his cheek was buried in the soft pillow, his hair slightly disheveled.

He looked so small — that was Ming Yao's first instinctive impression. Though "petite" was hardly a word one could associate with Lin Zhi, who was a lean and tall grown man, yet in this state, swathed in the large blanket, he gave off a fragile and delicate quality — as though he were something precious that could be cradled and turned over in the palm of one's hand.

Carrying an inexplicable impression, Ming Yao made his way to Lin Zhi's bedside and called his name in a low voice.

Lin Zhi's eyelashes fluttered, as though he were trying to open his eyes, but he never quite managed to do so. He simply responded with a heavy nasal sound.

"I'll call the doctor for you."

Ming Yao pressed the back of his hand to Lin Zhi's forehead to feel his temperature, and frowned slightly upon feeling the scorching heat.

He was about to reach for his phone, but before his hand had even left Lin Zhi's face— Lin Zhi's hand closed around his.

The young man in his feverish state, seemed to be drawn to the coolness of Ming Yao's palm and pressed it against his cheek, rubbing against it with quiet contentment.

Ming Yao's movement froze. A numbing sensation surged from his fingertips up through his arm, in that instant his limb felt strangely foreign to him.

Stiffly, Ming Yao used his other hand to take out his phone and contact the doctor, his gaze fixed on the hand that had been caught. It was quite a while before he slowly began to draw it back.

This time he wasn't held back, but Ming Yao heard Lin Zhi murmur something. The voice was too soft for him to make it out, so he leaned in to get closer.

In the instant he leaned in, Lin Zhi turned over, shifting from lying on his side to lying on his back, and his lips — slightly dry from the fever — grazed Ming Yao's cheek and the corner of his mouth.

The faintly prickling sensation was jarringly vivid. In an instant, his scalp went numb and his mind erupted into a roar, as though even time itself had stalled for a moment.

Ming Yao hadn't caught what Lin Zhi said. He stared fixedly at Lin Zhi's lips, his eyes filled with something searching.

Strangely, he felt no revulsion. No repulsion at all.

Ming Yao's physical disability and psychological issues caused him to hate being touched. The first time Lin Zhi had climbed in his bed — even without making contact — Ming Yao had felt resistant enough, so why not now?

Because of the cold and fever, Lin Zhi's nasal passages were likely blocked, forcing him to breathe laboriously through parted lips, letting it flow down his airway and into his lungs.

The face that always wore an innocent smile was now suffused with sickly frailty; his colorless lips were faded from the loss of vitality, making him look pitiful beyond measure.

Perhaps the absence of repulsion was merely an illusion. It might need to be verified once more.

<It's only verification> a voice murmured somewhere in Ming Yao's mind.

Lin Zhi was sleeping close to the edge of the bed — and even closer to Ming Yao.

System No. 01 couldn't help but shriek with excitement: [Host! He looks like he's going to kiss you! You're incredible!]

System No. 01 thought this was a complete and utter capture — no wonder the message hadn't been finished sending. Even while sick, the Host remained so dedicated! System No. 01 was about to say more, chirping away excitedly, when it realized the Host had already sunk entirely into unconsciousness and was in a completely unaware state at that very moment.

A mere brush of lips — it didn't seem like enough to draw any conclusions from. Since it was meant to be an experiment, more accurate data was needed.

Ming Yao lowered his gaze, and on his own initiative, deepened it.

The already thin air was cut off and compressed. An instinctive, resistant push was forced instead into an unwilling entanglement.

The muffled sound from Lin Zhi's throat arose from a survival instinct. The signal demanding breathing room compelled the young man to open his eyes — fever-reddened, brimming with a watery haze and utterly lost.

This jolted Ming Yao out of some obsessive state. He pressed his fingertips together hard.

Air flowed back into Lin Zhi's lungs. His eyes fell shut again, and he sank back into a stupor.

His dry lips had been left moistened, even flushed to a deep, excessive red.

Ming Yao stared, transfixed for a long moment before he finally tore his gaze away.

The situation had already deviated from the course Ming Yao had anticipated, drifting toward a direction beyond his control.

Not only had he acted despicably by taking advantage of someone in a weakened state — violated the agreement he himself had set, crossed boundaries in the shadows — but he also found himself wanting to see Lin Zhi's eyes become overwhelmed with hazy mist again.

The thoughts kept sliding toward a perilous abyss, teetering near the edge of sweet destruction and possessive tenderness, flooding his mind with an inexplicable, intoxicating pleasure.

Ming Yao's gaze grew heavy and dark as instinct and reason clashed within him.

His thoughts pulled back and forth in his mind, hovering between drawing closer and pulling away.

His impulses urged him forward; his rationality held him where he was, cutting off all interference.

A knock at the door. The family doctor had arrived.

Ming Yao gathered himself and restored his composed public demeanor.

Because of the fever-reducing injection, Lin Zhi's fever broke quickly.

He slept deeply through it all, and when he woke, the sky outside was still somewhat overcast — as though rain had just fallen.

Lin Zhi pressed his temples and glanced at the time, it was 2:12 in the afternoon.

He sat up in bed, feeling that his body was still a little aching and weak — a common state after illness.

Lin Zhi touched his lips and asked System No. 01 what Ming Yao's reaction had been after being touched.

When Ming Yao had come into his room and called his name, Lin Zhi had still been partially conscious, thinking to take the opportunity to test Ming Yao — to probe a little further at his limits.

Ming Yao in all likelihood had been unable to accept it, and Lin Zhi felt he could more or less deduce how that mental process unfolded.

System No. 01 reconstructed the scene with barely contained elation, its voice brimming with excitement: [He froze for a good while, and then he kissed you! Kissed you until you couldn't breathe! Host, you opened your eyes — do you really not remember?]

Lin Zhi truly had no memory of it, and felt a little regretful. This was, after all, his first kiss — and Ming Yao's too, for that matter. Unfortunately, he hadn't tasted a single thing from it.

Still, Ming Yao's actions had genuinely surprised him. By all logic, things shouldn't have progressed this quickly.

Lin Zhi: [Tell me more specifically about what his world-weariness tendency is actually about.]

Lin Zhi recalled System No. 01 having mentioned that while there was no time limit on the mission, the Mission Target would, out of world-weariness, move toward self-destruction. From what he could observe so far, he hadn't noticed any overt signs of world-weariness in Ming Yao — but some people's psychological conditions didn't manifest outwardly, especially someone of Ming Yao's temperament.

If Old Master Ming were to pass away one day, and Ming Yao felt he had no more reason to hold on and chose to end his own life — that wasn't inconceivable.

System No. 01: [Simply put, all Mission Targets carry a severe psychological illness, and the urge to destroy themselves is something that never fully leaves them. They want to live, but they struggle to resist the pathological pressure of their own thoughts. The Redemption System senses the will to live within their hearts, and so they team up with a Host to redeem them!]

Lin Zhi understood. Ming Yao had already been caught in his net, and this probe of his might have landed precisely on Ming Yao's most vulnerable point — whether it was Ming Yao's hunger to live or some other kind of hunger entirely. In any case, Ming Yao wouldn't so easily push him away now, and he could better make his way into Ming Yao's world.

Still, considering the other party's condition, Lin Zhi thought he ought to adjust his plans somewhat — to avoid overplaying his hand.

An obsessive person was troublesome enough; an obsessive man who was inexperienced would certainly be even more difficult to handle — and this was someone he himself had deliberately provoked. Perhaps this was just the sweet burden that came with hunting delicious prey.

Lin Zhi sighed quietly to himself, the corners of his eyes curving with a smile, and sent a message to the cook asking her to prepare some food.

Ming Yao learned that Lin Zhi had woken up and set his phone back on the desk.

It was rare for him to lose focus at work. He found himself thinking about what to bring back that evening as a get-well gift for Lin Zhi.

Ming Yao thought it over and realized he had no idea what to give.

Lin Zhi liked expensive things that signaled status — yet sending luxury goods simply because he had recovered from an illness would seem odd, not just to Lin Zhi, but to Ming Yao himself.

The debate between advancing and retreating continued to play out in his mind. Ming Yao set it aside for the moment and focused on the question of the gift.

Half an hour later, Special Assistant Gao came in with documents and informed Ming Yao that Lin Zhi had come to the office.

Ming Yao frowned slightly: "Wasn't he sick?"

Special Assistant Gao replied: "Yes. He doesn't look well."

The assistant grumbled inwardly — he'd only found out about the boss's wife being sick through the boss himself. How was he supposed to know why the boss's wife had come to work?

Ming Yao reviewed the documents and signed them. He no longer thought about the gift — instead he found himself wondering whether he should call Lin Zhi in to speak with him.

<What he had done... Did Lin Zhi know? Was that why he came to the office — to ask about it?>

Ming Yao found, to his own surprise, that he was almost hoping Lin Zhi knew what he'd done. That way, the two competing voices in his mind wouldn't need to argue any longer. Would Lin Zhi mock him for it? Reproach him? Or something else entirely?

Ming Yao stared at the door. Ten minutes passed. Still nothing. The intercom was silent as well. Lin Zhi had not come to find him.

Ming Yao called Special Assistant Gao and had him notify the project team for an impromptu progress report on the current project.

The staff had long grown accustomed to their boss's intolerance of slacking in professional matters, so upon receiving the notice they were able to prepare for the meeting right away.

Ming Yao left his office, glanced over at Lin Zhi at his workstation, and called him along to the meeting.

Though the project had nothing to do with him, Lin Zhi readily agreed.

He felt Ming Yao's gaze fall on him now and then — present, yet seemingly absent — and pretended not to notice.

<His color really isn't good. He should have rested properly before coming in> Ming Yao thought inwardly, without any change in expression. It seems like he doesn't remember.

Ming Yao's mind recalled the image of Lin Zhi's vacant eyes, the reddened corners of his gaze, his parted lips. The hand resting at his side tightened involuntarily.

It wasn't until the meeting had ended and those around them had dispersed that Ming Yao asked, as if in passing: "Why didn’t you wait until you were better to come in?"

Lin Zhi smiled brightly as he said: "Dedication to one's work — and there's something I need to talk to you about."

Ming Yao's heart skipped a beat, though his outward composure didn't waver: "Come to my office."

The conference room wasn't a suitable place. There were surveillance cameras here.

This was the first time Lin Zhi had ever set foot in Ming Yao's office. The space, dominated by shades of black and gray, gave off the same cold, hard impression that Ming Yao himself did. Behind the desk stood a bookshelf, and beside the bookshelf was a sofa bed.

"I hope you won't mind if I sit there."

Lin Zhi pointed at the sofa — clearly reserved for the room's occupant — and began walking in that direction.

This was already something of a transgression, but that was Lin Zhi's way.

Ming Yao said nothing to stop it, and waited for Lin Zhi to bring up whatever matter he'd come to discuss.

"Your sofa is very nice — more comfortable than the one at home," Lin Zhi said, pressing his palm down against the cushion. He looked up at Ming Yao: "Looks like it'd be easy to fall asleep on."

In that instant, the debate that had been waging war in Ming Yao's mind came to an abrupt halt.

It was only a glance and a single sentence from Lin Zhi, yet the outcome was suddenly, unmistakably clear.