The Domineering CEO's Vain Trophy Husband 21

System No. 01 felt like it had figured it out, excitedly saying: [Now is exactly when the Mission Target is at their most vulnerable. If the host appears now to show care and warmth, you can become their salvation, their light!]

System No. 01 cheering on Lin Zhi: [Host, keep it up! I'll go silent now and won't interfere with your performance!]

System No. 01 thought its host was truly kind-hearted, possessing the courage to walk into the tiger's den knowingly, sacrificing oneself to feed the beast! This should definitely melt the ice in the Mission Target's heart, right?

Lin Zhi listened to the system's voice in his mind without responding.

In fact, his thoughts had nothing to do with warmth or healing, nor would he look down on Ming Yao with compassionate pity.

It was simply the perfect opportunity. Those memories that would be etched into Ming Yao's very being would make him recall them constantly.

He would use his own presence to add something to these memories. So when Ming Yao inevitably revisited that rainy night from years past, he would remember his face clearly as well.

He would weave a beautiful dream for Ming Yao, so that when Ming Yao locked onto a particular memory, his brain would project beautiful images of him. This would layer upon itself with time and each recollection, eventually making one indulge unconsciously.

Who said this wasn't redemption in another sense?

The wind and rain grew increasingly intense, rustling the trees in the courtyard, beans-sized raindrops pounding against the glass. Lightning tore through the clouds, bringing momentary brightness.

The dog in the living room barked anxiously several times. The servant who usually fed it and took it for walks, had received instructions earlier and brought the puppy to her room.

The light was dim, the air carrying a damp smell.

Lin Zhi raised his hand and knocked politely on the door. The sound was subtle, not standing out against the sounds of rain and thunder.

Ming Yao hadn't heard the knock. He sat half-reclined on the bed, eyes closed as if dozing, his face slightly pale.

The sounds of thunder and lightning, the sharp screech of tires gripping the asphalt, the tremendous crash, his mother's screams, the stench of burning gasoline, the sound of sirens—these were memories that tortured him repeatedly, unforgettable.

The pain in his calf was sharp, as if repeating that day's agony of being crushed nearly to breaking, constantly stimulating his taut nerves.

When he had awakened from unconsciousness that day, it wasn't yet past midnight. His father stood beside his hospital bed, his gaze hollow and indifferent—a strangeness Ming Yao had never seen before.

The man, who looked considerably older, spoke in a drifting voice: "Your mother is gone. Bow to her."

Ming Yao remembered it took him a moment to comprehend the meaning of those words. Enormous grief and remorse left his mind blank, nearly catatonic.

On the bed beside him lay his mother. He still remembered that before the accident, she had been saying she would make his favorite dish that evening.

Time seemed twisted and stretched on the timeline. Ming Yao remembered being forcefully dragged to the ground by his father. His leg hurt terribly. The IV stand got pulled off-center, and the needle in his hand was ripped out, bleeding.

The rain had been heavy that day too. His mother's face bore injuries, and with eyes closed, her expression was serene.

After that, Ming Yao could barely remember. Perhaps his grandparents had arrived, there was a quarrel, his head ached terribly, and he lost consciousness again.

When he woke next, everything seemed as before. His father and mother were not in the hospital room. His grandmother sat beside him, telling him none of this was his fault.

Ming Yao knew his grandmother had heard his father's nearly irrational rebuke the day before.

If he hadn't insisted on going out to play basketball with friends despite the bad weather, how would his mother have worried about him not returning in the downpour and have gone out to pick him up?

The heavy memories, like a rusty saw, came back and forth cutting at his nerves, yet let him taste a hint of survival's bitterness.

The sound of the door opening drew Ming Yao's attention. The young man entering from the doorway gradually approached.

An enormous sense of rejection burst forth from his heart. Ming Yao wasn't targeting Lin Zhi specifically; at this moment, he rejected anyone approaching him.

Sometimes pain is extremely private, unable to tolerate anyone entering its realm.

He restrained himself from using cold, hurtful words to drive him away. His voice was hoarse: "I don't need any visitors today. Please leave immediately."

In the occasional flashes of light, his eyes were bloodshot, cold and intensely aggressive.

The rain made Ming Yao irritable and extremely exclusionary.

He didn't want to see Lin Zhi, didn't want to hear his voice, didn't want intimacy or desire. He only wanted solitude.

If Lin Zhi came any closer, he couldn't guarantee he wouldn't harm him in his loss of control.

"I'm not here to visit you because of the mission," the young man standing by his bed said calmly, looking into his eyes. "I'm just worried you might be afraid of thunder."

A simple sentence that had no worry in it, almost awkwardly clumsy in its usual state, yet miraculously soothed away the defensiveness on Ming Yao's body beneath the tremendous storm.

Ming Yao thought of the small dog that had carried the plush toy seeking out Lin Zhi, and inexplicably a sense of grievance welled up in his heart.

So many rainy days had passed without any visits. He had never even asked if the puppy was scared.

The way Lin Zhi was distant yet close, as if indifferent, yet spoke words that seemed to belong only to him.

"Can I stay?"

Lin Zhi asked this, his body trembling slightly, nearly in a whisper: "Mr. Ming, I'm a little cold."

Due to the dim light and the bed obstructing the view, Ming Yao couldn't see his clothes clearly. He only heard Lin Zhi's voice and felt he might indeed be cold.

The words of refusal hovered on his lips but were never spoken. Ming Yao didn't know why his sense of rejection had vanished without a trace.

This seemed to become a tacit acceptance. Lin Zhi lifted the blanket and lay on the bed, drawing closer to Ming Yao.

Ming Yao touched his ice-cold, soft palm and felt the slight trembling of his body.

Like a flower battered by cold rain, struggling to absorb warmth.

The pain in his calf remained sharp, yet the painful memories, having been disturbed, faded like bleached ink.

Ming Yao didn't intend to do anything else to divert attention. For him, revisiting the past on this day was an act of memorial, even with a kind of self-torment pleasure.

He thought he should coolly push Lin Zhi away, or go back further, tell Lin Zhi harshly that he wasn't afraid of thunder and give him a clear order to leave.

But his body didn't obey his brain's command. He could even feel Lin Zhi's hand gradually growing warm.

"Ming Yao."

This was the first time Lin Zhi had addressed him by full name in front of him. He sat up from the bed, not letting go of Ming Yao's hand.

"Happy Birthday."

There was no celebratory joy on Lin Zhi's face, as if it were merely a plain statement of fact.

Lin Zhi's hand was suddenly gripped tightly, the force making him have no doubt that Ming Yao wanted to crush it.

Ming Yao's expression became sinister beyond measure, accumulating terrible rage in silent coldness.

From that year when he turned seventeen until now, Ming Yao had never celebrated a birthday.

Lin Zhi certainly knew he was stepping on Ming Yao's landmine. This was the adventure he had spoken of. If Ming Yao pushed him away, it meant he had failed. Clearly, he had not failed.

Since long ago, he had been waiting for this day.

All his groundwork, all his gradual progression, had been to give Ming Yao a reason not to push him away.

"Would you like to kiss?"

Even though his wrist was being gripped painfully, a smile appeared on Lin Zhi's face.

To celebrate a birthday, he hadn't brought a gift because he himself was the gift.

Lin Zhi had an exceptionally beautiful face. This beauty was harmless, with slightly innocent and soft eyes, refined nose, naturally upturned lips, making him easily gain others' favor.

Because of this feeling of beauty, people found him harmless and even innocent. So when he uttered those suggestive words, the contrast was like densely growing petals filling one's chest.

The rain grew increasingly clamorous, the rolling thunder seeming ready to tear the sky apart.

Ming Yao's heart felt gripped and aching, his brain seemingly unable to process Lin Zhi's thoughts and intentions, only echoing his voice.

Would you like to kiss?

Would... you like to kiss?

Desire shortened the social distance; habitual arrogance couldn't withstand the downpour of longing.

Because of his social status, Ming Yao looked down on many people, even Lin Zhi, who initially was outside the line he had drawn. At some point, Lin Zhi had invaded his territory, and he resisted while indulging, indulged while sinking deeper.

The rationality responsible for argument had already been stripped away, sharp and impatient urgency pressing on his nerves.

Lin Zhi straddled Ming Yao, Ming Yao's palms pressed against his lower back, drawing him closer to his embrace.

This was an action that clearly demonstrated control. Lin Zhi fell into Ming Yao's embrace, seized at the back of his head.

Lin Zhi was the meticulous weaver spinning the web, but his prey was no weak creature that followed his controlled pace.

Lin Zhi didn't mind, even taking pleasure in this destructiveness. Probably because his life had been too orderly, unable to tolerate even a single flaw, so Ming Yao always made him feel intensely alive.

When Lin Zhi drew near, Ming Yao discovered his difference.

The violent stimulation and intense palpitations made everything increasingly chaotic, the leg pain adding another layer of meaning to it all.

Ming Yao's face remained its unchanging coldness, yet he traced the marks with his fingertips evaluating: "Strawberry flavored."

This attitude moved Lin Zhi, the Venus Flytrap twitching, unable to hide the fangs within.

He laughed softly: "Does Mr. Ming like it? Or next time we could try another flavor—how about peach?"

The passionate flame that the downpour couldn't extinguish wound through the nearly drowned, darkened world.

The corner pocket on Lin Zhi's oversized T-shirt was decorative, its length and width barely fitting folded tissues or perhaps two Durex.

One of Lin Zhi's hands was held by Ming Yao, bruised from being gripped. Ming Yao loosened his grip, holding Lin Zhi's fingers instead, so Lin Zhi used his other hand to pull out what was in the pocket and bit it, ready to tear it open.

A flash of lightning illuminated his face. His expression was ordinary, yet it drove one nearly to madness.

Unfortunately, it ended up unused, because after some effort, Lin Zhi discovered the store had provided a regular size, which didn't match Ming Yao's proportions.

After a brief moment of embarrassment, Lin Zhi said: "I have a digital version of my health check report..."

However, before the sentence was complete, Ming Yao had already given him his answer.

Lin Zhi found his judgment in this area perhaps still inadequate, such that all his prior preparations carried a hint of reluctance.

Perhaps because Ming Yao was disabled, making one feel he was very weak, but clearly that wasn't the case.

Sweat trickled down Lin Zhi's slender white neck. His eyes were soft and moist, as if harboring an entire spring.

Outside the window, the rain continued relentlessly, tirelessly washing the human world.

"Ming Yao..."

He called his name again, like damp, warm flowers.

In a sense, Lin Zhi was actually a person of consistency between appearance and reality. When he was truly joyful and unguarded, his truth was as identical to his falsehood.

Ming Yao's heart suddenly raced very fast. It was palpitations, but this feeling differed from the earlier turbulence.

Before, it was an impulse to knead and devour Lin Zhi until he was nearly dying and reviving. Now there was an emotional bewilderment he couldn't quite express.

Ming Yao didn't know this emotion was called 'shyness,' after all, in his world, he had barely perceived such a feeling.

Time's hand shifted backward. Lin Zhi bit his index finger, somewhat limp.

His brow and eyes were lazy, struggling to escape.

But the prey had already broken free from the spider's web, trapping the hunter within instead.

He couldn't move his legs anyway, Lin Zhi thought, as he was turned around, his back to Ming Yao, tears falling uncontrollably.

Ming Yao kissed the back of his neck, his dark eyes filled with unknowing infatuation.

The rain continued for several hours before finally stopping, though it didn't remain clear long before showers fell again.

By evening, outdoor visibility was even lower.

Ming Yao couldn't help but press on his aching calf, looking at the sleeping Lin Zhi beside him.

The memories that had repeatedly tormented him showed no sign of appearing. Even the rainy day seemed to have taken on a damp, sweet fragrance.

Ming Yao had thought that after experiencing it once, perhaps he wouldn't be interested again, merely a momentary impulse. But apparently that wasn't the case.

It was a wonderful fullness, even his heart filled with emotion to overflowing, satisfied enough to make time stand still at this moment.

At this moment, he even oddly understood his father's obsession, grasped some of his thoughts.

Was this what liking felt like?

Did he like Lin Zhi?

This thought kept circling in his mind, even carrying a lighter quality to it.

And the most wonderful thing was, Lin Zhi was his wife.

They had a marital relationship, whether from legal or moral standpoint, they were the closest of people.

Not only should he buy Lin Zhi a ring, there should be a wedding. Should he propose again? His thoughts were complex. Even though his leg pain remained intense, Ming Yao still had a good sleep on the rainy day.

When Lin Zhi woke, he sat on the bed looking troubled for a while.

It was already three in the afternoon. He had slept for so long.

He looked at the wrinkled T-shirt that had fallen to the ground at some point, slowly walked to Ming Yao's dressing room, selected a dress shirt from inside, and slowly left Ming Yao's room.

The dryness made him want to freshen up. Ming Yao's room didn't have his toiletries. Better to go back to the fourth floor.

The stairs were somewhat taxing. Lin Zhi took the elevator barefoot.

In the study, Ming Yao, who was in a meeting, made a pause gesture and turned off his microphone.

There had been an urgent meeting just now. Ming Yao didn't want to wake Lin Zhi, so he'd gone to the study. He'd been keeping the monitor on the whole time, ensuring he'd know if Lin Zhi woke.

Lin Zhi's appearance made Ming Yao's heart palpitate abnormally. Worried that others might see him like this, but seeing the elevator stop on the fourth floor, he relaxed slightly.

After quickly finishing up the meeting, Ming Yao took the elevator down to the fourth floor.

Before knocking, Ming Yao nervously adjusted his clothes. He hadn't gone to the company today and was wearing casual clothes without any wrinkles needing adjustment.

The door opened quickly from inside. Lin Zhi was in pajamas, with several ambiguous red marks on his neck.

"Mr. Ming, I borrowed your dress shirt. I'll return it after washing it."

Lin Zhi's voice was somewhat hoarse. He lazily sat on the bed and yawned.

Lin Zhi curved his lips: "By the way, I had a very good time yesterday. But I should clarify—that kiss was a birthday gift. Nothing else."

System No. 01: [Huh? Host, what are you...?]

System No. 01 was confused. It felt this redemption mission was about to complete, and according to logic, the Host should be sweet and intimate with the Mission Target, so the Mission Target, encouraged by love, would stand up. Shouldn't the script be this way?

Lin Zhi didn't respond to System No. 01. He knew what it was thinking. He didn't plan to do that.

Love and encouragement were too slow. Anyway, as long as he got Ming Yao to stand up and fill him with hope for life, that was enough, right? Who said redemption could only come through care? For someone like Ming Yao with a strong personality, giving him a goal was sufficient.

The warmth in Ming Yao's heart cooled slightly because of Lin Zhi's words. He remembered their once agreement — that damned agreement he had proposed.

A transfer notification quickly appeared on Lin Zhi's phone. Seeing the amount, he raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Fifty million? Mr. Ming, that doesn't quite match what we originally agreed on."

"I changed my mind. One hundred million per instance."

Ming Yao discovered he didn't know how to please people, only able clumsily to use this method to attract Lin Zhi's attention.

Lin Zhi liked money. Conveniently, he had plenty of it.

"Then I'll thank Mr. Ming."

Lin Zhi accepted without hesitation, smiling at Ming Yao with unusual brilliance.

The air fell silent for a moment. Ming Yao discovered he seemed to lack many topics to discuss with Lin Zhi.

Lin Zhi was unbothered about having a man in the room, applying concealer to the kiss marks in the mirror.

Fortunately, the original owner had quite a bit of makeup, which he hadn't discarded.

After applying concealer, Lin Zhi selected a set of long sleeves and long pants from the wardrobe to change into.

"Will you be going out soon?"

Ming Yao's face felt warm because of the marks, suddenly noticing the situation.

"Yes, Mr. Ji invited me to listen to a musical. Good thing the rain has stopped today."

Lin Zhi looked at himself in the mirror and only nodded with satisfaction after finding nothing amiss.

Ming Yao instinctively asked: "Could you not go?"

"Mr. Ming, we agreed at first that we wouldn't interfere with each other's social circles."

The implication was: you're meddling too much.

Ming Yao could only watch helplessly as his wife left with the marks from their lovemaking to meet another man.

Ming Yao wanted to hold Lin Zhi's hand, but Lin Zhi walked too fast. His hand only grasped the wind.