Game
Su Zesui lost all sense of time, of emotion, even of speech… The only thing left to him was the overwhelming sensation in one part of his body, magnified to the point it filled his entire mind.
He didn’t know how long it had been when, at last, the taut string in his head suddenly slackened. His limbs went limp, and a faint clarity slowly returned.
Only then did he realize that he had gone from half-reclining against the pillow to lying boneless in the very center of the bed. The sheets beneath him were twisted and wrinkled in every direction, looking like evidence of utter chaos.
Su Zesui grabbed a pillow and pulled it over his face.
Because Gu Yilan had kept his head lowered the entire time and hadn’t said a single word to him, the thought of starting a conversation now made Su Zesui’s nerves skyrocket.
Luckily, Gu Yilan had gone to the bathroom to rinse his mouth, leaving Su Zesui a little time to steady himself.
Unfortunately, just remembering the details of what had happened made his heartbeat race even faster instead of calming down.
Neither the novels he’d read nor the videos Brother Gong Chuang had sent him had ever shown him anything like that.
——Well… he’d certainly learned something new.
And as if hearing his plea to be handled gently, Gu Yilan had managed, even while staying focused on what he was doing, to press him down with one hand. With his body weak and aching, Su Zesui had no strength to resist. All he could do was clutch at the sheets in desperation and endure it, breathless.
Under the pillow, Su Zesui shook his head, trying to drive out the vivid, shameful images replaying in his mind.
With a sharp click, the bathroom door swung open.
Su Zesui froze instantly, not daring to move. His fingers hung limp beneath the pillow pressed over his head, making him look like he’d fallen asleep.
Unfortunately, Gu Yilan walked right over, lifted the pillow off his face, and dropped a bomb: “Hiding like this? Did you enjoy it that much?”
With his only cover ripped away, Su Zesui’s face flared red. That word was too embarrassing to say out loud. He stammered, “Y-you…”
“What about me?” Gu Yilan, utterly shameless, raised his brows, determined to press on.
Panicking, Su Zesui blurted out, “You’re… amazing.”
“Mm.” Gu Yilan’s expression stayed calm, as if discussing some matter-of-fact sacrifice. “I’ve been applying medicine every day just for today’s reward.”
Su Zesui was at a loss for words.
Only now did it hit him—besides the wound on his thigh, the last time Gu’s parents had sent the bad guy to their house, Mr. Gu had bitten his own mouth so hard it bled.
——Why had he instinctively assumed applying medicine meant treating his thigh?
Mr. Gu’s words stirred up memories—especially the kind tied to “sensation.” That enveloping warmth… it had felt so good it was practically cheating, enough to make him burn up inside.
Mortified, Su Zesui buried himself in the soft bed, wanting to disappear.
He couldn’t bring himself to look at Gu Yilan’s composed face—or those slightly parted lips that spilled such deep, magnetic tones.
Gu Yilan gave a quiet laugh. “If you didn’t enjoy it, then I wasted my time. If you did, then I’ll count it as a reward next time too.”
Flattened against the bed, Su Zesui stiffened. His emotions spiked all over again, surging right to the peak.
But just like the word “comfortable”, the word “like” burned on his tongue, impossible to say aloud. He could only push his head deeper into the covers, continuing to play dead.
Gu Yilan didn’t push him. Instead, he rubbed at his dry throat, picked up the glass on the nightstand, and prepared to go fetch warm water for them both.
But as he walked past the bed, the boy suddenly “came back to life,” grabbing at the hem of his shirt. Lips pressed tight, eyes full of hesitation.
“What is it? You don’t want me to leave?”
Gu Yilan had studied psychology; he knew this was when the boy was at his most fragile—both mentally and physically. Of course he’d want someone beside him to lean on.
Su Zesui puffed out his cheeks, nodded, and sat up.
Gu Yilan sat back down on the edge of the bed, lifted Su Zesui’s chin, and checked the faint bite marks left on his lips.
The boy, dark eyes glimmering like black gems, stared at him for a long time before mumbling, “Brother… school’s starting soon.”
So long as it wasn’t about what had just happened, he could finally speak normally.
Gu Yilan lowered his hand, slipping back into his usual serious self. “Mm. Just over ten days left.”
“I looked through the old phone you gave me,” Su Zesui said.
Gu Yilan chuckled at the boy’s hesitant, piecemeal words. “And what did you see?”
“There were lots of good classmates back then,” Su Zesui replied. “They want to get together before school starts.”
“When?” Gu Yilan asked.
“The afternoon after the school competition ends.”
“That’s fine.”
After he agreed, the boy fell silent again. A long pause later, he leaned close to Gu Yilan’s ear, whispering as though revealing some earth-shattering secret: “Then… does this kind of socializing count for a reward too? Like just now?”
Gu Yilan nearly laughed.
So that’s what the whole “school” talk had been leading up to.
“Yes. It’s a reward for being brave and learning to fit into society,” Gu Yilan said evenly, generous as ever. “There will be more chances in the future—for example, going to the hospital for checkups yourself instead of always relying on a private doctor at home.”
At the mere mention of hospital, Su Zesui flinched, trembling. “I-it’s scary.”
“Why are you afraid of hospitals?” Gu asked gently, watching his expression.
Since Gu Yilan already knew about his transmigrated identity, Su Zesui decided to come clean. “In my world… my brother had cancer. I went to the hospital every day after school to see him. So when I see a hospital, I just… I feel awful. Like I want to cry.”
His beautiful eyes drooped, voice trembling. Not knowing how else to express himself, he could only spill his raw emotions—painfully endearing in their honesty.
Gu Yilan didn’t want to linger on his grief. He shifted the subject: “So over there, I took advantage of the situation and became your sugar daddy, didn’t I?”
“Mm.” Just thinking about it made Su Zesui angry. He blurted out the nightmare he hadn’t dared to mention that morning: “You—you were bad. Later you ignored me. You must’ve just gotten tired of playing with me, wuwu…”
“That heartless?” Gu Yilan raised a brow. “Do you remember everything about that world?”
Su Zesui shook his head. “No. Only bits and pieces.”
“Then try harder,” Gu Yilan said mildly. “Looks like once you remember everything, I’ll have to kneel on a keyboard to atone.”
Whatever the exact details had been, one thing was clear: those past experiences had only ever brought Su Zesui despair and pain.
He didn’t want to keep talking about it.
After a beat, his mind jumped tracks completely. “Brother… are you a yandere?”
Gu Yilan asked, “Why are you asking that?”
“In novels, yanderes are super possessive. If their little wife dares to run away, they’ll drag them back, lock them in the basement, and then… then…” Su Zesui trailed off. Having finally circled back to the topic from earlier, he suddenly grew embarrassed. “And then this and that… basically, they get eaten up.”
Gu Yilan patiently listened and then said, “Then I might be one.”
Su Zesui’s eyes lit up as if he’d discovered a new continent. Feeling proud of himself, he planted his fists on his hips and declared, “Then we don’t need all that desensitization nonsense! For a reward, I’ll just… run away!”
“There’s an even easier way.” Gu Yilan narrowed his eyes dangerously, following along with his logic. “You don’t even need to run. Just say one sentence—tell me you don’t love me anymore, and I’ll…”
“You’ll what…?” Su Zesui leaned forward anxiously when the man stopped mid-sentence.
Gu Yilan pressed his lips together—the same lips that had shocked Su Zesui earlier—and said, “Then I’ll give you a punishment that’s like a reward, but even more exciting.”
For a split second, Su Zesui really considered running away just to try it. But he quickly crushed the thought.
He puffed out his pale cheeks and bargained earnestly, “Can’t the usual, normal rewards… be a little exciting too?”
Thinking of the boy who had just been pushed so far that he collapsed on the bed pretending to be dead, unable to say a word to him, Gu Yilan’s lips curved faintly as he feigned ignorance. “And how exactly would they be more exciting?”
Provoked by this, Su Zesui forgot his earlier worries about “size.” Like explaining a science fact, he told the man seriously, “Just… like in the videos.”
Truthfully, Gu Yilan understood perfectly well, but he didn’t want to do those things with Su Zesui yet.
The boy was still too young—he had only just turned eighteen, and he was still going into his second year of high school next semester. At the very least, he needed a stretch of time to grow, to think things through as an adult, before he was ready for that.
“You like chasing thrills?” Gu Yilan said. “Fine. Before your reward, ask Su Mingyu what he thinks. If he agrees, we’ll continue.”
His intention was to make things difficult so the boy would give up on his own. But the naive Su Zesui didn’t hear the hidden meaning. After thinking hard for a while, he finally said, as if bracing himself, “O-okay. I’ll call him.”
——His big brother would probably agree.
After all, even before he’d gotten together with Mr. Gu, his big brother had already told him things like kissing, biting, and fiery passion were all allowed.
Gu Yilan: …
Su Mingyu, on the other hand, would probably blow a fuse and book the first flight over to tear their house down.
Gu Yilan wanted to take back his words, but it was already too late.
The boy, his ears red all the way to the tips, still remembered to softly remind him of the schedule. “Don’t forget—it’s after the school exam on the 20th, the, um… brave socializing thing.”
“…I remember,” Gu Yilan replied. “How are you all planning to meet?”
“They said… we’d play games together,” Su Zesui recalled.
At the word “games,” Gu Yilan frowned. “Where? What game?”
Ever since he’d learned the boy was a traveller, he understood that Su Zesui’s terrible reputation as a spoiled young master hadn’t come from slander—it was because back then, he really had been led astray by a gang of so-called friends.
“At the internet cafe. ‘Echoes of the Abyss,’” Su Zesui answered.
The moment “internet cafe” left his lips, the nature of those “friends” was obvious.
Gu Yilan fell silent for a moment before suggesting, “I think… you don’t actually need to do this social desensitization.”
The so-called “good classmates” the boy mentioned hadn’t been looked into yet—perhaps they were just spoiled rich kids who, despite their young age, smoked, drank, hung out in internet cafes, and got into fights.
The last thing he wanted was to have his well-behaved little one desensitized from social anxiety straight into becoming a menace to society.
The truth was, Su Zesui himself was conflicted. He wanted the reward, but he was also afraid of seeing his old “friends” again. And besides, he didn’t even know how to play games.
He wavered, wanting both things, but unwilling to give either up.
But when the man so directly passed over one of the options, he felt a strange, inexplicable sensation—as if a reward he thought was already his had been snatched away.
Gu Yilan said, “The internet cafe is crowded, and the low-quality ones are filled with smoke. It’s not suitable for you right now.”
Su Zesui’s temper flared, and he shot back, “There are private rooms. Clean, no strange smells.”
Gu Yilan continued, “Actually, I’ve heard of that game. It’s a foreign one, <Echoes of the Abyss>. Not really suitable for you either.”
Now Su Zesui realized it: the other person was trying every excuse not to let him go.
——But hadn’t they just been talking happily? Step by step, carefully planning for a long while, even deciding on the small detail of calling his big brother before receiving the reward.
——So why the sudden change?
It felt like excitedly planning a trip with someone for a long time, perfecting every detail until he could hardly wait to set off.
And then, at the end, the other person says: “Hey, I never intended to go with you anyway.”
——It was infuriating!
Su Zesui was angry, but he couldn’t argue with Gu Yilan. He could only let out a loud “hmph,” twist around, and bury his head precisely into the pillow.
No matter what Gu Yilan said, he stubbornly refused to speak again.
Even at dinner, he slid his bowl away from the man, angled himself in his seat, and kept Gu Yilan out of his line of sight.
A silent protest.
The butler, seeing this, was both confused and worried, glancing repeatedly at Young Master Gu, hoping he would do something to change the situation.
Gu Yilan, however, just smiled helplessly and placed a piece of sweet-and-sour pork into the boy’s bowl.
After quickly finishing his food, Su Zesui stood and was about to run upstairs without a word.
At that moment, the man who had been silent all meal finally spoke: “Do you play games?”
Though his tone was calm, Su Zesui, still in a huff, naturally treated it like a provocation. He let out a small “hmph” and said ungraciously, “None of your business.”
The boy turned his face awkwardly, speaking harsh words, but his body remained honest, waiting obediently for the next move.
Gu Yilan’s lips curled slightly. “Want to play <Echoes of the Abyss> together tonight? Practice now, so you can show off in front of your friends later.”
Seeing that he had finally relented, the still-angry Su Zesui hesitated for a few seconds, then sheepishly nodded.
After dinner, the projector in the master bedroom was turned on again for the first time in days.
Gu Yilan handed Su Zesui a game controller and projected the main game screen onto the white wall in front of them.
Minutes of cold war tension had passed, and now suddenly getting cozy and intimate would make him seem soft and easy to please.
So when the man sat close by him, Su Zesui scooted bit by bit, finally settling at the far edge of the bed—so far that one more inch would send him sliding onto the floor.
Gu Yilan suggested, “It’ll be better if you sit closer.”
Su Zesui, still angry, twisted his head away and ignored him.
“Really won’t sit closer? Then I’ll start the game,” Gu Yilan said.
Still silent, Su Zesui expressed his mood through actions alone.
Gu Yilan smiled and pressed “start” on the controller.
Before the game officially began, a cinematic played to immerse players in the environment.
The moment Su Zesui heard the strong, high-frequency beat of the background music, he sensed something was off.
He wasn’t experienced with games and didn’t want to embarrass himself, so he stared intently at the dimly lit, shifting projection, adopting a serious, competition-like focus.
Then, without warning, grotesque, bloodied faces leapt onto the screen, opening mouths full of jagged teeth toward the unsuspecting boy.
“Ah!”
Su Zesui dropped the controller and abandoned any pretense of cold-shouldering. He dashed into the man’s warm embrace, clutching him tightly, still shaken and frightened.
Gu Yilan wrapped him protectively, gently patting his back, his deep voice tinged with amusement: “Don’t be afraid. I said this game wasn’t really suitable for you—you need to sit closer.”