YMW CH 60

Love ‘Em and Leave ‘Em”

At first, Cen Wu didn’t even understand what Xie Guilan was saying. When it finally clicked, his face burned red, his social anxiety momentarily forgotten—today, either he or Xie Guilan was going to die.

He kicked his legs a few times, squirming recklessly to jump down, barely suppressing his embarrassment as he snapped, “Are you out of your mind?”

But Xie Guilan just tightened his grip under Cen Wu’s thighs, hoisting him higher to secure his hold. Unfazed, he replied, “Stop fussing. Be good, or you’ll fall and start crying again.”

“Who—who’s crying?!” Cen Wu punched his shoulder, stubbornly denying it. “You’re the one who… who cries!”

Now he was filled with regret.

He shouldn’t have let Xie Guilan off the hook earlier. Back when Xie Guilan had cried, he should’ve taken a photo—then at least he’d have proof now.

“Mhm,” Xie Guilan humored him easily. “I cry.”

Cen Wu tugged Xie Guilan’s jacket further over his head, ensuring no one could see him, and only then did his tense body finally relax.

He wrapped his arms tighter around Xie Guilan’s neck and muttered, “Why… why would you cry?”

“You were scared,” Xie Guilan countered. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

Cen Wu denied it again, pressing his face into Xie Guilan’s shoulder, his voice muffled. “Who was scared?”

Cen Wu had always been a stubborn kid—the kind with a prickly, contradictory temper. When he was three or four, his parents were busy filming, so he lived with his grandfather. But even his grandfather, who ran a jewelry company, didn’t have much time to look after him.

Aside from kindergarten, he spent all day at home with the nanny. When it was time to learn to sleep alone, his parents worried he’d be afraid and wanted the nanny to stay with him.

But Cen Wu insisted he wasn’t scared. He stubbornly kicked the nanny out too, clutching his little rabbit plushie and curling up under his blanket.

Once the lights were off, his tiny form was nearly invisible in the dark bedroom—pitiful and a little ridiculous. The nanny snapped a photo and sent it to his parents.

Later, when his parents came home that night, he’d pattered out at the noise, gripping his rabbit’s ears, eyes red-rimmed, his pale face streaked with tears. But he refused to be hugged, lips pursed as he insisted, “I’m not scared.”

“I don’t miss you at all. So annoying—why’d you even come?”

He didn’t need anyone. He’d be fine, no matter who left.

His parents always played along, praising him—”Our Wuwu’s so amazing, the strongest little boy in the world!”—before shutting his bedroom door behind them.

He would never let anyone see his weakness.

Not until the day he finally broke.

“Mhm, I was scared,” Xie Guilan adjusted his grip, still humoring him, but his voice dropped lower, laced with a teasing, almost theatrical melancholy. “Scared you’d love me and leave me.”

Cen Wu: “…”

For fuck’s sake. How did we even get here?! And since when had he “loved and left” anyone?! There hadn’t even been any “loving” to begin with!

“You’ve already kissed me,” Xie Guilan’s voice was deep and smooth in the night air, but lazily self-assured. “Touched me. You even have nude photos of me. If you don’t take responsibility, no one else will want me after this.”

Cen Wu: “…”

Who the hell wanted those nudes?! Couldn’t he just take them back already?!

Fuming, Cen Wu’s face burned so hot his brain short-circuited, leaving him momentarily speechless.

“You’ve got leverage over me,” Xie Guilan continued, “but I don’t have any over you. It’s making me insecure.”

Cen Wu’s mouth moved faster than his brain. Too tangled in Xie Guilan’s logic to question why he owed him “security,” he blurted, “What leverage do you want? Should I let you take a few photos too?!”

“…” Xie Guilan hadn’t meant that, but his lips curled. “Wouldn’t say no.”

Only then did Cen Wu realize what he’d just implied. His face instantly turned scarlet, and he buried himself against Xie Guilan’s neck, gritting out, “Keep dreaming.”

“Fine,” Xie Guilan chuckled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through Cen Wu where their bodies touched. “Didn’t realize Young Master wanted to see me in his dreams that badly.”

Cen Wu: “…”

“Ge,” Cen Wu surrendered, ears burning. “You win. Whatever you say.”

Xie Guilan’s throat moved, another shameless remark nearly slipping out—but with Cen Wu’s flushed face pressed into his shoulder, radiating embarrassment, he held back.

The school wasn’t far from the station, but Xie Guilan didn’t hail a cab. The enclosed space and the presence of a driver would’ve made Cen Wu uncomfortable, so he carried him all the way—thirty minutes on foot.

Cen Wu had originally booked a separate train to avoid Xie Guilan, but after getting caught at noon, hiding was pointless. So they changed their tickets to the same one.

He could’ve had the Cen family driver take him from Huaijing, but on second thought, that would look bad—no wonder Cen Xiao was pissed. To outsiders, he probably seemed like a total lovesick fool.

The terminal kind.

He didn’t dare let his parents find out he was chasing after Xie Guilan like this. If even Cen Xiao couldn’t accept it, they’d definitely disapprove—and if they forbade him from seeing Xie Guilan, he’d be screwed.

Xie Guilan changed their tickets to sleeper berths so Cen Wu could rest on the train. He sat by the edge of the bed, shielding him.

Cen Wu stayed quiet while awake, but once asleep, he suddenly leaned closer, pressing his face into Xie Guilan’s palm.

Xie Guilan cupped his cheeks and pinched lightly, making Cen Wu frown unhappily in his sleep before letting go—only to then lift his hand and press a kiss to his knuckles.

They arrived in Huaijing at ten p.m. Xie Guilan planned to take Cen Wu home, but the thought of facing the dozens of servants at the Cen estate made Cen Wu’s scalp prickle. He still hadn’t gotten used to it.

Pale-faced, he clutched Xie Guilan’s sleeve and stammered, “I… I want to go to your place.”

Besides, he wasn’t in good shape right now. If Guan Xingxue saw him like this, she’d just worry again.

“…” Xie Guilan paused, pressing his lips together before coaxing, “Let me take you home. I’ll stay with you tonight?”

His own place wasn’t fit for Cen Wu. Someone like him belonged in that glittering manor, not suffering unnecessary hardships.

But Cen Wu insisted. After all this time, he’d never seen where Xie Guilan lived—he wanted to.

Xie Guilan couldn’t refuse him and finally agreed.

Yet just outside the station, his mother’s nurse called: Song Lingwei had been vomiting violently all evening. Cen Wu tugged on a mask and baseball cap. “I’ll… I’ll go with you.”

Xie Guilan lowered his gaze. Under the dim streetlights, the sharp bridge of his nose cast a cold shadow as he tightened his grip on Cen Wu’s hand.

Song Lingwei was a parasitic vine, clinging to others to survive. Ever since Chen Weiguo’s death, their roles had reversed. She no longer acted like a mother, and he carried a weight only death could lift.

At the hospital, bodyguards stood outside the private room. After Xie Guilan’s earlier insults—mocking Xie Mingcheng for being “too old to fetch a good price”—his uncle had sworn to cut them off. Yet here they were, suddenly assigned days ago.

Song Lingwei looked gaunt after vomiting, her pallor stark against garishly red lips. She barely acknowledged Xie Guilan, her disdain unbroken since the school gala.

Especially after seeing tabloid photos of Xie Mingcheng attending a banquet with Zhou Li. The Zhou family had already fallen, yet he still wouldn’t divorce her.

What did that make her?

A mistress forever?

“Xiao Xie’s here,” the nurse said, wiping Song Lingwei’s face. “She’s feeling better now.”

“Mn.” Xie Guilan handed over her nightly medication.

Song Lingwei took the pills silently, resentment festering. She bit her lip, ready to lash out—until Cen Wu peeked in from the doorway.

Spotting him, she froze, then smoothed her hair and forced a smile.

With Cen Wu present, she couldn’t speak her mind. But inwardly, she seethed: Xie Guilan was supposed to be capable. Killing Chen Weiguo wasn’t enough. Why not kill Xie Mingcheng too? Take everything.

Xie Shangjing had made Xie Guilan sleep in stables, whipping him freely—all with Xie Mingcheng’s tacit approval. Chen Weiguo was just a violent addict; his uncle was far crueler.

She’d assumed Xie Guilan hated him. Yet years passed without action. She didn’t understand why. Dared not understand.

Otherwise, she’d have to face that the devil’s first scheme had been to save her—that he cared more for her pain than his own. That he loved her.

Song Lingwei turned away, wiping tears before swallowing the pills and feigning sleep.

Xie Guilan ignored her venomous glare. He simply found Cen Wu, took his hand, and left.

—

The wonton stall was closed. Neither had eaten dinner, and when Xie Guilan suggested delivery, Cen Wu vetoed it—knowing he’d order something exorbitant.

Instead, he dragged Xie Guilan to the 24-hour supermarket by the hospital. Instant noodles were better anyway.

Cen Wu’s hoodie was pulled tight, the drawstrings cinched so only his nose peeked out. It drew more stares than it avoided, but Xie Guilan kept an arm around him, disregarding every curious glance.

Burning under the fabric, Cen Wu nudged him. “I’m… I’m fine now. Stop it. People will think you’re gay.”

The novel’s setting allowed same-sex marriage, but social acceptance lagged—hence Xie Shangjing never confessing his crush to Xie Mingcheng.

“I don’t care,” Xie Guilan drawled, mischief glinting in his eyes. “Unless I’m mistaken? Young Master, you are a boy, aren’t you?”

Cen Wu: “…”

Blood rushed to his face. “Wh-what’s that supposed to mean?!” He kicked Xie Guilan’s shin, hissing, “I’m definitely—bigger than you.”

“Shh.” Xie Guilan’s dark eyes crinkled. “Someone might hear.”

He didn’t mind, but Cen Wu’s pride wouldn’t survive it.

Cen Wu glanced around frantically. The late-hour supermarket was nearly empty, and his voice hadn’t carried. Relief came in a shaky exhale.

“Wh-what?” He glared, though his stutter halved the threat. “Got a problem with that?”

“None at all.” Xie Guilan plucked a lychee soda from the shelf, deadpan. “I prefer them bigger.”

Cen Wu: “…”

What a fucking niche taste.

Defeated, Cen Wu gave up. The Cens were all normal—how had they spawned this unholy menace?

If he imagined any member of the Cen family behaving like Xie Guilan, it sent chills down his spine.

When Xie Guilan wrapped an arm around him, Cen Wu endured it with a blank face. When Xie Guilan put a cat-eared hat on him, he let it happen without protest. But when Xie Guilan pushed his luck, suddenly tilting his chin up and murmuring, “Let me kiss you,” Cen Wu’s composure finally snapped.

His face burned as he slapped Xie Guilan’s hand away. “Get lost!”

Now thoroughly offended, Cen Wu spent the entire walk with his head bowed, refusing to walk beside Xie Guilan even though his legs trembled at the sight of strangers. He stubbornly marched ahead, his stiff shoulders radiating fury.

So damn cute.

Xie Guilan trailed behind, stepping on Cen Wu’s shadow, occasionally edging closer only to be shoved away. The cycle repeated—endless, futile attempts to coax him back.

If only Cen Wu liked him. If he did, Xie Guilan would gladly reserve the head table for Xie Shangjing at their wedding.

Fuming, Cen Wu stormed ahead until they reached the rundown apartment building where Xie Guilan lived. His pace slowed, then halted. He spun around and dashed back to clutch Xie Guilan’s arm.

Xie Guilan assumed he was afraid of the dark. The building was worse than the one he’d grown up in—flickering hallway lights, frayed wiring, shadows pooling in every corner.

“Don’t be scared,” Xie Guilan said, pulling him closer.

Cen Wu clung tightly as Xie Guilan unlocked the door. He kept his eyes squeezed shut until the lights flipped on, then blinked warily at the cramped space.

The apartment was barely fifteen square meters: a desk and bed near the entrance, a bathroom opposite. The bathroom light stayed off, a yawning black rectangle. Worse, the wall by the shoe rack was splattered with dark, reddish-brown stains.

Cen Wu froze. He hadn’t expected Xie Guilan to leave the walls untouched. A chill crept down his spine as he locked his arms around Xie Guilan’s waist, convinced something lurked in the shadows.

Even in this school district—where dilapidated apartments still cost over six hundred a month—Xie Guilan paid only three hundred. There was a reason: earlier that year, a gruesome murder had occurred here.

Xie Guilan had sought out the landlord himself. Eager to offload the cursed unit, the man handed over the keys and never returned.

Kissing Cen Wu’s hair, Xie Guilan murmured, “We can stay at a hotel instead.”

“No, no.” Cen Wu refused instantly.

If Xie Guilan could live here, so could he. Backing out now would seem like rejection.

Xie Guilan guided him to the bed, then covered the bloodstained wall with newspaper. Cen Wu shadowed him like a skittish kitten.

“Thought you were scared,” Xie Guilan teased. “Why follow me?”

Cen Wu: “…”

Bro, everyone would be scared except you.

Once the wall was hidden, Xie Guilan cooked instant noodles on a hot plate. November’s chill seeped through the unheated building, so he bundled Cen Wu in a blanket that carried his scent.

Aside from the bloodstains (which Xie Guilan ignored), the place was spotless. Cen Wu slurped the noodles, warmth spreading through him as the water heater hummed to life.

“Want to shower?” Xie Guilan asked.

Cen Wu did—but fear glued him to Xie Guilan’s side. He tugged him toward the bathroom, then made him turn around. “D-don’t peek,” he stammered.

The shower stall was tiny. One wrong move, and he’d bump into Xie Guilan.

“Won’t peek,” Xie Guilan promised, his voice amused.

Behind him, fabric rustled. Steam billowed as water hit the tiles.

Xie Guilan’s dark eyes flicked to the bathroom door—its surface reflecting a hazy silhouette: slender waist, pale skin, water sluicing down the curve of Cen Wu’s lower back.

Cen Wu kept reaching back to touch Xie Guilan’s hand, squeezing his fingers for reassurance. Each brush of damp skin sent heat coiling low in Xie Guilan’s gut.

“X-Xie Guilan,” Cen Wu’s muffled voice pleaded, “talk to me.”

The words curled around Xie Guilan like mist. His jaw tightened as he recited tonelessly, “Prosperity, democracy, civility, harmony—”

Cen Wu: “…”

Enough. Red is also a reassuring color.

Nearly done, Cen Wu asked, “You… you didn’t look, right?”

Xie Guilan pressed a palm to the fogged door, his veins stark under pale skin. “Didn’t peek,” he said plainly. “I can see from here.”

He was watching outright.

Cen Wu gaped. Leaning closer, he realized the door did offer a blurred but unmistakable view—enough to trace the dip of his waist, the swell of his hips.

Cen Wu’s face instantly burned crimson. Forgetting he was still naked, he lunged at Xie Guilan in a flurry of flailing limbs.

Xie Guilan caught him steady, eyes dutifully shut to avoid seeing anything inappropriate even as Cen Wu pummeled his chest. His lips twitched with suppressed laughter.

“Must you always be like this?!” Cen Wu seethed, his bare back hitting the shower door. Water droplets traced the curve of his spine before vanishing between tense thighs.

Xie Guilan opened his eyes—dark and unreadable. Keeping them closed had risked accidental contact, but looking wasn’t much better. Bracing for another hit, he focused on Cen Wu’s flushed lips and stole a kiss.

Cen Wu: “………………”

You’re hopeless.

Defeated, Cen Wu shoved him away to finish washing. Afterward, Xie Guilan handed him oversized pajamas—the sleeves and pants comically long—then rolled the cuffs neatly before fetching a thick quilt.

“I’ll shower now,” Xie Guilan said, deadpan. “Care to join me, Young Master?”

“N-no!” Cen Wu burrowed into the blankets, denying him any chance to retaliate.

Xie Guilan had only worried he’d be scared alone, but Cen Wu seemed adjusted now. “I’ll be fine,” he said, waving him off while picking up Xie Guilan’s chemistry test. Academic focus would conquer fear.

“Be quick,” Xie Guilan warned before disappearing into the bathroom.

Cen Wu hummed absently, already scanning the questions. With midterms next week, he could now solve six or seven out of ten multiple-choice problems, though some first-year concepts still eluded him.

“X-Xie Guilan,” he called toward the bathroom, “where’s your first-year chem textbook?”

“Desk drawers,” came the muffled reply. “Want me to get it?”

Cen Wu declined. Wrapped in his blanket armor, he shuffled to the desk. Five drawers greeted him, but only two on the right showed signs of recent use. The textbook wasn’t in its usual spot (second drawer) but had been moved to the first—likely for Xie Guilan’s recent Olympiad prep.

The left drawers, secured with twelve screws, remained untouched.

Xie Guilan emerged ten minutes later, towel-drying his hair. His gaze flicked to the desk.

Cen Wu had checked the original location first, then the temporary one.

A detail prickled Xie Guilan’s mind: his obsessive organization. Unless urgently needed, every item had a fixed place—a compulsion only he knew about. Not even Song Lingwei was aware.

Yet Cen Wu had navigated it effortlessly.

Just as he knew about the Olympiad risks. About the murder. About Xie Guilan’s preference for fish despite avoiding it in Huaijing—a fact only Song Lingwei could have revealed.

Hair-thin traps (doorways, windows, drawers) confirmed no intruders since moving here. So how did Cen Wu—

“Done already?” Cen Wu’s voice snapped him back.

Curled on the bed farthest from the door, he looked up from Xie Guilan’s draft paper, cheek squished against his knee, the textbook splayed beside him. Innocent. Unaware.

Xie Guilan pinched his chin gently. “Bedtime.”

It was nearly 1 AM. Cen Wu set aside the test, then yanked Xie Guilan under the shared quilt in a sudden reversal. “S-sleep now,” he ordered, patting Xie Guilan’s back like a child. “Aren’t you cold?”

After all their closeness, modesty seemed pointless. He’d rather prevent Xie Guilan from catching cold.

“Not cold.” Xie Guilan hesitated, then nudged a notebook toward him. “For you.”

Cen Wu flipped it open—and froze.

Meticulous notes filled every page, organized by subject and year. Key concepts were highlighted with textbook references, supplemented by cut-out practice questions. The sheer volume must have required dozens of workbooks.

Xie Guilan, who no longer needed these materials, had compiled them solely for him.

“Happy birthday,” Xie Guilan murmured.

A belated gift, withheld that night for its perceived inadequacy beside others’ lavish presents. Standing before Cen Wu always made Xie Guilan acutely aware of his emptiness—like a sewer rat coveting the moon. He owned nothing worthy of this boy.

Not even his love felt untainted.

Cen Wu cradled the notebook. Xie Guilan’s notes could fetch thousands at auction, yet he’d never part with them.

His provincial top-scorer boast had been idle talk—he never expected Xie Guilan to take it seriously.

Cen Wu decided to ignore Xie Guilan’s usual shameless remarks this time. Blinking, he simply said, “Thank you.”

But Xie Guilan remained silent, his expression unreadable. Cen Wu immediately tensed—what now? Was the princess suddenly in a mood again? Propping himself up, he cupped Xie Guilan’s face and gave it a light squeeze.

Xie Guilan caught his hand and abruptly admitted, “I deliberately let you open the drawers earlier.”

He could have directly told Cen Wu which drawer held the chemistry book, but he hadn’t. Instead, he’d let him search on his own, testing a suspicion almost instinctively.

Yet in truth, it didn’t matter to him. Whatever Cen Wu knew or didn’t know was irrelevant. The only thing that frightened him was the possibility of Cen Wu being afraid of him.

The realization hit Cen Wu like a bucket of ice water, sending a chill down his spine. Xie Guilan had been so good to him that he’d forgotten the man’s inherent wariness. He hadn’t expected Xie Guilan to confess this so openly.

Having memorized every detail of the original 3-million-word novel, Cen Wu understood exactly what Xie Guilan feared. Without a word, he pulled him into a tight embrace—the gesture alone was comfort enough.

Xie Guilan buried his face in the crook of Cen Wu’s neck, holding him close. Lying together like this was unbearably intimate, and after a while, once he sensed Xie Guilan’s mood lightening, Cen Wu began to squirm away, his face burning.

He needed to maintain some distance. Otherwise, when the time came to leave, wouldn’t he truly be guilty of “loving and abandoning” him?

But Xie Guilan only tightened his grip. In the darkness, their breaths mingled, bodies pressed flush together—until Cen Wu froze, abruptly aware of something pressing against him. His ears turned scarlet.

“Y-you—you—!” Cen Wu gritted his teeth. How could this bastard still be thinking about that at a time like this?!

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Xie Guilan murmured lazily against his neck, his voice low and thick with implication, “don’t feel guilty about touching me. I enjoy it. A lot.”