MW CH26

Chapter 26: Defile Him, Stain Him

“What do you think?” I stared straight at him, catching every flicker on his face.

After a long silence, he spoke: “Then I’ll congratulate you early.” He pushed the door open with his free hand, stepped out before I could say more.

Phone buzzed twice—Zhao Chenyuan’s message with Tuesday’s time and place.

Outside, Mochuan drifted farther—I dropped the passenger window, leaned over, yelled: “Tuesday, 6:30—I’ll pick you up, come with me, help me size him up!”

My voice was loud enough—passersby ahead turned—but he blanked me, striding on, no reply.

“No answer? Then it’s set!” I didn’t need one—declared it done solo, watched his back vanish through the school gate, then drove off.

That night, I texted Zhao Chenyuan—bringing someone Tuesday. He fired back a string of question marks, prying: situation, guy or girl?

[Not your sister, right?]

[No, you know him.]

[Yan Chuwen?]

[Mochuan.]

His chat stayed “typing,” no send. I swiped out, tapped Yan Chuwen’s icon.

[Give me Mochuan’s contact.]

Back in uni, I’d had his number—deleted it after he went back to Cuoyansong.

Yan Chuwen didn’t even ask why—just sent a string of digits, plus Wednesday’s dinner plans.

[Wednesday, 6 PM, this spot: link]

[OK]

Searched the number on WeChat—user not found.

[Does Mochuan have WeChat?] I asked Yan Chuwen.

[Yeah, barely uses it—text him.]

Who doesn’t use WeChat these days?

Whatever—better odds he’d ignore my friend request anyway.

[Dropped Zhao Chenyuan a heads-up—years apart, ditching him’s not cool.]

Drafted, tweaked five, six times—sent. Back to Zhao Chenyuan’s chat—hundreds of question marks now.

[He’s in Haicheng for a conference.]

Quick explanation—he replied fast.

[Told Shen Jing Mochuan’s coming—she’d picked an outfit, now she’s shopping tomorrow for a new dress.]

I chuckled—round up, I’d cost them extra.

Mochuan’s text sank—no reply by next day. Expected, didn’t care—Tuesday, I rolled up to Haicheng Uni on time.

Ten minutes early—planned to wait thirty, then bounce if he flaked. But there he was, tall and familiar, roadside already.

Guess Zhao Chenyuan’s pull’s big. Smirking inside, I eased over.

Last time, all black—today, all white. White turtleneck, white pants, beige mid-length coat—chest beads swapped to rich purple jadeite, matching the fit.

Business trip or runway?

Car stopped—he opened the passenger door, froze at the giant bouquet on the seat.

I grabbed it. “For Zhao Chenyuan’s wife—just hold it.”

He slid in, took the flowers gingerly, set them on his lap. White-purple blooms—soft, girly—matched his vibe uncanny.

Restaurant’s downtown—Shen Jing’s office building—close-ish to Haicheng Uni, but rush hour stretched it to thirty minutes.

Too quiet—I hit a random playlist.

Stop-and-go—singers swapped out. I coughed, broke the hush. “Conference keeping you busy?”

He seemed lost in thought—answered late. “Fine—like classes back then.”

“Like classes? What’s on the syllabus?”

He paused, dropped a legit-sounding title: “Digital Rural Revitalization.” Name alone sparked fire.

“Live-stream sales?” Hottest digital trick I knew—worked too.

Low “mm”—no elaboration, chat-killer vibe.

Deep breath—cranked the music, dropped the small talk.

We hit the restaurant near seven—weekday, but most were there, including Jiang Boshu.

“Finally!”

Zhao Chenyuan and Shen Jing left their seats—her face lit up at Mochuan. Taking the flowers, she blurted: “This is too gorgeous…”

He’d turned heads cradling that bouquet—flowers popped, he popped harder. Plenty thought like Shen Jing—just didn’t say it.

“I mean the flowers—really stunning.” She backpedaled, sniffed deep. “Thanks, love them.”

Mochuan dodged credit. “Bai Yin bought ‘em—I just carried.”

Polished, poised—introduced himself as our uni mate, skipped Cenglu, Pinjia stuff. To these outsiders, he’s just “Mochuan”—himself, briefly.

Western joint—dozen seats along a long table. Maybe to nudge me and Jiang Boshu closer, he’s left, Mochuan’s right.

“…” I sat blank-faced—Zhao Chenyuan winked across, sly.

Jiang Boshu piped up. “Long time—work busy?”

First meet since that Pengge call—vague dinner promise back then…

“Post-trip, I’ve been swamped with a new project—sorry, forgot our dinner.” Old enough for tact, but with him, I went straight.

Blunt as that was, he’d get it.

Sure enough—awkward smile. “No worries—been slammed too. We’ll catch up when we’re both free.”

Words said, odds slim—we both knew.

Sudden thunk—something hit my foot, metal clinked. Looked down—a knife.

“Sorry—could you grab it?” Mochuan reached out.

I picked it up, held off. “It’s dirty—let’s get a new one.” Waved the waiter over.

Swapped the soiled one—clean one came. Pinched mid-blade, handle to Mochuan.

“Thanks.” His fingertips grazed mine, took it back.

Western meal, classic four-course—appetizer, soup, main, dessert. Long gaps between dishes—awkward chat mode on.

Shen Jing, first time with Mochuan, buzzed with questions—talked his ear off all night.

“Zhao Chenyuan shoots arrows? News to me.” Learning he’d joined archery club, she tilted her wine glass at him, grinned. “Deep cover, huh?”

He clinked hers, sipped. “Sure—masters like me? Eighteen skills, all ace—never brag, though.”

His shameless flex cracked everyone up—chat pivoted, grilling his “skills.”

Mid-laugh, I glanced at Mochuan’s plate—main course now. Everyone else got beef tenderloin—he’s veggie, got veggie risotto. Barely touched—few bites, stopped.

“No good?” I leaned in.

I’d asked Zhao Chenyuan to swap it for his diet.

He eyed his plate—rare grimace at food. “Too hard—don’t like it.”

Foreign rice—always half-cooked vibes.

“Load up on dessert then—grab fried rice across the street later.” If risotto flopped, this place had no mains he’d eat.

Nodded—his gaze flicked past me, behind.

“That guy next to you? Seems… decent.” Pause. “Better than Ming Zhuo.”

Blanked—realized he meant Jiang Boshu. Stomach churned—food turned cold, hard, indigestible.

Ha—great. Asked him to scope, and he scoped.

“Worse than Ming Zhuo out there? Don’t set my dating bar that low.” Chest tight—downed my wine, signaled for a refill.

“You really think he’s good?” Booze hit fast—words thick with it, breath reeking.

No answer—thought he missed it. Repeated, slow, clear.

He winced at my stench, pulled back. “You’re a good match.” No hesitation—gone.

Good match? How—age, degree, looks, distance?

“Bai Yin, I told Shen Jing you’re e-dating—she didn’t buy it. Married in-game, set her avatar as your lockscreen, ‘wife’ all day?” Zhao Chenyuan’s crew roped me in. “Post-beta, you begged me to pull strings for her info—I shut you down righteous. True or not?”

Slouched, I flicked to Mochuan—stone-faced. Drained my glass, slammed it down. “Old news.”

Too much wine—hands shook, couldn’t grip. Cup wobbled, fell—I lunged slow; Mochuan snagged it first.

“Careful.” Set it farther in.

Weak tolerance—few glasses, dizzy, heart racing. Drunk deepened—post-cake, I slumped, sobering, out of the convo.

Party wrapped—restaurant closing. Zhao Chenyuan called me—I played dead, stayed down. They figured me trashed—pegged Jiang Boshu to drive me.

Half-up to decline—Mochuan cut in.

“I’ll take him—we’re on the way.”

Quiet—Jiang Boshu: “Perfect—I’m off-route, got my car.”

I flopped back down.

On the way? He know where I live?

“Great—thanks for getting Bai Yin home. I’ll call a driver.”

Zhao Chenyuan bought it—booked a proxy, helped Mochuan haul me in. Like faking I don’t know Cenglu after missing the reveal, I missed “sober”—stuck playing drunk.

Eyes shut whole ride—hit my complex, had to “wake.” Groggy blink.

“This… my place?” Lurched forward, shaky finger at a building. “That one—eighteen floor… 1801—my house!”

Driver smirked in the mirror. “Right on time.”

Mochuan yanked me back by the arm. “Stop ahead, please.”

Proxy parked at the gate, scooted off on his board. Mochuan slung my arm over, dragged me in—face scans, fingerprints, no hitch.

Inside, dumped me on the bed—stillness.

Thought he’d slipped out—bed dipped. Moments later, he peeled off my coat.

Felt him shift to leave—I snapped awake, grabbed his wrist from behind, yanked him back.

Caught off-guard, he fell flat—I flipped, pinned him.

He thinks I’m loose, anyone’s fair game—why not?

“…Who’re you? Why’re you here?” Thumb brushed his lips—slurred drunk nonsense.

He frowned, grabbed my hand, tried up. “Wrong guy.”

I snarled—shoved his shoulders, full force back down.

“Leaving? Don’t know… the rules?” Stared at his parted lips—half the booze surged up, fogged my brain; half sank, pooled low.

Breath thickened—I hated it, but one microsecond, I got Ming Zhuo.

Purer they are, more tempting their fall.

Mind swarmed—filthy, vile thoughts I’d buried sober—I sifted, picked in seconds.

I want this…

Leaned in—planned it: drunk crime, claim what I’d craved. But his shocked eyes hit—last second, I swerved, bit his earlobe instead.

Fuck! Ground the metal stud between my teeth—cursed myself. Pathetic—this far, still chickened out…

Live or die, who cares? Don’t you just want your kicks? Defile him, stain him—cuck the Mountain Lord! Why hold back? Cut ties forever—he’s gone after this, coming back?

Bai Yin, Bai Yin—he’s in Haicheng, your house—let him walk, you’re no man!

Teeth clamped harder—reason screamed no, lust begged yes. Beastly gasps—trapped between, drowning.

Muffled groan below—a big hand gripped my nape.

“I said—wrong guy.” Hoarse, icy—simmering rage, like winter snow grit slashing, blood one slip away.