YMW CH 65
by LinnaceProfessional Ethics
With his newfound “allies,” Xie Guilan weaponized public opinion. Every time Cen Wu tried to leave, the ward’s residents tutted in disapproval.
Cen Wu pinched Xie Guilan’s hand viciously.
“Hitting is affection,” Xie Guilan mused, unfazed, “scolding is love.”
The onlookers exchanged glances.
Hopeless case. No wonder he’s hospitalized—terminal lovesickness. Just amputate.
As Xie Guilan slept mid-IV drip, his grip loosened. But the moment Cen Wu tried to withdraw, Xie Guilan’s lashes fluttered restlessly.
“So clingy,” an aunty teased.
“He… he can’t sleep without holding hands,” Cen Wu lied flatly, “how will he survive without me?”
Xie Guilan always curled up when sleeping—whether crushing Cen Wu in a vise-like embrace or nuzzling into his neck.
Such a pest.
Like a puppy.
Turning the plot over in his mind, Cen Wu still couldn’t pinpoint how Xie Guilan got hurt.
Silently, he plucked a strand of Xie Guilan’s hair. The paternity test results would arrive soon.
After the math competition, he resolved, I’ll send the proof to my parents.
All Xie Guilan had to do was abandon Song Lingwei.
Then he’d be free.
Cen Wu had initially been bothered by Xie Guilan’s recent coldness toward him. But now, he figured it might be for the best—if Xie Guilan kept his distance, it’d be easier when he eventually left. Less adjustment.
His only job was to protect Xie Guilan until he returned to his real family. That was it. So why had he gotten so worked up? Why had they even fought?
It’s all Xie Guilan’s fault. That damn fox spirit, always luring him in. Xie Guilan was bad, and he was worse—with anyone else, he could keep his cool, but Xie Guilan made him lose all restraint.
Xie Guilan woke in the hospital to find Cen Wu gone, only the dull throb in his abdomen remaining.
The uncle in the next bed, worried about another misunderstanding, quickly explained: “He waited until your IV finished before leaving.”
Xie Guilan’s lips moved slightly. “Thanks.”
His phone screen was blank—no messages from Cen Wu. He pulled on his coat, noted Chu Zijian’s absence, and discharged himself alone.
Night was still heavy when he stepped outside. A cigarette dangled from his lips, its ember glowing faintly. A careless brush against his arm wound sent fresh blood seeping through his sweater.
Right. This was the norm—exhaustion, blood, solitude. Cen Wu’s presence had almost made him forget.
Cen Wu assumed things between them would fizzle out quietly, that all that remained was waiting for the paternity results.
Then, one evening, Chu Zijian messaged:
【Zijian: Second Young Master, something’s off. I think someone’s tailing Xie-Ge.】
Cen Wu blinked. Since when did Chu Zijian call him “Xie-Ge” so affectionately? But there was no time to dwell—he slipped out of class and hailed a cab to Lan Ye.
Halfway there, Chu Zijian updated: Xie Guilan already left. Cen Wu had the driver circle the area, but found nothing.
Last night’s snow had left the streets slick and biting. Cen Wu tightened his scarf and combed through nearby alleys on foot, legs numb with cold—until the sound of a scuffle reached him.
At the alley’s dead end, seven or eight thugs surrounded Xie Guilan. Their leader, a man with sleeve tattoos, swung a steel pipe toward Xie Guilan’s back—
Cen Wu didn’t think. He lunged.
The pipe cracked against his skull.
Pain came late. Blood came first—a hot rush down his neck, soaking into his scarf.
Xie Guilan, tangled with the others, froze when he saw. These men knew he was Xie Mingcheng’s son; they’d avoided lethal force. But now—
“F*ck!” The tattooed man paled as his lackey stammered, “H-Hua-Ge, you just hit… C-Cen Ershao!”
Recognition dawned. In Lan Ye’s underworld, everyone knew Cen Wu.
“RUN!”
They fled into the snow. Xie Guilan ignored them, gathering Cen Wu into his arms.
Dizzy, Cen Wu clung to Xie Guilan’s neck. Typical. Other transmigrators got power and glory. He got cracked skulls.
Xie Guilan’s lips—cold, trembling—grazed his ear.
Annoyance flared. If you’re giving me the silent treatment, why care now? But Cen Wu still patted Xie Guilan’s cheek weakly: I’m fine.
Well. Forget love—now we’ve got matching injuries.
The hospital was close. The wound, though bloody, wasn’t severe—the thug had pulled his swing last second.
“No concussion,” the doctor said, “but we’ll scan to be sure.”
Cen Wu, wilted from painkillers, still winced when Xie Guilan reached for his phone:
“Young Master, I should call Chairman Cen.”
His voice shook.
Cen Wu grabbed his wrist. “D-Don’t.”
Cen Xiao would definitely be furious. If he ended up scolding Xie Guilan, their brotherly bond would be shattered for good.
Xie Guilan knew Cen Wu was afraid he’d get blamed, but a head injury wasn’t something to take lightly. He still called Cen Xiao.
With that bandage on his head, there was no way to hide it from his parents. Cen Xiao sent them a message first.
Guan Xingxue was still at the film studio—her movie had just started shooting a few days ago. Cen Xiao’s company was closer, so he arrived at the hospital first. Seeing Cen Wu already bandaged up and not the bloodied, half-dead mess he’d imagined, he relaxed slightly.
His brows furrowed, ready to lecture—
But Cen Wu had already mastered the art of preemptive strikes. Pale-lipped, he mumbled, “I… I’m hopeless. I’d dig for wild vegetables.”
Cen Xiao: “…”
The words died in his throat. He could only glare at the bandage on Cen Wu’s head.
Xie Guilan wasn’t surprised those people had found him. The bar had surveillance, and that scar-faced man was sharp—too suspicious not to check the footage.
He never wanted to drag Cen Wu into this. It could easily escalate into a conflict between the Cen and Xie families. But Cen Wu always found a way to him.
He’d rather Cen Wu just gave up on him.
The scan showed no intracranial damage, but the doctor insisted on overnight observation. Cen Xiao had his assistant handle the admission while he took the scans to consult the doctor.
Cen Wu sat on the hospital bed, the edge of his bandage peeling slightly. Xie Guilan pressed it back gently and asked, “Does it still hurt?”
“Don’t… don’t talk to me,” Cen Wu swatted his hand away. “I don’t want to talk to you either.” After a pause, he added, “Not tomorrow either. I… I hate you.”
Are you happy now, you heartless jerk? I’ll never forgive you.
“Mm.” Xie Guilan exhaled, his hands still trembling slightly, but he pulled Cen Wu into an embrace anyway, shameless as ever. “I’ll talk to you. I like you.”
There was one good thing about Xie Guilan—no matter how much they fought, he never said he didn’t like Cen Wu. He was careful not to hurt him, even when Cen Wu claimed to hate him over and over.
Cen Wu pushed at Xie Guilan’s face just as Cen Xiao walked back in. The sight of them tangled together instantly darkened his expression.
Thanks to Xie Guilan, he was starting to develop a fear of men. Every guy annoyed him now—even himself and Cen Jinshan.
I wish Cen Wu’s world could just be free of men.
When Guan Xingxue arrived, Cen Wu tried the same trick—sending Xie Guilan away so he could sweet-talk her first and keep her from getting angry at him.
He tugged Xie Guilan’s sleeve, eyes watery with pain, and sniffled softly. “I’m… I’m hungry.”
Xie Guilan was silent for a few seconds before tucking the blanket around him. “I’ll go get you something to eat.”
With the back of his head injured, Cen Wu couldn’t lie flat without feeling nauseous, so he had to sit propped up on his side.
Afraid Xie Guilan would worry, he sneakily sent him a message while Cen Xiao and Guan Xingxue weren’t looking.
【Cen Wu: kitten holding bowl.jpg】
【Cen Wu: I want spicy hot pot!】
Guan Xingxue pinched Cen Wu’s ear lightly. “I’m not against you spending time with him. But his life is more dangerous than you realize. He might want to protect you, but danger isn’t something he can choose—and you’ll get hurt too.”
She knew Cen Wu wanted to save Xie Guilan. She’d never discouraged him, but deep down, she didn’t think it would change anything.
That was why Cen Jinshan found Xie Guilan so tragic.
Some people were like steel marbles—destined from the start to roll downhill. They didn’t realize it, thinking the harder they pushed, the faster they’d go. But all they were doing was accelerating their own fall.
Cen Wu pressed his lips together and nodded.
He understood what she meant. If Xie Guilan hadn’t been so clever, he wouldn’t have killed Chen Weiguo.
Maybe if Song Lingwei had died earlier, he’d have been sent to an orphanage—not become Xie Shangjing’s nemesis or Xie Mingcheng’s pawn. His life could’ve taken a different path.
In the original novel’s ending, Xie Guilan killed many, ruled Huaijing, and gained power and status beyond measure. But that steel marble never stopped rolling.
That was why the final installment was titled The Flames of Hell.
What Cen Wu wanted wasn’t just for Xie Guilan to come home—he wanted that marble to stop. That was why he hadn’t run away yet.
He wouldn’t meet Xie Guilan on that road to hell. Instead, he’d walk with him back to the fork in the path, wait for his family to find him. How could he leave Xie Guilan alone before then?
Looking at Guan Xingxue, he pleaded, “But I… I believe in him. Mom, can’t you also—”
Can’t you believe in him too?
Because he’s your child. The person he was supposed to love was you. He must have wanted so badly to meet you—walked such a long, hard road to get here.
Guan Xingxue’s eyes grew damp. For some reason, every time she met Cen Wu’s gaze, her heart ached fiercely. She cupped his face. “I understand. I’ll trust that he can protect you too.”
Cen Wu’s eyes curved into crescents.
“You…” Her tone was chastising but gentle, her eyes warm. “Does your head still hurt? Always worrying about others.”
He’d almost forgotten the pain until she mentioned it. Now it throbbed anew, leaving him wilted and teary-eyed.
Guan Xingxue felt both amused and heartbroken. Sitting beside him, she suddenly asked, “Xiao Bao, have you thought about studying abroad next semester?”
Cen Wu stiffened. What? Weren’t we just having a nice moment? Why the sudden jump to sending me away?
If this weren’t a wish-fulfillment novel, years later, he’d probably reunite with Xie Guilan in some dramatic, forced love scenario.
He opened his mouth to refuse—then remembered.
The original Cen Wu’s parents had planned to send him abroad. His grades were too poor for a decent domestic university, and with his frail health, Guan Xingxue couldn’t bear to see him suffer through senior year. Studying overseas was the easier option.
Cen Wu slumped back against the pillows, his voice weak but firm. “Mom, I… I don’t want to go.”
Guan Xingxue had indeed briefly considered sending him abroad to separate him from Xie Guilan, but she would never force it.
Besides, Cen Wu’s grades had improved dramatically. Unsure of his plans, she’d wanted to ask. She knew a renowned Hollywood director—if Cen Wu showed interest, she could introduce them, maybe even arrange for him to study film at the director’s university.
But if he refused, she wouldn’t push.
Xie Guilan stood outside the hospital room for a long time. Only when Guan Xingxue finished discussing studying abroad did he realize his legs had gone stiff. He waited a few more minutes before entering.
He hadn’t bought the spicy hot pot Cen Wu asked for—just a bowl of porridge.
Cen Wu recognized the brand. Even their cheapest option cost over eighty yuan. He shot Xie Guilan a look of pure “you spoiled brat” disapproval before grudgingly taking a sip, wincing at the extravagance.
Cen Xiao was mildly appeased. Poor as Xie Guilan was, he never hesitated to splurge on Cen Wu—like someone starving who still buys premium cat food for their pampered pet.
Cen Jinshan arrived after reviewing the surveillance footage and reporting the assault.
The tattooed thug hadn’t dared aim for Xie Guilan’s vitals. Even an unwanted Xie bastard’s life was worth more than his. He’d meant to strike Xie Guilan’s shoulder—
But Xie Guilan stood nearly a head taller than Cen Wu. When Cen Wu jumped in, the pipe landed squarely on his skull instead.
Cen Wu: “…”
Eyelashes damp, he flopped facedown on the bed like a wronged kitten.
Guan Xingxue laughed until tears spilled over, cupping his face. “Our Xiao Bao’s still growing! Maybe you’ll hit 190cm next year.”
Cen Wu: “…”
Thanks, Mom. If you weren’t cackling, I might’ve actually felt comforted.
The Cens weren’t young enough to pull all-nighters. Since Cen Wu’s injury wasn’t severe, he urged them to go home—Cen Xiao and Xie Guilan too.
But neither moved.
Cen Xiao had secured a VIP suite with a lounge and separate bedroom. Noticing Xie Guilan’s bandaged arm, he took the couch, leaving the bed for him.
Xie Guilan stayed by Cen Wu’s IV drip until his eyelids grew heavy with sleep.
“Young Master,” Xie Guilan whispered. Getting no response, he pressed icy lips to Cen Wu’s knuckles, voice raw: “I wish… I could go with you.”
Studying abroad didn’t scare him—his grades could get him into any university. Money? He’d earn it there. But Song Lingwei’s illness shackled him to Huaijing.
He knew he shouldn’t cling to Cen Wu. Yet every time he considered letting go, all he wanted was to hold his hand tighter.
How selfish I am.
Cen Wu wasn’t fully asleep. He felt Xie Guilan’s kiss on his hand but kept his eyes shut—this bastard’s sneaking kisses now?!—then froze at the whispered confession.
After a beat, he reached up to pinch Xie Guilan’s cheek. “I’m… not going abroad. Unless you never want to see me again.”
Truthfully, he couldn’t afford to leave. His plan was to hole up in some unlicensed rental, waiting to see if Xie Guilan would come for revenge.
Dropping out mid-semester required transfer paperwork—too much hassle to flee properly. Better to gamble.
If Xie Guilan spared him, he’d finish the transfer and disappear. If not… what an unfilial son.
Caught, Xie Guilan didn’t release his hand. Instead, he bit Cen Wu’s fingertip—barely avoiding a reflexive slap—and murmured, “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“For avoiding you.”
He’d meant to protect Cen Wu. Instead, he’d gotten him hurt—and upset.
“Y-You’d better be,” Cen Wu muttered.
Then Xie Guilan pressed a sealed bag into his palm. Cen Wu recoiled—is this what I think it is?!
It was just for show. Inside was drugs from Lan Ye’s underground casino, stamped with Xie Mingcheng’s fingerprints. Not damning evidence, but enough to buy temporary safety.
Cen Wu had no idea how Xie Guilan obtained it. This is way beyond my pay grade. No wonder he’d been so busy.
Xie Guilan couldn’t explain. If caught mid-mission with Cen Wu’s texts on his phone, the boy would become a target too.
After a long pause, Cen Wu hooked his pinky around Xie Guilan’s. “I… I forgive you.”
Xie Guilan’s lips curved as he linked their fingers.
“Where… where would you even follow me to?” Cen Wu huffed.
He wished Xie Guilan would choose a path for himself, not just trail after others. When will you learn to love yourself?
“Wherever you go,” Xie Guilan kissed his fingertips, “I’ll follow.”
Cen Wu launched into a pragmatic analysis: Xie Guilan should aim for Beijing University. Why abandon a bright future to chase him overseas?
Left alone, Xie Guilan would struggle to survive. Sure, he’d adapt—but why make him suffer needlessly?
Xie Guilan fell silent for a moment after listening, then leaned his cheek into the palm of his hand. His cold yet captivating peach-blossom eyes lifted as he whispered stubbornly, “Would you really not care about me, gege?”
Cen Wu: “…”
Who’s your gege?
“Why… why should I care about you?” Cen Wu snapped fiercely. “What… what can you even offer me? Can’t you just pull yourself together?”
Xie Guilan seemed to take his words to heart—somewhat. Burrowing into Cen Wu’s palm, he said with great determination, “I can sleep with gege.”
Cen Wu struggled to hold back from slapping him outright.
“Gege can go to class,” Xie Guilan licked his fingertips, his youthful voice low and pleasant. “I’ll wait for you at home and sleep with you at night.”
Cen Wu was almost led astray by his words, unable to stop himself from imagining the scene. Strangely, he felt a flicker of temptation—but then his ears burned red, and he smacked a hand over Xie Guilan’s mouth.
“Say… say it again properly,” Cen Wu fumed, dizzy with anger. “Why are you so obsessed with being kept by a man?”
Xie Guilan’s lips moved under his palm, utterly unrepentant. “I could also let gege ride me—”
Another slap.
Cen Wu’s hand stung from the force of it. It wasn’t until Xie Guilan promised to stand on his own, refusing to be a caged songbird, a plaything for men, or elope abroad with some guy, that he finally relented and moved his hand away.
The soundproofing in this hospital room was surprisingly good. Cen Xiao couldn’t make out what they were saying, but their constant murmuring grated on his nerves. Why do these two have so much to say whenever they’re together?
Cen Xiao cleared his throat loudly.
Cen Wu immediately pressed his lips together.
Xie Guilan stiffened for a second, but his face was thicker than Cen Wu’s. He quickly regained his composure, tucking the blankets around Cen Wu with practiced ease. “Young Master, call me if you need anything tonight.”
He wanted to stay with Cen Wu, but he doubted Cen Xiao would allow it.
Cen Wu waved him off, and Xie Guilan retreated to the adjacent bedroom. After lying still for a while, Cen Wu suddenly remembered something and pulled out his phone, intending to send Xie Guilan a goodnight.
It was almost like a Pavlovian response. Xie Guilan was always waiting for his goodnight, and over time, Cen Wu had grown accustomed to sending it—otherwise, he couldn’t sleep either.
The act of Xie Guilan going to bed was his cue. Cen Wu knew Xie Guilan was deliberately baiting him, waiting for that one message. But there was something calculated about it.
Otherwise, why would Xie Guilan send the same exact phrase at the same time every night, cutting off the conversation afterward? It was more rigid than a normal goodnight, like a programmed ritual.
Loving Xie Guilan meant being tamed by him. It was hard to retain one’s own identity under his influence. But Cen Wu understood him too well, maintaining a delicate balance between them.
He indulged Xie Guilan, playing along with every trap and test. Xie Guilan, in turn, found security in this dynamic, gradually surrendering some of his control without realizing it.
It was impossible to say who had tamed whom anymore. Xie Guilan himself no longer cared. He knew he loved Cen Wu.
Adored him.
Dignity and security were things he could willingly hand over, content to rise and fall in Cen Wu’s hands.
But just as Cen Wu typed out goodnight—before he could send it—Xie Guilan suddenly messaged him first.
Another photo.
The wound on Xie Guilan’s abdomen hadn’t healed yet; the stitches were still in. He’d just changed the dressing himself.
The young man’s cold peach-blossom eyes were lowered, his nose bridge sharp under the pale glow of the snow outside the window. He held the hem of his sweater between his teeth, his black sweatpants tugged down slightly at the waist.
His hands—pale, slender, and undeniably youthful—wrapped gauze around his waist with a quiet, almost sensual precision.
Cen Wu: “…………”
Cen Wu couldn’t comprehend it. Cen Wu was utterly baffled. Was it really necessary to seduce him with such… dedication while injured?
【Cen Wu: Ge, can I ask what motivates you to keep sending me nude photos?】
Xie Guilan, ever the conscientious kept man, replied in a tone so smug Cen Wu could practically hear it through the screen.
【Xie Guilan: Professional integrity.】
Cen Wu: “…”
Do you want me to fire you?