After all, this guy was spoiled and rude, with a mouth that often spewed all sorts of unpleasant words. He loved belittling those who admired him, reducing them to nothing—truly insufferable.
For someone like him, it wouldn’t be surprising if one day, while walking down the street, he got stabbed a couple of times.
Xia Miao couldn’t sit still any longer. She threw on a coat, slipped into her shoes, and hurried out the door.
Late at night, the streets were nearly empty. As she walked along the road, trying to hail a ride on her phone, she glanced up and caught sight of a figure.
It was a tall, slender silhouette, staggering barefoot on the cold pavement, wrapped in what looked like clothes scavenged from a garbage dump—wrinkled and filthy.
The boy kept glancing around, his eyes filled with confusion, as if trying to recall the way home. But since he wasn’t yet familiar with it, every step he took required extra caution.
His figure looked fragile in the night, like an abandoned young beast. If the wind grew any stronger, he might just shatter right there, dissolving into mist.
The boy must have walked a long way—or perhaps he’d just survived a brutal fight. His body was covered in wounds, big and small, yet he seemed numb to the pain, trudging forward mechanically.
The moment he spotted Xia Miao, his eyes lit up.
He quickened his pace, stumbling desperately toward her. As he drew closer, Xia Miao noticed his feet and arms were fractured in places, twisted unnaturally.
How he endured the pain was a mystery. The creaking of his joints was enough to make one’s scalp crawl. Just as he was about to collapse from the effort, he finally reached her, lunging forward. Xia Miao instinctively reached out, and he fell into her arms.
“Miao Miao… Miao Miao…” He called her name joyfully, nuzzling her cheek and inadvertently smearing dirt on her. “I missed you so much.”
Xia Miao blinked. “How did you end up like this?”
“I walked back! There were so many bad people along the way. It wasn’t easy finding you!”
Fu Lan stretched out his hand, offering a bunch of wild roses. “Miao Miao, these are for you.”
The once-delicate pink-and-white blossoms looked like they’d been fought over in some battle—leaves missing, petals wilted and lifeless, scattered haphazardly. Dried blood, whose it was unclear, stained the flowers.
Their fragrance had long faded, yet every thorn on the stems had been meticulously plucked away.
His hands were crisscrossed with cuts as he pressed the flowers into her palm. Satisfied, he tilted his head, eyes curving into crescents, lips quirking up. “Miao Miao, pretty.”
It was unclear whether he meant the flowers or her.
Xia Miao pressed her lips together, raising her hand as if to hit him—but when her palm landed, it was feather-light, more like a caress against his face.
“Are you an idiot? I told you not to go, but you insisted! Now look at you—a complete mess!”
Fu Lan shrank back, suddenly timid. He always loved defying Xia Miao, but the moment she showed real anger, he became the coward.
Seeing his fearful expression only stoked Xia Miao’s frustration. But in the end, she just grabbed his hand. “Let’s go home!”
Covered in wounds, Fu Lan should have been rushed to the hospital. Yet for some reason, Xia Miao simply bought a pile of medicine from a pharmacy and took him back to her apartment, shutting the door as if deliberately cutting them off from the outside world.
She forced him onto the couch, then yanked off his clothes. His eyes suddenly gleamed with excitement. Helpfully, he reached out, slipping his hand under her skirt, fingers brushing against the edge of her underwear—
Xia Miao smacked his hand away.
“Behave!”
Fu Lan pouted. “Miao Miao, we’re not doing it?”
“Your body’s falling apart. What could we possibly do?”
The boy muttered, “That part’s not falling apart.”
“Fu Lan!”
He sighed. “Fine.” Slowly, he withdrew his hand.
Xia Miao hadn’t undressed him for anything indecent. She needed to clean his wounds and apply medicine. The injuries were far worse than she’d initially thought—gruesome at first glance, yet some were already healing unnaturally fast.
Her fingers traced a scar on his back. The tangible proof confirmed this wasn’t her imagination.
Fu Lan squirmed, ticklish but afraid of being scolded, so he held still, trembling as if enduring torture.
Xia Miao paused. “Did I hurt you?”
He blinked up at her. “No. Miao Miao’s touch is gentle. Feels good. Doesn’t hurt at all.”
Then he grabbed her hand, grinning. “Even if Miao Miao hurts me, I don’t mind.”
She scowled. “Don’t make me sound like some sadist. Why would I want to hurt you?”
He looked puzzled. “Why not?”
“Because I like you, you idiot! Of course I wouldn’t want to!”
Fu Lan stared at her, overwhelmed by a strange, unfamiliar emotion.
His chest felt tight, his blood churning oddly. Every cell in his body—already rebellious by nature—now spiraled further out of control, screaming at him to wrap around Xia Miao and never let go.
As she applied the medicine, Xia Miao’s mind wandered into dark territory. Without thinking, she muttered, “I really can’t let you wander around freely. I should just lock you up at home.”
Fu Lan tilted his head. “Miao Miao… wants to lock me up?”
Belatedly realizing how disturbing that sounded, she backpedaled. “Wait, no—I didn’t mean imprison—”
“Yes!” The naked boy suddenly sprang up, tackling her onto the couch. Like an overexcited large dog, he rubbed his face against hers. “Lock me up! Keep me all to yourself! Collect me, kill me, eat me, merge me with you—anything, as long as it’s Miao Miao!”
Perhaps the real freak was him. To his ears, “imprisonment” sounded like the sweetest confession.
