Afraid I'll Eat You?

Ji Mian stood in that dim, cramped corridor, feeling like an expensive piece of porcelain mistakenly thrown into a garbage heap.

The air was thick with an indescribable, complex odor—a cloying blend of cheap disinfectant, damp carpet, and some sort of low-quality air freshener, all fermented together. It clung to him黏腻ly, making every breath a physical discomfort. The carpet underfoot was a dark, almost black red, soft and spongy, as if it might seep years of accumulated grime with each step.

He clutched a thin room key card in his hand; its cold touch was his only comfort at the moment, a reminder that he still had some connection to the world he knew. This was the key to a high-rise apartment in Binjiang No.1—a place with an excellent view, top-of-the-line装修 and appliances, whose monthly rent could cover an entire year's stay at this shabby hotel.

It was the most dignified and effective "gift" he could think of. A gift that would silence anyone.

He found the door to "307," its paint peeling and mottled, revealing the dark wood beneath. Ji Mian straightened his impeccably neat shirt collar, as if the gesture could shut out the surrounding filth. He took a deep breath, and that mixed stench flooded his lungs again, churning his stomach.

He raised his hand and knocked with his knuckles.

Knock. Knock.

The sound was jarringly loud in the quiet hallway. There was no response from inside.

Ji Mian frowned, patience wearing thin, and knocked again, this time harder. He didn't like waiting, least of all in a place like this.

A few seconds later, a dragging footstep approached from inside, followed by a click as the lock turned.

The door was yanked open, and a tall figure filled the doorway, instantly cutting off whatever Ji Mian was about to say.

Cheng Yan was bare-chested, sweat trickling down his sharply defined muscles, disappearing into the waist of his faded work pants. He had clearly just come back from outside, a mix of sweat, rust, and machine oil clinging to him like a wall of heat pressing forward.

Ji Mian instinctively stepped back, holding his breath. This aggressive sense of oppression was more suffocating than everything in the hallway.

Cheng Yan's wet hair clung to his forehead, his brow bone low, his narrow eyes sharply scrutinizing Ji Mian in the dim light, his gaze traveling from his carefully styled hair down to his spotless leather shoes.

"Young Master Ji?" Cheng Yan's voice was hoarse, laced with undisguised sarcasm. "Condescending to grace us with an inspection?"

Ji Mian's scalp tingled under that gaze. He forced himself to ignore the man's overwhelmingly powerful physique, strained to squeeze out a smile, and held out the key card.

"I'm bringing you something," he said, his voice dry. "A friend's apartment. It's inconvenient for you to stay here."

Cheng Yan didn't take it. His eyes swept over the card, then returned to Ji Mian's face, a mocking grin curling at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh? A friend of Young Master Ji's, being so generous to me?" He took a step forward, and the narrow passageway was instantly filled by him.

Ji Mian was forced to retreat again, his back about to hit the wall. The smell of sweat and dust enveloped him like a net; he could even see a streak of wet machine oil on Cheng Yan's shoulder.

"Your living conditions are too poor," Ji Mian said, his heart racing, but he couldn't show weakness. "I just think... we could find another way to get along."

"Another way?" Cheng Yan let out a low laugh. "Bartering with an apartment? Young Master Ji is truly generous."

As he spoke, he closed in again, crossing the last distance between them in a single step.

Ji Mian's back slammed against the wall with a thud, trapped between the wall and Cheng Yan's scorching body.

"You—" The words got stuck in his throat. Too close. Close enough to feel the man's rough, scorching vitality.

Cheng Yan raised his hand—not to take the key card, but to reach for Ji Mian.

Ji Mian went rigid, watching helplessly as that hand, with traces of oil still in its fingernails, landed on his clean white shirt. A rough thumb pressed against the expensive fabric, rubbing it gently with force.

"Such clean clothes. Coming to a place like this—aren't you afraid of getting dirty?" Cheng Yan's voice was low, murmuring by his ear.

Ji Mian's body went completely stiff. That rough touch was like a brand, burning him, making him want to flee instantly. His prized composure and dignity were rapidly shattering under the man's savage encroachment.

"What exactly do you want?" His voice trembled uncontrollably.

Cheng Yan didn't answer. His gaze slowly drifted downward, past Ji Mian's trembling lips, stopping at his long, fair neck. The skin there glowed with a fragile light in the dimness.

Cheng Yan's eyes darkened. Then he slowly lowered his head, bringing his face close to Ji Mian's neck, like a beast sniffing its prey.

"What are you afraid of?" Hot breath sprayed against the side of his neck. "Afraid I'll eat you?"

The warm breath raised goosebumps on Ji Mian's skin. The nightmare he had forcibly suppressed surged up in an instant—in that dream, Cheng Yan had him pinned down like this, and then, a sharp pain at his neck, teeth piercing his skin, a possession and punishment tinged with the taste of blood...

"Don't touch me!"

Ji Mian finally lost control. The accumulated fear and humiliation erupted completely in that moment. He suddenly thrust out his hand, using all his strength to push against Cheng Yan's chest.

But his meager strength was nothing against Cheng Yan, who spent his days dealing with steel and concrete on construction sites—it was like a cat scratching at him.