There was breathing, a heartbeat, and a body temperature slightly higher than his own, along with the faint scent of mint leaves… all belonging to a living person.
Were even the NPCs in the survival variety shows so realistic, so lifelike?
Yan Chuan struggled to recall the other “people” he had seen but shook his head, unable to come to any conclusion.
His husband was perhaps… a bit too intelligent, was the only adjective Yan Chuan could come up with.
The role-playing was quite impressive; his responses flowed so smoothly that Yan Chuan almost believed he actually had such a husband.
“Alright,” he said as he dried his hair and placed the towel aside, “It’s time for bed.”
The husband replied, “Mm.”
Yan Chuan adjusted the covers again.
He tugged at his husband’s hand and playfully said, “Can I sleep outside tonight?”
Sharing a bed with an NPC felt too risky; if something happened at night, it would be easier for him to escape… if he could.
“As you wish,” the husband showed no objections and patted the blanket, “Go to sleep, it’s late.”
Once Yan Chuan settled under the covers, he turned off the lights, naturally wrapping him and the blanket in his arms.
Like holding a giant pillow, Yan Chuan, now cocooned like a silk baby, found himself firmly held, unable to move.
Yan Chuan: …This was a mistake.
Initially, he wanted to wrap himself tighter so his husband wouldn’t think of any obligations, but now he found even turning over was difficult.
The bedroom was enveloped in darkness. Yan Chuan faced away from his “husband,” his eyes wide open in the dim light.
He dared not move and lay rigidly on his side. His fingers tangled anxiously beneath the blanket, feeling the steady rhythm of breathing from behind.
With the husband holding him, the slightly warmer body temperature came through the summer quilt, causing Yan Chuan’s back to flush with heat.
He couldn’t fall asleep.
Yan Chuan had never shared a bed with anyone else, at least not since he remembered living in the hospital for treatment.
The space beside him felt sunken, the faint scent of mint hung in the air, and the hand resting across his waist with its excessive warmth all made it painfully clear that someone was sleeping next to him.
According to the script, this was his “husband,” the victim whom he had kept in the dark. Yan Chuan tried hard to accept this setting and to act the part of a good wife.
Yet, he still felt somewhat unaccustomed. While his words and expressions could be performed, the subconscious reactions were different.
Yan Chuan touched his cheek, realizing the warmth had not dissipated.
Breathing in the subtle scent of mint, he found himself surprisingly at ease.
In fact, it even felt a bit familiar?
Without thoroughly understanding why, he felt his eyelids growing heavy. Perhaps the role-playing had drained too much energy, and unexpectedly, Yan Chuan fell asleep in his husband’s arms.
*****
“Help me!”
“He’s going to kill me!”
The dead silence of the night was suddenly ripped apart by a sharp voice, anguished to the point of being hoarse, sending chills down one’s spine.
Yan Chuan woke up with a start.
What was that commotion outside?
With no time to ponder, his heart had already begun to race unevenly.
Woken abruptly from a deep slumber, Yan Chuan felt dizzy and lightheaded.
His lips turned pale, and a ringing in his ears began to amplify as the world around him blurred.
Yan Chuan was like this; his health was fragile, and it took him a while to recover, even now amidst the survival variety show.
He gasped for breath, frantically trying to break free from the blanket and the hand resting on his waist in an attempt to calm his racing heart.
A warm hand pressed against his chest from behind, gently holding him.
“Are you uncomfortable?”
The husband turned on the light, comforting him as he asked, “How about now, do you feel any better?”
Yan Chuan leaned into his embrace, his chin resting on his shoulder, and it took him a moment to muster enough strength to respond.
“Mm…” came out in a weak tone.
The husband said nothing, steadfastly being his human pillow.
In the corridor, hurried footsteps echoed, sounding like someone was being chased and desperately trying to escape.
The cries for help continued, evolving into muffled sounds, followed by a loud crash as someone fell to the ground.
The situation seemed quite urgent.
“I’m fine,” recuperating somewhat, Yan Chuan murmured weakly, “What’s happening outside?”
He looked desperately at his husband, his face pale with fear. “Is someone in danger?”
The husband replied thoughtfully, “Mm,” as he put on a jacket, “I’ll check at the door. You stay here.”
“I want to go with you,” Yan Chuan stated firmly, “I’m worried.”
Before the man could respond, he was already dressed and had put on his shoes. The husband sighed in resignation, “Put this on; it’s cold outside.”
He handed Yan Chuan his own coat.
Yan Chuan, wearing a knee-length cotton nightgown, was hardly protected from the cold. He took the coat his husband offered.
The coat was much bigger than him due to the husband’s taller frame, but it effectively shielded him from the wind.
Yan Chuan followed his husband to the door.
Through the peephole, they could see other residents of the building emerging with flashlights in hand.
“I’ll go take a look,” the husband opened the door, “I’m not sure what’s happening.”
Yan Chuan insisted on going with him.
He didn’t know what thoughts were running through his husband’s mind, but his heart raced as he recognized the voice calling for help—it was An Wen, who had introduced herself that morning.
The girl who had obtained a couple’s identity as a high school runaway.
Yan Chuan was sensitive to sounds; An Wen’s voice was clear, and although her cries were shrill, he could still make out the urgency.
What trouble had she encountered?
Yan Chuan pondered, who was trying to kill her? What had driven her to run out of the apartment, screaming in the corridor?
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