The same beautiful, melancholic face, with long, dark eyelashes drooping down, gives off an air of being difficult to approach, leaving admiration only possible through a veil of mist.
But in the photo, it’s not the same.
When he usually presents himself, he has the aura of a melancholy beauty, his presence so striking that even staring from a distance feels like a transgression. It’s impossible to discern that his true identity is that of a beautiful wife who has already been captured.
In the photo, he…
completely fits the identity of a wife, lying on white, clean sheets, dressed in a gaudy tank top and short skirt, with someone holding his delicate ankle, posing in ways that defy description.
It’s as if he’s perfectly accustomed to it.
Even captured in clear, distinct photos, they allow some unknown rogue to indulge in fantasies when no one is watching.
The entire scene is incredibly distorted, resembling a confused dream tinged with desires.
“Tang Zhen…” Yan Chuan’s breath quickens as he struggles to contain himself, trying not to make a sound akin to panting.
He blinks repeatedly, as if hoping to ease his inner nerves, the thick, curled eyelashes resembling butterflies perched upon branches.
More like a fledgling bird caught in a playful child’s palm, its underdeveloped wings unable to support its flight, forced to endure gentle prods against its soft down.
“Why did you come back…” Yan Chuan stumbles over his words, attempting to forget the photo he just saw. “Did you not encounter anything…?”
He’s extremely tense, unsure of what Tang Zhen means.
Does he intend to explain how the photo came to be, whether he shot it, or is he ready to drop his usual facade and reveal his true self?
Standing before the bed, looking down at him, is Tang Zhen.
The tall man stands against the light, his features slightly blurred by the halo around them, requiring Yan Chuan to squint just a bit to clearly see his face.
Still the familiar features, dark eyebrows and charming eyes. However, the gentle aura that usually surrounds him is absent, replaced by a depth that’s hard to articulate.
For the first time, Yan Chuan realizes that Tang Zhen’s sharp features are even more pronounced than those of Dan Qi, perhaps even more cold-blooded than Dan Qi, who wears his emotions on his face.
The former has a bad temper, while the latter is too deep in disguise to read.
[My goodness, call the plumber]
[So scary… Can we request to kick him out of Yan Bao’s husband candidates, I’m scared to death]
[Wuwuwu, it’s me who doesn’t fit in; all I can think about is my wife being discovered by a pervert and then being subjected to a sad fate, and then switching to wearing such clothes hehehe]
[This dead man scared me too]
Tang Zhen stands casually before him, his eyes lowered, with a bit of blood staining his cheek.
With that expression, holding a bloodied weapon seems entirely appropriate.
Yan Chuan shrinks beneath the bed, appearing like a pitiful victim caught by a terrifying predator.
If the predator exerted just a little force, it could drag the defenseless beautiful wife from under the bed.
“Uh,” to Yan Chuan’s surprise, Tang Zhen actually answered his question. “I encountered someone.”
Yan Chuan is at a loss for words. “Then…”
He wants to ask if there was any danger, but other than the blood on Tang Zhen’s face, he appears completely unharmed and converses with ease.
The words stick in Yan Chuan’s throat, reduced to a soft, incoherent sound.
Fortunately, although Tang Zhen’s demeanor is markedly different, he is still perceptive and understands what Yan Chuan wants to say next: “I’m not hurt.”
“The blood is someone else’s.” He raises an eyebrow, casually wiping at his face, caring little about it.
Yan Chuan hesitantly nods.
“But,” Tang Zhen stares at him, suddenly breaking into a smile: “You know that person.”
Yang Chuan breaks out in a cold sweat at his gaze.
To be honest, Tang Zhen’s smile is gentle, his lips curving up comfortably as if trying to console someone. Yet there is no warmth in his eyes, making him look ominous.
It makes Yan Chuan want to curl back under the bed.
How can this pervert act so well?
Previously, Yan Chuan only felt a vague unease; he never anticipated this person would be capable of mesmerizing others to capture photos.
As for what Tang Zhen said, Yan Chuan ponders, not knowing whom he is referring to.
He thinks this way, but his surface still reflects confusion: “Who is it?”
Did Tang Zhen go out to fight with Dan Qi, or with his legitimate husband/false husband?
The latter two husbands are NPCs, so they probably wouldn’t bleed…
Could it be he went looking for Dan Qi?
Yan Chuan grows anxious, his eyelids lowered, uncertain whether Dan Qi has been injured.
“Don’t worry,” Tang Zhen smiles again, squatting down, reaching out to him: “It’s not what you think.”
He extends his hand in front of Yan Chuan, his tone gentle: “Come out; it’s too cramped inside.”
Tang Zhen’s hand is long and strong, his fingertips somewhat calloused. But it is warm and dry, devoid of the bloody scent Yan Chuan imagined.
He maintains this position for a while, clearly indicating that he won’t withdraw his hand until Yan Chuan takes it. Yan Chuan bites his lip, hesitantly placing his hand on Tang Zhen’s.
“Be careful,” Tang Zhen is the epitome of a gentleman, remembering to shield Yan Chuan’s head: “Don’t bump it.”
Thus, Yan Chuan is pulled up from under the bed.
In a rush to emerge, Yan Chuan hasn’t even put on his coat, still wearing the thin sleepwear that barely covers his thighs, exposing his long, slender legs to the air.
Because he crawled under the bed, a bit of dust clings to his pink knees, and his elbows are slightly bruised. Against his fair skin, they look particularly pitiful.
Upon seeing this, Yan Chuan purses his lips and pats his knees, trying to shake off the dust.
As for the stains on his clothes, there’s no help for it; after all, the underside of the bed, no matter how clean, is slightly dirty. It’s inevitable to get dirty after hiding there for quite a while.
The bruised elbows and chin will have to fade away with time.