On his way to the study, Chu Shangluo felt his blood boiling.

In that brief moment, he connected several events from recent times. The first time he suspected Shen Jue was Ren Jiaoming was the day he held Shen Jue’s hand before heading to the ski resort—there had been rough, scab-like marks on Shen Jue’s hand. But the second time he held it, the hand was perfectly smooth. He had felt something was off back then but couldn’t pinpoint what.

Not long ago, Ren Jiaoming mentioned having an aunt suffering from a mental illness. The middle-aged woman who collapsed in the snow yesterday also showed signs of the same condition. The cold medicine Shen Jue gave him—he had seen the same medicine in Ren Jiaoming’s home.

They both liked jade. They both liked white roses. Ren Jiaoming’s real name was Ruan Jin. “Shen Jue” also had “Jue” (jade) in his name.

The questions that had puzzled him for so long—why the Yu family was willing to take on the burden of the Chu family, why they offered up their private island, why they would lose 500 million buying a villa at a loss, and why they were targeting the Wen family—all made sense if Shen Jue and Ren Jiaoming were the same person.

A supposedly sickly, paralyzed man with such strong legs—no longer strange.

As for the blood on the bed this morning…

Chu Shangluo suddenly shoved open the study door and stormed inside. He saw the man sitting at the desk, back facing him, wrapping a bandage around his arm. Ren Jiaoming turned his head, surprise flashing in his eyes.

Chu Shangluo’s anger surged to his head. He strode over, grabbed Ren Jiaoming by the collar, and shouted, “You really have some nerve! Playing me like a fool—was it fun for you?!”

Ren Jiaoming, still halfway through wrapping the bandage, hadn’t even tied it yet. He immediately steadied Chu Shangluo, who was swaying unsteadily. “The effects of the drug in your system haven’t worn off yet. You shouldn’t get agitated. I didn’t mean to deceive you. I wanted to help you.”

Chu Shangluo’s breathing grew heavier, his rage intensifying the remnants of the drug still in his body. His temperature kept rising, his grip on Ren Jiaoming’s collar weakening.

“Ren Jiaoming, you’re something else! Quite the actor! A few days ago, I thought I didn’t hate you anymore. I thought we could just go back to being strangers. But now… now I want to crack open your head and—” He gasped heavily, his face flushed, “—see what’s inside! Are you addicted to lying to me?!”

Ren Jiaoming lowered his gaze, concealing the pain in his eyes, and quietly replied, “No.”

Chu Shangluo shoved him away forcefully. “Forget it. You’re so damn boring.”

The heat in his body was becoming unbearable. The torment from the previous night returned with a vengeance. His legs weak, he tried to leave, not wanting to get further involved with Ren Jiaoming.

However, after just two steps, an arm wrapped around his waist. The suit jacket draped over his shoulders slipped to the floor.

Ren Jiaoming pulled the burning, powerless Chu Shangluo back onto the bed.

Chu Shangluo sat on Ren Jiaoming’s lap, his waist locked tightly by the other man’s arm. His hot breath fanned over Ren Jiaoming’s pale face.

“Let me go…damn you…”

He swung his fist against Ren Jiaoming’s shoulder, but due to the effects of the drug, his punches lacked any strength.

The usually imposing President Chu now resembled a tamed tiger, transformed into a lazy big cat. His sharp claws were retracted, leaving him powerless as he sat in Ren Jiaoming’s arms, his expression dazed with a unique allure. He tried to push Ren Jiaoming away, his head drooping so low it nearly rested on the other man’s shoulder as he muttered curses, “Damn… let me go… don’t fucking touch me.”

During the struggle, Chu Shangluo’s robe slipped halfway down his body. Ren Jiaoming’s gaze darkened, the crimson mole at the corner of his eye deepening in color. Grasping Chu Shangluo’s chin, he silenced his protests by sealing his lips with a kiss, swallowing every word.

“Mmh… no…” Chu Shangluo’s thoughts grew hazy. As their lips intertwined, he subconsciously yielded to the cool, soft sensation exploring every inch of his mouth.

The kiss lasted for a long time, until Chu Shangluo could barely breathe. He gasped for air, struggling to maintain the last shred of clarity, his voice hoarse as he protested, “Damn… you’re terrible at kissing… and you’re bad in bed too… I don’t want to do this… let me go!”

To Ren Jiaoming, those words held no real weight. He kissed Chu Shangluo again, gently cupping his face as it continued to droop, his icy eyes now tinged with desire. “I studied a bit today. I’ll make you feel good.”

The torment from the drug overwhelmed Chu Shangluo, and hearing the words “feel good” shattered the last trace of his rationality.

Outside, the shadows of tree branches swayed and intertwined. On the winter island, the tides surged relentlessly.

＊

When Chu Shangluo woke again, the burning heat had subsided, and the drug’s effects had fully worn off. His entire body felt drained, his limbs sore to the point where even lifting his arm was exhausting.

The sound of steady breathing reached his ears. His body stiffened as he turned his head, meeting the sight of Ren Jiaoming’s peaceful sleeping face.

That was enough to fully jolt him awake—and fill him with rage. Without thinking, he kicked Ren Jiaoming off the bed.

Ren Jiaoming’s eyes snapped open, coldly meeting Chu Shangluo’s furious glare. For a moment, displeasure flashed in his gaze before it was masked, returning to calm indifference.

Unfortunately, the kick had landed right on Ren Jiaoming’s injured right arm. The wound from earlier had reopened, blood seeping through the bandages.

Meanwhile, Chu Shangluo winced, feeling a sharp pain radiate from his ankle.

Ren Jiaoming noticed his discomfort and immediately lifted the blanket, revealing Chu Shangluo’s swollen, bruised ankle—the only injury he sustained from his fight with Chen Ran the previous day.

Without hesitation, Ren Jiaoming fetched the medical kit and knelt beside the bed. Gently, he placed Chu Shangluo’s bruised ankle down, his hands tenderly massaging the injury with obvious care.

Watching Ren Jiaoming, half-kneeling before him, his own arm bleeding while he attentively tended to his ankle, Chu Shangluo felt his anger inexplicably ease.

He was too exhausted. Though countless questions crowded his mind, at this moment, he didn’t feel like asking any of them. Annoyed, he muttered, “Got a cigarette?”

Ren Jiaoming gave him a glance, wiped his hands carefully with a wet tissue, then opened the drawer beside the bed. He pulled out a cigarette box and lighter, offering them to Chu Shangluo.

Unable to help himself, he added softly, “You’re still recovering from a cold. You should smoke less.”

Chu Shangluo took a cigarette, placing it between his lips. “None of your damn business.”

Ren Jiaoming sighed inwardly and leaned forward to light Chu Shangluo’s cigarette. Chu Shangluo took a deep drag, tilting his head back slightly, feeling much more at ease.

Ren Jiaoming continued massaging Chu Shangluo’s ankle in silence. Neither spoke as the minutes passed. After a long while, Chu Shangluo glanced at the clock and said, “The auction is about to start soon.” His meaning was clear: he could stop now.

Ren Jiaoming paused, then asked, “Feeling better?”

Chu Shangluo took another drag from his cigarette without replying.

After a moment of quiet, Ren Jiaoming wiped the ointment from his hands, then fetched a set of perfectly tailored clothes he had prepared earlier. Moving back to Chu Shangluo’s side, he gazed intently at the man who seemed lost in thought, lazily exhaling smoke. Quietly, Ren Jiaoming began unbuttoning his robe.

Chu Shangluo was exhausted. Though Ren Jiaoming’s skills had improved significantly since before, the relentless torment from last night into today had worn him down completely. He wasn’t made of steel—his body simply couldn’t take much more.

It had been a long time since Ren Jiaoming had tended to Chu Shangluo like this. Unlike the performances he once put on, his actions now were sincere, driven by genuine devotion. Every inch of this body bore traces of his touch, and now, it was he who carefully buttoned the shirt, covering up the sensual figure beneath—body and soul, all belonging to him.

Chu Shangluo shot Ren Jiaoming a brief, irritated glance, wondering why he was fastening the buttons so slowly.

Their breaths mingled, carrying the faint scent of tobacco. Ren Jiaoming hated the smell of cigarettes—every kind, in fact—yet Chu Shangluo was the only exception.

Once Ren Jiaoming had finished dressing him, his gaze lingered for a moment on Chu Shangluo’s long, slender legs before finally lifting his eyes to meet Chu Shangluo’s face.

Leaning against the headboard, Chu Shangluo stared out the window, absently loosening the tight collar of his shirt. Three buttons came undone, revealing faint red marks across his skin. His chest rose and fell gently, his brows furrowed with a mixture of exhaustion and irritation, while a subtle glimmer lingered in his dark eyes.

Ren Jiaoming’s heart stirred. Slowly, he reached out and brushed his fingers over the kiss mark on Chu Shangluo’s neck.

Startled, Chu Shangluo looked at him with surprise.

Ren Jiaoming had never left marks on his body before. But now, he wanted Chu Shangluo covered in them—completely claimed.

Lowering his gaze, Ren Jiaoming grasped Chu Shangluo’s pale ankle, bent down, and pressed a lingering kiss to it.

In that moment, Chu Shangluo understood.

For a man as proud and reserved as Ren Jiaoming to lower his head and kiss his ankle—there was only one meaning.

He had tamed Ren Jiaoming.

And Ren Jiaoming had willingly placed the reins in his hands.

This was Ren Jiaoming’s way of declaring loyalty.

Chu Shangluo heard himself say, “It’s too late now.”

Ren Jiaoming felt a bitter ache in his heart as he helped Chu Shangluo put on his shoes. He said, “Ask me anything you want. I won’t hide anything from you.”

Chu Shangluo took a deep breath, refusing to look at Ren anymore. His gaze settled on the window as he spoke calmly, “Are you Shen Jue? Then why didn’t I notice anything wrong that day when I grabbed your face?”

“No,” Ren Jiaoming replied, standing up. “The one whose face you grabbed was the real Shen Jue.”

“Then when was it you?”

Ren Jiaoming went to the bathroom to wash his hands. “Whenever you had physical contact, it was me. You’ve only seen Shen Jue once—when you pulled down his mask.”

The anger Chu Shangluo had just managed to suppress flared up again. Thinking back to how convincingly Ren Jiaoming had pretended to be Shen Jue—his expressions, his tone—so flawless that he had been completely fooled, Chu Shangluo couldn’t help but sneer, “Wow, you really missed your calling by not joining the entertainment industry. You’ve played the good nephew at the Wen family, my perfect secretary, and even Shen Jue. I’m seriously impressed.”

Ren Jiaoming hesitated for a moment before handing Chu Jiaoming a cup of ginger tea. “Actually, it wasn’t that difficult. As long as I spoke less, it was easy.”

Chu Shangluo rubbed his temples, scoffing. So that’s why Ren Jiaoming was always so quiet—afraid of messing up his performance?

“But you sure talked plenty when you were pretending to be Shen Jue.”

Ren Jiaoming sat back down, hesitating again before replying, “Wearing a mask made it easier to pretend.”

Chu Shangluo: “…”

He exhaled sharply, deciding to drop the topic of acting altogether.

“Then tell me—between you and Shen Jue, who’s the real heir?”