Chapter 105: OS (6)

105 – OS (6)

Lin Xun was taken aback for a moment, watching as the youth reached out toward him. He extended his hand, making a light, tentative touch.

It was a holographic projection, but…

He said, “You look different from what I imagined.”

Lo rolled his eyes. “What did you expect me to look like?”

As he spoke, the light shifted, and he changed his appearance. His silver hair was tied up, and he wore a stylish shirt and vest, resembling a young master from a medieval manor. “How about this?”

Five seconds later, he transformed again, this time into a middle school student in a silver-blue uniform. “This?”

Another change, and he was clad in a flowing, snow-white ancient robe. “This.”

—And he changed once more.

“Enough,” Lin Xun said sincerely to the skateboarding boy with a silver earring in front of him. “Do you really want to hear it?”

Lo: “Tell me.”

Lin Xun: “A little loli, you get it, right?”

Lo stared at him earnestly for three seconds. A white light, like the kind that appears during transformations, flickered around him, but after three seconds, it faded away.

“Setting conflict, unable to execute,” Lo said, glancing at Dong Jun before turning back to Lin Xun. “Go talk to him.”

Lin Xun looked at Dong Jun.

Dong Jun raised an eyebrow slightly.

Dong Jun: “I thought you liked boys like that.”

Lin Xun: “Why would you think that?”

Dong Jun: “Just a guess.”

Lin Xun: “I’m curious about the basis for your guess.”

He tugged at the face of the Goddess of the Luo River, thinking to himself that he had never expressed such a preference. Why would Dong Jun think he liked the image of a pretty little boy?

Dong Jun: “You don’t like it? I’ll change the setting to a loli.”

“No, that’s fine,” Lin Xun quickly replied.

Then, he turned back to Lo. “Change back to the first one.”

Lo pouted and transformed back into the silver-haired youth in the exquisite, ornate robe. His eyes were frost-blue, giving him a cool and aloof appearance, which added a touch of arrogance and detachment to his entire demeanor.

Lin Xun looked at him and smiled.

Truth be told, he really did like such pretty boys. Seeing one made him want to go up and hug them.

He reached out to touch Lo’s face.

Lo jumped back.

Lin Xun: “Is this how you treat your dad?”

Lo stuck out his tongue at him.

Lin Xun: “You need some discipline.”

Lo sat down next to him and played with Zhi Zhen, his two small legs swinging back and forth under his robe.

He reached out toward Zhi Zhen, and immediately, Zhi Zhen’s fur bristled. The cat jumped back sharply, only cautiously approaching after a long while to check out the stranger.

Lin Xun watched him.

Then, he realized he had been unconsciously curling the corners of his lips, smiling like a father filled with affection.

—Text-based communication, which only appeared on electronic screens, was indeed too flat. After becoming a holographic projection, Lo’s image suddenly became vivid. No matter what kind of calculations and deductions those actions were based on, from the outside, he seemed human.

He looked at Dong Jun and noticed that Dong Jun had been watching him all along, with a faint, mysterious smile in his eyes.

The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind. He watched Lo, and Dong Jun watched him.

He studied Dong Jun’s features for a while, then looked back at Lo.

“You two look a bit alike,” he said.

“Really?” Dong Jun replied. “He looks more like you.”

Lin Xun: “I don’t see the resemblance to me. His eyes look like yours.”

“Wait,” he added, “the shape of his eyes is like yours, but the color is like Zhi Zhen’s.”

“His mouth is a bit like yours,” Dong Jun said.

“Then I must be blind.” Lin Xun looked back at Lo, only to see this thing expertly mastering the art of teasing cats, its right fingertips emitting a blue laser beam that projected a dot on the wall, enticing Zhi Zhen to pounce.

He asked Dong Jun, “Did you add new features to him?”

Just then, Dong Jun beckoned to Lo.

Lo walked over to him with drooping eyes. Though his expression wasn’t very cooperative, his movements betrayed his obedience.

Dong Jun reached out and ruffled Lo’s hair: “I only had someone design the appearance.”

Lin Xun leaned in: “But he can even tease cats now.”

Dong Jun: “You set that up yourself.”

Lin Xun: “…Oh.”

Dong Jun took out a small silver-white device, a spherical object. Lin Xun’s phone was placed nearby, so he picked it up and attached the sphere to the side of the phone, next to the charging port. With a faint click, the sphere and the phone fit together seamlessly.

Lin Xun took it to examine, turning the phone around a few times. He realized the sphere contained a balancing mechanism that ensured a tiny lens inside the device always faced forward, no matter how the phone was positioned or moved. A faint blue light shone from the tiny lens, aligned with the position of the Goddess of the Luo River—the source of the holographic projection.

In other words, as long as this lens was present, Lo’s holographic projection could appear in any environment, following him wherever he went.

What level of black technology could achieve something like this?

Galaxy, truly terrifying.

Lin Xun sidled up to Dong Jun, resting his elbow on his shoulder: “You’re so good to me.”

Dong Jun glanced at him coolly: “Can you not break this habit?”

“I can’t, really,” Lin Xun said. “Just think of it as a quirk. Calling you ‘you’ makes it sound like I admire you so much.”

Dong Jun looked at him.

He leaned over and kissed the corner of Dong Jun’s eye: “Really, you giving me this makes me so happy I could die.”

After saying this, he noticed Dong Jun’s expression soften slightly as he reached out to ruffle Lin Xun’s hair.

Lin Xun felt he had already figured out his Dong Jun’s personality.

In some ways, Dong Jun was similar to a certain Zhi Zhen—sometimes needing to be stroked the right way. But most of the time, this person was as even-tempered as a contented Zhi Zhen, truly gentle—so gentle it couldn’t even be called tenderness, but softness. When he was angry, a little coaxing would do the trick; when he wasn’t, he’d indulge you in whatever you wanted to do.

Lin Xun had never met his father growing up, but based on common sense, even his father might not have been this good to him.

“I must have been a good person in my past life, otherwise how could I end up with you?” Lin Xun mused aloud.

Dong Jun raised an eyebrow.

Lin Xun: “But not a particularly great good person.”

Dong Jun: “Why?”

Lin Xun: “Otherwise, I would have met you when you were little.”

He looked at Lo, who was having a blast playing with the cat, and for some reason blurted out: “I think you were just as beautiful when you were little.”

“And your personality wasn’t as cold then—you could have been lured home with a lollipop.”

“Mhm,” Dong Jun’s voice was low, with a hint of a nasal tone, utterly captivating, “you can still lure me now.”

“Then I’ll lure you,” Lin Xun hooked his pinky with Dong Jun’s: “Come, follow big brother home.”

Dong Jun didn’t move.

Lin Xun pulled him closer, deliberately softening his voice: “I’ll give you candy.”

The world spun. Dong Jun pressed down on his shoulders, and Lin Xun’s back collided with the soft cushion, sinking into it.

Failed to abduct someone and ended up being subdued—it seemed this human trafficker wasn’t going to pass muster.

However, Dong Jun’s home decor was so cold and rigid—such a starkly black, white, silver, and gray house with straight lines everywhere—it practically screamed “my owner is frigid” on a looping LED screen. Yet the bed and carpets were surprisingly soft all over, so even with such vigorous movements, there were no bumps or bruises.

Oh, and the sofa too.

Dong Jun’s fingers interlaced with his, applying a slightly firm pressure.

Dong Jun: “You’re distracted.”

Dong Jun: “What are you thinking about?”

Lin Xun looked at him and blinked: “Your bed is quite soft.”

Dong Jun said calmly, “Is this your first time sleeping here?”

Lin Xun: “No.”

Lin Xun: “Thank you for letting me sleep here safely all these days.”

Dong Jun: “What are you trying to say?”

Lin Xun didn’t speak, just traced circles in Dong Jun’s palm with his finger. When Dong Jun looked into his eyes, he averted his gaze.

Dong Jun began to kiss him.

He obediently parted his lips, letting the man kiss him however he pleased—after all, he was good at being compliant. Not only was he compliant, but he also knew to tug at the man’s tie—the cool tie clip was one he had fastened himself that morning.

He felt his leg was fully healed now. They were both adults; he couldn’t let his boyfriend suffer any longer. Besides, the knee wasn’t a particularly important part of the body anyway.

But he soon realized that knees were actually quite important, and not kneeling was also quite important.

When his legs were folded, the knees naturally bore the weight. But when they weren’t folded, there was nowhere to place them. Trying to wrap them around Dong Jun’s waist or rest them on his shoulders still required using the knee joints.

In the end, he gave up. His whole body was weak and trembling, and none of his joints had any strength left. His Dong Jun was still relatively gentle; even though he had no experience, he could feel he was being deliberately cared for—a gentle torment, like the Ferris wheel he’d ridden long ago. He forgot everything, only clinging to Dong Jun to seek kisses. He actually liked the feeling of being breathless.

Finally, Dong Jun was about to pull out.

Lin Xun wrapped his arms around Dong Jun’s shoulders and whimpered, not letting him get up.

Dong Jun looked at him, his expression seeming surprised. Lin Xun’s ears burned, but he didn’t back down. He buried his face in Dong Jun’s shoulder, slightly lifting his legs to wrap around him, waiting until it spilled inside him before lifting his face again. He didn’t know what expression he wore now—perhaps a hint of timid testing.

Then, he saw a faint red glint in Dong Jun’s eyes.

A little… mad.

It hadn’t been like this earlier.

—And then it truly went mad.

A kiss far heavier than before descended. By the time Lin Xun was on the verge of suffocation, his body instinctively struggling for survival, Dong Jun held on for three more seconds before releasing him. Lin Xun’s vision darkened, colorful stars floating in his sight. Before he could recover, the soft flesh of his neck was bitten. It hurt, as if a wild beast were sucking and biting him. He weakly said, “It hurts,” his tone sounding like he was crying.

Crying didn’t save him.

Similarly, begging for mercy didn’t save him, nor did shouting anything else.

He had been riding a Ferris wheel in the first half of the night, but by the second half, he was on a roller coaster.

People always do things they regret, he thought before passing out.

He slept like the dead until he felt no one beside him, then jolted awake.

The sky was already bright. Dong Jun stood before him fully dressed, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “I’m going to the Galaxy.”

Lin Xun hugged the blanket and ignored him, feeling he had been bullied a bit too much—the marks on his skin still throbbed with pain.

Dong Jun tucked the blanket snugly around him and turned to leave, but Lin Xun reached out and grabbed his hand, asking when he would be back.

Dong Jun said, “Tonight.”

Lin Xun just looked at him without speaking.

Dong Jun amended, “As soon as possible.”

Lin Xun let him go.

After he left, the entire room fell silent. Lin Xun fished out his phone and scrolled through the group chat.

The cultivation world was peaceful, with no demon invasions reported in the past two days—an unusual calm. Xiaoyaozi wondered if the mortal realm’s barrier had strengthened on its own.

Returning to the messages, Qi Yun had sent countless scolding texts. Lin Xun skimmed through them and learned that Qi Yun had gone to dinner with the film crew, only to find no one available to pick him up afterward. He had nearly been “casually” taken away by the director, but luckily, Brother Chang Ji had just finished his group meeting and managed to pick him up just in time.

Everything seemed normal. Lin Xun still felt groggy, as if his brain were waterlogged. He tossed his phone aside and fell back asleep almost instantly.

Yet in his dream, his mind remained oddly clear.

He was carefully climbing a wall—and not even his own wall. Below him stood his sister, steadying the ladder.

Lin Xun reflected that he had never done anything sneaky like this as a child, truly. He had always been well-behaved, the most obedient kid around. His days were spent lurking in the technical forums of the deep web—whatever dealings he had there or what he did aside—in the real world, he had never done anything wrong, never taken so much as a needle or thread from others.

The wall was covered in thick ivy, a deep emerald green. Afraid the ladder might slip, he cautiously glanced down.

His heart skipped a beat. Diagonally across, through the half-drawn curtains of the first-floor living room window, he could see clearly. On the floor lay a woman with jet-black hair and a beautiful face, her eyes closed as if asleep. Her long eyelashes resembled black butterflies resting on her eyelids.

She also had an elegant neck, but everything below it was covered by a white cloth, only hinting at a human shape.

A vague awareness or memory in the dream told him this was a dead woman, and the reason her sleeping face looked so serene was that she had died by suicide.

Opposite her, on the sofa, sat a man dressed in black. He was bowed over, his expression hidden. The ashtray on the coffee table was filled with cigarette butts. Three minutes passed, and he hadn’t moved an inch—less like a living person, more like a black statue.

Now Lin Xun understood why he was climbing the ladder. Faced with such a man, no one would dare knock on the living room door and take the stairs inside.

Steadying himself, he gripped the ladder’s handrail and carefully continued upward. The balcony railing was within reach. He nimbly climbed over it, moving not like a novice but like a seasoned trespasser. After a few steps on the balcony, he pushed open a window.

It was a music room. In the center stood a massive black Steinway grand piano.

A Steinway, indeed. His subconscious told him this piano would produce extraordinarily beautiful music.

At that moment, there was a person sitting on the piano bench, but he wasn’t playing. He seemed to be staring blankly at the black and white keys. A slender figure with long, jet-black hair like the woman downstairs, he wore an exquisite white silk shirt, his head slightly lowered, his profile quiet and beautiful.

But he seemed so sad, Lin Xun thought.

Perhaps hearing the movement, he looked up in this direction.

Lin Xun felt he had never seen such beautiful eyes before.

—But he had also never seen such hollow eyes.

The person inside was like a lifeless, beautiful doll. And Lin Xun wanted to make him smile.

He reached into his pocket, where there was a lollipop he had prepared long ago—a rainbow-colored one, the kind he had bought many of from the store, tasted them all, and chosen as the most delicious.

He extended his hand holding the lollipop through the window.

“Here, have some candy.”