Wen Yuhan narrowed his eyes and silently watched Pei Shaocheng from a distance.
He suddenly had a feeling that this person was completely different from before, even becoming a stranger.
To be precise, he created all of this himself, gradually extinguishing the last bit of tenderness between them, and causing the original Pei Shaocheng to die completely because of his "most satisfying work".
And isn't this exactly what I wanted to see?
From now on, everything about Wen Yuhan will be completely unrelated to Pei Shaocheng.
A wrinkled shirt clinging to your body offers no protection whatsoever; it's better not to wear it at all.
Wen Yuhan simply took off her clothes and threw them on the carpet, then turned to unlock the door with her upper body bare.
"Dare to leave."
Pei Shaocheng's deep threat came from behind him. He remained seated on the sofa, motionless, like a hawk locking onto its prey. Then, in a cold, emotionless tone, he said, "If you dare touch the door today, I'll immediately call your little assistant over and tie you up and hang you unconscious in front of him. I mean it."
"You've received the notice, right? The script reading is at 8:00 AM sharp tomorrow. I need to go back and adjust the content."
“Write it right here.”
Wen Yuhan turned to look at Pei Shaocheng: "At least let me go back and get the computer first."
Pei Shaocheng observed Wen Yuhan's expression with great interest. After a moment, he picked up his phone from the table and made a call to Emily.
The call was answered quickly: "Hey, Brother Cheng."
Pei Shaocheng kept staring at Wen Yuhan and briefly instructed Emily, "The screenwriter and I are discussing the characters in the room. Please prepare some paper and ink. The screenwriter will be staying up all night to write the script."
There was a pause on the other end of the phone, followed by a confirmation: "You mean manuscript paper... and ink?"
Pei Shaocheng smiled and said, "Teacher Wen doesn't like computer writing. He told me personally that the stories written in the most traditional way have more warmth. Remember to prepare plenty for him... The night is still long."
Emily: "Oh, okay, I'll go prepare it right away. It will be delivered to your room shortly."
After hanging up the phone, Pei Shaocheng exhaled a puff of smoke, tapped his knee rhythmically with his index finger, and looked at Wen Yuhan's lips with a deeper smile.
"Teacher Wen, I remember that correctly."
He slowly got up and walked to Wen Yuhan's side, reaching into the other's trouser pocket and taking out the black fountain pen. Then he pried open Wen Yuhan's cold fingers and held the pen in his palm.
“Since Teacher Wen still knows that work is important, then stop running around.” Pei Shaocheng’s eyes darkened, and he forcefully pressed Wen Yuhan down into a chair. “Or has your habit changed, and you’re finally willing to keep up with the times and use a computer? If you just say so, perhaps I can…”
"You already have a plan, don't you?" Wen Yuhan looked calmly at her reflection in the mirror on the wall.
Finally, she smiled and said, "I wrote it by hand."
...
It was already 2:00 a.m., and the suite was so quiet that the only sound was the scratching of a pen on paper.
Not long ago, Xiao Yang came by. When he saw that Pei Shaocheng wouldn't allow Wen Yuhan to use the computer and that she could only write the script by hand, he grabbed Pei Shaocheng by the collar with red eyes, but was easily shaken off.
"Pei Shaocheng! You've gone too far!" Xiao Yang's neck stiffened, her voice trembling with anger. "It's just a matter of revisions, yet you made the teacher rewrite it word by word—nearly 40,000 words of script! How is it possible to finish writing it by eight o'clock tomorrow morning?!"
Pei Shaocheng calmly straightened his wrinkled collar and said coldly, "You probably don't understand your teacher Wen. He himself said he wasn't used to using computers."
"You!" Xiao Yang was speechless, then quickly walked up to Wen Yuhan, snatched the pen from his hand, and said through gritted teeth, "Teacher, you should go back and rest. I'll finish the rest!"
"Ha, you think you can do that?" Pei Shaocheng poured himself a glass of red wine, sat on the sofa and sipped it leisurely. "You've just wasted paper, pens and ink, producing a pile of worthless garbage."
"Xiao Yang," Wen Yuhan called softly, and said to Xiao Yang, "Go to sleep, there's no need to stay here all the time."
Xiao Yang was heartbroken, but he knew his own limitations. He hesitated and thought of a solution: "How about the teacher reads aloud while I write?"
Wen Yuhan smiled faintly: "Wouldn't that be even slower... Listen to me, let's go back to our room."
Xiao Yang bit his lip, feeling deeply powerless and resentful of his own inadequacy. If he were stronger, could he help Wen Yuhan instead of just being a hindrance?
Tears of shame and indignation welled up in Xiao Yang's eyes, her nails digging deep into her palms. She lowered her head and mumbled, "I'm sorry, Teacher Wen, it's all my fault for insisting you go to the bar… I…"
"Of course it's you." Before Wen Yuhan could speak, Pei Shaocheng coldly interjected from behind, "You don't know when to stop, you only care about your own pleasure, what else can you do besides delaying others?"
“No, that’s not true.” Wen Yuhan interrupted calmly, giving Xiao Yang a reassuring smile. “I’m genuinely happy today.”
"Teacher..." Xiao Yang turned her head away, swallowing the bitterness in her chest.
Wen Yuhan patted his shoulder and said softly, "Go to sleep. I'll go back as soon as I finish writing."
Watching Xiao Yang leave the room, Wen Yuhan let out a sigh of relief and returned his attention to the manuscript paper. It had been a long time since he had written a script solely with pen and paper like this.
Wen Yuhan unscrewed the ink bottle, dipped his brush in ink, and tried to ignore the dark gaze behind him as he buried himself in writing.
He was wearing a hotel bathrobe, which hung loosely over his shoulders. Because the cuffs were a bit long, he had to flatten them, revealing his well-defined wrists.
Amid the faint scratching of pens and paper, one hunched over a desk, the other sat on the sofa, neither exchanging a single word with the other.
Pei Shaocheng looked at the pale, slender neck beneath Wen Yuhan's tied-up hair, and tried his best to control the urge to pinch it hard and leave red marks on it. He then tilted his head back and swallowed a mouthful of wine.
Even now, he still can't calm himself down completely. He can see Wen Yuhan on the dance floor as soon as he closes his eyes.
The silk shirt wasn't clingy at all; a slight raise of the arm would reveal a soft, smooth waist.
With a cigarette in his mouth and a hint of intoxication in his eyes, he blended into the crowd to the music, seamlessly merging his refined restraint, desire, and sensual charm.
Pei Shaocheng saw with his own eyes that many people were trying to approach him, with intimate and ambiguous gazes, as if they wanted to devour Wen Yuhan whole with their eyes.
At that moment, Pei Shaocheng felt like he had gone mad. He wanted to take Wen Yuhan away and lock him up forever, regardless of the consequences. He wanted to gouge out the eyes, rip out the hearts, and tear apart the bones of everyone who coveted him. Even if he couldn't have him, even if he had never truly had him, he would never allow anyone else to covet him!
...
A note from the author:
Thank you so much for your support! I will continue to work hard!
Chapter 33
Pei Shaocheng stood up, picked up a glass of red wine, walked to Wen Yuhan, handed him the wine, and said coldly, "Have a drink with me."
Wen Yuhan was still writing with her hands, and without looking up, she said, "I'm busy."
Pei Shaocheng seemed not to hear him at all, and directly grabbed Wen Yuhan's chin, forcing him to tilt his head back, and brought the wine glass to Wen Yuhan's lips.
“You can drink with other people, but not with me.” Pei Shaocheng said, pinching Wen Yuhan’s cheek with force. The soreness made Wen Yuhan frown, and her pen drew a black line on the paper.
"Open your mouth," Pei Shaocheng commanded in a low voice.
Red wine dripped down Wen Yuhan's lips, staining the manuscript paper with a red blot, obscuring the original writing.
Wen Yuhan choked and coughed, scattering his manuscript papers across the floor. But Pei Shaocheng clearly wasn't going to let him off easily. He poured Wen Yuhan another glass, his expression cold, yet his tone was like that of lovers whispering sweet nothings:
“You used to always annoy me for trying to control you, but I’ve figured it out now.” Pei Shaocheng pulled a stray hair from Wen Yuhan’s forehead and poured wine into his mouth, saying, “Teacher Wen, since you love drinking so much, I might as well let you drink to your heart’s content, so you won’t have to run around everywhere, drinking and selling smiles.”
In the blink of an eye, another glass of wine was poured out. Wen Yuhan hadn't actually drunk much of it; most of it had flowed down his neck onto his body and bathrobe.
Pei Shaocheng looked at the panting Wen Yuhan, noticing a few drops of red wine remaining on his Adam's apple. Pei Shaocheng's throat tightened, and he leaned forward, opening his mouth to take Wen Yuhan's throat into his mouth.
"Ah..." Wen Yuhan's neck jerked back, his eyes trembling violently.
He felt his most vulnerable and sensitive spot being enveloped and sucked by a warm, moist mouth, as if the other person might reveal sharp teeth at any moment and deliver a fatal blow.
Pei Shaocheng's eyes were so deep and unfathomable that he was actually restraining himself, trying not to really bite the other person to death.
Wen Yuhan gripped the edge of the seat tightly, but refused to hug Pei Shaocheng's back.
The two figures reflected in the mirror resembled a cheetah biting into a swan's neck. Pei Shaocheng released his grip, stroking the teeth marks he had left on Wen Yuhan's Adam's apple, and asked in a low, hoarse voice:
"Do you think the killer in the story, like me, wanted to pin his painter teacher down on the table and brutally violate him, then bite open his throat when he was at his most excited, listening to him make sounds of both pleasure and pain..."
Wen Yuhan gasped for breath, his eyes glazed over. Pei Shaocheng was quite satisfied with his reaction, a belated sense of vengeful pleasure welling up inside him.
He slowly released his grip, scrutinizing Wen Yuhan, who was dressed in red wine, with great interest.
After a moment, he clicked his tongue lightly and said, "What an accident! The paper is smudged. I'll have to trouble you to rewrite it, Teacher Wen."
After speaking, Pei Shaocheng considerately bent down and picked up the manuscript papers one by one, tidied them up, and put them back in front of Wen Yuhan. He smiled and said, "You said I am your most satisfying work... so of course I am duty-bound to help you find creative inspiration."
...
The night was incredibly long. When the first rays of dawn shone through the gap in the curtains, Wen Yuhan's pen tilted slightly to one side, and she leaned back wearily against the back of her chair.
In the dim light of day, his head hung silently, his messy hair plastered to his forehead, obscuring his eyes, and his bathrobe was still covered with traces of dried red wine.
His right hand, hanging down, trembled uncontrollably.
After sitting there for a long time, Wen Yuhan raised his trembling arm, reached for the cigarette box beside him, and took out the last cigarette.
Because he couldn't hold it steady, he had to use his left hand to press down on his right wrist to prevent the cigarette from slipping from his fingers.
Just as I was trying to figure out how to start a fire, I heard a faint grinding sound of gears nearby.
Wen Yuhan said nothing, but simply lit the cigarette with the lighter and took a deep drag.
The man holding the lighter had also been up all night; his gloomy eyes were bloodshot, and a light blue stubble had grown on his chin.
He silently lit a cigarette, then turned around, drew back the curtains, opened the door connecting to the terrace, and went outside.
Wen Yuhan called out to Pei Shaocheng from behind and asked softly, "May I go back now?"
Pei Shaocheng turned his back to him, smoking without saying a word. Wen Yuhan put the pen cap back on the fountain pen, tidied up the scripts on the table, and stood up.
Just as he was about to leave, Pei Shaocheng said coldly without turning his head, "There should be some feedback after the reading session." He paused, "Tonight, we'll continue."
...
Xiao Yang was lying in bed when he heard a noise outside the door. He jumped up and rushed to the entrance to open the door.
Upon seeing Wen Yuhan and the red marks on his body, Xiao Yang was stunned for a moment, then his face turned ashen as he was about to rush over and fight Pei Shaocheng to the death.
Wen Yuhan took Xiao Yang's hand and shook her head at him: "It's nothing, just red wine."
Xiao Yang was trembling with anger. He tried to speak, but couldn't utter a single word. He raised his sleeve, wiped his face haphazardly, and then turned around to quickly pack his luggage.
"I quit, damn it... I'm quitting being a teacher!" Xiao Yang haphazardly stuffed his clothes into his suitcase, clenching his teeth but still unable to hold back his tears.
"We haven't gotten the money yet."
"What the hell do I need money for!" Xiao Yang slammed his luggage down and roared, "I'll just go back to my hometown and write promotional video scripts! Then I'll support you!"
Wen Yuhan silently watched Xiao Yang's hysterical outburst, letting him vent his anger on the suitcase.
Normally, he might have joked or comforted Xiao Yang with a few words, but now, he really had no strength left.
“Xiao Yang…” Wen Yuhan sighed, rubbing his sore temples. “Can I take a shower and change my clothes first? I’m a little tired.”