Qingshan Wild Man Valley

Chapter 15

Taking advantage of the last words the uncle said to me, I grabbed the wild man and, ignoring everyone in the shop trying to stop me, carried the uncle into the back room.

Sitting in the back room was a young girl of sixteen, who was the seven-year-old girl that the uncle had brought from the south nine years ago.

The girl had a pair of bright, sparkling eyes, a delicate nose and lips; she was undeniably a beauty, but as a woman myself, I would rather die than admit it.

The young girl deftly took the uncle's pulse, pressed his philtrum, and fed him a pill, finally waking him up.

Seeing that the opportunity was too good to pass up, I rushed forward and said, "I'll give you my two bottles of nail polish, three bottles of eyeliner gel, ten monthly disposable contact lenses, a nail clipper, an eyeshadow palette, an eyelash curler, and ten packs of tissues—I'll give you everything I own, please, please help this savage get his stomach and throat healed!"

The savage grabbed me from behind; he knew I had gone all out this time.

The middle-aged man, with drooping eyelids and yawning, said, "I'm so tired, let's see him out..."

So the savage and I were kicked out of the house...

Looking back now, I shudder with hatred. If I hadn't already searched for doctors all over Chengdu, would I have gone to him?

Don't you think about it? If a doctor isn't going to treat the patient, what else is he going to do? It's just a small favor, why be so hesitant and pretentious?

The carriage entered the inner city and unexpectedly stopped in front of a calligraphy and painting shop. I looked at my watch; it was exactly twelve o'clock.

The uncle didn't get off the carriage; he was the coachman. He got off, picked up a sample from the calligraphy and painting shop, and drove off again.

...

Inside the fireworks shop, outside the windows, this time there was no need to climb onto the roof, because everyone was asleep.

The middle-aged man carried the scroll he had picked up from the calligraphy and painting shop into the store, holding it tightly in his arms as if he were holding his woman.

However, that's not the right way to put it. Judging from the man's appearance and behavior, I have no doubt that he is actually gay... or doesn't love women.

At this moment, the uncle walked to the desk, carefully unfolded the painting and laid it on the table, then stretched out his fingers and stroked the paper back and forth with his fingertips... He took a step back and sat down in the chair.

The uncle's profile was blurred by the swaying light from the tabletop, making him look like he was wearing a strange, eerie white mask. This made his bright and colorful silk robes appear even more grim than bright.

Exhausted, the man shrunk into his chair and suddenly stopped moving.

I had assigned the savage to keep watch on the side. Then he pulled me, as if to say whether we could still walk or not.

"Wait, wait!" I shoved the savage aside with one paw and made him stand guard.

Suddenly, the man moved again.

He was slumped in the chair, a position I was very familiar with. His chin was tilted back, and he was breathing heavily (Sun Qingshan imagined it himself). The uncle trembled and swayed slightly as if in spasm, and the chair creaked under him. But at this scene, I hesitated.

I hesitated whether to call him a pervert, or I hesitated to rush into the house, break that annoying table, and then straighten the chair and the person in front of me so that I could observe them closely without looking away.

As the middle-aged man masturbated while looking at a picture he couldn't identify, his clothes were loose and bulging, yet he somehow gave the impression of being thin and emaciated... Between his legs, I imagined his fingers trembling as he rubbed back and forth, his body twisting more and more intensely, but his voice was stuck in his throat... suppressed and undulating.

Of course, my shameless act of peeping from behind the window wasn't my original intention, but I was curious after all. A middle-aged man, a transvestite uncle, doing this kind of thing made people feel sorry for him, pathetic and pitiful... I couldn't feel any pleasure in his trembling. His body swayed back and forth, but he was blank and mechanical, his eyes staring straight at the painting on the table. I felt that the painting could be his last comfort before he died.

When the savage pulled me again, everything in the room reached its peak. Breathing stopped, and the uncle slumped in his chair, looking like a fresh, stiff, pale corpse. Everything around him was less lifeless than this living person.

After watching the whole thing, I straightened up, turned my neck left and right twice, and then turned around—and there was trouble!!!

The savage's face, just a step away, startled me. He looked at me as if I were a ghost—and I looked at him as if I were a ghost.

I stood there trembling, feeling a chill run down my spine, like when I was a kid and my cheat sheet was confiscated during an exam. For the first moment, my mind couldn't process it; it was just a blank. But in the second moment, fear, the consequences, the power of gossip... everything rushed in, making me feel palpitations and terrified in an instant.

Although I make mistakes in front of the savage every day, I don't realize my mistakes and even continue to be arrogant. First, I am not afraid of his criticism, and second, I am even less afraid of his punishment. But this time, I have a feeling that I am really wrong. The savage will not forgive me and he will definitely punish me severely!

Just look at his face at that moment, so pale it made my heart ache and my heart tremble. I no longer need to doubt that the uncle in the house is more like a ghost than a ghost, because the wild man in front of me, looking at me expressionlessly, is more like a ghost than the uncle.

When did he find out I was watching the live show? Or when he first reached out to pull me up, I was so excited and hoping something would happen that I pushed him away. Now I realize with a jolt that he pulled me up because he didn't want me to watch anymore. Everyone knows what happened.

Spring nights are too short

Although we haven't reached that point yet, Zhu Xi's Neo-Confucianism during the Song Dynasty is about to enter an era of unprecedented frenzy in its ethical concepts.

What will that savage think of me? A woman, a twenty-four-year-old girl, hiding behind that old man's window watching him masturbate. What kind of person am I in his eyes? Shameless and without any sense of shame. When he pulled me away, I was still not satisfied—what was I thinking? How could I have written all my unsatisfied desires on my face in front of that savage?!

The night fog was thick outside the small window, and I still vividly remember the look in the wild man's eyes when he looked at me—it wasn't surprise or disdain, but a kind of helplessness that seemed utterly absurd… He had probably always been restrained and polite, never touching me more than necessary. When he held me to sleep, he never once asked for anything in return—now, perhaps he felt it wasn't worth it. The woman he could have so easily, yet had endured so much without getting, turned out to be this kind of person after all!

On the way back from the fireworks shop, the savage kept his head down and always lagged behind me by half a step.

The road was quiet, without streetlights or bright moonlight. I heard footsteps behind me, and suddenly stopped. He ran to the side of the road to vomit.

“Savage…” I chased after him and saw him bent over in pain, his hand on his stomach, vomiting up not a single grain of food, but only water.

I didn't dare to pat his back; I was afraid he would turn around and slap my hand away.

This time I'm pretty sure it wasn't something he ate that was wrong; I suspect he really has some psychological issues.

After he vomited, I turned his head around and wiped his mouth with a tissue. A strand of hair was stuck to his cheek, which I brushed away with my finger. I looked up and met his eyes, which were disguised as wearing colored contact lenses.

"I was just looking around casually," I explained to him. "Actually, where I used to live, this kind of thing was something to watch, to add a little... fun, that's all."

I spoke with extreme guilt, yet the savage's gaze remained calm. He didn't glare at me; he simply gave me a chance to explain.

“Savage,” I couldn’t help but ask, “Are you angry? Are you really angry?”

After a while, he slowly shook his head.

"You're not angry?!" I didn't believe it. "Then what were you doing the whole way here?"

The savage looked down at the ground and didn't make a sound (don't remind me again, I know he can't make a sound).

I waited for him a while, but I couldn't wait any longer, so I simply opened my palm and placed it in front of his eyes.

The savage looked up in surprise, while I gave a fake smile and waited for him to take my hand.

He hesitated for a long time before finally writing on his palm: That person... is in great pain.

Just this one sentence!!!

That one sentence reminded me!

I pulled my hand back and started to put on a stern face.

"Savage, so after all this time, you're actually feeling sorry for them?!"

The savage neither nodded nor shook his head. Sometimes, some of his ideas were too strange, but they were not entirely without clues.

“Savage, let me ask you—” Dali grabbed his hand, staring intently at him to make him unable to hide his true feelings, and asked directly, “Have you done the same thing before?!”

In an instant, the savage's face turned deathly pale.

Even the hand I was holding was visibly trembling slightly.

Of course, this question is pointless. What man hasn't done the same thing? The real question is if he really hasn't.

However, the crux of the problem lies elsewhere.

“Tell me the truth,” I tightened my grip on his hand, “did you think of yourself in what just happened?!”

The savage slowly frowned, his face pale. In fact, his lack of denial was tantamount to his tacit agreement.

Poor savage... I thought to myself, doesn't he know how to lie and deny? Shaking his head would have been fine, why did he have to make himself so embarrassed and helpless?

But even if he really lied to me, I wouldn't be unable to resist him.

In fact, just as he didn't find me disgusting at this moment, I wouldn't be disgusted by what he had done to me in the past—perhaps unintentionally, the swaying figure huddled in the chair in that corner reminded the savage of himself—whether it was the savage completely lost in Savage Valley, or the one I knew nothing about before he lost his memory, when a person can do such things in such a desperate and pathetic way, what can I say? Of course, I wouldn't say he's disgusting.

“Savage…” She suddenly stepped forward, released his hand, and hugged him tightly around the waist.

He was caught off guard by my sudden hug, stiffened up, and even dared not breathe.

"Savage, oh savage..." I smelled the pleasant scent of laundry detergent on him and began to tempt him, "We're all adults, there are some things we're destined to do..."

...

The inn offers hot showers.

Beside the wooden tub, a savage sat behind me and massaged my scalp.

"The water's cold," I complained.

The savage got up, wiped his hands, and resignedly went out to boil water.

The savage returned—"Too slow!" I flicked a puddle of bubbles onto his face, and he raised his hand to wipe his face, smiling slightly.

Actually, he's still unhappy. I can tell from his unparalleled ability to read people that he's actually very clear-headed, which is why he's never truly let go of everything.

When he was still a savage, he could be crazy and think of nothing. But now that he has become a normal person, he has to think about my relationship with him and his own identity. He probably thinks about these things every day, and although he doesn't show it on his face, it has begun to affect everything he does every day.

If that's the case, why would he risk his life to leave the valley? I don't understand what he wants to gain or what he's trying to escape. Is it really worth it for him to become increasingly uneasy?

Perhaps I am just as uneasy as he is, which is why I keep asking him for confirmation—I'm afraid he'll remember everything, abandon me, and turn to a woman who is more attractive than me. I know very well that the Wild Man is not that kind of person, but who can say for sure whether he will stay a Wild Man for this mountain for the rest of his life?

Of course I know that people are complete individuals, and that without memories or names, they are incomplete... But I really don't like the savage thinking about his former self—in fact, I don't even want him to know who he is. I just want him to be Sun Qingshan's savage honestly and dutifully. But in any case, this idea is selfish to an extreme degree.

“Savage…” I looked up and saw him just above me, his hands raised as if to roll up his sleeves.

Then he heard me call him and looked down at me.

His gaze was bright and light, looking at my body in the water without the slightest hint of lust.

"Give me a kiss..." I asked, looking up at him.

He was incredibly obedient and bent down.

Our lips touched, but our faces were completely opposite. I bit him hard, and I felt the world spinning around me.

I simply reached up and hooked my arm around his neck, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me out of the water.

The next thing to do was, of course, move on to a different spot. It was right to tell him to take a shower first. I liked the peach-scented shower gel residue on his body, which reminded me of the Savage Valley where we first met. Although he was very dirty, all I could remember was the scent of juicy peaches, which had become a kind of infatuation, intertwined with the word "savage".

“I’ll help you…” My fingers deftly removed his shirt, and then, through his pants, I grasped the part between his legs that could make me scream the most—this was certainly not my first time, but with a savage, it was definitely my first time.

The two faced each other, the lights were off, so they couldn't see each other's reactions or expressions... There was no awkwardness. When I put my fingers under his thin trousers, I frowned slightly. Thinking of the scars I had seen on his body when he was naked, and recalling the savage's gentlemanly behavior over the years, I was actually a little scared. I was afraid he couldn't do it.

If that doesn't work, I need to find a way. I don't want him to actually make me use my mouth for him; I still can't accept that kind of thing.

After all, I should at least have one thing I'm obsessed with regarding cleanliness.

The savage's breathing became rapid, and I knew my worries were completely unnecessary.

He moved closer to kiss me, his hands beginning to slide towards my chest, applying slight pressure...

Halfway through the process—"Wait!" I pushed him aside, hopped off the bed, and started rummaging through my son's body, asking as I did so, "What flavor do you like? Fruity or chocolate?"

No one answered from behind. I straightened up and remembered that he couldn't speak. I should have gotten used to it by now, but I always forgot.

He walked back to the bedside, bent over, his back facing outwards, his face against the wall.

"What are you doing?" I remembered that he wasn't in this position just now, so I quickly rushed over and turned him around—sure enough, he had his eyes closed, as if he had already fallen asleep.

"Stop pretending." I sat down on the edge of the bed and unpacked the package. "I'm not going to let you off the hook today. Just wait to charge into battle and die on the battlefield."