March 18th, 20xx — 3: 19 PM
Zone 3A-Δ – Tenth Floor — Jiang Roulan’s Apartment
I stopped letting my cock lead me on after Mu Qinglan left, comforting Jiang Roulan who became strange might have been easy. But I had things to do. Survival came before sex. Preparation came before women.
She looked upset when I stepped into the elevator, but right now I had to do this.
There was something which I couldn’t do without a moment of focus. So I headed to the tenth floor, despite Zhou Xue and many others probably waiting for me.
The elevator hissed as the doors opened, and a cool breeze flowed inside.
I stepped out and found myself on the tenth floor, not quest upgraded or built yet, but this place was somewhere I planned to be my private place to relax and take time to focus on myself, a sort of man’s cave.
With a sigh, I dropped onto the only sofa on the entire floor.
I smashed this place up with my dismantle feature similar to the floor below, except the floor was twice as thick and the plan for an indoor swimming pool, training area, and research room were planned, with four big open spaces and sliding doors separating them.
It was cold up here...
The windows were left ajar, and I noticed a figure standing opposite me.
She stood by the open window.
Back straight. Arms crossed. Her black hair swayed in the breeze, delicate black strands trailing through the air and on her shoulder like a whip ready to snap.
She didn’t look at me.
But she didn’t leave, either.
"Lan’er," I said again, quieter this time.
Mu Qinglan’s eyes stayed on the city beyond the glass — a skeletal skyline stitched together with collapsed towers, broken streets, and distant smog. Her shoulders rose with a breath. Fell.
"I should’ve expected it."
Her voice was level. Almost bored.
"You walked away with her scent still on you," she continued, tilting her head. "And yet I still thought you might come up here first."
I stayed on the couch.
Her pale blue eyes met mine. Cold. Not furious. Not wounded.
"I shared myself with you," she said, stepping forward. "Let you see me, touch me, taste me. I bled for you today. Killed for you."
Her boots echoed faintly across the half-constructed floor as she walked.
"Despite that, you let her climb into your lap before your sweat dried off."
No longer would I hold back or speak with hidden truths. I promise Mu Qinglan not to lie, but I didn’t need to hold back or act so passive. "I told you I would."
She stared at me like she hadn’t expected that.
Like some part of her wanted me to lie. To say it didn’t mean anything. To make excuses.
"I told you I would," I said again. "You agreed to it."
The words weren’t cruel. Just real.
Simple. I didn’t owe Qinglan softness. Not now.
Mu’s arms slowly dropped from their crossed position, falling to her sides like her weight was shifting under her thoughts.
Her voice came softer.
"That doesn’t mean I liked seeing it."
She stepped closer. Her boots didn’t echo this time. She moved like a shadow—fluid, slow, deliberate.
"You kissed her like you were starving. Held her like she was your first taste of warmth in days."
She didn’t sound angry.
Just hurt that I hadn’t saved that heat for her again.
"And yet you said my name just now like it still meant something."
She stared at me for a moment longer. Then let out a bitter, breathy laugh.
"No," I replied. "I’m consistent."
Her lips parted slightly at that.
"You slept with me... then left to let another woman grind on you half-naked, knowing I’d walk in."
"You think I planned that?"
Qinglan looked at me with her trembling pupils, tears at the corners of her eyes.
Because some part of her — her-the part that trusted me in bed, but never in the daylight—had already decided that everything I did was by design.
That I wanted her to see.
"Don’t be stupid, Lan’er."
She turned to face me, a sharp yet fragile gaze in her eyes as she approached. I could understand that her feelings might be hurt.
But I hadn’t lied or denied that these things would happen.
Mu Qinglan’s trembling pupils met mine, blue irises cloudy with pain; she couldn’t swallow fast enough. Her arms hung at her sides like they’d forgotten how to defend her. Her breath stuttered — not from fear, not from anger.
From heartbreak, she didn’t want to admit she had.
"Don’t be stupid, Lan’er."
I stood from the couch.
She didn’t back away.
Not when I stepped toward her.
Not when I reached out and slid my hand gently along her chin and brushed the edge of her chin, delicately.
"You think I’d let you go?" I asked quietly. "You think there’s a version of me that ever forgets what you did today? What you gave me?"
I felt it against my palm.
"I didn’t just take you to bed," I said. "I didn’t fuck you to win points, or achieve something. I took you because I love you."
Her eyes flinched at my words.
"You’re not second. You’re not last. There is no list or ranking. You’re mine — the same way I’m yours. That doesn’t change because Roulan wanted to feel special or I wanted her to suck my cock."
There could be more romantic ways to speak, to hide or mask my feelings.
But I could only he honest, raw and direct... a vulgar man who tasted the delight of a woman’s body.
She let out a tiny sound — not a sob, but a noise caught between resistance and need.
"I won’t abandon you, Mu Qinglan. Not for her. Not for any of them."
"But you’ll love them too," she whispered.
She looked down, silently letting out a breath that shivered at the end.
Her fingers curled in the front of my shirt.
"But it hurts worse when I think about not having you at all."
I pulled her against me, not forcefully. Just enough to hold her. To anchor her.
Her forehead pressed against my chest, breath hot against my collar. She was shivering — not from cold.
"I hate how much I need you," she whispered. "I hate how soft I get when I remember the way you say my name."
"I like when you’re soft," I said. "But I like when you’re sharp too. I want all of it. All of you."
"Don’t forgive me, get angry, get mad... but only at me." My hands cupped her soft cheeks, enjoying the sharp curve of her chin as I continued. "I will accept anything you have Lan’er... no matter how bad it gets."
She didn’t answer right away.
Her hands trembled slightly, still bent in the fabric of my shirt.
Then her fingers tightened.
"...Then take me again."
Her voice was barely above a whisper, but not because she was afraid.
Because she was holding something back, that tension in her throat, the catch behind her breath, the tear tracks drying on her cheeks — it was all there, all still raw.
She stepped closer, slow, until her chest brushed against mine. Her palms flattened against my stomach, then slowly trailed upward — deliberately, exploring. Her touch wasn’t teasing. It was searching.
"Not because you feel guilty," she said again, quieter now. Her face tilted up toward mine, chin trembling slightly. "Not because you’re trying to fix anything."
Her lips hovered close to mine — close enough that her breath warmed them.
"But because I’m still yours."
Then pressed her mouth against mine — slow, but deep. Her lips parted just enough to let her breath slip through. Not messy like before. Not a collision.
I kissed her back, just as slowly.
And her body eased forward into me like it was coming home.
One hand slid behind her neck.
The other curved around her waist. She didn’t stop me. Her fingers tangled in the back of my hair, breath growing warmer between each pause. She pushed herself against me, the full length of her frame pressing into mine, armour forgotten, softness revealed.
When I broke the kiss, she didn’t open her eyes right away.
She just leaned her forehead into mine, breathing softly, like the world finally stopped pulling her apart.
"I thought I lost something when I saw her on you." She looked at me with a faint smile, grasping my chest and pulling me closer. "But I didn’t."
Her hands slipped under the hem of her tank top, trembling slightly before tugging it upward.
"I just forgot what it feels like when I competed to win."