Is This The Right Way To Repay A Favor? Chapter 98

Faith

As the car drove toward the west side of the city, the closer they got to the apartment, the more silent Jiang Zhou became, his eyes constantly glancing out the window.

Shen Zhiyu took in his nervousness completely, the curve of his lips growing more pronounced.

Standing once again before that familiar door, Jiang Zhou could almost hear his heart pounding like a drum.

Shen Zhiyu didn’t rush him, merely watching him with an air of composure until Jiang Zhou took a deep breath, extended a slightly trembling finger, and entered the password.

“Ding—” The lock clicked open.

A scent of faint dust mixed with a subtle hint of sandalwood wafted out.

Shen Zhiyu walked in first, feeling his way through memory to switch on the lights.

The sudden illumination revealed the vast space, filled entirely by “Shen Zhiyu,” to both of them without reservation.

Albums, photocards, hand banners, posters, standees, life-sized display boards, and those few sets of performance outfits hanging on mannequins were everywhere.

Time seemed to freeze at this moment.

Jiang Zhou stood at the doorway, almost unable to move his feet.

Under the bright light, Jiang Zhou was forced to confront his past “madness.” The inescapable sense of shame nearly drowned him. He didn’t dare look at Shen Zhiyu’s expression, his hands clenched tightly into fists at his sides.

Shen Zhiyu, however, strolled through the space as if it were a private museum, his gaze sweeping over every old item, his fingertips lightly brushing the surface of an acrylic display case, as if touching a past that was both related and unrelated to himself.

“A’Zhou—” He stopped, turned, and looked at Jiang Zhou, who was frozen at the door. His voice was exceptionally clear in the empty, silent space, carrying a strange, seductive quality. “Come here.”

Jiang Zhou’s throat tightened. Unable to speak, he walked toward him step by step, almost instinctively.

Shen Zhiyu took his cold hand and led him to the wall covered with life-sized posters and display boards. On the wall, “Shen Zhiyu” in various periods and styles—smiling, cold, or deeply affectionate—had countless pairs of “eyes” watching the real, living them standing there now.

Shen Zhiyu pressed close to Jiang Zhou from behind, his warm chest against Jiang Zhou’s slightly stiff back. He whispered, “Did you often stand here looking at me before?”

Jiang Zhou’s body trembled almost imperceptibly. He closed his eyes, his thick eyelashes fluttering, revealing the turmoil within.

He had indeed stood here countless times, in the silence and darkness, gazing up at those lifeless images, allowing the unspoken love and wild fantasies to grow unchecked.

“Speak, A’Zhou.” Shen Zhiyu’s arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him tighter against himself. His voice held an undeniable command and a hint of excited hoarseness.

“Yes.” Jiang Zhou squeezed out a single word through gritted teeth, his voice so soft it was barely audible. The immense shame made his cheeks burn, yet under Shen Zhiyu’s constraint and interrogation, a twisted thrill of having his secret exposed began to stir.

Shen Zhiyu chuckled softly, seemingly very satisfied with the answer.

He guided Jiang Zhou toward the mannequins dressed in his old performance outfits.

“These clothes,” his fingers traced the air above the crisp fabric, finally resting on Jiang Zhou’s chest, which was rising and falling slightly due to tension. Through the clothing, he felt the overly rapid heartbeat beneath. “Did you just look at them, or did you think of other things?”

Jiang Zhou’s breathing suddenly hitched. He wanted to break free, but Shen Zhiyu held him firmly in his embrace, making escape impossible. The blasphemous fantasies that had sprouted in the dead of night, now so directly questioned by the person himself, made him feel close to collapse.

“Tell me, A’Zhou.” A warm kiss landed on the back of Jiang Zhou’s neck, like igniting a tiny flame, scorching Jiang Zhou’s fragile nerves. “When you looked at these, when you looked at ‘me,’ what were you thinking?”

“Don’t ask,” Jiang Zhou’s voice was choked with pleading, yet his body involuntarily softened, leaning back into that solid embrace.

“Why shouldn’t I ask? A’Zhou, I want to know everything.” As he spoke, one hand skillfully moved to the delicate skin at Jiang Zhou’s waist, slowly roaming with an unquestionable force.

The cold air contrasted sharply with Shen Zhiyu’s scorching fingertips. Jiang Zhou couldn’t stop his deep, heavy breathing. He was trapped in Shen Zhiyu’s arms and under the gaze of the room full of “Shen Zhiyu,” with nowhere to hide.

“A’Zhou, say it. I want to hear it—” His fingertips traced Jiang Zhou’s innocent features. Shen Zhiyu’s voice seemed to carry a subtle magic, coaxing Jiang Zhou toward the final confession.

“I wanted… I wanted you…” Under his relentless assault, Jiang Zhou finally crumbled, his voice broken and thick with a nasal tone. “I wanted to see you wearing them, I wanted you to… touch… me.”

The last few words were so faint they almost vanished into the air, yet they were like a spark thrown onto dry kindling, instantly igniting the fire in Shen Zhiyu’s eyes.

“Like this?” Shen Zhiyu turned him around and lowered his head to kiss the corner of his lips, his warm hands continuing to roam.

The slightly cool skin instantly became hot, spreading an indescribable flush. Jiang Zhou nodded softly.

Then, an aggressive, predatory deep kiss met him, filled with possessiveness and almost uncontrolled fervor. Shen Zhiyu’s arm tightly encircled Jiang Zhou’s waist, while the other hand cupped the back of his head, allowing him no retreat.

Jiang Zhou passively endured it, his mouth filled with Shen Zhiyu’s scent, his mind blank from lack of oxygen.

When the kiss ended, both were breathing heavily. Shen Zhiyu’s eyes were swirling with dark intensity. He stared at Jiang Zhou’s misty eyes and swollen lips, his voice hoarse beyond recognition. “Here, alright?”

He wasn’t asking; he was declaring.

Jiang Zhou looked up in panic. Everywhere he looked, there were still walls full of “Shen Zhiyu.” Here, in this place he once revered as divine, with the real, vibrant Shen Zhiyu.

“No—” Jiang Zhou instinctively shook his head, his remaining rationality struggling. He wasn’t ready yet.

Shen Zhiyu, however, pushed him against the wall where the performance outfits were displayed without a word, bracing his hands on either side of Jiang Zhou, confining him to a small space. His gaze fiercely locked onto him. “Choose an outfit.”

“Jiang Zhou, hurry, choose one.”

His words were the most effective catalyst, completely shattering Jiang Zhou’s last defense.

Jiang Zhou’s gaze involuntarily drifted toward the low-cut red shirt on the mannequin.

“Good boy, baby.” Shen Zhiyu pecked his lips, then released his hold, changing into the red shirt from the mannequin with incredible speed.

The low, open neckline revealed the smooth lines of his musculature. The vibrant red enhanced his already outstanding looks, making him appear even more dazzling, like a flame burning in the dark night.

“Satisfied?” Shen Zhiyu lowered his head to nibble his earlobe.

Jiang Zhou could barely tear his eyes away and nodded weakly.

Shen Zhiyu approached him again, his movements forceful yet imbued with an indescribable reverence, as if touching a fragile treasure.

Jiang Zhou let out sighs that were part pain, part release. His eyes were filled with Shen Zhiyu’s image, both the reality before him and the illusions displayed around them.

His senses were infinitely magnified. The air was thick with the scent of old objects and intense arousal.

In this sanctuary built by Jiang Zhou’s own hands, they completed one thorough descent after another. Shame, tension, and that almost blasphemous thrill swept Jiang Zhou into an unprecedented tide.

When the storm subsided, he leaned against Shen Zhiyu, utterly exhausted, his eyes glazed, his body drenched. Shen Zhiyu buried his head in Jiang Zhou’s neck, regulating his breathing, then tenderly kissed away the moisture from the corners of his eyes.

“Now,” Shen Zhiyu’s voice held the post-coital languor and satisfaction. He gently smoothed Jiang Zhou’s sweat-dampened hair. “Your god completely belongs to you. Are you satisfied, my believer?”

Jiang Zhou looked at the face so close to his own. That corner of his heart, once filled with obsessive madness, felt gently soothed. He raised his weak arm, wrapped it around Shen Zhiyu’s neck, and offered a kiss as light as a feather.

His sanctuary still stood, but his deity had descended to the mortal world, completing the most intimate resonance with him in this space he had once only been able to look up to.