Countless Blossoms: The Actor's Gamble | Chapter 36 | The Stranded Fish | Novela.app

Chapter 36 - The Stranded Fish The air in the master bedroom was heavy, saturated with the scent of musk and the faint, primal tang of sweat that lingered long after the storm had passed. Zheng Kunyu had always believed himself to be the master of the pond, the patient angler watching Qi Bailu—the most exquisite fish—darting beneath the surface. He thought he was the one holding the line, deciding when to pull and when to let go. Yet, in the suffocating silence of the aftermath, he realized with a jolt of visceral clarity that he looked no different from a fish himself. He was a creature driven by a hunger so desperate that he would snap at a hook even if there were no bait, willing to let the cold steel pierce through his lungs and heart just for a taste of the lure. Their bodies remained intertwined, a chaotic map of pale skin and dark shadows against the rumpled, expensive silk of the sheets. Zheng Kunyu pulled Qi Bailu closer, kneading the younger man’s limp form into his own chest as if trying to merge their very atoms. He didn't let go; he couldn't. For a fleeting, terrifying moment, a dark impulse surged within him—a desire to truly consume Qi Bailu, to devour him whole so that no part of him could ever belong to the world outside this room again. The kiss they shared was no longer an act of affection, but a desperate reclamation. It tasted of salt and something metallic, a raw, copper-like sting that filled Zheng’s mouth. He moved with a predatory intensity, his tongue seeking to swallow Qi Bailu’s whole, his teeth grazing against the other’s skin with a suppressed violence. In his clouded mind, he felt a strange resentment toward Qi Bailu’s very limbs; the slender arms and legs felt like fragile, unnecessary obstacles that stood in the way of their absolute union, barriers that kept them from truly becoming one. Qi Bailu, however, was beyond the reach of Zheng’s possessive fury. Whether he had succumbed to the sheer exhaustion of the ordeal or had simply fainted from the overwhelming pain, he remained utterly still. His breathing was shallow, a rhythmic ghost of life in a body that looked as delicate as mutton-fat jade. Zheng Kunyu eventually slowed his movements, his lips still pressed firmly against Qi Bailu’s. This was perhaps his only regret—the fact that when he finally turned that dark, indecipherable gaze upon the boy, he found no reflection of himself. Qi Bailu’s eyes were closed, his long lashes casting soft shadows against his pale cheeks. He was a sleeping beauty who had retreated into a dreamscape where Zheng Kunyu was not invited, effectively barring the older man from his inner world. It was a dangerous realization. Zheng Kunyu sat there, draped in the dim light of the bedside lamp, staring at the youth who had become his obsession. He was caught in a paradox of his own making. He watched the rise and fall of Qi Bailu’s chest, wondering at what hour—or if ever—the boy would wake. Perhaps Qi Bailu would remain in this eternal slumber, a permanent inhabitant of a dream Zheng could never touch, unless Zheng could find the magic in a kiss to summon him back. Or perhaps, Zheng thought with a chilling sense of resignation, he would simply wait here by the bedside, watching and wanting, until time itself ran out and he waited until he died.