Dong Yingming stepped out into the corridor—the door to Warden Liu's office hissing shut behind him—with his jaw tight and his fingers twitching slightly at his sides, his strides heavy with lingering irritation. The chill of the air conditioning kissed the nape of his neck, but it did little to cool the slow-burning fury curled tight in his chest.
The air of power that always clung to him like a second skin was still intact—but there was a roiling tension underneath it now, seething like molten iron beneath marble. The corridor stretched out before him—empty, sterile, and dim under flickering fluorescent lights. The sharp tap of his polished shoes echoed like quiet, rhythmic gunfire against the concrete, punctuating his simmering frustration.
'Three favors...'
He thought bitterly.
'Since when do I owe anyone three favors—much less for doing the bare minimum of keeping Ziyang alive long enough to be mine...'
His jaw clenched, molars grinding.
'Chang Xiao, you owe me an explanation.'
The slick bastard warden had wrung one of them out of him just to protect some uptight heir who'd embezzled his own blood. Dong Yingming couldn't care less about Wang Cong's story. What he did care about was the fact that it meant spending time near someone not his Ziyang.
Dong Yingming strode through the corridors of First Prison, his face impassive but his mind a turbulent storm. Each heavy footfall echoed against cold stone walls, the sound amplified by the oppressive silence around him. His encounter with Warden Liu had left a bitter taste on his tongue—a taste he was desperate to wash away by seeing Yao Ziyang's sweet, smiling face again.
His footsteps echoed sharply through the long corridor, each step measured and slow. He was already composing a mental list of punishments for Chang Xiao for overstepping—but for now, something more urgent needed to be addressed. There was something else he had to do before going back—something important. He hadn't forgotten:
Before he returned to their room—before he so much as saw Yao Ziyang's face again—he needed two things.
He exhaled slowly through his nose, steadying the fury that still hummed through his veins, forcing his boots into rhythm on the polished floor as he turned toward the infirmary wing.
Each step he took toward the infirmary wing felt heavier than the last, as his thoughts drifted to Yao Ziyang and the twisted irony of his predicament. Tomorrow, he'd have to parade around the yard with some spoiled rich brat—pretending he was anything other than the worthless aristocratic baggage that he undoubtedly was.
His lips curled into a scowl, eyes darkening dangerously. He didn't want anyone else near him. Near his life. Near Yao Ziyang. Just imagining another man overshadowing the glow of his delicate moonlight made his gut twist and burn.
Yet, as he passed rows of cells, his thoughts drifted helplessly back to Yao Ziyang—his face flashed in Dong Yingming's mind—his platinum-blond hair gleaming like strands of moonlight, the soft blush that painted his porcelain skin whenever Dong Yingming teased him, and Lips set into that perfect, adorable, innocent pout he wore so effortlessly whenever he was displeased, eyes brightening to crescent moons whenever he was happy. Dong Yingming's expression softened involuntarily, his heart stirring warmly beneath the layer of hardened muscle.
His chest tightened with longing. He'd give anything to see Yao Ziyang smile brightly, genuinely, without worry or restraint. A smile that made the world feel pure and safe.
If it meant more time with Yao Ziyang, uninterrupted—safe from the eyes and threats of lesser men—perhaps swallowing his pride and acting as the Wang brat's reluctant escort was worth it.
He sighed quietly, brushing a tired hand across his eyes. As the boss rounded the corner, he recalled the uncomfortable mission he had set for himself before returning to the tower suite. A libido suppressant. A medicine he would have scoffed at once upon a time. He'd never dreamed he'd willingly consider such a thing, not in a hundred lifetimes. But here he was, feet carrying him resolutely toward the infirmary.
That was the first of two things, actually.
One, a libido suppressant.
Second, a present.
His thoughts turned toward the latter with surprising softness, a present—an apology for leaving his lover without a kiss earlier. He ground his teeth slightly at the memory, chastising himself inwardly. How could he have ever forgotten such a basic act of devotion?
Dong Yingming's brow creased faintly in thought. He needed the gift for Yao Ziyang to be extraordinary—something special, something personal. Now, with this distasteful task of playing "friends" with that Wang Cong brat, it became even more essential to give Yao Ziyang something that proved his unwavering devotion. Something that could erase any doubts that might flicker through those captivating eyes when he inevitably had to appear friendly with Wang Cong. Something Yao Ziyang could cherish, something that would coax one of those otherworldly smiles that made Dong Yingming's heart ache in ways he didn't know were possible.
But what?
'Jewelry? Clothes? Jewelry felt too predictable. Flowers too fragile. No… it needed to be more personal, more thoughtful. Perhaps something handmade, something rare. A delicate jade pendant? Something embroidered by artisans…?'
Dong Yingming's expression grew darker the more frustrated his thoughts made him.
'Maybe food? Ah—but I'd already vowed to commission a private chef for my beloved. Yet nothing feels sufficient. Nothing worthy enough to make Ziyang beam that radiant smile only I'm allowed to see.'
The vision of Yao Ziyang's gentle gaze, soft with delight as he received the gift, made Dong's heart quicken. His mouth curved faintly upward at the thought.
'What would make my Ziyang smile?'
Something worthy of the most exquisite, enchanting creature to have ever lived. His man.
As he moved through the familiar halls, his mind wandered.
That pouty little mouth of his, quivering in mock sadness, his lower lip ever so slightly glossy. That feigned sulk when he didn't get a goodbye kiss. The bratty little voice that demanded "goodbye kisses" like he was a spoiled prince in need of daily worship.He could see it again in his memory—the way Yao Ziyang had looked sprawled out on the bed, lips parted, eyes bright with innocence but smoldering with tease. Those delicate fingers brushing along his arm, the soft blow of breath against his neck, the way Yao Ziyang had guided his calloused hand up beneath his sweater, eyes wide and sparkling with a silent invitation…
And then—when he shivered...
Dong Yingming's heart clenched. His jaw clenched again. A low groan threatened to escape his throat but was crushed by sheer will. He wouldn't let his body betray his man. Not like that. Not while Yao Ziyang's health was still uncertain.
He wanted—no, needed—to keep him safe.
And yet…
He could also remember the boy's teasing pout when he'd forgotten to kiss him goodbye. That expression, just on the verge of tears, had gripped something primal and sacred in his chest and twisted it. How someone could look so heartbreakingly cute while demanding affection was beyond human comprehension.
There was nothing on this earth or the next that could rival the brilliance of that man. The boy looked like sunlight filtered through crystal, like moonlight bouncing off still water, like—
Dong felt his heartbeat tighten. His throat dried slightly.
'I want to see him smile forever…'
He thought.
'Every single day. Every hour. That smile… I'd do anything to be the reason for it.'
He stopped walking. He didn't realize how far he had walked until the sterile white lights and faint medicinal scent told him he had entered the infirmary wing.
By the time he'd snapped out of his reverie, he found himself already in the infirmary wing, facing Zhang Wei's office door. The polished wooden surface felt strangely cold under his knuckles as he knocked firmly.
He had somehow already arrived outside Dr. Zhang Wei's office while lost in thought, he stopped in front of a frosted-glass door marked Senior Medical Supervisor–Dr. Zhang Wei. His knuckles rapped against it sharply—just once—and the dull sound thudded against the frosted glass.
A moment passed. Within seconds, hurried footsteps sounded. Inside, Zhang Wei scrambled to the door, his white coat flapping behind him like a startled bird. Then the sharp creak of the door echoed as it cracked open, and Dr. Zhang appeared—glasses askew, face pale, and lips trembling as he registered who stood before him, harried as always as of late, but upright with wary respect.
He blinked several times when he saw who stood there. His mouth parted slightly.
"Boss Dong!"
He gasped, immediately straightening his posture, eyes flicking behind him to make sure no other guard or inmate was nearby.
"Is… is something wrong? Is—is the boy unwell?"
He said, straightening immediately. His voice was tight with respect.
"Has—has something happened with Yao Ziyang? Did his fever returned? Is he ill again? Did I—"
The panic in his voice betrayed how highly he prioritized the boy now. And it wasn't an unreasonable reaction—Dong Yingming rarely came to the infirmary for anything until that boy appeared. Before, his visits usually heralded blood or vengeance. Or both.
His face paled slightly. The very idea that something had happened to Yao Ziyang while under his care unnerved him deeply.
"Relax…"
Dong Yingming interrupted, stepping into the dimly lit office without invitation. His piercing blue eyes scanned the cluttered desk—papers scattered haphazardly, notes scribbled hastily in medical shorthand, an anatomical diagram partially obscured by a half-empty teacup.
"He's fine for now."
He stopped at the desk, eyeing the disarray of reports and medical notes scattered across it. The scent of rubbing alcohol lingered in the air, sharp and sterile. His presence filled the small space like a stormcloud. He stood in front of the desk, ignoring the scatter of open folders, patient files, and loose prescriptions.
Zhang Wei quietly closed the door softly behind them and stood a few paces away, unsure whether to speak or breathe. He stood rigidly, heart hammering against his ribs. He dared not move until Dong Yingming spoke.
A heavy and awkward silence stretched between them.
Dong Yingming didn't speak for a long moment. He stared ahead, brows furrowed faintly, as if the words he needed were trapped beneath the surface of his pride. Then finally, Dong Yingming cleared his throat quietly, turning away to face the small barred window on the other side of the room. He hesitated uncharacteristically, ears tinged faintly red—a subtle, but unmistakable sign of embarrassment.
"Zhang Wei…"
He said slowly, voice low yet resolute.
"I need… something, medicine."
He said bluntly. Zhang Wei blinked rapidly before he nodded, cautious.
"Of course, Boss, anything. What kind of medicine? Painkillers? Fever reducers?"
Dong Yingming hesitated for only half a second. His caramel skin was flushed faintly darker at the tips of his ears—And then said, quietly—but clearly, his voice didn't falter.
"No."
Dong Yingming's jaw tightened, and a muscle twitched at the corner of his scarred cheek.
"A pill… to… suppress my libido… A libido suppressant. Something strong, but temporary. With minimal side-effects. It needs to kill my libido but not permanently."
Dong said tersely, voice almost breaking. His ears flush slightly redder at the edges—practically glowing visibly beneath his caramel skin. Embarrassment was new for him, unpleasant but necessary.
Zhang Wei's face blanked, frozen. His brain screeched to a halt. His eyes widened comically, jaw falling slack as he stared at Dong Yingming's back. For a long moment, all rational thought fled, leaving him utterly, foolishly silent.
"…Pardon?…What?"
For a moment, his soul seemed to leave his body, eyes unfocused, pupils dilating in disbelief. He felt certain he had heard wrong.
"I—I'm sorry, Boss, can you… repeat that?"
He finally stammered out.
"I must have misunderstood—"
Dong Yingming's brow twitched, his tone remained steady, absolute.
"You didn't…"
Dong Yingming replied firmly. His tone left no room for further confusion. His blue eyes locked onto Zhang Wei's, cool and unwavering.
"You heard right. I need a libido suppressant—something safe, with the least side effects. It doesn't need to be strong, just… something temporary. Something with the least, minimal amount of side effects at best. Strong enough to work, but weak enough that it won't dull my mind. I want it just until…"
He paused, swallowing his pride along with a knot in his throat.
"…until I'm certain he's fully recovered. Just… enough to keep me off of him. I don't want to risk anything. I need it to kill my sex drive."
Zhang Wei's soul left his body. His mouth opened but no words came out. A moment passed. Then another.
"...I beg your pardon?"
He finally managed.
Dong Yingming turned his eyes slightly toward him slowly, his fierce gaze narrowing dangerously.
"You heard me. Don't make me repeat myself twice, Zhang."
This time Zhang actually leaned back a little, his hands hovering near his chest like the words had physically hit him.The good doctor stood there slack-jawed, eyes wide, genuinely thinking he had misheard the most feared and ruthless man in the entire prison system—hell, the entire province.
The underworld boss—the fearsome, ruthless Dong Yingming, the man whose very aura sent prison blocks into silence—was asking for help suppressing lust. Zhang Wei's soul aged five years in a blink.
Zhang Wei swallowed hard, gathering his scattered wits.
"Boss, forgive me, I… must have misheard you… Just to clarify…"
He said, voice barely above a whisper.
"You want me to give you a pharmacological agent to… to restrain yourself from being intimate with Yao Ziyang? You—Dong Yingming— want a pill—a libido suppressant—that suppresses your… libido?"
"Yes…"
Dong Yingming's voice was like stone.
"I just said that."
His expression hardened into something deadly serious, his embarrassment momentarily overshadowed by grim resolve.
Zhang Wei sputtered helplessly, his soul practically departing his body at the sheer absurdity. Dong Yingming, the feared leader of First Prison's—the cold, intimidating underworld boss known for his ruthless dominance and absolute control—was requesting something so deeply personal and shockingly vulnerable.
Dong Yingming's eyes narrowed impatiently.
"Is there a problem?"
"Yes! I—I mean, no, I mean, are you… are you okay?"
Zhang Wei stammered.
"I—may I ask… why?"
Dong Yingming's face didn't soften, but something almost vulnerable glinted in his eyes—buried under layers of dominance and pride. He exhaled heavily through his nose.
"He's still recovering. His fever may be gone, but he's not ready. Not yet. I don't want to risk hurting him. Not even by accident. I want him to be… perfect. Comfortable. At ease."
He paused, then added.
"I'm not willing to touch him, not until I'm sure he's completely healthy. And until he's ready. Truly ready."
Zhang Wei could only stare until he finally managed to swallow, stunned silent.
In all his years working among powerful men—corrupt officers, sadistic inmates, warlords and war criminals—never had he seen someone voluntarily restrain their desire like this. Especially someone as unyielding as Dong Yingming.
"Do you know what it means…"
Dong Yingming continued, his voice lower now, more tired.
"For someone like me to even consider drugging myself… just so I don't give in to touching him?"
The doctor remained silent.
"It means…"
Dong Yingming went on.
"He's mine. It means I love him."
Those last three words were spoken like a death sentence. Heavy. Inarguable. Final.
"…I see…"
Zhang Wei said at last, awed.
"You've truly fallen in love with him."
Dong Yingming didn't reply. He didn't need to.
The stillness in the room, the weight of that statement, was answer enough.
Zhang Wei's heartbeat quickened, a cold sweat blossoming at the back of his neck. Of all the impossible things he'd ever expected Dong Yingming to say, this ranked highest. Carefully, as though approaching an explosive, Zhang nodded.
"I… I understand. I can… arrange that. I'll prepare something. The lowest dose of Oxandrol should work fine..."
Zhang Wei blinked, still floored. Then, slowly, he said softly.
"Give me fifteen minutes…"
Zhang Wei quickly amended, fear snapping him from his stupor as his hands worked as quick as his feet moved to a cabinet of medication.
"Just... I need to find the suitable amount. It has very minimal side-effects, is temporary, yet effective... yes, yes, this should work just fine for you, Boss."
Dong Yingming nodded once. Zhang Wei moved shakily while rummaging through the medicine cabinet, fumbling through the glass vials, each one clinking loudly in his trembling fingers.
As Zhang Wei turned to gather the required vials and pills from the back cabinet, Dong Yingming, meanwhile, turned back toward the window, face impassive once more and allowed himself one small thought.
'If this is what it takes to keep Ziyang safe… then I'll take it. I'll swallow poison if I have to.'
His reflection stared back at him, eyes dark with turmoil and faint self-reproach. He was willing to suffer such indignity—such humiliation—if only to ensure Yao Ziyang's comfort, safety, and complete recovery.
He would never risk hurting the precious, delicate being who had entered his world like a dazzling meteor, illuminating all the dark corners of his heart. The boy was worth everything—his pride, his reputation, even his desires.
Dong Yingming drew a slow breath and held it, reaffirming his determination.
"Here…"
Zhang Wei murmured timidly, holding out a small white bottle.
"One pill each day. Short-term use only. You may experience headaches or slight dizziness, but it's mild. It will... suppress urges without impacting other functions."
Dong Yingming took the bottle, closing his hand around it slowly then nodded curtly, exhaling again in quiet relief.
"Good."
The room fell quiet once more, the silence dense and charged. Zhang Wei, too terrified and astonished to move, stared at his trembling fingers. He cleared his throat awkwardly.
"If I may, Boss…"
Dong Yingming glanced at him sharply, instantly alert.
"…I think it's commendable…"
Zhang Wei admitted softly.
"Very few men would do something like this. It shows how deeply you care about him."
Dong Yingming's gaze softened fractionally. The pink hue on his ears deepened a shade further, before he masked it with practiced ease. He looked away briefly, then back, expression once again stoic.
"Just do it quickly. I'll come back later for another bottle of pills when they've finished so prepare them in advance for me."
He commanded softly, voice barely audible. Zhang Wei nodded vigorously.
"Consider it done."
"Good."
Dong Yingming nodded, and his eyes drifted to the desk, scanning it as if searching for something. And then, remembering the forgotten second task, his gaze drifted over to a small cabinet filled with spare comfort items brought in for patients. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Also. I need a gift. I need to find something special… something worthy enough to give him."
Zhang Wei blinked again.
"A gift?"
"For him…"
Dong Yingming clarified, as if it should've been obvious.
"Something gentle. Something cute."
"…I have pudding?"
Dong Yingming shook his head.
"I can already get that. Something better. Give me suggestions."
Zhang Wei hesitated.
"Maybe… a plush toy? A custom pillow? A skin-safe aromatic spray? In the cabinet there's a soft cream blanket with cloud patterns stitched across it."
The boss clicked his tongue.
"Tch, no chemicals. He's sensitive."
Zhang Wei walked over and began to rifle through a few drawers.
"I have a limited-edition music box from a pharmaceutical gala. It plays a soft lullaby. Gold-trimmed. Velvet wrapped with soft inner-casing. It was meant to be a gift for my niece but…"
Dong Yingming raised an eyebrow.
"Perfect…"
He accepted the item, barely sparing it a glance, and instead stared at the prepared small white bottle of white pills inside his hand.
"I'll be back if it wears off too fast."
He warned, clutching it tightly into his fist as if making a solem vow. Zhang Wei just nodded, as though he'd been struck by a meteor and lived to tell about it.
And then, without another word, he strode to the door—with a flick of his dark coat and the low, heavy drag of his boots against the tile—Dong Yingming left the infirmary. Zhang Wei exhaled audibly behind him, knees nearly buckling with relief.
But as Dong Yingming exited, he paused briefly in the doorway.
"And Zhang Wei…"
He said quietly, without turning back.
"This conversation never happened."
Zhang Wei jolted as if struck by lightning, in fear he whispered immediately.
"Of course, Boss, never happened."
Without another word, Dong Yingming turned and left, stepping out of the cramped office, the door clicking shut softly behind him with deliberate gentleness.
He tucked the small bottle safely into his inner pocket, letting his thoughts return fully to Yao Ziyang—the image of his smile, innocent yet mischievous, already calming his stormy heart.
And as he walked away from the infirmary, determination surged within him.
No matter how many indignities he had to endure, no matter how many foolish compromises he had to make, he would never stop protecting, cherishing, and loving the one man who'd somehow captured every last piece of his soul.
Alone again in the silent corridors, Dong Yingming lifted his gaze upward briefly, eyes briefly filled with unspoken devotion. He would protect his beloved at all cost.