Chapter 8.1: Unattainable Desire

Yuan Cheng did not return until late at night.

Lang Bai was still awake, sitting by the bed reading under the dim yellow glow of a desk lamp. Yuan Cheng walked over and sat gently beside him. "Why aren’t you asleep? Are you afraid?"

Lang Bai set the book down and shook his head. "Elder Brother came by earlier."

"What did he want?"

"..." Lang Bai was silent for a moment before suddenly sighing. "Father, I think we should let Wang Jiadong go. Once he wakes up, notify the Wang family to take him back. It’ll make things easier for everyone in the future. Besides, no real harm was done..." He paused, a faint, almost imperceptible smile flickering across his lips. "It’s like being bitten by someone’s prized dog on the street—you kick it away, and that’s that. There’s no need to actually draw a knife and kill it."

Yuan Cheng studied him for a long moment. "Is that really what you think?"

Lang Bai nodded.

"Did Yuan Zhui pressure you?"

"Elder Brother is more mature than I am."

Yuan Cheng pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a deep drag before slowly exhaling the smoke. His bad habit of smoking indoors was something Lang Bai had long grown accustomed to—he didn’t even resist the smell of secondhand smoke anymore, though Yuan Cheng rarely indulged in front of him.

"If that’s truly how you feel, then handle it as you see fit." Yuan Cheng ruffled his hair. "It’s late. Get some rest."

Lang Bai nodded, turned off the light, slid under the covers, and closed his eyes.

Yuan Cheng didn’t leave. He remained seated on the edge of the bed, motionless, as if frozen in place.

The cigarette burned down bit by bit, the ember’s dull red glow gradually fading into the darkness. The room was pitch-black, save for a sliver of moonlight seeping through the curtains, casting faint, shifting shadows. The sharp angles of Yuan Cheng’s profile were half-obscured in the dimness, his expression unreadable.

Lang Bai’s breathing was uneven, restless. The more precocious a person, the more fragile their life—like a flower that blooms too brilliantly, only to wither all the faster. Sometimes, you don’t even have time to truly see it. You remember only how breathtaking it once was, and then, in the blink of an eye, it’s gone—not even a trace of its fragrance left behind. All you retain is the memory of its beauty, yet the exact image of its splendor slips away, impossible to grasp.

Yuan Cheng stubbed out the cigarette on the nightstand, stood, and left the room. Moments later, he returned with a syringe in hand.

Lang Bai stirred slightly at the sound of footsteps, rolling over but not waking. Yuan Cheng took his wrist, knelt beside the bed, and gently injected the contents into his vein.

The sting was quickly numbed. Within minutes, Lang Bai’s breathing evened out, deepening into the tranquil, drug-induced slumber.

Yuan Cheng knew he should leave now. Yet he remained kneeling there, unable to move.

Why does he have to be my son? he thought.

I’ve doted on him, loved him, cared for him—poured my heart, my emotions, my time into him. Even if he were made of stone, after all these years, he should belong to me.

Yuan Cheng closed his eyes. A voice inside him demanded: But he is your son. Doesn’t that mean he already belongs to you? You are his father, his everything, his entire world. Isn’t he completely yours? What more do you want?

...

What more do I want?

Yuan Cheng drew a slow, heavy breath.

The hazy moonlight spilled over Lang Bai’s peaceful sleeping face. His eyes were beautiful—long, delicate lashes casting faint shadows, the outer corners slightly upturned, giving him an almost ethereal allure. If he were to glance at someone from this angle, it would surely be mesmerizing, even seductive.

Would he ever look at someone else like that?

—In the not-so-distant future, at some equally beautiful girl, falling for her with his whole heart?

And whoever he looked at like that would surely fall for him in return.

Yuan Cheng’s breathing grew ragged. Lang Bai’s face in the moonlight looked so serene, so innocent—his lips slightly parted, a delicate shade of pink, as if no matter what was done to him, he wouldn’t wake.

As if possessed, Yuan Cheng leaned down, seizing Lang Bai’s wrist, his rough fingers tracing the soft skin. The friction left faint red marks, the sensation only fueling his intoxicated desire. He pressed kisses to Lang Bai’s brow, his cheeks.

His entire upper body pressed against the boy’s, the pure, youthful form exuding an indefinable fragrance in the dark. Yuan Cheng could feel himself hardening to the point of pain. Finally, with a low, surrendering sigh, he captured Lang Bai’s lips.

A kiss that should never exist between father and son—one laced with violent lust and possessive hunger. A fierce, invasive clash of tongues, the obscene sound of wet suction, all forced upon the unconscious boy. Forbidden, intoxicating, impossible to resist.

—I love him so much. I’ve spoiled him, cared for him for nine years. Why can’t he be mine?

Why can’t he belong to me—completely, utterly, in every way?

His grip on Lang Bai’s chin tightened, forcing his mouth open wider. The taste of tobacco invaded as his tongue ravaged the boy’s mouth, leaving behind a lewd strand of saliva when he finally pulled away.

Lang Bai lay on the bed, the covers slipped halfway down, revealing slender, pale shoulders. His lips were slightly swollen, his wrist marked with the imprint of fingers—the sight alone enough to drive a man to madness.

But by morning, these traces would fade. He would never know.

Yuan Cheng’s breathing was harsh, ragged. He wanted more—needed more. Desire pounded in his head, his bloodshot eyes wild, almost feral. For a moment, he looked less like a man and more like a beast as he stared down at his youngest son.

Yet in the end, he forced himself to stand. Step by step, he retreated, backing out of the room.

The throbbing ache between his legs was a cruel, secret reminder of what he had done. Yuan Cheng leaned against the wall outside, staring into the darkness.

...Why do I feel this way about my own son?

This twisted mix of violence and desire—this need to possess him, ruin him, even destroy him?

His fingers dug into his hair as he buried his face in his hands, his expression hidden. Yes, he had taken many people before—men and women, beautiful and alluring, whoever he wanted. More often than not, he didn’t even have to ask. They came to him willingly, or were delivered to his bed by others.

He had once believed he would never be tormented by such cravings, never be so deeply affected by another person’s existence. Things that came too easily were just as easily forgotten.

But then, at some point in his life, he had unknowingly begun to desire his own flesh and blood—and only then did he realize how wrong he had been.

In this world, there truly was someone he coveted in secret, longed for with desperate, irrational hunger—yet was doomed to spend his life chasing, for it was fated to be unattainable.

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