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Huan Hua Palace was a masterpiece of architectural design. It featured vaulted ceilings, expansive windows, and intricately carved wooden pillars. Thus the reason Binghe had originally taken over the sect in the first place. However, over the past month, Luo Binghe had dismantled every ounce of that original beauty to create a hazard-free containment zone.
Shen Yuan woke up and stared at the nearest bedside table. The mahogany edges were gone. Binghe had ordered the palace artisans to sand down every sharp corner in the room. When the sanded corners still looked remotely firm, the Supreme Demon Lord took matters into his own hands and wrapped the furniture in thick layers of cotton and raw silk. If this was all for a small child, Shen Yuan would understand! But he was not a small child—he was a very exasperated man who was older than Binghe!
The temperature was another point of contention. Human bodies required a stable climate. Binghe did not trust the natural weather patterns of the mortal realm. He installed fourteen separate heating and cooling arrays around the perimeter of the bed. The air in the room remained perfectly stagnant at a mild, lukewarm temperature that made Shen Yuan feel like a reptile basking under a heat lamp.
Shen Yuan sat up slowly. The swan-feather mattress swallowed his weight. He pushed the heavy comforter off his chest and looked around the room.
Luo Binghe sat in a velvet chair by the window. The boy held a porcelain bowl and a silver spoon. He was staring at Shen Yuan with an expression of unwavering, terrifying devotion. "Good morning, my angel," Binghe greeted softly. He stood up and walked over to the bed. "You slept for eight hours and twelve minutes. Your breathing was even, and you didn’t cough."
"Good morning," Shen Yuan rasped. His throat felt dry.
Binghe immediately set the bowl down on the padded nightstand. He picked up a cup filled with warm water. He pressed the rim of the cup to Shen Yuan’s lips. Shen Yuan reached up to take the cup. Binghe shifted his grip, refusing to relinquish the vessel. He tilted the jade carefully, forcing Shen Yuan to drink from his hands.
Shen Yuan swallowed the water and pulled his head back. He glared at the boy's hands. "I can hold a cup, Binghe. My skin is not paper, and my bones aren’t made of glass."
"The jade is heavy," Binghe said gently. He set the cup aside and picked up the porcelain bowl. "You are still adjusting to your mortal form. You should conserve your strength. I brought breakfast."
Shen Yuan looked into the bowl. It contained a grayish, featureless sludge.
"What is that?" Shen Yuan asked, wrinkling his nose.
"It is a highly nutritious congee," Binghe explained. He stirred the sludge with the silver spoon. "I used spiritual herbs, shredded chicken, and ginseng. I cooked it for six hours until the ingredients dissolved completely. It requires absolutely zero chewing."
Shen Yuan stared at the bowl in absolute disbelief. "You pureed my breakfast.”
"I don’t want my angel to choke," Binghe stated. He scooped a small amount of the sludge onto the spoon. He blew on it gently to ensure the temperature was safe. He held the spoon up to Shen Yuan’s mouth. "You swallowed a piece of duck too quickly last night and coughed. It’s better to be safe than sorry. Eat."
Shen Yuan kept his mouth firmly shut. The memory of the previous night flashed through his mind. He had coughed once because the plum sauce was slightly spicy. Binghe had reacted as if someone had fired a poisoned arrow into the room. The Demon Lord had pounded on Shen Yuan’s back, summoned three terrified healers, and threatened to execute the head chef for attempting assassination.
"I want normal food," Shen Yuan said, speaking through clenched teeth.
"That’s dangerous," Binghe replied calmly. He pressed the silver spoon against Shen Yuan’s lower lip. "Open your mouth. You need sustenance."
Shen Yuan weighed his options. He could fight. He could swat the spoon away and demand a solid meal. If he did that, Binghe would simply drop the spoon, pin Shen Yuan to the mattress, and spend the next three hours apologizing while refusing to compromise on the menu. Shen Yuan sighed, opened his mouth, and accepted the sludge.
Binghe smiled brightly. He spent the next twenty minutes meticulously feeding Shen Yuan the entire bowl. He wiped Shen Yuan’s mouth with a silk cloth after every third bite. When the meal concluded, Binghe set the empty bowl aside. "I will have the servants prepare a bath."
"I can bathe myself," Shen Yuan huffed indignantly. He threw the comforter aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He placed his feet on the floor and shifted his weight forward.
Binghe moved fast. The Supreme Demon Lord intercepted the movement entirely. Binghe stepped between Shen Yuan’s knees, wrapped his arms around Shen Yuan’s waist, and lifted him completely off the ground before Shen Yuan could even lock his knees.
"What are you doing?" Shen Yuan yelped. He grabbed Binghe’s shoulders to steady himself.
"The floorboards in the washroom are made of marble," Binghe explained casually. He adjusted his grip, carrying Shen Yuan high against his chest. "Marble becomes incredibly slick when exposed to steam. You will slip."
"I am currently standing on a carpet," Shen Yuan pointed out loudly. "The washroom is twenty feet away. Put me down, and let me walk to the door."
"You might trip on the fringe of the rug," Binghe ignored Shen Yuan’s squirming. He walked toward the attached washroom with long, confident strides. "Your center of gravity has shifted since your physical manifestation. Your balance is unreliable. I will carry you."
Shen Yuan dug his fingers into the fabric of Binghe’s dark robes. The sheer indignity of the situation burned hot in his chest. He was a grown man. He had survived the Endless Abyss. He had shielded this exact boy from giant insects and acid-spitting monsters. Now, he was being carried like a fragile porcelain doll because the rug possessed fringe.
Binghe carried him into the washroom. The room was already filled with warm, fragrant steam. A massive cedar tub sat in the center of the space, filled with perfectly heated water and floating lotus petals. Binghe set Shen Yuan down on a padded wooden bench near the tub. The Demon Lord knelt on the marble floor and began to untie the sash of Shen Yuan’s sleepwear.
"I can undress myself," Shen Yuan hissed, batting Binghe’s hands away.
"Allow me," Binghe insisted gently. He easily bypassed Shen Yuan’s weak defense and slipped the silk robes off Shen Yuan’s shoulders.
Shen Yuan fell silent. He stared at the ceiling. He disconnected his mind from his body as Binghe stripped him bare, lifted him off the bench, and lowered him carefully into the warm water.
The bathing process was a masterclass in torture. Binghe rolled his sleeves up and took a soft sea sponge from a nearby shelf. The Demon Lord washed Shen Yuan with the meticulous attention of an artisan restoring a priceless artifact. He scrubbed Shen Yuan’s back, massaged his shoulders, and washed his hair with scented oils. Binghe checked the water temperature every two minutes, occasionally adding a burst of his own qi to keep the heat perfectly regulated.
Shen Yuan sat in the tub like a hostage. He did not move. He did not speak. He let the water lap against his chest and analyzed the trajectory of his existence. He had lost his bodily autonomy. His captor dictated his diet, his mobility, and his hygiene. Words had entirely failed him. Whenever Shen Yuan voiced a complaint, Binghe twisted the logic to justify the confinement. The boy viewed every restriction as an act of love. Arguing with a psychotic savior complex was a pointless endeavor.
Shen Yuan decided to change his strategy. If his words held no weight, he would stop providing them. If he could not control his environment, he would control his participation in it.
Binghe finished washing Shen Yuan’s hair. The boy lifted Shen Yuan from the tub, wrapped him tightly in a massive towel, and carried him back into the main pavilion. Binghe deposited him on the bed and began to dry his skin with agonizing care.
Binghe retrieved a fresh set of robes from the wardrobe. He dressed Shen Yuan in layers of soft, unrestrictive cotton. He combed Shen Yuan’s damp hair, tying it back with a simple silk ribbon.
"There," Binghe said softly. He sat on the edge of the mattress and smiled. "You’re clean and warm. Would you like me to read to you? I procured several new scrolls from the royal library. They detail the histories of the ancient immortal masters."
Shen Yuan looked at Binghe. Then, he looked at the padded furniture and the empty bowl of pureed chicken. Shen Yuan crossed his arms over his chest. He turned his head away from Binghe. He fixed his gaze on the blank wall on the opposite side of the room. He clenched his jaw and silently took a vow of silence.
Binghe waited for a response. The silence stretched across the room, heavy and thick. "My angel?" Binghe prompted. His voice carried a faint trace of confusion. "Did you hear me? I asked if you wanted me to read to you."
Shen Yuan did not blink. He stared at the wall. He focused on a tiny imperfection in the plaster.
Binghe shifted his weight on the mattress. The bed dipped slightly as the Demon Lord leaned closer. "Are you tired? If you wish to sleep, I will close the curtains. You only need to tell me."
Shen Yuan remained completely still. He kept his facial expression entirely blank. The confusion in Binghe’s voice morphed rapidly into alarm. He reached out and touched Shen Yuan’s shoulder.
"Why are you not speaking?" Binghe asked. His tone sharpened. He grabbed Shen Yuan’s chin and forced the older man to turn his head.
Shen Yuan allowed his head to be moved, but he refused to make eye contact. He shifted his gaze downward, staring at the silver rings on Binghe’s fingers. He kept his lips pressed firmly together.
Panic flashed across Binghe’s face. He pressed the back of his hand against Shen Yuan’s forehead, checking for a fever. Next, he grabbed Shen Yuan’s wrist and pressed his fingers aggressively against the pulse point, monitoring the heart rate.
"You’re silent," Binghe muttered frantically. His qi began to leak into the room, dropping the ambient temperature despite the heating arrays. "Your throat is inflamed. The steam in the washroom was too thick. You inhaled water. You must have damaged your vocal cords."
Shen Yuan almost rolled his eyes. The sheer leap in logic was staggering, but he maintained his blank expression. He gently pulled his wrist out of Binghe’s grip, folded his arms back over his chest, and turned his head toward the wall again.
Binghe stood up abruptly. The velvet chair screeched against the floorboards as he kicked it out of his way.
"Guards!" Binghe roared. His voice shook the window panes. "Summon the medical pavilion! Bring every healer in the palace to this room immediately! If they do not arrive within two minutes, I will execute them all!"
Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside as the terrified guards sprinted to obey the command.
Binghe paced back and forth at the foot of the bed. He ran his hands through his hair, his breathing harsh and erratic. "Hold on. The healers are coming. They’ll fix this. I won’t let you lose your voice. I swear it."
Shen Yuan sat in his fortress of pillows and waited. He felt a tiny spark of satisfaction. The silent treatment was highly effective. It disrupted Binghe’s control.
Less than two minutes later, the heavy wooden doors burst open. Three healers stumbled into the room. They carried heavy wooden kits filled with spiritual herbs and diagnostic tools. They were panting heavily, their faces pale with terror.
"My Lord," the head healer gasped, dropping to his knees. "We are here. Who requires our services?"
Binghe grabbed the old healer by the collar of his robes and hauled him to his feet. He shoved the healer toward the bed. "Examine him," Binghe commanded. "He cannot speak. He woke up, ate breakfast, took a bath, and lost his voice. Find the cause. Fix it."
The three healers scrambled to the side of the bed. They bowed deeply to Shen Yuan. The head healer reached out with a trembling hand. "Please excuse this offense, Consort," the healer whispered. He pressed two fingers against the side of Shen Yuan’s neck, channeling a thin stream of qi into Shen Yuan’s body.
Shen Yuan didn’t react. He just stared blankly ahead. He allowed the foreign energy to circulate through his meridians. He knew he was perfectly healthy. He wanted Binghe to hear it from a professional.
The second healer opened a small wooden box and pulled out a glowing crystal. He held the crystal near Shen Yuan’s mouth, checking for toxic exhalations or blockages in the airway. The third healer checked Shen Yuan’s eyes and ears.
The examination lasted five minutes. Binghe hovered right behind them, his hand resting heavily on the hilt of Xin Mo. The threat of immediate decapitation hung heavily in the air.
The head healer withdrew his fingers. He looked at his colleagues. They exchanged frantic, confused glances. The head healer swallowed hard and turned to face the Supreme Demon Lord. "My Lord," the healer stammered, bowing low. "We have completed the examination."
"Speak," Binghe growled.
"His physical vessel is pristine," the healer reported. His voice shook. "His meridians are clear. His vocal cords show absolutely no signs of inflammation, tearing, or magical silencing. There is no illness. There is no poison."
Binghe stepped forward, looming over the terrified medical staff. "You are lying. He is not speaking. If there is no physical cause, you missed something."
"We missed nothing, My Lord!" the second healer cried, dropping to his knees. "His body is functioning perfectly. He possesses the physical capability to speak. He is simply choosing to withhold his voice."
The words echoed in the quiet room. Binghe froze. His hand slowly slipped off the hilt of his sword. The blackness receded from his eyes. He looked past the trembling healers and stared directly at Shen Yuan.
Shen Yuan maintained his rigid posture. He kept his arms crossed. He met Binghe’s gaze for a single, defiant second before turning his head back toward the blank wall.
Binghe stared at the back of Shen Yuan’s head. The realization hit the Demon Lord with the force of a physical blow. This was no illness. This was a boycott. His angel was punishing him. "Get out," Binghe whispered to the healers.
The three healers did not need to be told twice. They grabbed their kits and sprinted out of the pavilion, the heavy wooden doors slamming shut behind them.
The invisible barrier hummed as it sealed the room.
Binghe walked slowly around the bed until he stood directly in Shen Yuan’s line of sight. He sank to his knees on the plush carpet. He looked up at Shen Yuan. The terrifying tyrant vanished completely. In his place sat a miserable, desperate child. "Are you angry with me?" Binghe asked. His voice cracked.
Shen Yuan did not answer. He stared at a spot on the wall slightly above Binghe’s head.
"I only carried you to the washroom to keep you safe," Binghe pleaded. He reached out and gently grasped the hem of Shen Yuan’s sleeve. "The marble is dangerous. You’re incredibly fragile. I cannot bear the thought of you falling and breaking your bones. I puréed the food so you would not choke. Everything I do is for your protection."
Shen Yuan pressed his lips tighter together. He refused to engage with the twisted logic. Binghe waited for a response. When none came, the boy's lower lip trembled. He released Shen Yuan’s sleeve and sat back on his heels.
"You want to punish me," Binghe concluded softly. "You want to deprive me of your voice. You know how much I love hearing you speak my name."
Shen Yuan did not nod. He did not shake his head. He remained a statue.
Binghe stood up. His expression hardened into a mask of desperate determination. "I understand. You require an apology. You want reimbursement. I will provide it." Binghe turned and walked out of the pavilion.
Shen Yuan let out a slow, quiet breath. He relaxed his posture slightly. He had won the first battle. He had established a boundary. He planned to maintain the silence for the rest of the day, forcing Binghe to acknowledge his frustration. He figured Binghe would return later with a sincere apology and perhaps an agreement to let Shen Yuan walk to the bathroom independently. He severely underestimated the depths of Luo Binghe’s overcompensation.
Thirty minutes later, the doors burst open.
Binghe marched into the room, followed by a line of six terrified servants. They carried heavy, iron-bound chests. Binghe directed them to place the chests at the foot of the bed. The servants opened the lids and immediately fled the room. The chests were overflowing with treasure.
There were massive, glowing pearls salvaged from the deep ocean trenches. There were ancient, priceless scrolls containing lost cultivation techniques. There were piles of raw, uncut spiritual diamonds that cast a blinding rainbow of light across the ceiling. One chest contained dozens of glowing, immortal lotus flowers that pulsed with pure, concentrated energy.
Binghe stood beside the hoard. He looked at Shen Yuan expectantly.
"I raided the southern treasury," Binghe announced. He picked up a necklace made of blood-red rubies and held it up. "These are the spoils of the Crimson Sea campaign. They are yours. Do you like them? Will you speak to me now?"
Shen Yuan looked at the rubies, the glowing lotus and frowned. He crossed his arms tighter and stared at the wall. He did not care about treasure. Binghe’s smile faltered. He dropped the ruby necklace back into the chest.
"The treasure is insufficient," Binghe muttered to himself. He began to pace the room. "Material wealth does not interest him. He requires a different kind of tribute.
A faint sound drifted through the open window. It was the muffled sound of voices. A group of courtiers were walking through the gardens outside the pavilion, discussing trade routes. Their voices were low, but they were audible.
Binghe stopped pacing. His head snapped toward the window. "They are disturbing you," Binghe concluded. His eyes turned black again. The demonic aura flared violently, icing the windows over in a matter of seconds. "The noise is causing you distress. That is why you are refusing to speak. The environment is imperfect."
No, Shen Yuan thought frantically. That isn’t why at all! Don't do anything stupid!
Binghe did not wait for confirmation. He turned on his heel and marched out of the pavilion.
Shen Yuan sat on the bed stiffly and listened.
Ten seconds later, a series of muffled shouts echoed from the gardens. The shouts turned into brief, terrified screams. The screams were silenced immediately by the unmistakable, wet sound of a blade cutting through flesh.
Silence descended upon the gardens.
The pavilion doors opened, and Binghe walked back inside. The boy was breathing evenly as if he did not just kill innocent courtiers. . A light mist of fresh, bright red blood splattered across the right side of his face and the dark fabric of his robes. He wiped a drop of blood from his cheek with his thumb.
Binghe walked over to the bed. He smiled gently. He looked like a puppy seeking praise for bringing a dead bird into the house. "The noise is gone," Binghe whispered happily. "The courtiers were disrupting your peace. I removed them.”
Shen Yuan stared at the blood on the boy's face. Nausea gripped his stomach. He had initiated the silent treatment to gain a small measure of independence. He had failed to predict that Binghe would interpret the silence as an environmental issue and begin executing people to fix it.
Shen Yuan wanted to scream, to yell at the boy for murdering innocent politicians over a minor grievance, and to demand that Binghe stop the madness. But he could not speak. If he broke the silence now, he would prove that Binghe’s psychotic methods were effective. He would teach the Demon Lord that violence resulted in communication. He would validate the murders.
Shen Yuan had locked himself into a terrible psychological trap. He had to maintain the silence, or he would lose the war completely.
He stared at the blood-spattered boy. He tightened his jaw. He slowly turned his head back toward the wall. Binghe’s smile collapsed. The boy dropped to his knees at the side of the bed. He buried his face in the mattress, right next to Shen Yuan’s leg. He let out a pathetic, broken whine.
"What do you want?" Binghe begged into the blankets. His voice was muffled and entirely desperate. "Tell me what you want, and I will tear the world apart to give it to you. Please. Just speak to me."
Shen Yuan sat in his padded prison, surrounded by priceless treasure and the lingering scent of fresh blood. He looked at the blank wall. He was bored out of his mind. He wanted a book or a cup of tea that he could hold with his own two hands. He refused to break. He settled into the cushions, preparing for a very long, very quiet protest.
- · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Shen Yuan had spent the last four hours counting the individual brushstrokes on a particularly elaborate celestial dragon. He was currently up to four thousand two hundred and sixteen.
The silent treatment was an effective weapon. It was, however, profoundly boring.
Shen Yuan lay flat on his back among the swan-feather pillows. The suffocating silence of the room pressed down on him heavily. Without access to Wi-Fi, modern video games, or even a moderately terrible web novel to critique, eternity was shaping up to be an absolute nightmare. He could only count ceiling tiles for so long before his brain completely melted from severe under-stimulation.
At the foot of the bed, Luo Binghe remained a perfectly still, deeply miserable statue. The Supreme Demon Lord had not moved a single muscle since returning from his bloody excursion in the gardens. The boy knelt on the plush carpet, staring at Shen Yuan with large, tear-filled eyes. He looked exactly like a discarded puppy left out in the freezing rain.
Shen Yuan squeezed his eyes shut. He stubbornly refused to look at the pathetic display. He needed a distraction. He desperately needed a hobby.
DING DING DING!
The sound exploded directly inside Shen Yuan's skull. It was loud, aggressive, and entirely unmistakable.
Shen Yuan’s eyes flew open. A shower of neon pixelated confetti erupted in the empty space right above his chest. A massive, bright blue holographic screen materialized in the air. It spun with cheerful, nauseatingly upbeat animations.
[SYSTEM REBOOT INITIATED! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ:･ﾟ✧ Welcome back, User!]
Shen Yuan completely forgot his vow of silence. He nearly gasped out loud, catching himself at the very last second. He clamped his mouth shut and stared at the floating interface in absolute disbelief. The System had uninstalled itself when he had been given the displeasure of becoming a real boy with no freedom. It was supposed to be gone forever.
[Emergency Intervention Required! Warning: The VIP is currently experiencing Critical Emotional Trauma due to 'Hostile Withdrawal of Affection'.]
The text scrolled rapidly across the blue screen, accompanied by a cartoonish animation of a crying chibi Luo Binghe.
[Your continued silence is causing severe plot instability! The Supreme Demon Lord is currently operating at 15% mental capacity. If this depressive episode continues, he will abandon his imperial duties entirely to stare at the wall with you. The narrative cannot support two catatonic leads!]
Shen Yuan glared at the screen. He wanted to shout at the floating blue box. It was the System's fault he was stuck in this fragile, squishy body in the first place. He folded his arms tighter over his chest, refusing to break his silence for a rogue AI.
[To correct this narrative imbalance, the System is offering a Limited-Time Appeasement Shop! (✧ω✧)]
The warning messages vanished. The screen shifted into a brightly colored storefront display. Several glowing items appeared in floating bubbles, but one particular item in the very center immediately caught Shen Yuan’s eye. It was a thick, ancient-looking scroll bound in golden silk.
[Grand Prize: Beginner's Guide to Mortal Cultivation! Description: Sick of being a fragile human? Tired of bruising like a peach? This comprehensive manual will guide you through the process of condensing your very own Golden Core! Benefits include: Increased physical durability, extended lifespan, and a cure for extreme boredom! Finally, a hobby you can enjoy indoors!]
Shen Yuan’s heart skipped a beat.
A Golden Core. If he could cultivate his own spiritual energy, he would no longer be entirely helpless. He could cure his own squishiness. He would not need to be carried to the bathtub to avoid slippery marble, and he could demand to chew his own solid food. It was the perfect solution to his humiliating lack of bodily autonomy, providing an intellectual pursuit to fill the agonizingly long days in his golden cage.
Shen Yuan lifted a pale, trembling hand. He pointed his index finger directly at the glowing golden scroll floating inside the digital bubble. He tapped the holographic display with eager anticipation.
BZZZT.
A harsh error noise rang in his ears. A bright red text box slammed onto the screen, temporarily blocking the digital confetti.
[Transaction Denied! Insufficient Funds. (╥﹏╥) Current B-Point Balance: 0.]
Shen Yuan glared at the interface. Of course his balance was zero. The System had drained his account completely during their terrifying plummet into the Endless Abyss. He had spent his entire life savings on a kinetic shield just to keep Binghe from splattering across the volcanic rock. He was still entirely broke even after all these years.
He mouthed the word how, gesturing aggressively at the screen while keeping his lips tightly sealed. If he was trapped in a cage with absolutely zero monsters to fight and no plot points to advance, how was he supposed to earn currency?
The System immediately responded, reading his frantic gestures accurately.
[Do not worry, User! The economy has been completely restructured to fit your new narrative role! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ Since your primary function is now 'Beloved Consort,' the standard survival questing system has been permanently disabled. You no longer earn points by fighting monsters or altering the plot. You earn points exclusively through 'Protagonist Affirmation Actions'!]
Shen Yuan felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. He read the next block of text with mounting, visceral dread.
[The System exists entirely to service the VIP's narrative satisfaction. Your recent silent treatment has caused his emotional levels to drop to critically low parameters. You must actively contribute to his emotional well-being to restore the plot! Please review the new earning chart:]
The blue screen shifted, displaying a neatly organized menu of horrific social interactions.
[Verbal Compliment (Must be sincere!): +5 B-Points Initiating Physical Contact (e.g., a hug or holding hands): +10 B-Points Verbal Declaration of Love ("I love you"): +50 B-Points]
Shen Yuan stared at the chart. He looked down at the bottom of the storefront menu. The price tag attached to the Beginner's Guide to Mortal Cultivation hovered in bright, mocking neon numbers.
[Price: 100 B-Points.]
Shen Yuan closed his eyes. He took a long, slow breath through his nose.
This was extortion. It was blatant blackmail. The rogue AI was actively holding his only chance at bodily autonomy hostage. To cure his own fragility and gain a shred of independence, he had to completely abandon his silent treatment. He had to swallow his pride, break his own boycott, and actively feed the bottomless pit of his husband’s ego. He had to physically and verbally romance him.
He opened his eyes and looked at the foot of the bed.
Luo Binghe was still kneeling on the plush carpet. The Supreme Demon Lord looked absolutely pathetic. His broad shoulders were slumped in utter defeat. His dark hair fell into his eyes, hiding his expression, while a single, pitiful sniffle echoed in the quiet pavilion. He was an apocalyptic warlord, yet he was currently reduced to a weeping puddle because his husband refused to make conversation.
Shen Yuan looked back at the glowing golden scroll on the blue screen.
One hundred points.
Shen Yuan weighed his options. On one hand, he had his dignity and his carefully constructed silent treatment. On the other hand, he had the prospect of immortal cultivation, indestructible bones, and the ability to chew solid food. Cultivation won easily. His pride had died the moment Binghe carried him to the bathtub anyway.
Binghe had retreated to the velvet armchair in the corner of the room. The Demon Lord sat hunched over, mindlessly dragging a silk polishing cloth up and down the black blade of Xin Mo. Binghe looked entirely defeated, a conqueror brought low by his own desperate need for attention.
Shen Yuan took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the most humiliating performance of his life. He slid off the massive mattress and walked slowly across the plush carpet.
Binghe did not even look up. The boy was too deep in his own spiral of self-pity to notice the approach.
Shen Yuan stood awkwardly beside the chair. He raised a trembling hand. He forced his arm forward and brought his palm down directly on top of the Supreme Demon Lord's head. He gave the fluffy, dark hair two stiff, incredibly robotic pats.
"Your hair," Shen Yuan said loudly, his voice cracking slightly from sheer awkwardness. "Your hair is very bouncy today. It is a good look for you."
The effect was instantaneous.
Binghe completely short-circuited. The boy's hands went entirely slack. Xin Mo slipped from his grip, clattering heavily onto the hardwood floor and gouging a deep scratch into the polished mahogany. The legendary demonic artifact was completely forgotten. Binghe stared straight ahead, his dark eyes blown wide in absolute, uncomprehending shock.
A cheerful chime echoed in Shen Yuan's skull.
[Verbal Compliment Accepted! +5 B-Points. Initiating Physical Contact! +10 B-Points. Current Balance: 15.]
Fifteen points. He needed eighty-five more. If he stopped now, the sheer embarrassment of the situation would cause him to spontaneously combust. He had to commit fully.
Shen Yuan realized he had to grind points quickly before he lost his nerve. He launched into a desperate, rapid-fire sequence of aggressive affection. He leaned down and threw both of his arms awkwardly around Binghe's broad shoulders, pulling the terrified tyrant into a clumsy, stiff hug.
"And your cooking," Shen Yuan babbled rapidly, patting Binghe's back with frantic energy. "Very smooth. Very savory. I enjoyed it immensely."
[Verbal Compliment! +5 B-Points. Hug Initiated! +10 B-Points.]
Binghe let out a strangled, wheezing gasp. His hands hovered in the air, completely unsure of what to do with the sudden, overwhelming influx of physical attention. The boy was vibrating with shock, his brain entirely unable to process the sudden reversal of fortune.
"You are doing a fantastic job conquering the world," Shen Yuan continued, practically shouting into Binghe's ear to drown out his own internal screaming. "You are truly the best Supreme Demon Lord in the history of the realm."
[Verbal Compliment! +5 B-Points. Verbal Compliment! +5 B-Points.]
The depression vanished from Binghe's face. It was completely obliterated, replaced by a surge of overwhelming elation. The dark, suffocating demonic aura flared back to life, filling the room with a heavy, intoxicating heat. The red Heavenly Demon sigil on the boy's forehead blazed with blinding intensity. Binghe's arms finally snapped shut, wrapping around Shen Yuan's waist in a crushing, desperate grip.
Shen Yuan checked his mental tally. He was hovering around forty points. Small compliments were taking far too long, and Binghe's grip was getting uncomfortably tight. He needed the grand prize to afford the manual. He squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, and prepared to drop the nuclear option.
"I love you," Shen Yuan blurted out, his face burning hotter than a volcanic fissure in the Endless Abyss. "You are my favorite. Just keep doing exactly what you are doing."
[Ultimate Affirmation Unlocked! +50 B-Points. Bonus Multiplier for Extreme Sincerity (or Extreme Desperation)! +10 B-Points. Current Balance: 100. Goal Reached! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ:･ﾟ✧]
The digital confetti exploded in his vision again. Shen Yuan let out a massive sigh of relief. He had done it. He had the points. He could finally buy his freedom from squishiness.
He opened his eyes and immediately realized he had made a severe error.
Binghe was staring at him. The boy's eyes were completely pitch black. The Supreme Demon Lord looked like a starving predator who had just been handed a bleeding steak on a silver platter. Binghe's grip tightened around Shen Yuan's waist, pulling the human directly onto his lap with terrifying ease.
The boy buried his face into Shen Yuan's neck, inhaling deeply. Binghe was vibrating with an ecstatic, unhinged joy that threatened to shatter the very foundations of the pavilion. Shen Yuan had successfully cured the boy's depression, but he had accidentally supercharged the monster's clinginess to an entirely new, apocalyptic level.
Shen Yuan mentally slapped the purchase button on the floating blue interface. The System let out a triumphant, ringing chime. The glowing blue storefront vanished entirely, replaced by a heavy, golden scroll dropping directly into his lap.
He had done it. He had successfully manipulated the horrific economy of his own hostage situation. He felt a massive surge of triumphant victory. He was going to build a golden core, cure his fragile human bones, and finally secure an independent hobby. He would lock himself in a quiet meditation room for six hours a day to practice his breathing exercises. It was the perfect plan.
Binghe was still clinging to his waist, happily burying his face in Shen Yuan's neck and vibrating like a massive engine. Shen Yuan ignored the incredibly clingy Demon Lord and eagerly unrolled the golden silk.
The ancient text glowed with a soft, inviting light. Shen Yuan scanned the introduction.
Congratulations on your new biological vessel! As a former spiritual entity, your meridians are uniquely porous and entirely unsuited for drawing raw qi from the atmosphere.
Shen Yuan frowned. That sounded like a terrible design flaw. He kept reading.
Attempting to cultivate independently will result in immediate, catastrophic qi deviation and explosive spontaneous combustion. To safely forge a golden core, the practitioner is strictly required to engage in Qi Exchange.
Shen Yuan felt a cold, sinking dread pool in his stomach. He moved his eyes to the next paragraph.
The practitioner must secure a partner possessing a vastly superior cultivation base. This partner must physically guide their robust qi through the practitioner's fragile meridians. For optimal core formation, this dual cultivation process must be performed rigorously and thoroughly on a daily basis.
Shen Yuan stopped reading. The words blurred together on the glowing golden silk.
He had not bought a cultivation manual. He had bought a medically mandated prescription for daily papapa! He had sold every ounce of his pride, broken his perfect silent treatment, and poured gasoline on his husband's obsessive clinginess to purchase a book that officially required him to sleep with him every single day.
A hot, heavy breath ghosted over his ear.
Luo Binghe shifted his weight, resting his chin comfortably on Shen Yuan's shoulder. The Supreme Demon Lord had been reading the glowing text right along with him. Shen Yuan slowly turned his head to look at him.
Binghe was smiling. It was an impossibly wide, terrifyingly radiant smile that promised an absolute, inescapable eternity of devotion. The boy's dark eyes were practically sparkling with predatory delight.
"A rigorous daily schedule," Binghe whispered, his voice dark and thrumming with intense anticipation. "We must follow the instructions carefully, my angel. We cannot risk explosive spontaneous combustion. Your health is my absolute top priority."
Shen Yuan looked at the cursed book. He looked at his wildly happy, hopelessly obsessed husband. The universe had played its final, cruelest joke.
With a long, incredibly heavy sigh, Shen Yuan accepted his fate once again and slowly rolled the golden manual shut.