The bedroom door remained sealed for an entire day.
Lu Chenzhou had burrowed deep beneath the duvet, allowing the darkness to swallow him whole. Beyond the window, daylight bled into dusk, yet he hadn't stirred, ignoring both lunch and dinner. The hollow ache in his stomach was a distant second to the leaden weight of despair crushing his chest.
Fu Jingshen did not knock again. An eerie quiet had settled over the villa, broken only by the incessant ticking of the wall clock, a sound that seemed to count down the seconds of his internal struggle.
It made no sense. He detested Fu Jingshen's control, so why had a faint thread of disappointment—even a treacherous longing for that invasive, possessive embrace—unspooled inside him when the man had simply put the remote away and hadn't forced the door? The thought was a venomous snake, coiling tight around his lungs, suffocating him. He slammed a fist against his own temple, trying to beat the absurdity back, but the struggle only made the coils tighten.
By the small hours of the morning, raw hunger finally overpowered his defiance. He eased the bedroom door open on silent hinges. The living room was pitch black, save for a single, inviting sliver of light from the kitchen.
He found Fu Jingshen at the table, a steaming bowl of noodles placed before him, clearly just prepared.
Hearing the soft footfall, Fu Jingshen looked up. His expression held no surprise, as if he'd been waiting for this exact moment all along. "Come. Eat."
Lu Chenzhou stayed frozen in the doorway, his fingers twisting tightly into the fabric of his shirt.
Fu Jingshen didn't press. He simply laid the chopsticks across the rim of the bowl and pushed it toward the opposite side of the table. "It won't be good cold."
After a heartbeat of silence, Lu Chenzhou finally moved. He pulled out the chair and sat. It was a simple Yangchun noodle soup, a perfectly fried egg nestled on top, finely chopped spring onions scattered across the surface. The aroma hit him, making his empty stomach clench painfully.
He picked up the chopsticks, head bowed, and began to eat in small, careful bites. The noodles were perfectly cooked, the broth light yet rich with the subtle, comforting flavor of lard—it tasted exactly like the soup his mother used to make him when he was sick as a child.
Fu Jingshen sat opposite, simply watching him. He didn't speak, didn't move to get his own food.
The intensity of the gaze made Lu Chenzhou's skin prickle. He ate faster, wanting only to finish and retreat to the false safety of his room. But halfway through, a lump lodged in his throat. Tears, hot and shameful, spilled over without warning, hitting the broth with tiny, pathetic splashes.
He didn't want to cry. Especially not here. Not in front of *him*. But the pent-up grievances, the rage, the utter helplessness, and that confusing, unwelcome dependency shattered their dam all at once, impossible to hold back.
Fu Jingshen's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. He rose and crossed the short distance, offering a tissue.
Lu Chenzhou ignored it, burying his head lower, his shoulders shaking with silent, suppressed sobs. He felt like a child, small and utterly defeated.
Fu Jingshen's hand hovered for a second before it landed, somewhat awkwardly, on Lu Chenzhou's back. The pats were stiff, unpracticed in offering comfort. "What is all this for?"
The simple question shattered the last of his defenses. He dropped the chopsticks with a clatter and lifted his head, looking at Fu Jingshen through a blur of tears. His voice was thick, a raw mix of accusation and desperate plea. "What do you want from me…?"
Fu Jingshen watched the tears track through the reddened eyes, the damp spikes of his lashes. Something clenched, hard and unfamiliar, in his chest—a faint, disconcerting ache. This was new. This wasn't the furious, defiant man he knew. This was a complete collapse, the kind of raw, despairing vulnerability that came only when every last ounce of fight had been drained.
"I want your obedience," his voice was low, carrying a new, rough edge. "Just stay by my side. Quietly. I will not hurt you. And I will cure your sister."
"Obedience…" Lu Chenzhou repeated the word, a fresh wave of tears falling faster. "Obedience means letting you dictate my life? It means having no right to even *think* of running?"
Fu Jingshen didn't answer with words. Instead, he leaned down, wrapped his arms around Lu Chenzhou, and pulled him into a firm embrace. Lu Chenzhou struggled weakly, a single, token effort, but his strength was gone. He went limp, allowing it, pressing his face into the crisp cotton of the man's shirt as quiet, body-wracking sobs took over.
Fu Jingshen felt the dampness seep through the fabric. He could feel the fine tremors running through the body held against his—the profound vulnerability of total surrender. He raised his other hand and slowly, almost hesitantly, began to stroke Lu Chenzhou's hair. The gesture felt foreign, yet strangely right.
"Would it be so bad?" he murmured, his voice closer to Lu Chenzhou's ear. "Not running? I will treat you well."
The words were deceptively soft, but they landed like a stone in the turbulent waters of Lu Chenzhou's heart, sending ripples through his resolve.
He didn't know what Fu Jingshen's version of 'well' entailed. He didn't know if this gilded cage could ever be worth the price. But in this moment, this embrace was unnervingly warm. It carried a scent—cedarwood and something uniquely *him*—that felt, against all reason, like safety. It made him not want to pull away.
He cried for a long time, until there was nothing left, until exhaustion claimed him. The tears subsided, but he remained there, forehead resting against Fu Jingshen's chest, hiding.
"Finished?" Fu Jingshen's voice rumbled above him, quieter than usual.
Lu Chenzhou didn't trust his voice. He nodded.
Fu Jingshen guided him back, his hands on his shoulders. He looked at the swollen eyes and tear-streaked face. Picking up the discarded tissue, he clumsily wiped the moisture from Lu Chenzhou's cheeks. "No more of this. No more refusing to eat."
Lu Chenzhou turned his head away, avoiding the touch. "I know," he muttered, his voice hollow.
The words held no fight left. Only resigned acceptance.
A deep, thrumming satisfaction settled within Fu Jingshen. He had known it. Lu Chenzhou was not an unbreakable stone. With sufficient patience, every sharp edge could be smoothed away. "To bed," he said, his hand briefly carding through Lu Chenzhou's hair.
This time, Lu Chenzhou didn't refuse. He followed him back to the bedroom without a word.
Lying in the dark, Lu Chenzhou kept his back to Fu Jingshen, his body not quite tense, but not fully relaxed either. It didn't take long for the other man to shift closer, an arm draping possessively over his waist, the familiar scent of cedarwood enveloping him once more.
He stiffened for a fleeting second, but unlike all the times before, he didn't hold himself rigid against the touch.
"Lu Yao's surgery is scheduled for next Wednesday," Fu Jingshen's voice was a low murmur in the darkness, deliberately softened. "The best surgical team, the best facility. It is arranged. You need not worry."
Something fragile and hopeful shifted in Lu Chenzhou's heart. "…Thank you," he whispered into the pillow.
The gratitude was faint, but Fu Jingshen heard it perfectly. His arm tightened, pulling Lu Chenzhou just that little bit closer against him. "I keep my promises. Your compliance will be rewarded."
Lu Chenzhou said nothing more. He closed his eyes and let himself sink into the embrace that was both a prison and, tonight, a perverse solace.
Maybe… this was it.
Resistance was exhausting. Escape was a fantasy. Fu Jingshen, for all his controlling ruthlessness, had never physically harmed him. And he was, undeniably, saving Yao Yao.
Perhaps he truly needed to learn obedience.
The thought, once fully formed, wrapped around his heart like a vine, constricting and terrifying, yet offering a strange, seductive release.
Fu Jingshen felt the final vestiges of tension leave the body in his arms, felt the slight, almost unconscious shift closer into his hold. The smile that touched his lips was genuine and triumphant. He lowered his head, pressing a light, unmistakably possessive kiss to Lu Chenzhou's hair.
He knew it. Lu Chenzhou's final防线 (defensive line) had been breached.
Not by the threat of the collar. Not by the leverage of his sister's illness. But through the relentless push and pull, the constant testing—this tempestuous, stubborn man had finally begun to rely on him. To submit. Instinctively.
This silent surrender was infinitely more satisfying than any victory won through force.
The night deepened around them, their breathing gradually falling into sync. Lu Chenzhou slept deeply in the circle of Fu Jingshen's arms, the usual faint frown between his brows finally smoothing away into peace.
Fu Jingshen remained awake, watching the moonlight paint patterns on the floor, a faint, possessive smile playing on his lips.
The taming was far from over, but he had all the time in the world. He would make Lu Chenzhou accustomed to his presence, his touch, his control—piece by piece, until the man stayed by his side willingly, completely.
The collar, now stored in a drawer, was merely a tool. The real shackles were being meticulously forged, etched not in metal, but deep within Lu Chenzhou's very soul.