Human skin had a peculiar texture—so soft and fragile, lacking any form of defense. But when the tentacles wrapped around it, the heat surging through those vessels made Shen Du feel the powerful rhythm of life.
That warmth and vitality… it was unforgettable, addictive.
Shen Du leaned across the coffee table and sat beside Song Nanxing. The black tendrils slipped up through the hem of his pajama pants, coiling around the warm limbs one loop at a time.
He leaned down and gently touched Song Nanxing’s cheek with his fingers, cautiously exploring, his touch lingering in awe of the skin’s soft, silky smoothness.
But he still wasn’t entirely accustomed to a human body—his fingers applied a little too much pressure, and a reddish mark bloomed on the fair cheek.
Shen Du frowned slightly, then bent lower to softly lick the red trace.
He had only intended to erase the fingerprint, but once his tongue tasted the warm, smooth skin, he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
The moist trail spread from cheek to neck. Shen Du was especially fascinated by the long curve of the neck, where just beneath the thin layer of skin, blood vessels pulsed with vigor. Every touch sent the carotid artery throbbing strongly, and the strange rhythm made his own quiet blood begin to boil.
More tentacles burst uncontrollably from his back, tangling and weaving in the air like a cage, sealing the sleeping Song Nanxing in a suffocating web.
In the darkened living room, countless shadows danced midair. Strange blue patterns shimmered across the surface of the tendrils, casting a glow on Song Nanxing’s face that made it look like carved jade.
On the couch, the stuffed rabbit sensed a surge of extreme danger. Its drooping ears suddenly extended, reaching toward Song Nanxing in an attempt to free him from the cage.
Shen Du buried his face in the warmth of Song Nanxing’s neck, then turned his head slightly and glanced at the rabbit. He raised a finger to his lips, golden flames flickering in his eyes.
“Shh.”
The rabbit’s long ears froze in midair, twitched spasmodically as if caught in a nerve spasm—yet it couldn’t break free from the restriction placed on it. Moments later, its bright red eyes turned dull, its stiff ears drooped again, and it slumped back into a seated position.
Shen Du lowered his head again, intoxicated by the scent of fresh, rich blood beneath the skin. Primitive desire surged within him, and the black tentacles coiled ever tighter around the vulnerable neck—
Just then, a flash of blue joined the fray.
The instinct-driven blue octopus frantically flailed its limbs, blue and black twining into a blur. One of the blue tentacles—lacking suction cups, marked by a central groove—impatiently curled toward Song Nanxing.
But before it could reach, a firm, sinewy hand caught it mid-air.
Shen Du looked up and said calmly, “Not yet.”
The blue offshoot, driven by pure instinct, resisted fiercely. Its tentacles surged in size, flailing wildly, trying to seize control. But in an instant, it was drowned beneath the wave of black tendrils.
The sleeping man frowned slightly. His eyeballs darted rapidly beneath thin lids, as if the disturbance around him was dragging him back to consciousness.
The black tendrils immediately withdrew, busy suppressing the rogue clone. Shen Du pinned down the squirming blue octopus with one hand and bent low to lick at the prominent Adam’s apple before him, his expression full of greed.
*****
Song Nanxing stirred awake, bleary-eyed, feeling as if he’d just had a suffocating dream. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t recall what the dream had been about.
He shook his heavy head and glanced at the time in the lower right corner of his laptop. It was already past midnight.
Shen Du was still slumped over the coffee table, fast asleep.
“Shen Du? Shen Du?” Song Nanxing yawned and reached out to shake him.
Shen Du was jolted awake. He propped his hand against his forehead, brows furrowed in discomfort. He blinked at Nanxing with an unfocused gaze. “Hm?”
“It’s past midnight. You should head back and get some proper sleep,” Song Nanxing said.
Dragging his tired body to the kitchen, he fetched the cleaned dishes and placed them beside Shen Du. “I’ve washed everything already.”
Shen Du slowly sat up and rubbed at his temples with his fingers, finally seeming more lucid. His expression shifted slightly, as if embarrassed. “Sorry. That was my first time drinking… I didn’t think I’d get drunk so easily. I didn’t do anything embarrassing, did I?”
Song Nanxing’s expression twisted slightly at the question. “Ah… not really. But why didn’t you tell me you can’t hold your liquor?”
Shen Du shook his head and gave a small laugh. “It’s not that I can’t drink—I’ve just never tried it before. I thought it’d be fun to experience something new for once. I just didn’t expect my alcohol tolerance to be so terrible. I hope I didn’t cause you too much trouble.”
His features were stunning—especially his eyes. The upward tilt at the corners and the moderate crease of his eyelids gave his gaze a gentle depth. But Song Nanxing knew that kindness was something Shen Du showed to everyone equally. It was simply part of who he was.
And yet, when Shen Du smiled at you, it felt different—like all that tenderness was directed at you alone.
Song Nanxing had always had a weakness for warmth and gentleness. His thoughts drifted for a moment before he pulled himself back and said, “Not at all. The food you made was delicious. Thank you.”
“We’re neighbors, no need to be so polite with me.”
Shen Du picked up the dishes and walked out, and Song Nanxing followed him to the door.
Just before Song Nanxing could close it, Shen Du turned around again and asked hesitantly, “Can we have lunch together again tomorrow?”
Song Nanxing thought for a moment and replied apologetically, “There’s something urgent at work these days. I have to go in for overtime, so I probably won’t have the time.”
Shen Du showed a look of disappointment. “Then whenever you’re not busy, feel free to come over to my place for a meal. Don’t be polite with me.”
Song Nanxing responded with a “Sure,” and only closed the door after watching him enter the neighboring apartment.
Shen Du stepped into Room 402.
The room was dark—no lights, no furniture in the empty space.
He casually tossed the dishes aside. The tentacles, which had been straining with excitement and hunger, were finally released. They instantly filled the entire apartment, writhing and whispering wildly.
“So fragrant.”
“So beautiful.”
“Eat it. Delicious.”
“Can’t eat it all at once. Must savor it slowly.”
Amidst the excited chatter, the puppet’s confused voice asked, “You’re eating yours, not mine?”
Shen Du glanced at the kitchen. Two corpses, already disassembled beyond recognition, had been tossed there without care.
He smiled faintly and gave no answer to the puppet’s question.
The whispering tentacles stopped talking and began cleaning up the leftover remains in the kitchen, scrubbing the place spotless.
*****
The next morning, Song Nanxing got up early to go “to work” at Sweet Dreams.
The puppet was sitting at Ji Jiajia’s workstation, its head resting on the divider, blankly staring at Song Nanxing’s desk for some unknown reason.
Hearing the sound of the door opening, it suddenly turned its head and stared intently at Song Nanxing.
Oddly enough, Song Nanxing could see a hint of excitement on its crudely carved face.
“Morning,” he greeted the puppet casually.
The puppet stared at him and extended a clenched fist toward him. When it opened its hand, a small, irregular dark blue stone lay in its palm.
“For me?” Song Nanxing asked uncertainly.
The puppet extended its hand again toward him.
Song Nanxing finally confirmed it was indeed meant for him. He picked up the small stone and examined it closely. He couldn’t tell what material it was made of—the surface was a deep blue, but the inside shimmered faintly like flowing sand. Under the light, it looked rather beautiful.
“What is this?”
As soon as he asked, he remembered the puppet couldn’t speak. He chuckled, then found a clear plastic box originally used to store binder clips. After dumping out the clips, he placed the small stone inside.
At that moment, Cheng Jianning walked over. As soon as he got close, he wrinkled his nose and exclaimed, “Song Nanxing, why does your desk smell so strong? Did the cleaning lady come looking for you or something?”
Song Nanxing looked at him, puzzled. “No? What smell? I don’t smell anything.”
Cheng Jianning didn’t believe him. He leaned in, sniffed a bit, and then his eyes locked onto the blue stone inside the clear box. Instantly, his pupils froze.
He stared at it, unmoving. His expression darkened dangerously, and without him noticing, the data cables around his body began to unravel, slithering around him like snakes.
“Where did you get this?” His voice was rough, like he was barely holding something back.
Sensing the shift in mood, Song Nanxing cautiously took a few steps back and stood behind the puppet. He pointed at it and said, “It gave it to me. Do you know what kind of stone it is?”
Cheng Jianning glanced sideways at the puppet. At that, the data cables coiled back into place, his expression returning to normal. He sniffed hard and muttered, “It’s the cleaning lady’s scent. Definitely hers.”
Song Nanxing: “……”
He looked down at the blue stone, then at the puppet again. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “But the cleaning lady didn’t show up at all yesterday.”
Cheng Jianning fell silent.
He stared at the puppet like it was a ghost, then quickly darted back to his own desk and gave a dry, awkward laugh. “Well, that’s good news, right? At least she won’t come after you anymore.”
Song Nanxing agreed. He gave the puppet a look of approval, then sat back down at his desk, pretending to work while actually organizing all the information he had so far.
That “Doctor Song” mentioned in Wu Huai’s notebook was highly suspicious. He needed to find a way to look into it.
He nudged Cheng Jianning’s arm with his pen and whispered, “Do you know a Doctor Song?”
Cheng Jianning thought for a moment and shook his head. “Doctor Song? Never heard of them. Do we even have someone like that in the company?”
Song Nanxing frowned. Cheng Jianning frequently visited the counseling room. If there really was a Doctor Song at Hao Meng, there’s no way he wouldn’t know.
That only made the name even more suspicious.
Could it be a doctor from another hospital?
But Song Nanxing quickly dismissed that idea. From Wu Huai’s records, it was clear he had always been extremely resistant to outside doctors, firmly believing they were all quacks.
Following that logic, there was no way he would’ve sought medical help elsewhere.
“What are you zoning out for?” Cheng Jianning bumped his elbow. “Why are you suddenly asking about a doctor?”
Snapping out of his thoughts, Song Nanxing replied, “I was thinking of asking Wang Xiaorui if I could borrow the employee roster. Do you think she’d be willing to lend it to me?”
Cheng Jianning looked even more confused. “I doubt it. And if your luck’s bad, she might slap you upside the head a few times. Why do you even want to look at that?”
Song Nanxing hesitated, opened his mouth, closed it again, then finally let out a long sigh. “Alright, I’ll tell you the truth. I lost my father when I was very young. When I was five, he dropped me off at school one day and never came back. Ever since then, I’ve been searching for him wherever I can… And just recently, I happened to spot someone near Haomeng who looked a lot like him…”
He lowered his head at just the right angle, his expression full of sorrow and loss.
“You joined Haomeng… just to find your dad?” Cheng Jianning immediately looked sympathetic. “So you want to see the employee roster because of that?”
Still immersed in his performance, Song Nanxing gave a soft nod.
Cheng Jianning had a soft spot for these kinds of stories. He sighed and patted Song Nanxing’s shoulder comfortingly. “Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.”
Song Nanxing looked up abruptly, his eyes lighting up. “Really?”
Meeting his hopeful gaze, Cheng Jianning gritted his teeth and said, “Really!”