Professional Death Faker [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 4

Pei Linya did not speak.

He stood in silence; his dark pupils fixed on Mu Chuan like a statue.

He gripped the raincoat he had warmed on the heater, but that tiny bit of warmth was stripped away by the rain in an instant, leaving it icy cold.

A gust of rain-laden wind swept through the corridor.

The submissive, politely restrained Alpha youth stumbled under the force of it. He seemed to snap back to reality, instinctively looking toward the black umbrella that had been blown away, wanting to retrieve it.

The arm he extended was seized by Pei Linya.

The sensation beneath his fingers made Pei Linya’s breath hitch.

Mu Chuan was abnormally thin, almost skeletal. His protruding wrist bone felt morbidly sharp, digging painfully into Pei Linya’s palm.

The section of wrist he held was terrifyingly fragile, as if it had been ground down bit by bit over many years. The skin was pale and parched, stretched tight over winding purple veins, looking as if the bone might pierce through at any moment.

It wasn’t like this in his memory.

In his memory back when Pei Linya first tasted the copper tang of blood in his own mouth, he had already checked Mu Chuan’s school records.

The Alpha youth from the countryside might have been slender, but he was flexible and nimble. He had the vitality of a young willow nurtured in fresh soil. No matter how much work he was assigned, he would simply wipe the sweat from his nose with the back of his hand, flash his canine teeth, and say with a smile, “It’ll be done in a second.”

Even after entering prison, Mu Chuan had initially maintained a certain momentum of resilience.

Mu Chuan ran every day, worked hard at his reform, and exceeded his labor quotas. He would carefully save every bit of his pitifully meager wages in a tin box.

He would then cautiously ask the prison guards to help him mail those savings to Pei Shu.

He truly believed Pei Shu needed that money to pay for medical bills or to buy supplements to nourish his body.

Mu Chuan had found a discarded little notebook and meticulously copied down the calendar, crossing off each day as it passed.

Back then, Mu Chuan counted the days until his release.

He wasn’t like this.

These pale knuckles and withered wrist bones were now like something suspended by invisible threads, reaching out aimlessly and mechanically toward the depths of the lightless storm.

“Leave it.”

Pei Linya’s Adam’s apple bobbed heavily, as if he were forcing himself to swallow a bitter fruit coated in ice shards. His voice was low as he pulled the youth into his arms, intercepting the fluttering, paper-crane-like struggle. “Leave it. I’ll… give you a new one another day.”

Pei Linya locked him in his embrace. His voice was deep and raspy, carrying a hidden, startling earnestness beneath the negotiation: “Alright?”

He called his name: “Ah Chuan.”

The Alpha youth huddled inside the raincoat seemed unable to understand those words.

Mu Chuan, blocked and unable to move, struggled weakly a few times before slowly lifting his face. His pupils were scattered; that hint of light tea-color looked as though it had been washed transparent by the rain.

“My husband  is unhappy.”

Pei Linya heard the Alpha in his arms answer submissively.

Rainwater dripped from his soaked eyelashes, flowing past the corners of his once-gentle eyes and down his cheeks. His bloodless lips opened and closed softly.

“I can’t.”

“Stranger.”

He said, “He’ll be Unhappy.”

Pei Linya suddenly tightened his grip.

Only when he heard a muffled groan did Pei Linya snap back to his senses and abruptly let go. However, his lips pressed even tighter into a silent, sharp line, and a deep, volcanic glow flickered in the depths of his eyes.

Pei Linya picked Mu Chuan up horizontally and tucked him gently into the back seat. He carefully supported the youth’s neck and back as he settled him in, then restrained his strength to shut the car door and lock it.

Loud noises always startled Mu Chuan.

Pei Linya knelt against the back seat, his body shielding the overly thin Alpha. His arm curved around in protection, his palm cradling that slightly tilted head. The neck bone, devoid of strength, felt so fragile it seemed it might break at any moment.

Mu Chuan went limp in his hands, his tea-colored pupils lost in a vast, foggy void.

“Pei Shu,” Pei Linya stared into those unfocused eyes, his voice raspy. “Is he not good to you?”

Mu Chuan’s body gave a violent shiver in his arms.

A faint ripple appeared in that tea-colored gaze; his pupils contracted and dilated, and a trace of unease surfaced on his pale face.

Mu Chuan shook his head.

“He is very good,” Mu Chuan said, pronouncing each word slowly. “Our life is very good. very harmonious, no conflicts. How could you?  Say such a thing?”

“You can’t.” His voice grew lighter and lighter until it was a mere breath, his lips murmuring. “You can’t.  Slander us.  the umbrella cannot be lost.”

The black umbrella was the one Pei Shu had held when he personally came to pick Mu Chuan up.

Pei Shu would not allow it to go missing.

Eight years of a heat cycle without a response had clearly driven this elegant, self-restrained noble to the extreme even to the point of madness.

When he first brought Mu Chuan home, Pei Shu wasn’t like this. He would hold Mu Chuan’s hand and lead him to the floor-to-ceiling windows of their duplex, showing him the flowing traffic below and softly explaining where those stretching roads led.

Now, they had moved to this desolate place where even Pei Linya couldn’t locate the exact address, yet Pei Shu still felt it wasn’t enough.

A few days ago, Shen Buqi had accidentally overheard Pei Shu on the phone, consulting someone in a paranoid, fanatical tone about finding a more secure, more hidden, and more undisturbed residence.

Shen Buqi had pretended not to hear.

After all, Mu Chuan never wanted to make Pei Shu angrier.

In his heart, he always felt he owed Pei Shu. He was filled with guilt and shame. Every time he saw that increasingly gloomy profile, he believed it was entirely his own fault.

He was the one who ruined Pei Shu, so naturally, he had the obligation to take care of him.

Mu Chuan wanted to go back and pick up that umbrella.

Pei Linya looked as though he wanted to shred that umbrella and shove it down Pei Shu’s throat.

That wasn’t something he could do in the moment, so Pei Linya had to swallow his searing, coal-hot rage. Using a softer, gentler touch, he held those withered, leaf-like shoulders.

He pulled over a thick wool blanket. The coarse, heavy cashmere wrapped around the unconsciously shivering, ice-cold frame. Exercising extreme restraint with every movement, he wiped the water from Mu Chuan’s hair and body while repeating in a low voice: “It’s alright.”

Unconsciously, he slipped back into the tone he used to use—the one that worked on the fledgling that used to nestle in his arms. He told Mu Chuan softly, “That kind of umbrella. You can get them for free in the VIP lounge at the airport.”

“Anyone can take them. They’re everywhere. I’ll take you to get ten identical ones in a moment.”

The person in his arms—who had been struggling weakly like a programmed puppet stopped moving. Slowly, vacantly, he lifted his mist-covered eyes.

Mu Chuan tilted his face up slightly, his voice light as if repeating an unconscious thought: “Anyone. can take them.”

Pei Linya’s brow twitched imperceptibly.

His fingers rubbed together, and his expression returned to normal. He simply said, “Yes.”

“You need to go to the airport, don’t you? You’re going to take care of Pei Shu. I am Pei Shu’s elder brother; these arrangements should have been mine to make anyway.”

Pei Linya’s voice was slow and low, guiding him carefully. “I’ll take you to the airport now. I’ll buy you some clothes and an umbrella.”

Pei Linya promised: “Nothing will be delayed. There won’t be a problem.”

Rain lashed against the car window, distorting the lights and casting winding shadows.

Mu Chuan’s throat bobbed slightly, but he said nothing, only slowly pressing his pale lips together.

His eyes were open, but his gaze seemed to pass through Pei Linya, landing on some hollow, distant place.

Pei Linya touched his hair: “Ah Chuan.”

Mu Chuan’s reaction was slow. After a few seconds, his eyelashes flickered, and he gave a faint smile.

It was as if the final invisible thread had been pulled away.

The way Mu Chuan’s eyes curved slightly caused Pei Linya to suddenly flash back to eight years ago—the private wedding of Mu Chuan and Pei Shu, the first time he attended as Pei Shu’s elder brother.

Mu Chuan had seen him.

He had seen the flowers in his hand.

In that brief moment, the light in those eyes had shifted through a spectrum of emotions surprise, adoration, shock, daze and a silent, agonizing confusion. finally turning into a mist so thick it couldn’t be dissolved.

In the end, when the dressed-up Alpha youth went to take the ring as the officiant instructed, he had curved his eyes just like this.

Pei Linya lunged into the driver’s seat.

Whether out of panic or fury, he gritted his teeth and slammed the accelerator to the floor.

“Sir!” The security guard whose gate he had breached finally caught up, shouting breathlessly. “Wait! Wait! Mr. Pei Shu specifically said that Young Master Mu cannot leave privately…”

Warning lights flashed a chaotic red in the rain.

A gilded special-access pass was thrown into the guard’s face.

The leader opened the navy-blue lambskin cover. After one glance, his face changed instantly. He shut his mouth tight and respectfully returned the ID.

Noticing Pei Linya’s gaze landing on the items in their hands—restraint straps, a soft cage, air cushions—the security captain shuddered violently and quickly kicked the various items into the drainage ditch, offering a fawning, awkward smile.

Pei Linya stared into the curtain of rain. His voice was low; it wasn’t a question, nor was he confirming it with anyone: “Pei Shu hasn’t been good to him.”

“That’s not it!” the security captain explained frantically. “When they first moved here, Young Master Mu would have fits of hysteria. Whenever it flared up, he’d run outside, mumbling that he was going home, that someone was coming to get him.”

“Mr. Pei was worried sick, searching for him night after night  a few times, he nearly had an accident!”

The captain said: “Mr. Pei does it for Young Master Mu’s own good.”

The steering wheel let out a groan under the pressure.

The captain’s face went white. Realizing he had said the wrong thing, he shut up immediately, peeking cautiously at the pale figure in the back seat.

Pei Linya stared out the window, his expression unreadable.

The engine erupted in a snarling roar.

The tires spun, and the kicked-up restraint strap licked against the captain’s leg, leaving a searingly painful bloodstain. By the time he looked up, the car had already plunged into the rain.

Shen Buqi received three sets of new clothes and ten black umbrellas.

Pei Linya was indeed highly efficient.

From the rain-soaked outskirts to the airport VIP lounge, it had only taken them forty minutes. The ticket had been upgraded to first class, and the pheromone injections had been checked in.

Now, Mu Chuan sat quietly in the first-class lounge, holding his ticket and luggage tag. His hair had been dried, and he had changed into new clothes.

A very neat, well-fitting black shirt.

The tailoring was perfect. The silk fabric shimmered under the lights, clinging to his thin spine and waist, with a formal collar.

Mu Chuan liked it.

Pei Linya had noticed. When he led Mu Chuan like an exquisite doll past the dazzling storefronts of the airport duty-free shops, Mu Chuan had changed into those clothes submissively.

Expensive hand-woven pure cashmere turtlenecks, designer leisurewear. He  had no reaction to any of it.

Except for this piece. He had only been coaxed into trying it once, and he couldn’t take his eyes off it.

Pei Linya bought it for him.

“You don’t need to take the umbrellas,” Pei Linya said in the VIP lounge. He knelt on one knee to meet the youth’s gaze, speaking patiently. “I’ll have someone send them back to the villa. I’ll put them right outside the foyer, so you’ll see them as soon as you get back.”

Mu Chuan sat in the armchair, nodding gently and submissively.

He sat very, very properly—the strictest disciplinarian couldn’t have found a single fault.

His back was straight, his hands flat on his knees. His gaze was habitually vacant, and there was almost no movement of his chest from breathing. His chin was tilted slightly up, instinctively baring his neck and fingers for inspection.

Pei Linya stared at the faint, indelible mark on his wrist.

“Ah Chuan.” Pei Linya took his wrist. “Relax a little.”

His voice was raspy, the end of it damp and dark, as if he had swallowed a storm that hadn’t stopped for years.

“You aren’t in prison anymore.”

Pei Linya told him so.

He realized that Mu Chuan didn’t always hear his words.

Mu Chuan sat in his shadow, his eyelashes not even moving. Pei Linya thought something was dripping, but looking closer, it was just the shadows of the water crashing outside the window.

The veins in Pei Linya’s neck bulged, and his knuckles were white as he gripped his own palm. He stared at the rain outside, his eyes deep and dark.

The System began to feel a little bad: That’s. about enough, right?

Truthfully, having been out of prison for eight years, Mu Chuan didn’t really sit like this anymore.

Under Pei Shu’s near-madness-inducing “correction,” there weren’t many traces of the prison left in Mu Chuan.

He wouldn’t stand straight in a panic just because someone shouted. He wouldn’t suddenly freeze up at the sound of footsteps. He wouldn’t immediately drop to the floor, cover his head, and apologize just because something fell.

Mu Chuan had already learned not to do those things.

Mu Chuan had already learned how to be a relatively normal-looking person.

Currently, Shen Buqi’s state was 30% genuine emotion and 70% purely for the sake of “Melodrama Points.”

The System watched Shen Buqi’s department performance metrics skyrocket: 

We shouldn’t stimulate Pei Linya too much.

The System also had a “Death Quota.”

If Pei Linya’s brain short-circuited and he refused to let Mu Chuan die, calling in every doctor in the capital and insisting on saving him no matter what.  then what??

“Don’t worry.” Shen Buqi was far more experienced in this field; he never made mistakes. He gave the System a reassuring pill. “He can’t stop it.”

Shen Buqi had a drawer full of certificates and extensive experience in human anatomy. If necessary, even if he were tied up in a padded cell with no sharp objects, he could still successfully pull off a perfect “Death Escape” with style and flair.

The System stared at the surging performance points and the speedometer: 

“Be happy, be positive,” Shen Buqi invited. 

“Want a cherry candy?”

“Let’s not make too many twists and turns. This story was supposed to be simple, but since you arrived.” The System stuttered halfway through, its virtual screen turning pink.  Is that for me?

Shen Buqi gave it a small bouquet of cherry candies in the mental world.

Shen Buqi was very good at these things. The translucent cherry candies were dusted with golden sugar and wrapped in iridescent paper, sparkling under the virtual sun.

The System held up the cooperation agreement between the two departments: Ah.

The System popped a cherry candy into its mouth.

Actually.

Not only that, but Shen Buqi had also renovated their temporary office space in the consciousness world, constructing a new scene with grand virtual detail.

An old residential complex in decent condition, a spacious and bright apartment. A study, a bedroom, vibrant green plants on the windowsill, and a gleaming bathtub in the bathroom.

Mu Chuan’s little wish.

Shen Buqi had seen it when he was reading the script after getting the character profile. He had even drawn a picture of it.

Mu Chuan once had a small dream. After coming to the Imperial Capital, he wanted a house like this. First, he would rent it, then work harder, saving money bit by bit to buy it.

It was amazing.

Every month, he would invite ten children from the orphanage to Brother Ah Chuan’s house to eat popsicles, cook hotpot, run the air conditioner twenty-four hours a day, and play to their hearts’ content.

The seventeen-year-old Mu Chuan had written this in a letter he sent back home.

Be good.

Brother is going to buy a huge bed.

*****

The System’s camera lens widened in shock as it watched Shen Buqi wave his hand and produce a fully automatic, constant-temperature bathtub: Isn’t this expensive?

Employees of the Transmigration Bureau could renovate their consciousness space, but every change costs money.

The System had wanted a small bathing basin for a long time.

The System couldn’t help but ask: How much of your salary does this cost?

“Ah.” Shen Buqi’s voice was light, gentle, and filled with pity. “It’s just performance bonuses. Our department gets a hundredfold bonus based on our KPI. Isn’t yours the same?”

System: 

Shen Buqi held up a bubble machine that lit up: “As long as performance is good, you can spend it however you like.”

System:

Fine, it got the message!

It didn’t want to hear it!

Even though it didn’t want to hear it, the System couldn’t resist sneaking a look at Shen Buqi’s bank balance, which looked like a barcode and felt even more heartbroken, diving headfirst into the bathtub to escape reality.

Shen Buqi gave a light laugh.

The laugh was blocked by layers of misty water. The pale, quiet Alpha youth lowered his eyelashes, looking at his fingers as if remembering an old dream that was now too far away to ever return to. A very faint dimple appeared on his blushing cheek.

This scene was captured entirely in the depths of dark pupils.

Pei Linya, who was supposed to have left, froze. He was nailed to the spot, unable to take another step.

He stood behind some decorative plants, his gaze locked on Mu Chuan’s profile that pale, soft silhouette. At the end of his line of sight were a few students from the countryside who had just landed.

To save money, these young people had taken a red-eye flight on a budget airline. After flying for a dozen hours, they were still laughing and playing with vitality. Their rough, strong palms affectionately slapped each other’s shoulders; their clothes were plain, and their laughter was loud enough to pierce one’s eardrums.

He watched.

He watched.

Shen Buqi sighed: “I almost want to let him go.”

After all, he couldn’t just fleece one person for KPIs. He was “cheating” with three of them. It was past midnight now, with fourteen days left. Time was tight and the task was heavy each person only got 4.67 days.

But Pei Linya just wouldn’t leave. He even played the voyeur, hiding behind the greenery.

And Mu Chuan, who was lost in thought, suddenly gave a violent jolt, startled awake by the ringing of a “Special Interest” contact.

A video call from Pei Shu.

The phone was vibrating frantically.

The blood instantly drained from Mu Chuan’s face. He frantically tried to answer it, dropping the phone on the floor. He picked it up several times before his uncoordinated fingers managed to find the answer button.

Pei Shu’s gloomy, pale face popped up on the screen.

“Are you.  Alright?” Mu Chuan’s voice was as light as a feather. He supported himself on the floor with one hand to steady his body. “Does the gland hurt? I brought the pheromones. The plane will soon.”

Pei Shu stared at Mu Chuan, his expression a bit strange.

“It’s not important,” Pei Shu said.

He stroked the screen, his tone raspy and soft: “Ah Chuan, tell me.”

“Who changed your clothes?”