The Sickly Beauty is Too Good at Seducing - Chapter 1

Shen Congbai died on a snowy day.

The snow fell in heavy drifts, and the world was silent. He floated in mid-air, wandering aimlessly above his own grave, his blurred thoughts suddenly sharpening when he saw someone approach.

The man wore a pure black wool coat that spread across the ground as he knelt, forming the only blot of darkness against the vast, white expanse. Suddenly, a faint, nearly imperceptible sob drifted through the wind. Shen Congbai leaned in, curious to see who would bother crying at his grave.

After all, he had been so disliked while alive. By the end, he was nothing but a hollowed-out frame of bone; aside from the nurses at the nursing home, anyone who saw him would have called him hideous.

He first noticed a pair of large hands covered in scars. The knuckles were thick and long, gripping the corner of the tombstone so hard that veins bulged, concealing a depth of agony and longing. The man slowly raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot; though he had a ruggedly handsome face, the tears gave him a haggard look, like a widower who had just lost his wife.

Shen Congbai couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. Knowing Feng Yu couldn’t hear him, he leaned in to chat anyway. “And here I thought you hated me. To think you’d secretly kneel at my grave and cry.”

Feeling a bit helpless, he crouched beside Feng Yu and rested his head near the man’s chest. His voice was faint. “I’m sorry. I didn’t leave you a single explanation back then. It must have been embarrassing to be dumped like that.”

Of course it was embarrassing. The famous sole heir of the Feng family had been played like a dog by a “fake” young master, wagging his tail and panting around a sickly invalid.

Shen Congbai smiled self-deprecatingly. Feng Yu seemed to sense something; a tear rolled down his jawline as he suddenly looked up. His piercing gaze met Shen Congbai’s transparent, phoenix-shaped eyes directly.

The dream world suddenly shattered. Shen Congbai stood amidst a thousand shards, watching helplessly as countless versions of a weeping Feng Yu swarmed toward him.

“No!”

A sensation of weightlessness surged from deep within his body. His wrists struggled instinctively, only to be yanked back into place by two forceful grips. Two savage red marks instantly bloomed on his slender, porcelain wrists, adding a touch of vivid color to his thin, pale frame.

“He’s awake! The patient is awake!”  “Quickly, notify Mr. Shen.”

His brain throbbed with a hangover-like dizziness. Shen Congbai was still immersed in the dream; the noisy voices around him pulled him back from that cold, suffocating snowy field, leaving only those pained, beast-like eyes and a single crystalline tear behind.

“It hurts…”

Shen Congbai’s breath was ragged. His blood, which had been stagnant for so long, began to boil, sending needle-like stabs of pain through his heart. He was not a man who could endure pain. On the contrary, he was the pampered young master of the Shen family, raised on a literal fortune. Even after it was revealed that he wasn’t their biological son, his greatest punishment had been exile abroad—still confined within a golden nest built of money.

The cotton restraints binding his limbs were undone. The heat of someone’s fingertips made his ankles flinch. Shen Congbai pulled his legs inward, burying himself in the snow-white quilt. His pitch-black hair made his skin appear almost translucent, and the hint of aggrieved redness at the corners of his eyes was breathtakingly sharp.

He protested in a soft, weak tone, sounding like a spoiled child: “Don’t touch me!”

“…”

The people in the room looked at the man standing silently by the bed, not daring to make a sound. This was the famous “Evil Deity” of the capital, the first in several generations of the Shen family to inherit the headship before the age of thirty. He was also the culprit who had trapped Shen Congbai abroad: his “cheap” older brother, Shen Que.

Shen Que watched the youth hiding in the sheets without a word. His face was a calm, unreadable mask of handsome features. After a few moments, the suffocating silence was broken by a muffled thud.

Shen Congbai drooped his eyes miserably. He had retreated too far and hit his head against the hard wooden headboard. As if embarrassed, he buried his face deeper into the blanket.

Shen Que’s eyes were as dark as the night. He dismissed the crowd: “Everyone, get out.”

The little nurse who was the last to leave couldn’t help but peek through the crack of the door. She saw the broad-shouldered, powerful man lean over, scooping up the youth’s upper body. With half his face hidden in the shadows, his sophisticated, gentlemanly facade was stripped away to reveal something predatory. His gaze greedily licked over the long, pale neck of the person in his arms.

Shen Que seemed to sense her; he cast a casual glance toward the door. Like a beast king guarding its prey, his gaze was icy and cold a warning that no one was allowed to step closer.

Terrified by the chill emanating from him, Shen Congbai shuddered involuntarily. Then, his thin shoulders were completely enveloped by a large hand. He was pulled entirely into the man’s embrace.

Just like when they were children and Shen Congbai had nightmares, Shen Que acted as his brother again. He gently rocked him, his palm lightly patting Shen Congbai’s back. His low, husky voice sounded like a devil’s whisper, coaxing him out of the dreamscape.

“Good boy, Wuwu. You should stay in Brother’s arms and go nowhere else.”

By the time Shen Congbai was fully conscious, his lips had been moistened with a wet cotton swab. The usual discomfort of waking up after a long illness didn’t seem to affect him much. He propped himself up, curiously surveying his surroundings.

The familiar decor, the familiar smell of medicine, the familiar weakness in his body, all delivered the same message.

He, hadn’t died?

The memory of Feng Yu looking at him from the grave flashed in his mind. Shen Congbai pressed a hand to his forehead, a trace of pain flitting between his brows. Just then, a shadow flickered by the window.

When he saw the man approaching, Shen Congbai’s face paled. His fingers instinctively gripped the bedsheets. Why is Shen Que here?

Shen Que acted as if he hadn’t noticed the expression. He walked over casually, his looming shadow completely enveloping the frail youth on the bed.

“You’re awake?”

Shen Congbai lowered his gaze and remained silent in a gesture of refusal. Shen Que wasn’t in a hurry. He pulled over a chair, picked up a fruit knife, and began slowly peeling an apple.

Confused, Shen Congbai asked hoarsely, “Shen Que?”

Shen Que’s hand paused. It might have been a delusion, but Shen Congbai felt the man’s expression darken slightly at the mention of his name. Still, Shen Congbai couldn’t believe a miracle like rebirth was happening to him. He asked a stupid question: “Am I still alive?”

He looked like a pathetic little creature, his face pale except for a hint of pink on his lips, his eyes vacant, and his frame thin.

Shen Que seemed amused by his stupidity. He glanced at the youth’s lips with a look of pity and spoke with mock mercy: “Otherwise, do you think I’d be meeting you in Hell?”

Shen Congbai: “…”

He opened his mouth. “No…” Of course not. Shen Que held the economic lifeblood of the capital in his hands; his worldly value was enough to buy him a very comfortable afterlife. They wouldn’t have met there.

Shen Congbai suppressed the bitterness in his heart and looked away, unaware that he was exposing his long, pale neck and collarbone to the man. “Wasn’t I abroad? Why are you here?”

Shen Que’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly. His voice turned strangely husky. “Yesterday, Dr. Chen told me you intentionally exposed yourself to pollen again.”

Recalling the youth’s weak state yesterday, covered in tubes, Shen Que exhaled slowly, his tone turning scrutinizing. “If there’s something you want in the future, you don’t need to go to such lengths. Just tell Dr. Chen to let me know.”

He added cautiously, as if afraid of overstepping: “The Shen family will always support you. It hasn’t reached the point where you need to threaten us with your life.”

Shen Congbai rubbed his forehead as he remembered. He had asthma and was highly allergic to pollen. The “sick-cage” the Shen family built for him was usually kept strictly free of allergens. But yesterday, a package from home arrived. He didn’t know how it reached him, but when he opened it, he found a bouquet of vibrant tulips.

It was spring, and his respiratory system was sensitive. Before he could react, he had an attack. In his past life, he thought the Shen family sent it to get rid of him. Consequently, when Shen Que came to see him, he was full of thorns, treating the man like a villain.

Only after dying did, he realizes: if the Shen family wanted him dead, cutting off his medicine would be much cleaner than sending flowers. Moreover, if he were truly a burden, why would they spend a fortune keeping him alive after discovering he was a “fake” son?

Thinking of this, Shen Congbai’s eyes grew misty. He wouldn’t repeat the mistakes of his past life. He looked directly at Shen Que, his eyes reddening.

“It wasn’t me.” He lowered his head, a tear finally falling from his lashes. He sobbed out a dynamic accusation: “You’re so mean.”

Shen Que’s fingers twitched. “What?”

“I didn’t inhale the pollen on purpose!” Shen Congbai cried like an aggrieved child. “Someone gave me a box and said you sent it. That’s the only reason I opened it!”