Lu Xingyao didn’t return quickly, as he had said he would. It wasn’t until around two or three in the morning that the front door finally chimed with the soft beep of the keypad unlocking.
For a vampire, that was prime time—when energy surged and the night stretched young and boundless. But for Ruan Zhao, left alone at home, there was no outlet for that energy.
So, he turned to movies and games, entertaining himself as best he could. Curled up on the plush sofa, he hugged a cute stuffed pillow and casually browsed the trending films. He selected one at random—a widely viewed movie, even if its ratings weren’t stellar.
On the coffee table sat an unopened can of buttered popcorn, a bag of lime-flavored chips, and a small can of lemon soda. All still sealed. Untouched. Because what’s a movie night without snacks, right? Even if he couldn’t actually enjoy them anymore, the atmosphere just wasn’t the same without them.
Out of habit, he picked up a golden puff of popcorn. The sweet, buttery aroma filled his nose—comforting, almost nostalgic. But the hunger wasn’t there. No craving. No appetite. Disappointed, he placed it back down.
The movie itself was cliché—lifted from a popular chart, likely boosted by a famous actor or two. The live chat was a frenzy of flashy comments and layers of scrolling bullet text that practically obscured the actors’ faces.
The plot was tired, too. A forbidden romance between a human girl and a vampire noble. The highborn vampire falls head over heels at first sight. To get close to the sweet, innocent girl, he disguises himself as human—first becoming her friend, then slowly, steadily weaving himself into her life, until she couldn’t imagine life without him.
The vampire male lead was ridiculously handsome. Soft-spoken, gentle, endlessly patient, never losing his temper—always there to comfort and understand. He carried the weight of centuries in his eyes, mysterious and captivating.
Naturally, the girl fell in love. They spiraled into a passionate romance, their love deepening with each passing day.
Race, status, class, age—all the obstacles? Magically erased by the power of love. And in the end, love triumphed. The centuries-old vampire, for the first time in his immortal existence, learned the meaning of falling in love. He even gave up drinking blood, becoming a vegetarian for her. At that, Ruan Zhao couldn’t help but zone out a little.
Yes—apparently even vampire society had a thing called vegetarian blood. They claimed it was made by extracting certain compounds from plants. Safe, non-toxic, with no side effects. Supposedly, it tasted nearly identical to real human blood. Even the color could be custom-mixed to look the part.
Curious, Ruan Zhao couldn’t help but ask the system: [Does vegetarian blood actually work?]
System: [It’s just a placebo. Honestly, you’d be better off drinking animal blood.]
Ruan Zhao sat up, a flicker of hope igniting within him. [So… does animal blood taste good?]
System: [For you? Unless it’s Lu Xingyao’s blood, the rest would probably taste disgusting.]
Ruan Zhao flopped back down onto the couch with a sigh, utterly deflated. [Got it.]
While he and the system chatted, the movie had progressed into its next dramatic arc. The vampire male lead, weakened from subsisting on vegetarian blood for too long, was exhibiting signs of malnutrition. His once unwavering self-control shattered the moment the heroine accidentally cut her wrist. Crimson blood welled up slowly from her pale skin—like a dazzling flower blooming to its full glory, both seductive and dangerous. The camera zoomed in on the vampire’s face.
For a fleeting moment, his pupils glowed with a flash of blood-red light, cold and bestial—devoid of all humanity. In that instant, he no longer looked at the girl with love or tenderness. His gaze was that of a predator—detached, feral, and unfeeling.
Ruan Zhao found himself drifting off again. He thought about the previous night… how he’d climbed into Lu Xingyao’s bed, bitten his finger, and secretly fed on him.
Lu Xingyao’s blood was simply too irresistible. The second its scent filled the air, he’d completely lost control—instincts overpowering reason, lunging toward it as if he hadn’t eaten in days.
And the male lead? Well, he was the male lead, after all—his self-control was worlds beyond Ruan Zhao’s. Even when he momentarily faltered, it only lasted a split second before he regained his composure.
The movie had reached its midpoint, its focus shifting to the impending exposure of the vampire male lead. The heroine had begun to notice subtle inconsistencies—small cracks in his carefully constructed disguise, things that didn’t quite align.
Clearly, with vampire investors backing the film, even the sweeping, cinematic shots occasionally hinted at a form of political correctness. Its primary aim seemed to be portraying vampires as almost entirely human.
They could fall for cute girls. They could feel insecure about love, fearing rejection. They lived pampered existences surrounded by servants, rendering their self-sufficiency laughably low. They possessed no real understanding of everyday chores or unspoken social norms—leading to a series of ridiculous, comedic misunderstandings.
Rather than detracting from the male lead’s charm, these harmless flaws made him seem more relatable. Viewers, experiencing the story through the heroine’s perspective, witnessed both his perfections and his imperfections. Even those initially skeptical began to find him endearing.
The barrage of comments flooding the screen suddenly filled with phrases like: “He’s so cute!” and “Love the contrast! He’s so dorky!”
Ruan Zhao remained silent. Naturally, those born into the higher echelons of vampire society held sway over the narrative. And they were adept at subtly feeding ideologies to the masses—ideologies that served their own interests.
Those less perceptive might easily fall for it, too. They’d begin to believe that vampires weren’t all that different from humans. Not terrifying at all. Perhaps even dream of falling in love with some wealthy, handsome vampire noble, swept away in a romance worthy of poetry.
Naive.
Vampires falling in love with humans? Ruan Zhao tore open a bag of lime-flavored chips with a casual motion and thought idly—that’s like asking if humans fall in love with creamy sponge cake. Or perfectly crispy fried chicken. The sharp tang of lime hit his nose. He sneezed, paused, and set the chips back down with a sigh, his interest suddenly waning again.
……
A soft mechanical click broke the silence of the room.
After more than ten hours away, Lu Xingyao had finally returned home. The moment he stepped inside, he turned instinctively toward the couch—where Ruan Zhao was curled up like a sleepy kitten.
The lights were off, and the flickering projection bathed the room in pale light. On the boy’s face, it cast a soft glow—his long, dark lashes fluttering ever so slightly, like a butterfly resting on delicate petals, just beginning to unfurl its wings.
His skin possessed a delicate pallor—almost translucent. It was the kind of ethereal whiteness that hinted at fragility, as if the slightest breeze could leave a bruise. Yet, there was also a softness to it, a vulnerability that instinctively drew people in, making them want to offer protection, to gently embrace him and hold him close.
He was completely engrossed in the film, as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist. So focused, in fact, that he didn’t even register Lu Xingyao’s return.
Afraid to startle him, Lu Xingyao kept his voice low and gentle. “Still awake?”
Ruan Zhao’s ears twitched. He turned his gaze towards him, his face devoid of expression, but he blinked twice—slowly. A quiet acknowledgment that he was listening.
Lu Xingyao, realizing the late hour, cleared his throat, a touch of embarrassment in the gesture. His voice was uncertain, as if searching for the right words. “What are you watching?”
“A movie.”
“Is it good?”
“It’s kinda cheesy. Just something to kill time.”
Lu Xingyao paused, then offered softly, “If you’re tired, you don’t have to wait for me. You can sleep first.”
Ruan Zhao instinctively rolled his eyes—a subtle movement he hoped went unnoticed. His first thought was to retort, As if I was waiting for you…
But then he remembered his current circumstances: living under someone else’s roof, eating their food, even sneaking into their bed at night to feed. He figured he should at least attempt a semblance of politeness. So he tempered his response and replied quietly, “I’m not tired.”
The room fell silent once more. Perhaps Ruan Zhao wasn’t very adept at concealing his true feelings, because Lu Xingyao saw through him with ease. He spoke in a low, apologetic tone, “Sorry I’m back so late. There was trouble in Huaijiang District. A vampire organization staged a riot—lured people in under the pretense of a banquet and ended up taking hostages. The Bureau was short-staffed, so it took longer to handle than expected.”
Ruan Zhao blinked, caught off guard. His gaze flickered towards Lu Xingyao, briefly and subtly taking in his appearance.
His clothes were immaculate. There was no strange scent clinging to him, no visible signs of injury. Whatever he had dealt with tonight, it probably hadn’t been too serious.
Ruan Zhao offered a quiet, easy smile. “I understand.”
Understanding was one thing. But being alone at home for hours on end, with no one to talk to? That was something else entirely. He tried to suppress it. He really did. But eventually, he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Do you guys always do this? Just—get called away for missions, then vanish for over ten hours?”
His tone slipped, a subtle edge of frustration creeping in. “And I know you special ability types are all impressive and dramatic, always doing things the hard way. But could you maybe, I don’t know, consider your fragile, human roommate before jumping off the 20th floor like it’s nothing? Normal people could literally have a heart attack from that.”
Lu Xingyao looked… surprised.
As if he genuinely hadn’t expected Ruan Zhao to be startled by something like that. But the expression faded quickly. He offered an apology, sincere and soft. “Sorry. That was my oversight. I’ll be more careful next time. And also…”
“Not every mission goes that long,” Lu Xingyao explained. “This one was unusual.” His eyes were a dark, unreadable shade—not the pure black of emptiness, but a deeper, shaded kind of darkness. When he looked at someone, really looked, it felt like falling in, as if there was no bottom. Under the overhead light, the small diamond in his left ear caught a fleeting sparkle, softening his entire presence, dulling that quiet intensity.
Meeting Ruan Zhao’s gaze, he curved his lips slightly, a hint of teasing in his expression. His voice dropped, soothing and sweet. “…Then maybe next time, you could come with me. What do you think?”
Ruan Zhao, on paper, was just a delicate human. But even factoring in his true identity as a vampire, one constantly battling starvation and weaker than most humans… he was in no condition to go on missions. Not really.
If he followed Lu Xingyao out there, he’d simply be a burden—a liability, someone who would need protection every step of the way. He stared at Lu Xingyao for a long moment, quietly.
Lu Xingyao sounded genuinely sincere. His voice was gentle, his expression calm—devoid of any hint of reluctance or forced politeness. It was quite clear that he meant what he said.
“Wouldn’t that be… kind of a hassle for you?” Ruan Zhao inquired. He phrased it with a semblance of caution, but the unmistakable sparkle in his eyes betrayed his true feelings. He clearly liked the idea.
“Not at all,” Lu Xingyao replied after a brief pause. “Actually… I get kind of lonely by myself too. It’d be nice to have someone with me.”
“Well, alright then.” Ruan Zhao’s eyes curved slightly, his voice feigning reluctance even though his expression radiated pleasure. “You’re being so insistent—I’d feel a bit heartless saying no.”
Lu Xingyao had done everything correctly—he acknowledged his mistake, offered a sincere apology, and even proposed a thoughtful solution. So Ruan Zhao, in a rare display of mercy, decided to forgive him. He even felt a touch smug about it—Look at me, being so understanding.
He offered the freshly opened, still untouched bag of chips to Lu Xingyao, then shifted over slightly on the couch, tilting his head to the side. “Wanna watch together?”
“Yeah.” Lu Xingyao settled into the seat beside him.
The couch, now occupied by two, felt noticeably smaller—and warmer. It was as if Lu Xingyao himself were some oversized furnace, radiating heat into the early summer night.
For a vampire like Ruan Zhao, someone who preferred the darkness and the cold… it was a little overwhelming. He was starting to feel overheated. So, he shoved the plushie from his lap into Lu Xingyao’s arms, then reached for the AC remote and cranked the temperature way down. Finally, that offered some relief.
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