Yan Ci has an illness, and Wen Luo has the medicine.
Wen Luo: “Marry me, and the medicine is yours.”
Yan Ci: “Get lost, I don’t want your medicine even if I die.”
Wen Luo smirked.
Then, the real scene:
Wen Luo: “Baby, come, take your medicine.”
Yan Ci opens his mouth.
A two-faced, scheming top with a sweet-tempered outer appearance and a sickly, but violent, self-proclaimed aloof bottom.
Later on, someone, who often had a hoarse voice and red, swollen eyes every morning, was dissatisfied. He was clearly the one that should have been the top.
Wen Luo: I will do it gently in the future.
Yan Ci: On the very first night, I can’t believe it; a man’s mouth can spew so many lies.
Wen Luo: Actually, I really did control the intensity.
Yan Ci: Control? Is it the kind where the other person is near death? Or when he becomes a ghost?
Wen Luo: …or else, looks like my baby is really curious. Why don’t we try it once again?
It’s better to act rather than to keep wondering.
After more than an hour,
Yan Ci: Ugh…
‘My body is wasted today as well. My waist and legs are sore.’
Great, Yan Ci dug his own grave again.
