PTGWD Extra 6: Mad love3

6.

Lu Jianchuan’s bed was finally outfitted with a mattress and a blanket.

Fang Xingzhou had taken him to the supermarket near campus to get everything. They even bumped into their counselor, who beamed at the two of them and praised Fang for being caring and supportive toward new students.

But once they returned, it was clear that Lu Jianchuan didn’t know how to do anything.

He didn’t know that new linens should be washed first, didn’t know how to make a bed or put on a duvet cover. He was like a creature that had just achieved human form, yet fit perfectly into the role of a clueless rich boy.

Fang Xingzhou taught him how to make a bed. He picked it up quickly—but clearly wasn’t happy about it.

Once the pillow was tucked into its case, Lu Jianchuan now had a soft, warm bed scented faintly with laundry detergent. But the smile vanished from his face. His gaze drooped as he looked down at Fang Xingzhou, asking listlessly, “Zhou Zhou… did I not do well last night?”

Fang Xingzhou turned his head.

Lu Jianchuan’s eyes were no longer bright. They looked dim, heavy.

“Or do you not like my face or body?” he asked again. “Do you prefer someone taller or shorter, bulkier or thinner? We can try other ways besides using mouth and throat. I’ve studied human documentaries for a long time—I know many methods.”

He spoke with such naturalness that Fang Xingzhou didn’t even register the phrase “human documentaries.”

All of Fang Xingzhou’s focus was on Lu Jianchuan’s lips as he spoke.

A wave of jumbled memories surged up—of last night, the narrow space, everything cloaked in darkness behind the closed curtain, his senses pushed to the limit. He recalled the satin texture of the body beside him, the perfect abs, the eerie seductive scent, and a fevered mouth that could drive a man insane…

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from those lips. That feeling of spiraling into madness still haunted his brain, short-circuiting thought.

Lu Jianchuan, getting no reply, looked even more dejected.

“…Or maybe you don’t like men?” he asked at last, hopelessly.

Fang Xingzhou took a slow breath, dragged himself out of that memory swamp, and calmly turned his gaze to the new comforter.

“No,” he said. “Last night was… memorable.”

The corners of Lu Jianchuan’s mouth lifted again.

“We can sleep together every night then,” he offered quickly. “That way I won’t need to make the bed. I can’t absorb warmth from blankets anyway—whether it’s a board or mattress, it feels the same to me.”

Fang Xingzhou: “No.”

Lu Jianchuan blinked. “Why not?”

Fang Xingzhou said, “Only proper roommate relationships don’t require cover stories. What we have is improper. So the spare bed is our decoy—so we don’t get exposed too quickly.”

Lu Jianchuan thought hard but didn’t get it. For a newly-integrated monster, this kind of social complexity was just too advanced.

So he returned to the thing that mattered most to him.

“Then… can I still sleep in your bed?” he asked, eyes burning into Fang Xingzhou.

Fang met his eyes—and slowly smiled.

“Yes,” he replied. “But first—we’ll need to get each other’s health reports. Didn’t any of those human documentaries you studied cover health screenings?”

Lu Jianchuan froze for a moment.

The supervisors had provided him with hundreds of human tutorials. He’d watched every second—learned all about human desires and preferences—but not once had they mentioned medical checks.

Perhaps the supervisors thought that part didn’t apply to relationships between humans and monsters.

But Lu Jianchuan was confident—almost too eager. He leaned down and kissed Fang’s forehead with gentlemanly reverence, then declared, brimming with anticipation, “Let’s go right now!”

7.

As a medical student, Fang Xingzhou took him for a full panel of infectious disease screenings.

With results still a few days away, Lu Jianchuan had no choice but to sleep in his own bed, diligently playing the part of a “proper” roommate. Not that it mattered much to him—he saw the other two roommates as indistinct as roadside grass.

Aside from being banned from the bed at night, he was practically glued to Fang Xingzhou the rest of the time—metaphorically, and sometimes, he insisted, emotionally, quite literally.

The Institute had handled his enrollment. He simply copied Fang Xingzhou’s entire class schedule.

He understood zero parts of it.

Boys and girls alike would glance his way, whispering gossip behind cupped hands. Even the professors started calling on him regularly.

But Lu Jianchuan couldn’t understand a single word—not even the questions. He would simply smile politely until the silence stretched long enough to earn a resigned sigh from the teacher… and a slightly stunned stare from Fang Xingzhou.

But that was okay.

The Institute had told him: “All you need to do is remain within the university zone. Don’t wander off, and under no circumstances let anyone see your real form. Enjoy campus life in human shape. As for grades… irrelevant, Mr. Lu. We’re very progressive guardians. We’ll make sure you graduate.”

So he didn’t care—about curious teachers, sighing lecturers, or the murmuring classmates.

He only cared about Zhou Zhou. Before class, after class, between classes—he stuck close, eyes trailing Fang Xingzhou like sugar syrup. And the question he asked most often was: “Did the test results come out today? Can I sleep with you tonight?”

However, Zhou Zhou seemed to care—about his grades.

Especially when Lu Jianchuan failed to solve the simplest linear equation. Fang’s expression became visibly more stunned. He stared at him for a long moment, speechless.

Lu Jianchuan gripped his pen tightly, glanced between Fang and the chaotic scribbles on the scratch paper. Sweat slowly broke across his back. He was beginning to regret not paying more attention during his Institute training.

Fang Xingzhou pulled the pen from his hand—and felt the cool sweat still clinging to the plastic barrel.

“You don’t know how?” he asked, disbelievingly.

Lu Jianchuan avoided his gaze, gave a nervous cough, shifted slightly, and nodded. “Mhm. This problem must be really hard, right?”

“……” Fang Xingzhou stayed quiet for a long while.

Lu Jianchuan: “I’m sorry, Zhou Zhou.”

Fang Xingzhou let out a sigh—sounding exactly like their professor.

After the sigh, he gave a strange, twisted little laugh. He looked at Lu Jianchuan’s sculpted profile and said, “Hard to believe I’m about to start an illicit relationship with a guy who can’t solve a basic linear equation.”

Lu Jianchuan looked up quickly, his knee brushing Fang’s under the desk, nervously pressing closer.

Fang Xingzhou: “Just—”

“Two weeks ago, my type was still intelligent, cultured women—preferably smarter than me.”

When Lu Jianchuan heard that, his shoulders actually relaxed. “That’s a great standard. It means… you’ve probably never dated anyone.”

Fang Xingzhou blinked.

Then he chuckled. Something warm and soft bloomed in his chest, like someone had stuffed it full of cotton.

He looked down and drew a dumb-looking turtle on the back of Lu Jianchuan’s hand.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll teach you.”

Fang Xingzhou started explaining math that middle schoolers should already know.

Lu Jianchuan listened earnestly. He didn’t understand a word—but it didn’t matter. He was completely absorbed in Fang Xingzhou’s serious expression, his cool voice. In those five minutes, he thinks he has fallen in love with math.

When the explanation ended, Fang Xingzhou looked up and asked, “Did you understand?”

Lu Jianchuan gave him a dazzling smile. His brain was clearly emptier than his eyes. He kissed the cartoon turtle gently—trying to bluff his way through with his beautiful, borrowed human skin.

Fang Xingzhou: “……”

He should have been mad—but couldn’t muster it.

Things are getting worse than thought.

8.

The medical report took even longer than expected. Every time Fang Xingzhou called the hospital, they gave vague excuses—saying Lu Jianchuan’s blood type was “a bit unusual” and required more time to verify.

Fang Xingzhou wasn’t in a hurry to start anything physical. He needed time—to cool down, to confirm whether his desire for Lu Jianchuan was nothing more than a shallow, carnal impulse or not.

While they waited for the report, he turned his attention to a more pressing crisis—Lu Jianchuan’s catastrophic academic level.

Teaching and studying both calmed him down.

After repeatedly confirming that Lu Jianchuan’s knowledge was worse than a middle schooler’s, Fang organized a full curriculum—starting from the basics. He made him self-study, followed by spot checks and personalized explanations.

Lu Jianchuan had come to campus only to be with his beloved. He hadn’t expected to battle the horrors of junior high academics.

For the first three-day break since arriving, he had submitted a request to the Institute weeks in advance—planning to take Zhou Zhou on a countryside trip, where he would stage a perfect confession and begin their sweet two-person world.

Instead, he ended up trapped in their dorm, frantically studying junior high math and biology under Fang Xingzhou’s strict supervision.

Li Zheng and An Mingzhe had both gone home for the break. The dorm was now just the two of them—silent, save for the frantic scratching of Lu Jianchuan’s pen and the faint sound of Fang Xingzhou’s breathing.

Fang Xingzhou had been reviewing next week’s lessons, but at some point, his gaze drifted up from his book—and stayed, lingering on Lu Jianchuan’s face for a long time.

He should’ve been thinking about something serious—like why he felt this way about Lu Jianchuan, or whether they had actually met before.

But he thought nothing. Just watched. And wished time would freeze like this.

Until his phone beeped with a notification.

Lu Jianchuan immediately looked up from his worksheet and saw Fang Xingzhou reading intently.

“Is it the report?” he asked, thick with anticipation. He stood up from behind the desk, reached out, and wrapped an arm around Fang’s shoulder—his gaze catching a glimpse of the screen.

Yes.

It was the medical report he had waited eight whole days for.

Under his relentless urging, the Institute had finally bribed, rushed, and faked its way to a flawless report—one that disguised a terrifying, non-human being as a perfectly healthy Earth-born human.

He couldn’t understand a single line of those densely packed stats, but he could tell—Fang Xingzhou was in a good mood.

So he immediately threw aside his pen and papers, buried his face in Fang Xingzhou’s neck, inhaled deeply—and with one smooth motion, climbed over the table and scooped him up entirely.

Fang Xingzhou: “I haven’t finished reading.”

Lu Jianchuan’s grin was wider than a crescent moon. He was so excited his true form nearly broke through. His lips brushed Fang’s ear, traced to the corner of his mouth—then bit down on his soft lower lip.

“You’re done,” he said confidently. “The summary page is all green. Takes thirty seconds to read it.”

Fang Xingzhou chuckled, tossed the phone onto the pillow, turned to look at his now-uncontrollable roommate—and paused. To his surprise, even after eight days of cooling off, his desire and anticipation hadn’t faded. Just one look from Lu Jianchuan made his entire body burn.

He slid his fingers into Lu Jianchuan’s thick, silky hair, gripping the back of his head. He wasn’t sure what kind of relationship he was hoping for—or whether he should be starting it at all.

But his brain was sluggish with heat. And Lu Jianchuan wasn’t giving him any chance to keep thinking.

He kissed Fang Xingzhou’s lips, then his jaw, his collarbone—then returned to the lips, prying them open with his tongue, beginning his invasion with burning fervor.

Oxygen ran low. Fang’s body started to give in, returning the kiss without restraint. He even curled his tongue around Lu Jianchuan’s, deepening the kiss into something lush and lingering.

And worse—

“I love you,” Lu Jianchuan whispered between kisses, eyes glowing with joy, reflecting Fang Xingzhou’s own descent in their depths. “You promised me, baby. Illicit relationship.”