TL: Hua
[Host consciousness loading]
[0%, 2%… 100%, Host consciousness loaded.]
[Host Name: Xie Yu.]
[Book loading]
[Book Title: “Bound Relations”]
[Book Genre: Modern, Pure Love, Abusive, Forced, , , *, Beep—beep-beep—]
A harsh static sound erupted.
The system froze for a moment. [System detected forbidden words, automatically replaced with mosaics.]
The robotic voice finished its cold recitation and fell silent. Xie Yu rubbed his throbbing temples and pushed himself up. As he moved, foam cascaded off him, and a large amount of water overflowed, leaving a trail of wetness on the floor.
He was lying in a bathtub.
To be precise, he was lying in a luxurious bathtub in a penthouse suite of a lavish five-star hotel in Jiangcheng.
The bath bubbles contained essential oils distilled from Damask roses, the bathroom was scented with woody, flameless diffusers, and even the floor was made of imported Macaé rock slabs. Looking out from the huge floor-to-ceiling window in the bathroom, one could overlook the city’s skyline, with neon lights forming a vast, warm yellow glow.
Xie Yu roughly estimated the room rate for one night to be upwards of ten thousand.
This body belonged to a rich second-generation heir, a top-tier one who squandered money like water.
Xie Yu sat up straight in the bathtub, looked at the system interface, then reached out and poked the shimmering blue panel in mid-air, which displayed dense lines of text.
“Is this the book I’m transmigrating into this time?”
“Yes, Host. This is your novice mission.”
Xie Yu, a new employee of the Transmigration Management Bureau, had suffered a sudden cardiac arrest one day. As his consciousness faded, a system calling itself “Abusive Novel NPC Actor No. 006” approached him, saying that completing NPC acting missions would allow him to revive and return to reality.
Xie Yu didn’t want to die, nor did he deeply investigate the meaning of the mosaic-covered text at the end of the book’s title. He decisively clicked “agree” and became 006’s host.
After a dizzying sensation, he found himself in the hotel bathtub.
006: “Plot loaded. Would Host like to review it?”
Xie Yu put on a bathrobe and said, “Yes.”
The system loaded the next page, and silvery-blue light points flickered and changed. A moment later, a rectangular novel-reading screen floated in mid-air, displaying dense lines of text.
Xie Yu skimmed through, getting a general idea.
This was an old-fashioned modern Danmei novel titled “Bound Relations.” The author had “special hobbies,” and the story was filled with numerous indescribable scenes, which the system had censored with mosaics for the sake of harmony and goodwill.
The protagonist of the novel was named Shen Ci. Born into poverty, his parents died early, and he lived with his grandmother. Fortunately, Shen Ci excelled academically, got into A University, the best local university, and secured an early recommendation for graduate studies, choosing a good supervisor. If everything went smoothly, he should have become a successful prodigy.
The change occurred in the year Shen Ci was about to graduate.
His grandmother suffered from a chronic illness and needed medication year-round. To pay for the medicine, Shen Ci had been working odd jobs since starting university. He tutored, organized the library, and worked part-time at a bubble tea shop. However, even if he only slept six hours a day and spent the rest of his time studying and working, the money was a drop in the bucket compared to the enormous treatment costs.
No matter how hard Shen Ci tried, his grandmother’s condition never improved; in fact, it worsened, reaching a point where recovery seemed impossible.
Just when he could no longer afford the expenses, the Student Affairs Department offered him a “big deal.”
Xie Yuanshan, the city’s top tycoon in the biopharmaceutical field, approached the Student Affairs Department and wanted to select a good student who was both morally and academically excellent to serve as a study companion for his unruly son.
Xie Yuanshan’s company had a collaborative project with an overseas research institute, and one of their experimental drugs was recruiting volunteers, which could be provided to patients free of charge and might be effective for his grandmother’s illness.
However, volunteer spots were limited and not easily obtained. Shen Ci hesitated for a moment and accepted the offer.
Many people tried to dissuade him, saying that Xie Yuanshan’s son had a terrible personality and was adept at tormenting people. If Shen Ci went, he would surely be humiliated. But Shen Ci had no choice.
Xie Yu, Xie Yuanshan’s son, was the top second-generation heir in Jiangcheng. He excelled at none of the arts, sciences, or crafts but was a master of hedonism—clubbing, entertainment, and racing daily. His personality was unruly and frivolous; the entire upper class in Jiangcheng would shake their heads and sigh at the mention of his name.
Xie Yuanshan was busy with work, flying around the five continents 300 days a year, so he wasn’t close to his son and had no time to discipline him. That’s why he thought of finding a good student to be his son’s companion, at least to keep him in check.
This companion was Shen Ci.
Shen Ci had heard of Xie Yu’s reputation and knew this young master wasn’t easy to deal with, but due to his financial difficulties, he still signed the contract with Xie Yuanshan.
However, if a second-generation heir could be reformed by a mere companion, he wouldn’t be a second-generation heir. On the day his father went abroad, Xie Yu sneered at this “study companion” and “little teacher” his father had hired. He cornered Shen Ci at the school gate and presented another contract:
A “Sugar Baby” Contract.
It meticulously listed numerous humiliating conditions. Xie Yu even explicitly stated that he had some “special hobbies” that Party B needed to satisfy. Shen Ci clutched the contract, his hands trembling, while Xie Yu leaned against his car, looking down on him as he warned, “You’d better think it through in three days.”
Shen Ci remained silent.
Xie Yu paid no attention to his silence because he knew that Shen Ci had no way out. The deadline for volunteer recruitment was three days.
No one knows what kind of struggle Shen Ci went through, struggling in vain against the bleak walls of his home, wrinkling his shirt that had been washed and turned white countless times. But on the last day of the three-day deadline, he still brought the contract and came to Xie Yu’s place.
—
Xie Yu glanced at the time: “Is it the third day now?”
System: “Yes. The protagonist is expected to knock on your door in about an hour.”
Xie Yu: “Then I need to familiarize myself with the script first.”
He only had an hour, and time was tight. Xie Yu had no acting experience whatsoever; he hadn’t even participated in a high school English play. Fortunately, he wasn’t a good student himself; he was usually a laid-back troublemaker, which partially overlapped with the original character’s setting. As long as he got the lines right, he was unlikely to break character.
Xie Yu clicked to the next page and casually continued reading. However, the moment he turned the page, his hand paused.
[*, ]
[*, *]
Xie Yu’s expression stiffened: “What is this?”
Mosaics?
He skipped these two lines and looked further down; there were still large sections of mosaics.
[Xie Yu was seen *, *, *.]
[Shen Ci *, .]
[Xie Yu * Shen Ci *, *, Shen Ci , Xie Yu *.]
Xie Yu: “…?”
He tapped the floating system screen: “System, did you get water in you? Are these two putting on a traditional Chinese comedic duet here?”
The bathroom was humid and steamy. If moisture entered the system’s internal interface, it could indeed cause a display malfunction.
The system paused for a moment: “As the latest technology from the Transmigration Bureau, I do not get wet.”
Xie Yu pointed at the screen: “Then what’s this?”
The system beeped twice, sounding a bit guilty: “…Upon inquiry, this is content that needs to be censored.”
Xie Yu: “Reason?”
The system whispered: “Violates public order and good morals.”
Xie Yu: “…”
What kind of bizarre book was this, that it could have so many censored words violating public morals in just a few lines? Xie Yu had a vague premonition of trouble.
He scrolled the cursor to view the middle and latter parts of the novel. Most of this book was mosaics, interspersed with fragmented plot points. Xie Yu roughly pieced together the original character’s later plot by guessing and inferring.
As the villainous NPC of the novel, he was supposed to engage in certain activities with the protagonist Shen Ci that violated public order and good morals to the point of being unshowable. He was to torment the protagonist physically and mentally, pushing him to the brink of a mental breakdown.
In the later stages of the novel, Shen Ci suffered from severe mental illness, forced to take large amounts of medication daily to survive. Even so, Xie Yu showed no intention of letting him go. On the contrary, Shen Ci’s cold attitude ignited Xie Yu’s desire for conquest. He became more aggressive and sadistic, almost causing accidents several times.
After half a year, Xie Yuanshan returned to China. He couldn’t stand his son racing cars and clubbing with his rowdy friends all day, doing nothing. So, he dragged Xie Yu abroad to study. Only then did Shen Ci get a chance to breathe.
Three years later, Xie Yuanshan died suddenly, and Xie Yu’s uncle, Xie Yuanhai, took over the company. Shen Ci, having laid low for several years, entered the company after graduation and rapidly rose through the ranks, becoming Xie Yuanhai’s trusted confidant and a new elite in Jiangcheng.
With Xie Yuanshan’s death, Xie Yu’s allowance was cut off. He returned to China in disgrace, only to be ambushed by Shen Ci’s men at the airport and taken back to this very hotel. Then, in this hotel, in front of this large, humiliating, floor-to-ceiling window, Shen Ci broke Xie Yu’s fingers one by one.
The former young master was as pathetic as a stray dog. He screamed in agony, crying and begging for mercy. Shen Ci watched indifferently, then fabricated medical records, falsely claiming Xie Yu had a mental illness, and had him confined to a mental hospital, where he spent his remaining years locked in a small room, never seeing the light of day.
How could the original character endure such humiliation? He first resisted fiercely and then tried to contact his old friends, but Shen Ci maintained strict control, leaving him no opportunity. Eventually, his mental health deteriorated, he went mad, and after twenty years of confused existence, he died in the mental hospital.
The story hadn’t ended here, but Xie Yu’s part was over, so the system didn’t display the remaining sections.
Xie Yu: “…”
Sifting through the few remaining plot points amidst a sea of mosaics, Xie Yu’s worldview was shaken. He pointed to himself: “So, next, I have to play a mentally deficient rich second-generation heir, then remain mentally deficient, get my fingers broken, and finally spend twenty years in a mental hospital in pain?”
…If that was the case, his resurrection wasn’t exactly essential.
“No, no, no,” 006 hastily explained, “When your fingers are broken, I will shield your pain perception. You just need to act as if you’re in great pain. As for when you’re in the mental hospital, you only need to return to act when Shen Ci visits; you can live normally the rest of the time.”
Xie Yu: “That’s more like it.”
Looking at it this way, he only needed to be a top-tier rich second-generation heir for a few years, complete the first half of the plot, then travel abroad, play the role of an insignificant background character in the latter half, and then he could leave the world. This life seemed quite pleasant.
…The only problem was, he didn’t know how to execute the first half of the plot.
Xie Yu flipped through the short novel repeatedly but couldn’t make out a single line of dialogue from the mosaics. He pointed at the screen: “This?”
There weren’t even any lines. How was he supposed to act?
The system coughed: “Although the original content of the novel cannot be displayed due to violations, I can provide some hints.”
“Xie Yu’s character doesn’t have much substance. He is just an NPC in an abusive novel, set as an arrogant, empty-headed second-generation heir. You only need to act in that direction, and strict adherence to the novel’s actions is not required.”
“As for this censored content…”
The system faltered slightly, its cursor flickering as if hesitating. Finally, it discreetly displayed two letters on the screen.
“It’s this.”
Xie Yu focused his gaze and raised an eyebrow high.
“…?”
Although he had never been in a romantic relationship and had not delved deeply into this genre, he had seen pigs running despite never eating pork[mfn]The idiom “没吃过猪肉也见过猪跑” (méi chī guò zhū ròu yě jiàn guò zhū pǎo) literally translates to “never eaten pork, but at least seen pigs run.” Even if one lacks direct experience in something, they have at least seen or heard about it.[/mfn]. He still recognized these two letters.
Xie Yu’s eyebrow twitched slightly. He tried to struggle in desperation: “These two letters don’t mean what I think they mean, do they?”
The system ruthlessly extinguished his fantasy: “That’s exactly what it means.”
Special hobbies—so that’s what the special hobbies were.
Xie Yu: “…”
According to the description, the original character not only had “special hobbies” but also professional methods, capable of many elaborate, bloody, and perverted acts, so much so that the novel was plastered with mosaics thicker than a city wall, filled with restricted content. While Xie Yu wasn’t exactly a model student —he’d skipped classes, gotten into fights, and ridden motorcycles — he was utterly inferior to the original character when it came to such “variations.”
“No,” Xie Yu closed the novel. “I’m afraid I can’t do this. You’ll have to find someone else.” He admitted he wasn’t as perverted as the original character and couldn’t act out the original character’s effect.
The system was startled, its cursor blinking: “Then, after the original character goes offline, you won’t be able to survive either.”
The condition given by the system was to revive in the real world after completing the novel’s content. If Xie Yu failed to complete the main mission, he naturally couldn’t live on after the novel ended.
Xie Yu spread his hands: “I still can’t act it out.”
He thought about it and concluded that living for these extra ten-plus years as a rich second-generation heir was already a gain. But to act out such perversion, to oppress the protagonist using his status, and to play out half a book’s worth of restricted scenes—he himself felt sick at the thought.
System: “…”
It watched as Xie Yu put on his trench coat, tied his belt, looked as if he was about to grab his bag and leave, refused to participate further, and hastily spoke: “Wait, wait, Host, you don’t need to perfectly replicate it.”
Xie Yu turned back.
“Due to the majority of the book being censored, the difficulty of completion is objectively limited. You only need to complete the critical plot points with a restoration degree of over 60%.”
Xie Yu: “Critical plot points?”
“Yes,” the system explained. “For example, in this hotel scene with Shen Ci, you only need to embody the original character’s persona and evoke emotions of [humiliation] and [shame] in the protagonist. You don’t need to strictly follow every plot point. As for how to achieve these emotions, you can decide for yourself.”
Xie Yu sat back down.
60%, acceptable.
He had limited and fragmented knowledge of this field, so he could only read the novel with a furrowed brow, trying to analyze the original content. Before he could make any sense of it, the doorbell rang.
System cursor: “Shen Ci is at the door.”
An hour had passed.
Xie Yu nodded. He propped his long legs onto the sofa, found a comfortable position, then subtly raised his chin towards the door, languidly saying, “Enter.”
After a moment of silence from outside, the door opened and closed, and a young man walked in. He met Xie Yu’s eyes, then lowered his gaze, avoiding him. He took a couple of steps forward under Xie Yu’s scrutinizing gaze, then stopped.
To be fair, he was very handsome.
This future powerful figure in Jiangcheng was still very young, slender but tall. He wore an old white shirt, its collar starched to the point of being worn and faded. His bottom half was also a pair of faded trousers, worn for who knows how many years. His legs were confined within the pant legs, appearing straight and long, and the curve of his ankles was smooth and beautiful, very suitable for holding and caressing.
Xie Yu raised an eyebrow: “Assistant Shen?”
Shen Ci was a teaching assistant at A University; it was on the resume he submitted to Xie Yuanshan.
That was the first time Xie Yu and Shen Ci met. Xie Yuanshan was also present. He held Xie Yu’s shoulder as he introduced them: “Come, this is Assistant Shen.”
Xie Yu had been lawless since childhood, not even using honorifics for his own father, let alone for Shen Ci. He brazenly scrutinized the new study companion, from his meticulously neat hair to the slender ankles beneath his old pant legs. This continued until Xie Yuanshan frowned heavily and scolded, “What are you spacing out for?”
In front of outsiders, the original character had to give his father some face, so he raised an eyebrow and called out, “Assistant Shen.” But being forced by his father to address someone like that, the second-generation heir ultimately couldn’t swallow his pride. When he later sent Shen Ci the “Sugar Baby” contract, he still addressed him as “Assistant Shen,” with every word dripping with sarcasm.
Hearing the address, Shen Ci said nothing.
Xie Yu raised a hand: “The contract?”
Shen Ci paused, then handed over the document he was holding.
Xie Yu flipped through it, and indeed, it bore Shen Ci’s name, written in strong, flowing calligraphy, full of character. Behind the contract was a thick stack of other things. There was a medical report, and besides general examinations, it clearly had “syphilis” checked.
This was something the original character had forced Shen Ci to undergo.
Xie Yu thought to himself, “How insulting.”
He not only forced the other party into a corner but also demanded him prove his physical purity and absence of disease to be worthy of being a plaything for the degenerate heir. No wonder Shen Ci went completely insane afterwards and sent the original character directly to a mental hospital.
After confirming everything was in order, Xie Yu put the contract away and looked up at Shen Ci, remaining silent for a long moment.
He was considering the next step. The script didn’t give details, so he had to improvise. Xie Yu was carefully choosing his words when he saw Shen Ci suddenly raise his hand and pull off his outer jacket, casually draping it over his arm.
With the outer jacket removed, only a shirt remained, half new, half old. The shirt buttons were fastened up to the second one, tightly enclosing his neck.
Xie Yu: “?”
Shen Ci didn’t look up; he just placed his hand on a button, seemingly intending to unfasten it. His fingers were long and slender, with thin calluses on the pads. At this moment, he was shaking uncontrollably. A simple button was pressed so hard that he couldn’t unfasten it after several tries.
Shen Ci’s movements were quick. His way of taking off his clothes was less like removing them and more like peeling himself out of them. His expression seemed calm and composed, as nonchalant as ever, but Xie Yu’s gaze fell on his fingertips, which were clearly trembling. It was as if by taking his clothes off fast enough, he could hide his unease and embarrassment.
Xie Yu sat up from the sofa: “You…”
— Speak properly, don’t just start undressing!
Shen Ci looked up. He had already half-removed his upper garment, revealing his abdomen. His waist was slender, outlining the indentations of his lower back. The only thing covering his upper body was the jacket draped over his arm. Seeing Xie Yu’s movements, he showed an expression akin to self-mockery and asked, “Is this not enough?”
Xie Yu: “What?”
Shen Ci chuckled lightly and said, “Tools, do you want me to help you bring them over?”
Xie Yu: “….?”
Shen Ci sneered lightly and walked straight towards the hotel wardrobe. He quickly knelt down and pulled out a suitcase from inside, asking, “Which one do you want to use?”
Xie Yu: “Uh.”
In the midst of silence, Shen Ci understood. He stood up, pulled the leather case from the wardrobe, and placed it on the coffee table in front of Xie Yu, mocking, “You want to use all of them?”
The case was a vintage style with decorative clasps that weren’t very sturdy; it popped open with a light press. As Shen Ci placed it in front of Xie Yu, the clasps automatically unlocked, and the contents were spread out on the table, fully exposed.
Xie Yu lowered his gaze, scanning them casually, barely managing to keep his expression neutral. He had never seen so many types of whips. Leather, fiber, multi-strand, loose, oddly shaped, barbed… They looked just like interrogation tools from a Republic of China spy film. Just looking at them, Xie Yu could imagine how painful they would be to use on someone.
These things are used on a person???
Xie Yu said nothing, and Shen Ci said nothing. They remained locked in a silent standoff, staring at the box of items. In this suffocating silence, Shen Ci’s fingers tightened, almost digging into his flesh…
“Assistant Shen, it’s like this.” Xie Yu glanced at him, carefully choosing his words: “I am a very professional hobbyist. Before proceeding to the next step, there’s actually one more step…”
Shen Ci looked up at him.
Xie Yu painstakingly listed the few items he could recall from his limited knowledge related to “special hobbies.” He chose his words carefully:
“Uh, first, we need a safe word.”
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Hmm, well it seems to be an interesting start?