Futile Devices Scans

When Zhou Ruo An was thrown onto the bed, he was still trying to explain.

“Lin Yi, I did lie to you about Bai Jiu—that’s my fault. But it caused you no loss. You just helped me once.”

At three in the morning in the urban village, even the dogs had stopped barking. Inside this room, only Zhou Ruo An kept talking nonstop.

“That woman… she’s not my girlfriend. We had an arrangement—she wants to use my status to get into higher social circles, and I use her… right, the Zhou family wants to push me into a political marriage, so I use her to block it.”

The bedroom door was slowly shut. The latch turned—it was locked.

Zhou Ruo An pressed himself against the headboard in panic, explaining frantically: “The reason I said she was my girlfriend at the club was because there were too many people watching. If I didn’t acknowledge her identity, my plan would fall apart. Lin Yi, you have to believe me—I just don’t want to be forced into a political marriage.”

After locking the door, Lin Yi walked toward the window. His voice was low, trapped within the narrow room—calm in tone, yet heavy with pressure. “I had Bai Ban interrogate that woman. Want to guess what she said?”

Reaching the window, Lin Yi took out his phone and tossed it onto the bed. “A message from Bai Ban ten minutes ago. Young Master Zhou, want to take a look?”

With a swish, he drew the curtains shut, blocking out the dim moonlight. Inside, only Zhou Ruo An’s suddenly pale face remained visible.

Zhou Ruo An’s fingers were elegant—long without being overly slender. Against the black phone screen, they carried a kind of ink-wash painting beauty.

He hesitated before picking up the phone, skillfully entering the unlock code. As soon as he pressed the final digit, Bai Ban’s chat window popped up.

Several full 60-second voice messages had been sent. Zhou Ruo An tapped one.

Perhaps still in the middle of voice change, Bai Ban’s voice sounded hoarse. Mixed with noisy background sounds, it resembled the frantic barking of stray dogs fighting in the urban village: “That woman’s pretty clever—I couldn’t get anything out of her. Then San’er went in. He’s good-looking—after a few drinks, he got her talking. She said she and Zhou Ruo An aren’t a couple. Said Zhou Ruo An’s about to enter a political marriage and urgently needs a ‘true love’ to boost his value so he can negotiate with the Zhou family and sell himself at a better price. Damn, all the scheming brains went to Zhou Ruo An. Hell, I wanna find a rich woman and marry into her family too…”

Click. Zhou Ruo An shut off the phone. Bai Ban’s voice cut off abruptly.

The bedroom was bare—just a bed, a table, and a small wardrobe. The wardrobe stood by the window. Lin Yi crossed over in two steps, opened it, and pulled out a bundle of rope.

He untied the knot, shaking the rope loose, and asked casually, “Was what she said true?”

When Zhou Ruo An didn’t respond, he didn’t press further. He walked to the bedside and looked up at the rivets on the wall.

Zhou Ruo An followed his gaze. On the wall above the headboard were two thick steel nails, about the width of a finger—likely left by the previous owner to hang a wedding photo. They had been driven deep into the wall, about half an inch still exposed.

“What are you trying to do?” Zhou Ruo An’s throat tightened; his voice trembled slightly.

Lin Yi stretched the rope in his hands and replied, “Do you think those two nails can hold your weight?”

Zhou Ruo An’s expression changed. He quickly pulled his gaze back and rolled off the bed—but at the corner, he was effortlessly caught by the hunter. A strong arm looped around his neck and pulled him back. They were so close that only a breath separated them.

“Zhou Ruo An, you know you can’t escape.”

The nylon rope was already looped around his wrists. Zhou Ruo An struggled desperately with both hands and feet. “Lin Yi, let me go!”

For the first time, Lin Yi used brute force on him—pinning him down, his knee pressing against Zhou Ruo An’s face as he reached over and turned off the bedside lamp.

In the darkness, the bedframe creaked harshly. Zhou Ruo An’s curses never stopped, while Lin Yi remained silent. His name existed only in Zhou Ruo An’s voice:

“Lin Yi, if you dare touch me, you’re dead!”

When the filament glowed again and light returned, Zhou Ruo An’s arms were already raised high, suspended from those two steel nails.

Lin Yi stepped back, looking at Zhou Ruo An as though admiring a piece of art he had crafted himself, slowly taking in the sight of him bound.

The man before him trembled slightly. His increasingly pale face made his lips look even more vivid. Though completely at a disadvantage, he still clung to hope of getting out of this:

“Lin Yi, I’m destined to enter a political marriage. That’s why the Zhou family accepted me—I’m just a pawn in their hands. I can’t decide my own fate. If that’s the case, why shouldn’t I fight for more for myself? That woman has nothing to do with me—we’re just using each other. She won’t affect the three-month agreement between you and me.”

Lin Yi looked toward the only light source in the room, dim brightness spreading across his eyes. “There’s no such thing as a three-month agreement anymore. From the very beginning, you never treated it sincerely—it was just your delaying tactic. Maybe you thought you could still make use of me for three months. In your heart, nothing outweighs your ambition to climb upward.”

Lin Yi stepped forward, his fingers resting on the buttons of Zhou Ruo An’s shirt. “Since that’s the case, we might as well play dirty.”

Zhou Ruo An shrank back as hard as he could, as if trying to embed himself into the wall. “Our accounts are already settled. I paid you back, I locked you up for three days, and you locked me up for three days. Lin Yi, I don’t owe you anymore.”

“Young Master Zhou, do you think your words still carry any weight now? If I say you owe me, then you have ten thousand reasons to owe me.”

His fingertip rubbed over the shell-polished button as Lin Yi said slowly, “Tonight I’m collecting the debt. Young Master Zhou, take your time paying it back.”

With a tearing sound that sent chills down the spine, Zhou Ruo An’s chest was suddenly exposed, the pale skin laid bare.

For a split second, Zhou Ruo An froze in shock and missed his only chance to speak. Lin Yi only glanced once at his chest before picking up the tape he had taken out along with the rope.

The ripping sound of the tape echoed sharply in the quiet night, raising goosebumps. One end was pressed onto Zhou Ruo An’s right cheek. Staring into those frightened eyes, Lin Yi slowly sealed his curses and protests inside his mouth, bit by bit.

The room fell silent, filled with a sense of destruction.

Lin Yi tossed aside what he was holding and began undoing his logo-stamped belt. Lowering his head, he said casually, “When Young Master Zhou can sound like he does in those videos, remind me to tear off the tape.”

Anger, fear, and humiliation piled together, yet were trapped beneath the ropes and tape. His struggling body did nothing to slow the fall of his trousers; the belt hit the bed with a dull thud.

The old house had poor heating. Large areas of exposed skin quickly lost warmth. Zhou Ruo An trembled slightly—whether from fear or cold, it was hard to tell.

Lin Yi seemed entirely unconcerned. He gripped Zhou Ruo An’s jaw and leaned in, pressing a kiss to the small mole at the tail of his brow.

His kisses were meticulous, yet rough—almost like someone with a compulsive hunger, biting lightly at the raised brow bone.

He dampened every strand of eyebrow hair with saliva before moving downward—eyelashes, cheeks, the lips sealed with tape, and the constantly shifting throat.

He lingered over the sharp cartilage, his tongue pressing against it, restricting breath and bringing a faint sense of suffocation.

Zhou Ruo An’s breathing through his nose grew heavy and uneven, adjusting repeatedly under the pressure at his throat.

Lin Yi seemed to enjoy this game—where Zhou Ruo An could only comply—playing with it for a long time before suddenly biting down hard, like a beast aiming to kill its prey in one strike.

Zhou Ruo An let out a muffled groan, but no mercy came. Instead, pain flared across his chest as the flesh was pulled sharply.

Lin Yi followed downward. As warmth pressed against him, Zhou Ruo An suddenly thought of the scenes on Lin Yi’s computer—two men just like this, intense and unrestrained.

Only when his knees were lifted did Zhou Ruo An truly realize what was about to happen. Unable to cry out, he struggled with all his strength.

The rope swayed violently, pulling at the steel nails embedded in the wall.

Lin Yi pulled back slightly, his gaze flickering. Just when Zhou Ruo An thought he might relent, the sound of a zipper followed.

“Zhou Ruo An,” Lin Yi’s voice was as cold as the dim light in the room. Like stating a fact, he said plainly, “This is all you deserve.”

The next moment, with a hoarse, broken muffled sound, the rope jerked downward against the steel nails.

There was no pause. The rope binding Zhou Ruo An’s wrists began to move up and down, irregular but increasingly forceful, the violence growing more obvious.

The sounds trapped behind the tape became even more fragmented. Sweat from the pain dampened his hair roots. Lin Yi’s lips fell against his temple—not gentle, but drawing in the salty moisture.

The nails shook continuously. The holes in the wall loosened, fine dust and plaster falling like sand onto the pale fingers bound together, creating a strangely broken, dirty beauty.

Lin Yi seemed like someone savoring a long-coveted delicacy, relishing the texture and taste.

Greedily, he pressed forward once more.

The rope jerked violently. Overloaded, the steel nails suddenly tore free from the wall.

Zhou Ruo An dropped sharply, but Lin Yi reacted quickly and caught him in his arms. Their positions remained, the force continuing through him, leaving Zhou Ruo An nearly unconscious.

His already unfocused eyes finally filled with tears. Under the dim light, Lin Yi looked at the man in his arms with unusual focus.

His fingers slipped through damp hair. For a fleeting moment, something softer seemed to surface in his gaze—but it quickly vanished, replaced again by coldness. He flipped Zhou Ruo An over and pressed him into the piled bedding, leaning close to his ear and whispering the filthiest, most degrading words:

“Young Master Zhou tastes pretty good. Now I want to hear you call out.”

He tore off the tape in one motion.

“The night is still long—it’s time to fix your ‘grammar mistakes.’”

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