他有精神病

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.