Chapter 60

Yin Cilan acted as if he didn't realize how ambiguous such an action was, chatting with Ling Wu as if nothing were amiss while admiring his increasingly reddening earlobes.

Tsk.

How truly innocent.

Ling Wu bit his lower lip, pressed his cold hand against the back of Yin Cilan's hand to remove it from his waist, and his eyelashes trembled slightly: "Mr. Yin... let's go outside to talk."

"Sure."

Yin Cilan strode forward, and as he stepped over the threshold, he gripped Ling Wu's shoulder: "Be careful, don't trip again."

Ling Wu replied obediently: "Mm, I know."

To be honest, the contrast between Ling Wu's gentle personality and his cold, aloof appearance is quite striking; it easily triggers a man's desire to destroy and possess, attracting the covetous gaze of perverts.

Just like at this moment, it felt as if Yin Cilan's heart had been brushed by a feather; as if under some spell, he reached out, wanting to stroke the boy's fluffy hair.

Ling Wu dodged silently and asked innocently: "Mr. Yin, what's wrong?"

Yin Cilan's eyes flickered: "Nothing."

He let his hand drop beside his suit trousers, rubbing his fingertips together; he could practically imagine what Ling Wu's hair felt like—it must be wonderful to touch.

This feeling of being kept at arm's length is even more maddening.

Yin Cilan did not realize that danger was silently approaching, as he was being lured step by step into this long-planned trap...

Yin Cilan: "When did you arrive?"

Ling Wu answered his question: "I came over at 8 o'clock this morning."

Yin Cilan brought up something else: "The Mahavira Hall is the main building of Chanxin Temple; the Shakyamuni Buddha statue inside is 22 meters tall, making it one of the largest indoor Buddha statues in the Empire."

"Isn't it spectacular?"

"It is spectacular." Ling Wu: "I heard about it from a classmate and came specifically to see it."

Yin Cilan: "Ling Wu, do you believe in Buddha too?"

"I just have some understanding of it." Ling Wu said meaningfully: "I have a sense of awe for gods and Buddhas."

Little monk: I haven't seen you show any sense of awe.

Ling Wu took the opportunity to ask: "What about you, Mr. Yin?"

"Me?" Yin Cilan was cryptic about this: "Faith doesn't need a reason."

"Are you going to pray anymore?"

Ling Wu shook his head: "No more."

Yin Cilan brought up that line again: "Buddhism speaks of fate; the fact that we met again at Chanxin Temple proves we are fated. My car is parked at the foot of the mountain."

"Little student, it wouldn't be too much for me to treat you to a meal, would it?"

Ling Wu nodded: "I would be honored to accept."

The descent was quick; Yin Cilan's car was parked in the lot below Chanxin Temple. Ling Wu had expected him to have a driver, but in fact, he did not.

He operated his phone remotely, and a black Bentley drove out of the parking lot and stopped in front of them.

Ling Wu looked at the driverless car and narrowed his eyes.

AI driving—the Empire's AI autonomous driving technology is already quite mature; not only can it adapt to random situations, but its driving skills can rival those of professional racers, and it is more convenient than a human driver.

This kind of high-precision, high-efficiency AI can achieve a terrifying zero-error rate.

However, the development of AI autonomous driving technology seemed to be a flash in the pan, because the high cost of research meant it wasn't available to the public, and the noble class enjoyed the pleasure of "enslaving" drivers to feel superior.

Over time, it became something no one cared about.

Ling Wu's knowledge of this technology came mostly from the Federation.

Opening the door, Ling Wu and Yin Cilan sat in the back row; it didn't feel crowded, and the air was silent.

Ling Wu mentioned it inadvertently: "Mr. Yin uses AI autonomous driving? Why not use a driver?"

"I used to travel all over the world; drivers are human, and as long as they are human, they get tired." Yin Cilan clasped his hands together on his knees: "Besides, AI has an advantage that humans cannot match."

"It follows orders unconditionally and never gets tired."

Ling Wu nodded, thinking about something in his eyes: "That is very convenient."

Yin Cilan asked him: "Do you have any dietary restrictions?"

"No restrictions." Ling Wu: "I can eat anything. Mr. Yin, you decide; I'll listen to you."

Yin Cilan: "Good."

The Bentley soon left the foot of Chanxin Temple, and after driving for ten minutes, it arrived at a high-end Western restaurant. A polite waiter stood at the entrance, gorgeous crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow, and beautiful cello music flowed throughout the restaurant. Yin Cilan took out his black card to book the entire place.

The two sat down by the floor-to-ceiling window.

After ordering, Yin Cilan handed Ling Wu a glass of water: "You don't look well, are you carsick?"

Ling Wu felt nauseous at the thought of having to sit and eat with him as if nothing were wrong, and his thumbnail pinched a crescent-shaped mark into his index finger.

He remained calm on the surface: "A little."

The two chatted back and forth; Ling Wu was knowledgeable and handled social situations perfectly. He not only provided emotional value but also offered affirmation from the side. Yin Cilan was coaxed into a happy mood and became increasingly satisfied with Ling Wu.

Good looks, good education, good physique, humble and polite, talented, and socially adept... it was very easy for people to develop a good impression of him.

The waiter brought the dishes.

Yin Cilan picked up a fork and placed the pan-seared foie gras onto Ling Wu's plate: "Try it, it's the restaurant's signature dish."

"Mm." Ling Wu squeezed out a smile: "Thank you."

He then lowered his head to eat; his table manners were very refined, like a prince from the old century, but he completely ignored that piece of pan-seared foie gras throughout the meal.

Yin Cilan naturally noticed: "You don't like it?"

Seeing that Ling Wu had little appetite, he specifically asked for a glass of lemonade: "Drink some lemonade, it will feel much better."

Yin Cilan's wrist crossed the table and reached in front of Ling Wu. The lemonade even had a glass straw in it. Ling Wu naturally lowered his head and took a sip from his hand. The boy revealed his beautiful neck and shoulders; the skin was snow-white and thin under the lights, and one could faintly see the blue veins.

Very beautiful.

Ling Wu finished drinking, propped his cheek with one hand, and looked at him somewhat languidly: "It really feels much better after finishing it."

It was an affirmation of the other party's actions.

Yin Cilan was very pleased by this.

Ling Wu then ate that piece of pan-seared foie gras right in front of him, and after tasting the other dishes, he elegantly put down his knife and fork, smiling as he said to Yin Cilan: "I'm going to the restroom."

Yin Cilan: "Alright."

Ling Wu left calmly, but the moment he turned around, his expression shifted from a smile to disgust; that kind of physiological nausea made his stomach churn violently.

He walked to the restroom and, unable to endure it any longer, vomited.

Ling Wu braced his hands on the sink, his face looking terrible; he turned on the faucet and cupped cold water to splash on his face, droplets dripping from his eyelashes, sliding down the bridge of his nose to his jawline, and finally dripping onto his chest, disappearing into his shirt.

He raised his eyes and saw that face in the mirror, which at this moment had become both familiar and strange, beautiful and twisted, gentle and heartless; it was so contradictory, cruel, and fractured...

Nothing more than a malicious ghost that had crawled out of hell wearing human skin.