SGT CH108: Winning Love with Lies

◎He won the most sincere love with false lies.◎

The current scene seemed to overlap with that night a year ago.

Mousse gazed up at Aix above him.

His body had long been familiar with Aix’s touch, easily aroused to heat by Aix’s fingers, yet his spirit felt the resistance of being humiliated.

It was always like this. The Aix who first became an ability user controlled him back then, and the Aix who had now become the Zombie Emperor could still control him.

While surrendering his future, he had also surrendered his right to choose and his right to refuse.

Mousse closed his eyes heavily.

How laughable. Just a few minutes ago, he had actually felt soft-hearted for someone who had always controlled him and could possess him at any time.

A bird trapped in a cage, feeling sorry for the master standing sorrowfully outside it.

A dull sense of resistance and sadness transmitted over, and Aix abruptly stopped his movements.

The room was very dark, but zombies were more accustomed to activity at night and had excellent night vision.

So, Aix could clearly see Mousse’s tightly shut eyes, his furrowed brows, and the teeth biting his lower lip almost to the point of bleeding.

Like a basin of cold water suddenly poured over him, the heat in Aix’s dark red eyes faded, leaving only hollow coldness and piercing pain.

He didn’t understand. It was clearly Mousse who had proactively explored his body, signaling that he wanted him.

Why, when he offered himself up, was Mousse now full of resistance?

Was it because he remembered he was a zombie?

True, who would want to do these things with a zombie?

Aix’s face, already devoid of blood, turned even paler, his lips ashen.

Aix didn’t know how he moved off the bed.

He was almost unsteady on his feet, holding onto the edge of the bed as he sat at the foot, back to Mousse, not daring to look back as he manipulated the mutated plants to cover Mousse with the quilt.

Mousse felt a sudden lightness on his body as the source of heat moved away.

When he opened his eyes, he only saw the flower vines tucking him in.

And Aix sat at the foot of the bed with his back to him, his usually upright shoulders slumped, his dark figure appearing somewhat defeated.

Mousse touched the quilt that covered him tightly, feeling a bit bewildered.

Aix’s slightly muffled voice drifted over.

“Go to sleep. I’ll watch over you here; I won’t let you get cold.”

Indeed, he wouldn’t get cold.

Aix seemed to be using his ability on the quilt, raising its temperature. The thin quilt was warm and cozy, very comfortable to cover up with.

Mousse rested his chin on the quilt, fingers lightly gripping the edge, eyelashes lowered as he asked softly:

“Why aren’t we doing it anymore?”

“I said I wouldn’t force you.”

As Aix spoke, he closed his eyes heavily, adding with difficulty:

“And please, don’t provoke me again.”

Never obtaining something is certainly painful.

But receiving a signal and approaching with great joy, only to receive a cold rejection, is even harder to bear.

Mousse: “?”

What did he mean by provoke?

It was clearly Aix who hugged him first, and Aix who guided his hand downward.

Could it be that seeing Aix standing alone on the balcony and feeling unbearable pity, asking Aix to come in and sleep, counted as provoking him?

Angry in his heart, Mousse sullenly kicked the quilt.

He deliberately controlled the direction so he didn’t kick Aix, only letting in a draft of cold air that made his legs curl up from the chill.

Aix paused, thinking Mousse was driving him away.

He stood up silently and moved to stand in the shadows against the wall.

He couldn’t leave the room.

If he was too far away, the precision of his ability to raise the temperature would decrease, and he might burn Mousse.

He could only lower his presence in this way.

seeing Aix’s action, Mousse became even angrier.

It was clearly Aix whose bullying attempt failed, so why was he acting like he was the one being bullied?

Mousse yanked the quilt and turned his back, deciding that out of sight was out of mind.

However, even though Aix made no movement, had no breath, and didn’t even have a heartbeat.

Mousse could still feel the gaze falling upon him.

Tinged with sadness, pain, and longing, following him like a shadow.

It felt somewhat like the first few days after the Zombie Emperor had taken him.

Back then, he thought Aix had completely lost his humanity and become a pure zombie, a monster wearing Aix’s face and body.

On the surface, the Zombie Emperor was extremely indifferent to him, yet in every corner Mousse couldn’t see, he would cast his gaze upon him.

What was Aix thinking at that time?

Was he hating him with the vengeance of causing him to fall into the zombie horde?

Or was he craving his flesh and blood, wanting to eat him?

But Aix didn’t lay a hand on him.

Even though he had caused him to lose his life, the most excessive revenge Aix took was simply straddling him that night and swallowing him whole.

During the process, he didn’t forget to use his ability to raise the body temperature where they made contact.

Sometimes, Mousse really didn’t understand what Aix was thinking.

He seemed to want revenge, but the method was very “un-zombie-like,” even less cruel than some heartless humans.

And he would inexplicably stop, then shrink into a dark corner as a zombie, watching him silently.

Mousse’s anger toward Aix always came quickly and left quickly.

He wanted to be angry, but didn’t know how to stay angry.

He wanted to hate, but couldn’t bring himself to hate.

But given the current situation, calling Aix back wasn’t appropriate either.

If he chased him to rest in another room, he wouldn’t sleep anyway—zombies don’t need sleep—and he might even go stand in the rain outside.

Recalling how Aix stood motionless on the balcony, he was definitely capable of standing in the rain in the yard all night.

Mousse struggled with his thoughts while hugging the quilt for a long time, unable to come up with an answer.

Instead, a strong drowsiness suddenly attacked him; his thoughts came to an abrupt halt, and he fell into a deep sleep.

Aix stood in the shadows, watching Mousse being soothed to sleep by his psychic ability. His hanging fingers twitched, but in the end, he remained where he was and did not step forward.

The flower vines by the bed climbed up the bed frame, enveloping Mousse in a protective posture, waving their branches at Aix to express condemnation.

Aix did not respond.

Perhaps when he injected part of his consciousness into them, he had injected too many thoughts of protecting Mousse.

These mutated plants had an extremely strong desire to protect Mousse.

Even sometimes, when Aix wanted to do something to Mousse with his abilities, he would meet with their collective protest.

Their resistance was strongest when Aix used his psychic ability.

·

Mousse woke up in a sea of flowers.

Flower vines crawled all over the room, beautiful as if he had fallen into some dreamy fairy tale world, not at all like the style the apocalypse should have.

Mousse was momentarily in a trance.

Perhaps the apocalypse only destroyed human civilization; many plants grew exceptionally lush in the apocalypse, and even skyscrapers were covered in greenery.

Seeing him awake, the flower vines covering the curtains automatically pulled them open for him, revealing the riot of flowers filling the courtyard outside the window.

Where was Aix?

Mousse sat up. Just as the question of Aix’s whereabouts arose, a mutated morning glory leaned close to his ear, transmitting the rhythmic sound of vegetable chopping.

Mousse washed up and went downstairs.

As he walked down the stairs, he saw Aix wearing an apron, busy in the kitchen.

Anyone seeing this scene would find it hard to believe this was a zombie.

He looked more like some ideal domestic partner.

Mousse lightened his steps and walked over.

Aix’s shoulders were broad, his chest muscles full, making his waist appear exceptionally narrow, especially when wearing an apron.

The thin apron and the slender ties outlined his figure even more clearly.

It made one want to reach out and hug him.

Mousse reached out and hugged Aix from behind.

Aix’s movements paused.

He had long detected Mousse’s quiet approach.

In that short minute, he had thought Mousse wanted to scare him, or perhaps attack him.

But he never imagined he would wait for a hug.

Aix lowered his eyes, staring fixedly at the hands around his waist. His thin lips moved several times before he finally let out a low voice:

“I told you, don’t provoke me.”

His voice was cold and stern, muffled and emotionless, yet there was not the slightest intention of resisting or pushing the person away.

Mousse leaned on his back and looked at him in confusion.

Did this count as provoking too?

The hands on Aix’s waist moved, hesitating as if wanting to withdraw.

But in the end, they held on tighter.

“In the past, every time you came back from a mission, you would hold me and not let go.”

As if he were some kind of power bank, needing to be held to recharge.

“You’ve hugged me so many times; there’s no reason I can’t hug you.”

Mousse continued to press against him, pressing even tighter.

Aix couldn’t find a reason to refute, so he could only prepare breakfast in this posture.

Fortunately, the breakfast prepared for Mousse tended to be light, mainly meat porridge, eggs, and cold dishes, so there was no need to worry about hot oil splattering on Mousse’s hands.

Mousse hung on Aix, acting as a back ornament, quietly watching him prepare breakfast methodically.

Inexplicably, he recalled the first time Aix came to his house, cooking for him and supervising him to eat on time.

At that time, there was no apocalypse; they were both ordinary people.

An unloved rich young master and the impoverished school hunk boyfriend he had tricked.

Their beginning started with games and lies.

Back then, Mousse both complained that Aix controlled too much and enjoyed his attention and care.

His heart was uneasy because of the lies at their beginning, constantly worried about gain and loss.

Aix told him to eat three meals on time, so he refused to eat; Aix told him not to drag race, so he insisted on calling friends to race cars; Aix told him not to drink, so he would openly steal drinks.

But as long as Aix appeared in front of him, frowning and looking at him disapprovingly, he would stop immediately and obediently go home with Aix.

If Aix wasn’t by his side for a period of time, he would reoffend. Until Aix appeared again.

It was like using this childish method to attract Aix’s attention, testing Aix’s care for him, or waiting for Aix to give up on him.

At the same time, the panic and unease of deception intensified day by day in their interactions.

Until the apocalypse arrived.

When the whole city mutated, Aix crossed half the city to knock on his door.

All the probing and uncertainty were annihilated in the night accompanied by the roaring of zombies.

Aix loved him.

He had used false lies to win the most sincere love.

…

Aix sensed Mousse’s mood becoming low.

It was always like this.

Mousse’s emotions were too fickle, always clinging to him one moment and discarding him with disgust the next.

“Do you regret it?” Mousse asked him in a low voice.

Another question without head or tail.

Aix wasn’t sure what Mousse was referring to, but looking back from when they first met until now, he had done everything according to his own heart; he regretted nothing.

Whether it was in the beginning, choosing to agree, even knowing Mousse’s so-called “like” and dating were just teasing.

Or later, when the apocalypse came, and he resolutely rushed to Mousse’s side, ending up with his current fate.

Even exchanging that psychic crystal core for his teammates’ lives—the human Aix had never regretted it.

But the Aix who had become a zombie didn’t think so.

His only humanity was tied to Mousse; he didn’t care about the life or death of others.

However, he couldn’t change past choices, nor could he regret on behalf of his former human self.

“Generally speaking… I don’t regret it,” Aix said.

Don’t regret it…

Mousse repeated in his heart.

There was hesitation, there was wavering, but in the end, he still made the current choice?

“But I regret it.”

Mousse lowered his eyes and said.

“If only I hadn’t participated in that game on the day of the graduation party.”

If there hadn’t been that game of Truth or Dare, there wouldn’t be lies and deception between them.

He could have walked up to Aix normally and invited him for a drink.

Aix didn’t like him drinking; he could have chosen juice or milk.

Aix accepted him even with such an absurd confession.

If they had a better start, would everything be better?

Mousse tried to re-envision his first meeting with Aix.

Aix’s reaction, however, was bigger than he imagined.

Aix abruptly broke free, turned around to face him directly, his pair of crimson eyes seemingly erupting with fury.

“What did you say? Regret… How can you regret?”

He knew Mousse didn’t truly like him, knew that abrupt confession was fishy everywhere, knew this was just a bored rich young master toying with him.

But he pretended not to know, proactively cooperating, trying his best to cover it up.

But Mousse tore away all the coverings, laying the word “game” nakedly before him.

Then told him that he regretted it.

Aix grabbed the lapels of Mousse’s clothes, his fingertips turning white from excessive force, his eyes revealing a near-abject pleading.

“How can you… how can you regret?”

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