ADTCP Ch70

Two years later.

At South City University, coursework in junior and senior year generally lightens up, but most students get busier than in freshman and sophomore year—after all, graduation is near, and whether it’s internships, graduate entrance exams, or studying abroad, everything has to be put on the schedule.

Tao Zhen was no exception. Ever since successfully transferring into the musical theatre major two years ago, he had diligently made up the foundational knowledge and worked hard to catch up with his classmates; over these two years, he had already become a standout in the program.
On Lin Manyao’s advice, he decided to keep performing in some musicals to accumulate experience while continuing his studies, so for a long stretch he shuttled between campus and the theatre, wishing he could split one minute into two, so busy his feet barely touched the ground.

At long last, summer vacation arrived. The production he’d been rehearsing recently ended with a perfect curtain call, and Tao Zhen finally had a breather—he immediately flew to Las Vegas, where Zhu Wensheng was fighting to defend his UFC men’s middleweight championship.

Yes, not a title challenge—but a title defense.

After his Los Angeles debut two years back—KO’ing Osborne and making a splash in the UFC—Zhu Wensheng swept through the division like a dark horse. Within a year he challenged “iron man” Raymond, “Trash Talker” Alexander, and “Evil Spirit” Anthony in succession, and in Rio de Janeiro he yanked then–middleweight champion Arnold down from the throne.
With exquisite ground-grappling technique and astonishing physical strength, he became an undefeated legend in the cage, ruling the middleweight division and turning into the inescapable nightmare of many top middleweights.

On the night he won, countless domestic social media accounts screamed and went wild; even passersby who knew nothing about combat sports heard his name that night. A photo of him bare-chested in the Octagon, slowly wiping blood from his cheek, was reposted tens of thousands of times, and naturally some details of his personal life were dug up. What people relished most, of course, was that he and Tao Zhen were a couple.

The tag flooded with new users overnight, and even Osborne and Raymond registered Chinese accounts to come over and “punch a card.”

Tao Zhen had already been very popular; after this, his reach soared to a level that even Qiqi and Xiang Yan from back then exclaimed over in envy.

He wasn’t a “celebrity” in the formal entertainment-industry sense, yet he was more famous than some fading names; going out, he had to wear a mask and cap and keep a low profile. Fortunately, people abroad weren’t that familiar with East Asian faces. As soon as he landed, he rushed and just managed to arrive at the Las Vegas venue on time.

The lights around had already dimmed; both fighters had entered the Octagon.
All those grueling preparations, the dehydration for weigh-ins so dangerous you might need oxygen or end up in the hospital, all traded for just a scant twenty-some minutes on stage.

Holding his breath with a pang of distress, Tao Zhen knew Zhu Wensheng was strong, yet when he saw the challenger’s fist smash into his cheek, he still couldn’t help but clench with worry.

Even though Zhu Wensheng countered furiously within a second and completed a vicious TKO, and even after the referee announced the victory, Tao Zhen was still anxious. The moment the fight ended he hurried backstage; as soon as the doctor finished the exam he threw himself into Zhu Wensheng’s arms: “Are you hurt? Does it hurt? I just saw you had a nosebleed…!”

Indeed, Zhu Wensheng had bled a little from the nose—whereas the challenger’s forearm and shin were fractured.

“I’m fine, not hurting at all.” Zhu Wensheng set aside the ice pack, hooked an arm under Tao Zhen’s little butt to seat him securely in his embrace, all trace of his earlier ferocity gone. “You flew right over after your performance—are you tired?”

The blond boy shook his head, then blew gently at the tip of Zhu Wensheng’s nose, heart aching for him.
Clearly his own snow-white face showed fatigue, faint shadows under his eyes, yet he seemed oblivious. The lingering fierceness that hadn’t fully faded from the cage evaporated in an instant; Zhu Wensheng cradled Tao Zhen gently and coaxed him to rest against him for a while.

Tao Zhen hadn’t wanted to delay Zhu Wensheng, but he truly couldn’t resist him; leaning and leaning, he actually fell asleep.
Zhu Wensheng stayed right there, carefully gathered him up, asked Li Min to push the post-fight interviews to the next day, then carried him onto the team’s van and returned to the hotel the team had booked.

They were staying at the most famous Venetian resort in Las Vegas. The hotel had a vast vaulted ceiling where, even at night, “blue sky and white clouds” hovered overhead; the indoor canal reflected the gilded lights all around, a scene of decadent luxury.
In such a noisy, unfamiliar environment one ought to sleep poorly, but nestled in Zhu Wensheng’s arms—and utterly exhausted—Tao Zhen somehow slept from the UFC Apex venue all the way back to their room.

Zhu Wensheng took a quick rinse in the bedroom, then fetched water and a hot towel and carefully wiped the boy down.
It should have been a time-consuming chore, yet he did it with exceptional focus, feeling a tangible satisfaction and joy well up from his chest.

After tidying up, he didn’t lie down to sleep beside Tao Zhen right away. Instead he propped himself up and gazed at the blond boy.
That fluffy soft hair, snow-white pink cheeks, the slight knit of his brows in sleep, the occasional flutter of long, thick black lashes, lips as soft and sweet as petals… every bit of him looked pitifully adorable.

A swell of deep delight and an indescribable itch rose in Zhu Wensheng’s heart. He quietly took out his phone and snapped a photo of Tao Zhen’s sleeping face, then moved it to his favorites album. That album had unknowingly filled with hundreds of photos of Tao Zhen—sleeping, eating, practicing songs, studying, playing on his phone… Zhu Wensheng felt Tao Zhen was cute every moment, so he saved them all. He only saved them, never posted; he couldn’t bear to share these pictures with others. But people need an outlet. In the past, Zhu Wensheng didn’t like using any social platforms nor chatting with others, because he felt there was nothing in his life worth telling. Now with Tao Zhen, everything was different. He wanted to tell others how wonderful Tao Zhen was, yet he couldn’t very well say it to Zhao Zhao or Li Min, and he couldn’t go flaunting his love before his own fans. In the end, he registered an anonymous little account and would occasionally post snippets of his love diary with Tao Zhen. Today was the same.

【Zhenbaozu：Tao Zhen, Xiao Zhen, my Zhenbao, is the best person in the world, the most well-behaved baby. He was clearly exhausted just now, yet he kept thinking of me and came to stay with me. He looks so cute when he sleeps. I can’t bear to wake him, but I really want to kiss him.】

That surging emotion finally had an outlet. The corners of Zhu Wensheng’s lips lifted slightly. He was about to exit the app when the post auto-refreshed and, whoosh, several comments appeared below. This account had just been registered—no traffic, no followers… how could it suddenly get so much attention? Had the CP fans for him and Tao Zhen discovered his account?
His fingertips tightened slowly. After a moment’s hesitation he tapped in, and after only a quick glance he fell silent.

【Hello, our Xiao Zhen is indeed the best person in the world—but it has nothing to do with you, got it? Who gave you the right, as a saesang fan, to throw his real name around online??】

【Haha I’m dying—Xiao Zhen just finished his performance and flew to Las Vegas to find his husband. He’s at the victory party right now. Who’s sleeping by your side? Stop dreaming, will you?】

【…How do you know he’s called Xiao Zhen? And could you please not run wild under someone else’s posts on their own homepage? Sorry about this, OP.】

【How about you check OP’s homepage first before deciding whether to speak up, okay? His only follow is Xiao Zhen. Since he created this account he’s been reposting related materials, liking every post and pic, writing delusional YY, even posting “Zhu Wensheng really isn’t anything good.” Isn’t this a toxic solo saesang??】

“…”

So, they really were CP fans of him and Tao Zhen.
But they hadn’t come to “ship”—they’d come to scold him.

Hold it.
Don’t get angry.

The fans just didn’t know. They meant no harm; they were only defending their love for him and Tao Zhen…

Zhu Wensheng took a deep breath, forcing down the twitch in his brow.
Out of sight, out of mind—he simply logged out, scrolled through the favorites album of Tao Zhen’s photos for a while to steady himself, then gently pulled the boy into his arms and drifted off to sleep with him.

The next morning, Tao Zhen woke first.

He felt a bit annoyed with himself. Yesterday he’d only meant to lean on Zhu Wensheng backstage for a bit, but he’d fallen straight asleep—and slept all the way till now… was he a pig?
Zhu Wensheng had just finished a match; he was certainly far more tired than Tao Zhen, and yet Tao Zhen let him take care of him!

As he was scolding himself, the person beside him suddenly moved, scooped him into his arms, and pulled him in close. In an instant the distance vanished; they were pressed tight together.

Early morning, two young men in the prime of life—just by pressing together, feeling each other’s hot breath and pounding hearts, it was only natural to have a reaction.

Tao Zhen couldn’t help doing the math. From when he’d started preparing for his performance to when Zhu Wensheng prepped for his title defense, it had been a long time since they’d been intimate. If you asked whether he wanted to—well, maybe he did, a little. But…
He felt the big hand at his waist, hot and rough, and snapped back to himself. With a soft sound he pushed Zhu Wensheng’s hand away and said, quietly but firmly: “…We can’t.”

Zhu Wensheng paused and looked down at him.
The young man’s pupils were dark and deep; when you first looked they always seemed fierce, yet to Tao Zhen they only appeared inexplicably pitiful just now. “Why?”
“The performance is over, and the match is over.”

A fighter’s physique is practically illegal—Zhu Wensheng’s full, solid pecs, abs, and V-lines looked as if they’d been precisely sculpted, and paired with that slightly aggrieved, desire-filled gaze, who could resist?

Tao Zhen was momentarily dazed too; he parted his lips and almost unconsciously was about to relent. But at the last second he squeezed his eyes shut, clawed back some reason, and said, “Because you just finished a match yesterday. You spent a lot of energy. You need at least some recovery time. This kind of thing shouldn’t be done too frequently to begin with—it’s bad for your body, and—”

Tao Zhen flipped up from the bed in one swift motion, his expression suddenly turning serious and stern: “Have you ever heard a saying?”

“One drop of essence, a drop of blood.”

Zhu Wensheng: “…”

Tao Zhen took a deep breath, his small face taut: “You only bled yesterday, so today you can’t…”

Zhu Wensheng stopped his mouth.

After the kiss ended, the two still didn’t continue any further.

Tao Zhen’s fixation on not letting Zhu Wensheng bleed ran really deep. He was even willing to run all over unfamiliar Las Vegas to buy brown sugar and eggs, cheerfully borrow a stove from the hotel kitchen, and earnestly cook him a bowl of brown sugar soup with six eggs.

Zhu Wensheng was silent. He couldn’t bear to waste Tao Zhen’s good intentions—moreover, since Tao Zhen had solemnly told him he must finish it, he sat down obediently at the table and picked up the spoon.
But while the boy was chatting with Li Min and the others, he couldn’t help opening the platform, typing, and posting a blog.

A few minutes later, a flood of comments filled the screen.

【666 this big-shark arm is crazy.】

【So you mean our precious son with ten million fans felt sorry for you and made you brown-sugar egg soup? Hello? Is this Chinese? Even if you’re poor you can’t write self-indulgent fic.】

【Wasn’t the “dream boyfriend” species disbanded already? Why is there still one going feral—have you gone insane wanting to be Zhu Wensheng?】

【I really can’t take it anymore. Everyone, let’s report him together, okay?! I don’t want him on my homepage!!】

Zhu Wensheng: “…”

***

Many hands make light work, and the fans really did it. Soon the account “Zhenbaozu” showed as having been mass-reported and marked with a hidden-risk flag, requiring verification.

Although there was nothing illegal on his homepage and it hadn’t been banned, everyone believed that if they united to report daily, they’d surely see the dawn of victory.

Still, while morale was high, a small fraction of fans were worried: the poster’s words were a bit creepy, yes, but what if—just what if—this “Zhenbaozu” really was Zhu Wensheng himself? Wouldn’t that be a case of floodwaters storming the Dragon King’s temple?

With this in mind, the moderator of Tao Zhen’s topic took the initiative to DM him the next day, asking whether Zhu Wensheng had any social-media accounts.

At that time, Tao Zhen had just finished calculating the bill for dinner with Zhu Wensheng. Seeing the DM, he casually asked, “By the way, Ah-Sheng, do you usually post? Do you have an account?”

Zhu Wensheng’s body stiffened. He couldn’t help glancing up at Tao Zhen’s expression, then said as if nothing were amiss: “…I don’t post.”

Tao Zhen had no doubts. “I see.”
Zhu Wensheng had always been aloof and didn’t like sharing his life online; it was perfectly normal not to have one.

Tao Zhen lowered his head and replied directly to the moderator.

What he didn’t know was that this firm denial dragged the already precarious “Zhenbaozu” account into a one-week mute.

It wasn’t until the two of them returned from Las Vegas and finished the round of post-title-defense formalities that Zhu Wensheng logged into the account and discovered this cruel, irrefutable reality.

He couldn’t tell his friends. He couldn’t very well show off to fans.

And now, he didn’t even have the right to post a blog.

All night, Zhu Wensheng stared at his phone, expression indifferent, with a faint, barely visible disappointment.

Just after finishing a livestream, Tao Zhen came out of the room and immediately sensed it.

Concerned, he went over unconsciously. Zhu Wensheng didn’t notice his approach at first; only when he got close did he come back to himself, reflexively turning off the phone. “Zhenbao.”

The screen flickered, and in that instant Tao Zhen caught a glimpse—it seemed to be some platform’s profile page.

“Mm.” He pressed down his curiosity and pursed his lips. “What’s wrong? Are you unhappy?”

Zhu Wensheng denied it at once. Seeing that Tao Zhen wanted to ask more, he simply bent down and sealed his lips with a kiss.

Sure enough, Tao Zhen no longer had the energy to say anything. He only felt that today Zhu Wensheng was even rougher and fiercer than usual; his whole waist was twitching. He barely made it to the second half of the night and, taking advantage of the moment when Zhu Wensheng went to the bathroom to clean up, he quietly picked up his phone.

They had long been open with each other, and of course there were no secrets about their passcodes.

Tao Zhen unlocked Zhu Wensheng’s phone smoothly and indeed found a clue: although Zhu Wensheng claimed he didn’t post, that app was clearly installed!

Tao Zhen had a hunch he was about to discover something, but before he could examine it carefully he heard Zhu Wensheng about to come out of the bathroom. He had to regretfully set it aside and curl under the quilt to feign sleep.

Only the next morning, when Zhu Wensheng went to the kitchen to cook, did Tao Zhen get another chance. He hurriedly memorized his ID and searched it with his own account.

He wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t searched; once he did, he was shocked.
He scanned through the comments under Zhu Wensheng’s posts, thoroughly rattled.

What’s wrong with brown-sugar eggs—are they not nutritious?

No, that wasn’t the point.
The point was that Ah-Sheng said he didn’t post, yet he had quietly recorded so much about him, and in the end was even reported by fans and muted for a week, sulking in silence all by himself…

Tao Zhen couldn’t help curving his eyes into a smile.

When Zhu Wensheng came out with breakfast, what he saw was Tao Zhen’s bright, intent gaze and a look of words on the tip of his tongue.
His heart gave a thump. He asked Tao Zhen what had happened, but Tao Zhen shook his head, mysterious: “Come back tonight and I’ll tell you.”

Zhu Wensheng’s heart clenched unconsciously, a strange premonition rising.
He knew Tao Zhen wouldn’t leave him, yet his mind still spun through a dozen absurd possibilities, to the point he didn’t even want to go out. Even at the club he was distracted in training and went home early—only to hesitate at the door for a long moment.

At last, he steeled himself, pushed the door open hard—and froze.

The blond boy wore only one of his shirts on top, his two long, slender, white legs bare, the ruby ring on his ring finger sparkling. He stood at the doorway, smiling brightly to welcome him: “Hubby, you’re home!”

“…” Adam’s apple bobbing, Zhu Wensheng’s gaze clung uncontrollably to Tao Zhen. “Baby… why are you…”

“What is it, hubby?” Tao Zhen’s eyes curved. “Do you want to eat dinner first—or eat me first?”

Zhu Wensheng pressed his lips together. In almost an instant, he guessed that Tao Zhen knew about “Zhenbaozu.”
Otherwise… the boy wouldn’t suddenly react that way, nor would he pull out this outfit—reenacting his saved posts.

Tao Zhen laughed, leapt forward, and hugged him. “Do you like it?”
Zhu Wensheng’s body was a little stiff; the rims of his ears slowly turned red. He nodded, following his heart.

“There’s just one thing you got wrong: there’s nothing ‘not any good’ about Zhu Wensheng. You’re also the best in my heart—the sweetest baby—worthy of the best of everything under the sky.”

“So then, Mr. ‘Zhenbaozu,’” Tao Zhen’s eyes curved, “would you mind making it official with me?”

Zhu Wensheng slowly hooked up the corner of his lips and bent down to bite the soft flesh of Tao Zhen’s cheek:

“I don’t mind—but I’m going to eat you first.”

“…”

***

On the day “Zhenbaozu” was unmuted, fans were raring to go, ready to report it into a permanent ban this time.

At the instant the platform’s “This account is currently muted” notice disappeared, they sneered and were about to madly hammer the report link—when, suddenly, a new post popped up in their special-follows feed.

In the photo, Zhu Wensheng and Tao Zhen leaned against each other. Tao Zhen beamed at the camera, while Zhu Wensheng turned his head slightly to look at him with a gentle smile.

【ZhenZhibang: @Zhenbaozu Hubby, we are now officia！^3^】