Quick Transmigration: God of Slaughter? But He Calls Me Baby! - Chapter 32

Qianzhou forcefully pried Gu Sheng’s hand away, then pulled his own clothes down a good stretch until his butt was fully covered.

“You’re hopeless, Gu Sheng. How can you enjoy staring at other people’s butts?”

Qianzhou’s mouth had gone dry from talking so much earlier, so he went to the kitchen to get some water.

When he returned, the study smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. Gu Sheng was sitting in the dark wood chair, exhaling clouds of smoke.

He held the cigarette between two fingers, seemingly casually staring at the computer screen. On the screen were still photos of Bibert’s works.

Qianzhou took a sip from his cup of water, then glanced at the screen again before quickly averting his eyes. It was a mess—he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Threads of fabric, eyes, bl00d—all blended together on the canvas, with no discernible focus.

Gu Sheng exhaled a smoke ring, flicked the ash into the trash, and commented on the work:

“Desire too deep, obsession too strong. If you can’t discern what should be in your hand first, you’ll end up with nothing.”

Qianzhou sipped his water again. “I don’t understand.”

Gu Sheng didn’t elaborate further but instead answered Qianzhou’s earlier question.

“I didn’t tell you to approach him just because you recognize him.”

“I only meant to tell you to keep your distance.”

“Don’t talk to him.”

Qianzhou moved a small stool beside him, finding it strange to hear such words come from Gu Sheng’s mouth. Especially the combination of “keep your distance” and “don’t talk to him”—clearly more serious than a casual warning.

Gu Sheng stubbed out his cigarette and opened the window.

Qianzhou, leaning close to the screen again, squinted at Bibert’s files, almost pressing his face against the monitor.

Gu Sheng grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him back to the stool. “Bibert was diagnosed with bipolar disorder last year, but that was just the story he told the public.”

“When the news came out, I happened to see him at an art exhibition. That case was fabricated. Bibert isn’t really a severe bipolar patient.”

“I felt a kindred spirit in him.”

“Bibert is like me.”

Gu Sheng had seen through Bibert’s disguise almost at a glance. Beneath his elegant and gloomy exterior lay a completely different side. Bibert’s desire was as intense as what his works displayed.

Psychopathy is a gift given at birth—a talent unparalleled. Bibert channeled everything onto the canvas, eliciting resonance from the masses. In just two years, he rose to be nominated for top art awards.

He, like Gu Sheng, was both a patient and a genius.

Qianzhou pointed at Bibert’s photo. “He’s… a pervert too?”

Gu Sheng glanced at him expressionlessly, seemingly not hearing those two words. He didn’t even care why Qianzhou subconsciously used that term for both him and Bibert.

Next to the heavy, quiet wood chair was a small white plastic stool. Gu Sheng’s calm eyes rippled as he observed Qianzhou’s hand holding the cup. He always seemed to like clutching something—snack bags, or glass milk bottles.

“I think…” Qianzhou hesitated for a moment.

“Since Bibert is a person in charge, he must be busy. Jiang En and I are just visiting, so we probably won’t encounter him.”

“Uh… do you want some water?”

Qianzhou hid his hand in his sleeve, ran out of the study, and returned with a cup of water just like Gu Sheng’s. Passing the fridge, he paused, scooped some ice from the ice tray, and added it to the cup.

Gu Sheng took the water Qianzhou handed him and asked, “Why add ice to mine?”

“I thought you needed to calm down—drink some ice water, clear your mind, and suppress desire,” Qianzhou said, reciting a string of commercial phrases, then sat back down next to him.

Gu Sheng drank half the cup. “Not unreasonable.”

After a short silence, Qianzhou asked, “Can you answer a question for me?”

“What is it?”

Qianzhou said, “Last night… why did you seem like a completely different person?”

Taking this chance, Qianzhou intended to ask directly. This was already his second time asking. Last time, Gu Sheng hadn’t said a word. This time, the ‘strategy value’ was 61—Gu Sheng should respond.

Qianzhou held his breath, watching Gu Sheng’s reaction.

“And you don’t have memory of last night, right?”

“I do.” Gu Sheng replied. He tapped his fingers rhythmically on the table. “I know more than you imagine. If you keep digging, things may happen that neither of us wants to see.”

Qianzhou felt nothing could be more distressing than being trapped in a small world, so he asked bluntly:

“Why are you different with me?”

The room instantly fell silent. Qianzhou’s question wasn’t just direct—it carried a clear probe. Last night, Gu Sheng’s words, ‘I really want to dig out what’s in your head,’ forced Qianzhou to consider that.

If Gu Sheng was talking about 052… then did he also know that Qianzhou was trapped in a small world?

Qianzhou rubbed his clothes with his fingers and glanced at the sunlight-dappled ginkgo leaves outside. His breathing suddenly became loud.

He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, silently counting thirty seconds in his mind—but still no response from Gu Sheng.

“Why aren’t you speaking again…”

Gu Sheng gently pinched his chin, turning his face back.

“Because I feel like I’ve met you before.”

It wasn’t just meeting—he might have been obsessed, otherwise why had he never thought of pinning others down?

Gu Sheng’s fingers brushed his lips lightly, gently furrowing his brows.

“But why don’t you remember me at all…”

Qianzhou parted his lips slightly. The words overlapped with the hazy memory from last night. In a dazed moment, he felt a hand touch his neck—not pressing, just tracing his skin. Gu Sheng seemed sad then.

“When will you remember me…”

The faint smoke lingered in the study. Qianzhou watched Gu Sheng stand and leave for the backyard, smoking again.

Qianzhou stared at the empty cup in a daze, muttering, “But I really haven’t met you before…”

Outside, the flowers by the fence swayed in the wind. Gu Sheng walked behind the fountain, dropping the half-smoked cigarette into a dusty iron bucket. Occasionally, a few droplets from the fountain fell, all landing on Gu Sheng’s shoulder.

The bucket was full of cigarette butts. Gu Sheng closed his eyes in the backyard, pressing his knuckles against the sun-warmed stone, rubbing them. Memories that weren’t his surged slightly, and the mischievous voice in his head slowly faded.

In a few days… he might truly not want to let Qianzhou leave.