Quick Transmigration: God of Slaughter? But He Calls Me Baby! - Chapter 7

Three hours. He took a nap, and just like that, they were gone. Nothing… should have gone wrong, right?

Qian Zhou chewed on some shredded radish, eyes fixed on Gu Sheng.

He jabbed at two shrimp dumplings with his chopsticks, stuffed them into his mouth, and still kept staring at Gu Sheng.

“…”

Gu Sheng put down his chopsticks.

He reached out and pinched the back of the boy’s neck.

“You, you, you, what are you doing?!!”

Qian Zhou instinctively pulled back, dragging his little stool two or three meters away.

He still refused to let go of the porridge in his hand, pointing at Gu Sheng with the other.

“D-Don’t you come over here!”

Lowering his eyes, Gu Sheng stared at his fingertips, recalling the softness from just now.

“Didn’t plan on touching you today,” he said faintly.

Qian Zhou shot to his feet. “Tomorrow won’t do either!”

Gu Sheng gave a short, unreadable laugh and said nothing more.

Cautiously, Qian Zhou set the porridge bowl back, treating Gu Sheng like some ferocious beast.

The memory of that night was still vivid. He really couldn’t handle the feeling of being trapped, unable to escape.

Especially since Gu Sheng had been so frighteningly harsh.

On Gu Sheng’s desk, files were stacked neatly—half a palm thick.

Qian Zhou lay on the small sofa, sneaking glances as Gu Sheng tossed empty food boxes into the trash.

Time ticked by. Gu Sheng showed no abnormality at all.

After eating, he simply worked.

He even looked more normal than Qian Zhou himself.

Qian Zhou checked the time again. It was already 11:08 p.m., and Gu Sheng had no intention of resting.

Qian Zhou yawned, rubbed at the corner of his eye, and lay down on the sofa.

Another while passed—11:37 p.m.

Gu Sheng… still nothing unusual.

The files were locked away in the safe. He held a pen, reviewing a thick stack of contracts.

Qian Zhou’s eyes grew heavy. In his muddled thoughts he mumbled:

Only half an hour left, nothing should go wrong.

His phone buzzed—it was Jiang En messaging him.

[Jiang En the Great Demon King]: Heard you were chased by security up twelve floors? Still didn’t get caught?

Qian Zhou’s drifting mind was pulled back.

He typed lazily.

[Qian Zhou]: Hah. Just a smudge on my sleeve.

A pause.

[Jiang En the Great Demon King]: I don’t believe it. Hmph. You and Uncle Gu are both at the company?

[Qian Zhou]: Yes.

[Jiang En the Great Demon King]: Weird… Uncle Gu never goes to the office on Thursdays.

Qian Zhou rolled over. Maybe on Thursdays Gu Sheng always had his “episodes,” so he just stayed home.

But something felt… off.

After that last message, Jiang En went silent.

Qian Zhou waited with his phone in hand—no new messages.

“Who are you chatting with?”

Qian Zhou jolted, dropping his phone.

When did this man learn to walk without making a sound?!

Gu Sheng bent down, picked up the phone, and glanced over the chat log.

“With Jiang En,” Qian Zhou said quickly.

Gu Sheng placed the phone face-down on the sofa and leaned closer.

“He’s nothing.”

Qian Zhou froze.

His chin was pinched, and the man carefully studied him.

The gaze lingered—over his lips, up to his eyes—tracing every line of Qian Zhou’s face.

Gu Sheng’s eyes were cold, yet filled only with him.

A scraping sound broke the silence—the contracts stacked on the desk slipped to the floor.

“Gu Sheng, your contracts fell. Aren’t you going to read them?”

“Don’t want to. Can’t understand them.” He didn’t spare them a glance.

Instead, he ruffled Qian Zhou’s hair with interest. “What did you just call me?”

Qian Zhou blinked. “Gu Sheng.”

“Mm. Good boy.” Gu Sheng’s lips curled.

But hadn’t he always been called that? Why did it feel so strange today…

The sense of wrongness in Qian Zhou’s heart deepened.

From earlier, Gu Sheng had done nothing but stare at him—his face, his hair, even each of his fingers.

Qian Zhou edged back a little, tilted his head up toward the square clock.

12:16 a.m. He froze.

[Qian Zhou: Hey 052, nothing happened at all.]
[Qian Zhou: Feels like time is moving faster than usual—it’s already day three without me doing anything.]
[Qian Zhou: I broke the record, aren’t you gonna come congratulate me?]
[Qian Zhou: 052?]

No reply. Bugged again? Figures.

He shrugged. System bugs were nothing new.

The office lights weren’t too bright.

When Qian Zhou lowered his head, shadows hid the faint mark on his neck.

Then—Gu Sheng’s hand locked around his throat, forcing him to tilt his head back.

His gaze fixed on the faint ligature mark.

It was almost gone now, just a thin, shallow trace barely visible.

Gu Sheng’s expression turned instantly dark. “Who did this?”

Qian Zhou frowned. “The security guard chasing me today…”

“What’s wrong with you?”

Qian Zhou knelt on the sofa, pressing his hand to Gu Sheng’s forehead.

“You don’t feel well?”

Side effect of the medicine?

Gu Sheng caught his hand, pressing it to his lips for a kiss.

No longer terrifying as before, but reverent—cautious to the extreme.

He held the boy’s hand for a long time before speaking again.

“No, I feel fine.”

It was very late now. The city outside was quiet, peaceful.

Qian Zhou’s eyelids drooped.

Gu Sheng hooked an arm under his knees, carried him into the lounge, and laid him on the bed.

Kneeling at the bedside, he held the boy’s ankle and gently removed his shoes.

There was a tiny mole on Qian Zhou’s ankle. Gu Sheng’s fingers brushed it, trembling slightly.

The mattress was soft. Qian Zhou’s eyes cracked open a sliver, lips moving.

Gu Sheng immediately leaned in.

“What did you say?”

Half-asleep, Qian Zhou failed to distinguish between “you” and the more formal “sir.”

In a soft, muddled voice, he repeated:

“…you’re a bit strange today.”

And then he was out.

His cheeks still faintly flushed, his breathing steady.

Gu Sheng stood by the bed, pulled the blanket over him.

Leaning halfway down, his gaze stuck stubbornly to the boy’s lips.

He couldn’t look away.

Slowly, his heart pounding in his ears, he bent close.

Close enough to see the boy’s long lashes, the smooth curve of his skin.

But in the end, he only brushed his lips gently across Qian Zhou’s forehead.

Suddenly, he straightened, leaned against the wall, crouched down, and buried his face in his hands.

“It really is you…”

——

Sunlight streamed through the glass, pooling on the floor in shimmering heat.

Gu Sheng sat at his desk.

The only sounds were the hum of the air conditioner and the rustle of paper.

His assistant knocked. “President Gu, about today’s meeting—”

Gu Sheng didn’t look up, still reading. He raised a finger to his lips.

A signal to keep quiet.

“Oh, um…” The assistant lowered his voice.

“There’s still ten minutes before the meeting. Should we head there now, or postpone?”

Gu Sheng’s gaze drifted toward the closed lounge door.

“Don’t want to go. Make it online.”