Traveling through Thailand

After returning to work, Pete diligently stayed by Tiankun's side, making fun of him, laughing with him, playing with him, and watching bloody romance dramas with him... Every day was very fulfilling. Only when he was lying in bed, he subconsciously reached out to touch the other side of the bed.

He didn't notice the disappointment in his eyes every time he came up empty-handed, thinking it was just a habit he had developed that month and couldn't change.

He didn't know why the family didn't take him home to take care of him, but instead paid enough money to buy him a month's company. After all, he was just following orders and doing what he was supposed to do, that's what he told himself.

His daily life went on as usual. He had just returned to his room to catch up on his sleep after staying up late with Master Tiankun to watch a melodramatic drama several times when he was taken to the conference room.

He yawned countless times along the way, wiped away the tears from the corners of his eyes, and stood in front of the door, slapping his cheeks hard to wake himself up to prevent himself from losing composure.

After preparing myself mentally, I knocked on the door and was about to ask why I was called over. "Is there anything I need?" But when I saw the familiar face sitting next to me, I swallowed the words back into my stomach.

The assistant stood up first when he saw the visitor and greeted him, "Mr. Pete, long time no see."

"Long time no see. You?" Pete looked at the master.

"I came here this time to ask you to come with me."

The assistant's face was emotionless, and he had no idea what he wanted to talk to him about. But thinking of the only person involved, he felt a bad feeling in his heart.

"Did something happen to Tucha?"

"Come with us and you'll find out."

The assistant bowed to the master of the house and left with Pete.

Along the way, Pete had many questions in his mind, but the assistant who was driving seriously didn't show any sign of wanting to reveal anything. He had no choice but to suppress his thoughts and wait for the car to reach its destination.

He looked at the familiar storefront. The only difference was that the first-floor sales area had been completely cleared out. Following his assistant's instructions, he went to the second floor—Tu Cha's living quarters. The furniture had also been moved out, so the box in the middle of the living room stood out, catching his eye.

The assistant who had finished the call walked forward, picked up the box on the ground and placed it in front of Pete: "I was thinking of sending it to you, but I still think it would be better for you to see it here."

"here it is..."

The assistant didn't explain it to him but said, "You can choose to take it away or throw it away after you finish reading it. It's up to you how to deal with it. I'll wait for you downstairs." Then he left without giving Pete a chance to ask again.

Pete sat cross-legged on the ground. Fortunately, even though the things had been emptied, the ground was still clean. He opened the box, wondering if there was anything related to him in the box.

"This is!!"

Opening the lid, he was greeted by a stack of photos of him at different times. There was a shot of him picking up a bullet with tweezers when they first met, one of him wrapped in bandages, one of him shirtless, drinking porridge, his brow furrowed in pain... The last photo showed him asleep. He just couldn't understand why the surroundings felt like a torture chamber, with chains binding his limbs...

"Is he a pervert? Why would he draw such a scary picture?"

After looking at the pictures, he took out the small iron box. He opened it and found that it contained all the bullets he had dug out while he was healing at his place. He remembered that he had asked about the bullets at that time, and Tu Cha's answer was that they were flushed down the drain. He had never expected to see them in this small iron box.

Turning the page further, he found a stack of graffiti-covered paper, covered in his name. Seeing this picture, Pete shuddered all over. But curiosity overcame his fear, and he flipped to the next page, where words like "miss him," "find him," and "imprison him" were written.

"He really is a pervert."

Pete said this, but his hand had already turned to the next one.

This one says: Can't keep him, can't hurt him, can't coerce him, can't... like him.

Like? Pete's eyes never moved away from these two words.

Does he like himself?

Pete shook his head, dismissing the relaxed, harmonious image of their time together. "No, he just sees me as a friend." He once said that if he had someone he liked, and that person didn't like him back, he'd tie them to...the bed?

His eyes widened as he quickly flipped through the picture of himself with his hands and feet tied. He couldn't help swallowing, and his eyes fell on the line of words he had seen before: So... the person he likes is me?

What about me? How do I feel about him?

Pete asked himself this question as he placed his hand on his heart.

He pulled out the last thing inside: "Cellphone?"

When I tried to open it, the interface displayed was a picture of him sleeping on the sofa.

Luckily, his phone wasn't password-protected. He opened various apps, finding them surprisingly clean until he reached his photo album, where he saw different versions of himself. Some were candid photos, some were photos he knew about, but most were photos he'd taken through the French window of his departing figure.

After looking at all the photos, he turned off his phone. He stood up and walked to the curtains. The moment he opened them, the scorching sun shone on him, and Pete felt his body suddenly become a little cold.

After his body warmed up, he closed the curtains, put all his things back in the box, and walked to the front of the car holding the box.

On the way back, Pete asked, "Where is he? Why doesn't he come to see me?" Since he said he liked her, he should take action.

But looking at the direction the car was going, he knew that the man was taking him back.

"finish watching?"

"Ah."

"Not afraid?"

Pete thought of the room with all the props in the painting. He was not afraid. Instead, he felt that Tucha would not use these on him. The painting was just to scare him.

"He won't hurt me."

"So sure?"

"I spent a month with him, and if anything had happened, I wouldn't be sitting here today."

The assistant withdrew his gaze and focused on the road ahead. After a long pause, he said, "He committed suicide."

what? ?

Pete looked at the assistant in shock, a look of how could this be possible.

The assistant, unaware of his shock, spoke slowly, "Not long after you left, he began to self-harm. When we found him, the sofa and furniture in the room were covered in scratches, and there were also cuts on his body from sharp objects."

"The one in the box in your hand is one of the few in the room that's not scratched."

"How could it be? He was fine when I said goodbye to him. How could he suddenly commit suicide?"

The assistant was not aware of this problem either, he was just called in to deal with it.

Tucha chose suicide because he could no longer hold on. The urge within him was constantly tempting him to kill and enjoy the pleasure of blood spurting out. He resorted to self-harm to suppress the evil thoughts. But the more he suppressed them, the more powerful they rebounded, until he was on the verge of collapse.

In order to prevent himself from doing something irreversible, he fired the employees after Pete left. He called the system and thought about that figure appearing at the door, but the repeated disappointments made him warn himself that no one could save him this time.

So when he could still stay awake, he chose to commit suicide and leave this world.

He thought, having lived here for so long, he'd already earned it. Dying now wouldn't be a loss either. The only regret was that he hadn't been able to tell that person how he felt about him. But that was fine; if he didn't know, he wouldn't have to worry.

Meeting him in this life was a blessing. The only stain on him was his blood-stained hands. And there were still a series of unsolved mysteries. Fortunately, he wasn't too curious, so since he couldn't find the answer, he gave up.

In the last second before his consciousness fell into darkness, he thought to himself: As expected, even those with a system are not necessarily the protagonists.

After his death, his soul left his body. The system appeared in the air and swept the soul away with a wave of its claws. Before his book-shaped figure dissipated, he left a message in the air: "The timing is perfect. That body is just finished. We must quickly put him in before this soul awakens, otherwise something bad will happen again."