Sheng Yuan, the five-year-old sickly darling of the Sheng family, was cherished and pampered by everyone. One day, however, young Sheng Yuan woke up from a fever and realized he was actually a spoiled cannon fodder in an old-school wealthy family novel. His only purpose was to meet a tragic end after refusing to marry the destined male lead.

Trembling, little Sheng Yuan hugged his pale, chubby self and decided to take matters into his own hands by locking down the male lead as his husband ahead of time. Leaving behind a note that scribbled “gong to look for a husband!”, he marched out of the house with grand determination.

When the Sheng family rushed to the impoverished town to find him, they discovered their little boy dressed in an exquisite overalls suit handing his gold pocket watch to a ragged little wolf cub.

“He’s not a poor boy! He’s my husband! None of you are allowed to badmouth him!”

The Sheng family: “…” They almost fainted on the spot.

In the Sheng family, no one liked this cold, aloof boy. But Sheng Yuan refused to listen to their nonsense. How could Brother be a bad guy when he’s so nice to me?

All he knew was that Lu Zhi’s pillow was reserved exclusively for him to hug. If any other children even dared to approach, Lu Zhi would scare them away with a single glance.

Sheng Yuan spent his days clinging to Lu Zhi, begging for hugs, and proudly declaring, “Brother Lu Zhi is the best!”

Years later, Lu Zhi indeed became a commercial legend, while Sheng Yuan grew into a cold, elegant, and aristocratic young master. Yet, he still habitually depended on Lu Zhi, thoroughly spoiled rotten.

He was incredibly proud of his own foresight. By locking down the destined male lead so early, he had escaped his fate as cannon fodder and could now comfortably lounge around like a lazy cat.

That was until he accidentally knocked down a diary.

The yellowed pages fell open, revealing that it was densely packed with photos of Sheng Yuan from when he was five, ten, and the present day; photos of him laughing, sleeping, and performing… Underneath every single photo, a line of handwriting was carved so deeply it nearly tore through the paper:

“Mine.” “Mine.” “Mine.”

Dense, obsessive, and silent. It was a terrifying declaration of paranoia that had lasted for over twenty years.

Sheng Yuan coughed violently from the sheer shock. He desperately racked his brain to recall the original novel he had read when his mind was muddled by the fever at five years old. Two prominent figures had actually emerged from that impoverished town:

One was the destined male lead who climbed the social ladder with ease.

The other was a man who eventually held absolute power, whose hands were stained with blood the story’s absolute biggest villain.

Before he could react, his wrists were gently bound with soft velvet, and he fell backward into Lu Zhi’s burning embrace.

“Baby, what are you looking at?”

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