Bursting Tomato 21

This was a completely new sensation.

Yan Xianchuan rarely fell ill; her body never sent her strange signals. The most her brain ever received was pain.

But what she felt now had nothing to do with pain. It was more like heat—a fire burning inside her, treating her entire body as a pot of ingredients, stewing her flesh and blood over the flames. It boiled her bones, boiled her nerves, boiled her brain, softening her, melting her, turning her into a pot of bubbling paste.

The heat steamed her, leaving her limbs both itchy and numb, as if ten thousand people were tickling her and another ten thousand whispering in her ears. The sound turned into a buzz that deafened her, blinded her—she was like a fish over a fire, flipped back and forth, roasted mercilessly.

Yet her mind remained clear—or at least, she thought it was clear.

She could still think, knowing she'd been drugged and that these strange feelings were driven by the drug—false, physiological pleasure.

But she had no idea how much time had passed from the moment she began thinking, to reaching a conclusion, to successfully sending a message to Lu Mingqiu.

Yan Xianchuan had never experienced anything like this. Her emotions were calm and stable; she knew nothing of love or desire. So once contaminated, the tide of it surged violently, engulfing her in an instant.

She kept her eyes open, but everything before her was veiled in mist, spinning as if she'd been shoved into a centrifuge at high speed.

Yan Xianchuan raised a hand to feel her forehead—it was frighteningly hot. She touched her lips—also hot. After a moment, she repeated the motion, but could no longer feel the heat, since her hands had grown scalding too.

Time itself seemed warped by the heat, moving erratically fast and slow. The clock on the wall jumped forward and backward. Sometimes it felt like forever had passed, but the clock hadn't budged; other times only an instant went by, yet the hour hand stretched and traveled a long way.

She shook her head, nearly dizzying herself, and tried to focus, but couldn't see clearly.

The tiles on the floor were cold at first, but her body heat had warmed them, like stones drawn from a volcano.

After what felt like an age—though she guessed it wasn't really that long—the door to the room was pushed open. Footsteps approached, and Lu Mingqiu's face swam into her vision, blurry, like an oil painting melting, like a video that kept glitching.

Her mouth moved, and the sound reached Yan Xianchuan's ears, muffled as if coming from another world—indistinct muttering.

"I'm so hot," she mumbled, unsure whether her tongue was even in the right place to form the words clearly.

The other said something else, but she couldn't make it out. Then the figure reached for her arm, trying to pull her up.

Her hands were so cold.

They were like ice touching a hot iron. Yan Xianchuan's first reaction wasn't the cold—she felt as if she'd been shocked, dodging away with what she thought was great speed while complaining discontentedly, "Why are you zapping me?"

Lu Mingqiu reached for her again, and after that brief contact, Yan had adjusted somewhat and could feel the cold.

The other's fingers were cool, her palms cool. She wrapped an arm around Yan's waist, half dragging, half carrying her upright.

Her body was cool, like a smooth piece of jade. Yan Xianchuan rested her chin on Lu Mingqiu's shoulder, her cheek against her earlobe, breathing in her cold air—like the first sweet bite of chilled watermelon in scorching summer, sighing in relief.

She was not cooperative.

She wasn't fully lucid and couldn't control her strength, thrashing in Lu Mingqiu's arms like a startled feral cat. But she was so dazed that whenever Lu touched her, she'd squint and calm down for a while.

When the message arrived, Lu Mingqiu was filming—a scene of a songstress performing. Bright lights shone on the stage, and several extras in flimsy dresses danced behind her as she leaned against a standing microphone, crooning a smoky, sentimental tune.

The message came mid-scene, and Lu Mingqiu called a halt immediately, saying she had urgent matters to attend to.

She rattled off a few quick apologies, not even bothering to change out of her costume. She hopped off the stage and left, leaving Su Hong behind to handle the mess.

Lu Mingqiu usually had a good reputation and a high standing, and if she said it was urgent, it must be. The director blinked and said, "No need to change the set—let's shoot another scene."

Lu Mingqiu hurried back to the hotel, meeting no one along the way. She swiped open Yan Xianchuan's door and stepped in, immediately greeted by a strong scent of bitter tea.

It started with bitterness, then a lingering sweetness—the tea was sharp and aggressive, less like tea and more like cold pines, mountain stones, and frost on a snowy plain.

Lu Mingqiu had long since had her gland removed. She emitted no pheromones herself and was not particularly sensitive to others', yet she could still clearly smell this scent.

It rushed to seep into every pore of her body, trumpeting its existence with the same invasive quality as its owner.

She knew exactly how effective the R&D department's suppressants were—if they'd failed and pushed someone to this state, the drug must be potent indeed.

Had her gland been intact, she might have been affected too, plunged into heat.

Lu Mingqiu's expression changed slightly. She hurried past the entryway and found Yan Xianchuan sitting on the floor by the window, her head lolled against the bed frame, seemingly unconscious.

She dashed to her side, quickly scanned her to assess her condition, and called her name.

Yan Xianchuan looked up, eyes half-open, pupils unfocused—lost and fragile.

Her skin was pale and cold, usually bloodless, her lips light in hue. But now she was flushed—too much color, cheeks rosy as if rouged, lips bright red with a bite mark on the lower one, probably from when she'd been unconscious.

Lu Mingqiu was rarely at a loss, but now she was.

From here to the branch base was nearly half the city—hours away. By the time they got there, who knew what state Yan would be in?

She seemed docile now, but the drug hadn't yet run its full course, hadn't completely destroyed her mind. If left unattended, anything could happen.

The best solution for a drug like this was, of course, to help her relieve it.

Lu Mingqiu herself didn't care much about such things, but she knew Yan Xianchuan did. They'd known each other for a while, and unless absolutely necessary, they'd never even touched fingers.

Yan Xianchuan obviously hated physical contact. She'd saved Lu several times—carrying her on her back, tackling her to the ground—and Lu had been amazed each time.

This showed she wasn't repulsed by Lu, but that was about it. As for Yan Xianchuan herself, while curious about her background, Lu also felt a certain fondness.

But that fondness wasn't romantic; it stemmed from a mix of impressions—that despite her mental issues, Yan was surprisingly decent.

If they actually did something... what if it affected their current harmonious relationship?

Lu Mingqiu's expression was complicated. She'd thought the whole way here and still hadn't figured out what to do—a rare thing for someone who always had a plan.

While she was torn, the woman on the floor frowned, looking unhappy. Her lips parted and closed, making faint, unintelligible sounds—words trapped in her throat, half complaint, half whine.

Lu Mingqiu thought for a moment, then stood to draw the thick curtains shut, blocking out the bright light. The room plunged into dimness.

She reached out and took Yan Xianchuan's arm. Yan flinched away, and Lu missed. Yan muttered something unintelligible, as if her vocal cords were meeting her tongue for the first time and couldn't cooperate.

She was using too much strength, and her upper body tipped to one side. Lu Mingqiu quickly wrapped a left arm around her waist to steady her, while her other hand lifted Yan's arm over her shoulder and hefted her up.

They were of similar stature and weight, but Lu Mingqiu was used to training, so carrying Yan wasn't difficult—except that Yan kept squirming and sniffing like a dog in human form, far from quiet.

The hotel bed was soft, but Yan Xianchuan felt it was too soft now, as if there were nothing beneath her, and she kept falling through the air. Only a cloud of white fluff caught her, letting her drift down weightlessly.

The moment she left the earlier coolness, the heat surged back, even harder to bear.

Yan Xianchuan opened her eyes. The ceiling light seemed to bloom—one multiplied into many, crammed together. Then a face blocked her view, and she squinted, recognizing it after a long moment through her muddled brain.

Then she started to complain, babbling randomly: how hot it was, how her clothes stuck to her and were uncomfortable, how that person called Xiao Shu had audacity and she'd break her arms and legs, making her crawl a "miserable" on the floor; then she said she wanted to bathe, wanted to eat, feeling hungry.

An odd hunger swept over her, leaving her flustered. Her tongue itched, her teeth itched—she wanted to bite something, suck something, hold something in her mouth and savor it carefully, or crush its flesh and bones and let them slide down her esophagus into her stomach.

But there was nothing. Her mouth was empty, only saliva that kept coming, forcing her to swallow.

Her mouth was empty, her hands empty, her arms empty, her heart empty.

Cool strands of hair slipped between her fingers, and she tried to grab them but was a beat too slow. Then something touched her lips—soft, cool, like melting ice cream. A slight press and it dissolved into sweet water, brushing across her tongue.

Her brain exploded, white spots scattering chaotically, bursting into fireworks.

Yan Xianchuan's limp limbs suddenly regained strength. Like a drowning person clinging to driftwood, she wrapped her arms tightly around the person on top of her and instinctively chased their lips—not a flower kissing another flower, but an eagle diving at a wild rabbit.

All her pent-up desires finally found an outlet. For the first time, she realized that besides blood on her hands, there could be other kinds of joy.

Yan Xianchuan had boundless energy physically, but her mind had been overexcited for too long and was bound to tire. When she fell asleep, sated, the room inside and out had darkened to the same shade of gloom.

At first she'd been clumsy, just fumbling around; it was Lu Mingqiu who guided her. But once she caught on, she was like an indefatigable child with a brand-new toy, determined to play until she was sick of it.

Lu Mingqiu couldn't withstand such treatment. Drenched in sweat, as if pulled from sticky syrup, she wanted to clean up but couldn't even lift a finger. She sighed and, with her sore body and hoarse voice, fell into a deep, dark sleep.

Morning came, and her biological clock woke Yan Xianchuan on time. She opened her eyes, and before the memories of yesterday could flood back, her hand brushed against a warm body.

She scrambled up in a panic and found it was Lu Mingqiu. A thin blanket covered her waist and abdomen, revealing bruises of purple and red—not from bumps or insect bites, but like... like...

A word was on the tip of her tongue, and as her memories returned, her brain promptly crashed.

The person in the bed was still asleep; despite Yan's abrupt movements, she merely frowned.

There were also various sizes of finger marks on her, which were like poisonous thorns stabbing into Yan Xianchuan's eyes. She couldn't bear to look, so she scrambled off the bed and slipped into the bathroom.

Dazed.

She showered and brushed her teeth mechanically, her motions precise as always, but her mind had flown far away.

How had this happened?

She'd texted Lu Mingqiu because she didn't know how to solve it, but Lu always had ideas, and the Resistance was powerful—surely they could dispel the drug's effects.

Yan Xianchuan brushed her teeth in a fog. The bathroom mirror was clouded with steam, reflecting her blurry image, her hands.

She only glanced at them accidentally, and her mind flashed with images she couldn't put into words.

Unexpectedly, there was no revulsion or disgust.

She shook her head to dispel the images, then washed her face and hands. Warm water flowed over her fingers, and with her eyes vacant, she thought of things she shouldn't.

She quickly shook off her hands, unwilling to linger in the bathroom. She hastily dried herself, wrapped a towel around her wet hair, and put on the hotel bathrobe before going out.

The person in the bed had sat up by now, wrapped in the blanket, only her shoulders and calves exposed.

Her expression was perfectly calm. Meeting Yan Xianchuan's gaze, she said softly, "Are you feeling alright? Any discomfort or side effects?"

Her voice was a bit hoarse too—calm in tone, but low and gentle in timbre.

Yan Xianchuan met her eyes, and her fingertips trembled slightly.

"I..." She didn't know what to say, so she answered the question, "I'm fine."

Lu Mingqiu clearly saw a faint blush slowly creep over her face. It was light, but Yan's skin was so fair that even the slightest hint of color stood out vividly.

"I'd planned to take you to the base, but it was too far and I worried something might happen, so I handled it this way instead. Good thing nothing else went wrong," she said in a casual tone, like discussing the weather. "Don't dwell on it."

Her collarbone was red in patches, half-hidden—as if whoever left that mark had taken a liking to the spot and nibbled it repeatedly to form such visible bruises.

"I'll go wash up too," Lu Mingqiu said.

Yan Xianchuan just stared as Lu got out of bed, stumbled slightly, and shuffled into the bathroom with an awkward gait.

Normally, if Lu Mingqiu were injured and couldn't move well, Yan would have helped her. But this time, she watched her pass by without daring to reach out. Her feet shuffled on the floor as she stepped back to make way.

She lowered her head, feeling she'd done something wrong.

But this meant her gaze could only fall on Lu's calves, where she clearly spotted a bite mark on her ankle.

No one bites their own ankle—the author of this masterpiece was self-evident.

Yan Xianchuan closed her eyes, silently berating herself.

Lu Mingqiu had briefly explained the reason—it made sense. If any other option had been viable, she wouldn't have done it herself.

She'd acted with good intentions and said they could just forget it.

But this wasn't something that could simply be turned over... At least in Yan Xianchuan's understanding—though she'd never experienced it, in her simple view of love—this could only be done with a lover.

In modern society, her thinking was like that of an antique from hundreds of years ago—long outdated, a decaying ideology that should be nailed shut in a coffin.

Contemporary views were open-minded, advocating for living in the moment and enjoying life. If someone reached a certain age without having had such "exercise," people would be shocked and amused.

When she'd been out of her mind, it was Lu Mingqiu who agonized; now that she was lucid, she was the one tangled in thoughts.

Yan Xianchuan didn't even know what exactly was troubling her. Her heart was a mess, in a state she'd rarely experienced since birth.

Not long after, Lu Mingqiu came out and saw Yan still standing where she'd been, head bowed, face hidden.

"You probably have a lot to say," Lu said. "Sit down first—no need to stand. We can talk slowly."

Yan Xianchuan didn't respond but shuffled over and slowly sat on a chair, still keeping her head down, as if she didn't dare look at her.

Lu Mingqiu found it amusing inside. The corners of her mouth twitched but were quickly suppressed; smiling now wouldn't be appropriate.

"Let me start."

"It was my decision, so don't overthink it. It was an accident," she said. "Xiao Shu's real name is Shu Mingyu, from a local family in Nanjin City. Even if our identities aren't clear to the public, it's not hard to guess we're from prominent families. She probably planned this, so she seized the first moment you were alone to get close."

"Yesterday I already had Hei Ge monitor her. For now, she's acting as if nothing happened and continues filming."

Lu Mingqiu observed her expression, but since Yan kept her head down, she couldn't read much. Finally, she said, "Let's set her aside. I have a question for you."

Yan Xianchuan raised her head bit by bit, like a clockwork toy yet to be wound.

Their eyes met, and her face slowly turned red again.

So innocent? That was unexpected. Lu had assumed a standard psychopath like Yan wouldn't possess any sense of shame—otherwise, she couldn't have sung and recited poetry in public.

Lu Mingqiu controlled her expression and softened her voice. "Do you think last night will have a negative effect on you? We're friends, more or less. I don't want this to burden our relationship."

For the first time in her life, Yan Xianchuan felt her mouth was a broken tool that couldn't speak. She shook her head. "No."

"Good," Lu Mingqiu said and finally breathed a sigh of relief, offering a smile.

Yan Xianchuan hurriedly looked away, as if Lu Mingqiu were a radiant deity and she a wraith deserving slaughter, unfit to share a room with her.

But her dodge had unintended consequences—she spotted, on the floor by the other side of the bed, a torn white qipao lying there, its orchid pattern in tatters, clearly unwearable.

Lu Mingqiu followed her gaze and smiled. "That's a costume. No worries; I'll have the crew make a new one."

Her smile was relaxed, but taking a sidelong glance, Yan Xianchuan found it utterly infuriating.

How could she be so nonchalant and composed, as if last night they'd played chess and discussed mathematical theories rather than slept together?

Only she herself was left distracted and in disarray.

"I'll go back to my room to change. Want to have breakfast together?" Lu Mingqiu rose and said.

She was also wearing a hotel bathrobe, its collar loose, exposing the marks on her neck.

Yan Xianchuan hadn't eaten dinner and had been up all night; her stomach was long empty.

When the question came, she meant to refuse, but the words that came out were, against her will, a "yes."

"Then let's meet in ten minutes," Lu Mingqiu said and left, closing the door behind her.

Yan Xianchuan nodded silently, and her gaze lightly fell on the bite mark at her ankle, no longer looking away.