He Is Mentally Ill

Yan Ci has an illness, and Wen Luo has the medicine. Wen Luo: “Marry me, and the medicine is yours.” Yan Ci: “Get lost, I don’t want your medicine even if I die.” Wen Luo smirked. Then, the real scene: Wen Luo: “Baby, come, take your medicine.” Yan Ci opens his mouth. A two-faced, scheming top with a sweet-tempered outer appearance and a sickly, but violent, self-proclaimed aloof bottom. Later on, someone, who often had a hoarse voice and red, swollen eyes every morning, was dissatisfied. He was clearly the one that should have been the top. Wen Luo: I will do it gently in the future. Yan Ci: On the very first night, I can’t believe it; a man’s mouth can spew so many lies. Wen Luo: Actually, I really did control the intensity. Yan Ci: Control? Is it the kind where the other person is near death? Or when he becomes a ghost? Wen Luo: …or else, looks like my baby is really curious. Why don’t we try it once again? It’s better to act rather than to keep wondering. After more than an hour, Yan Ci: Ugh… ‘My body is wasted today as well. My waist and legs are sore.’ Great, Yan Ci dug his own grave again.