Professor Xie, isn't this a case of forcing customers to buy products that don't match the

"no."

Shang Song: "...What do you mean, 'no'?"

Xie Jing was silent for a moment before finally speaking: "If we're just talking about what a normal relationship can offer you—companionship anytime, anywhere, public dates, relaxed physical contact, sharing everyday trivialities…"

He paused, his eyelashes trembling slightly involuntarily: "Chen Yu's overall competitiveness is higher than mine."

Xie Jing continued in that calm, almost self-analytical tone, "I can't give you those things. At least not now."

"This is my problem, so..." He paused, then looked up at Shang Song, "I had to use some methods to make him leave you."

Shang Song was completely stunned.

He stared blankly at Xie Jing, at his face, which, though expressionless, inexplicably revealed a breathtakingly fragile beauty. As he looked, he suddenly felt as if his heart had been crushed, a mixture of sourness and bitterness.

How could someone be so frank in admitting they "can't" do it? And they say it in such a... pathetic way.

After Xie Jing finished speaking, he fell silent. He simply lowered his eyes, his long eyelashes concealing all the emotions in them.

The east wing was eerily quiet for a moment, with only the intermittent sound of flowing water outside the window.

Shang Song opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but found his throat extremely dry.

The slight anger that Chen Yu had caused Xie Jing to leave vanished without a trace in the face of Xie Jing's honest admission of defeat.

He hated Xie Jing's covert control over the past six months and was also afraid of the unreasonable methods Xie Jing used on Chen Yu. But when this man showed even a little bit of a pitiful look, his already weak defenses crumbled little by little, like paper that had been soaked in water.

After a long pause, Shang Song finally found his voice and asked resignedly, "So what do you suggest we do now?"

He took a deep breath, looked at Xie Jing with complicated emotions, and tried to make his voice sound calm: "Xie Jing, I don't want to lie to you, and I don't want to lie to myself anymore."

"What I want is to be able to eat at any restaurant downstairs together, to go to the cinema to watch the latest movies, to walk hand in hand along the river, and to naturally hug and kiss when I feel cold or happy... these are the most ordinary and normal kinds of love."

"But you can never give me these things."

He looked at Xie Jing's jawline tighten suddenly, gritted his teeth, and continued speaking:

"I didn't know why you couldn't give it to me before. I thought it was because you weren't willing, because I wasn't good enough, or because you simply didn't like me... I was indeed heartbroken about it and gave up. Now I know that you have your own identity and your own constraints. It's nothing, really, we were never meant to be together."

"So, there's really no need to force it. If you force yourself to accept my ordinariness, and I force myself to accept your extraordinary nature, it'll only cause us both pain. Why bother? You can't just be so unreasonable as to keep me locked up in these mountains forever, can you? Ask yourself honestly, is that really appropriate?"

These were the most rational and honest words he could utter, having mustered all his courage. After saying the last sentence, he stopped talking and simply looked straight into Xie Jing's eyes, his eyes filled with clarity.

Xie Jing's hands, which were resting on his knees, had somehow become clenched into fists.

After Shang Song finished speaking, he met Shang Song's gaze and corrected him, "It's not that I can never give it to you."

He began, clumsily, to list out what he could give, one by one:

"As for meals, I can eat with you every day from now on, as long as I'm in Xishan, anywhere is fine. For movies, the east wing of Tingxuexuan has complete audio-visual equipment and a wide selection of films, available anytime. If you feel bored, the garden is large, we can take a walk. As for... anything else..."

He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing, and his voice lowered: "I'm learning the rest."

Shang Song asked in confusion, "Learn? Learn what?"

Xie Jing looked away, his long eyelashes lowering, his eyes seeming to darken further. He said, "In the past six months, I've been... undergoing some necessary adaptive training. Or rather, desensitization training."

He turned his gaze back, his long eyebrows slightly furrowed as he met Shang Song's eyes, like a student diligently reporting on progress: "However, the results haven't met expectations yet; we need more time and practice."

Shang Song's eyes widened slightly, and his voice trembled: "Desensitization training? Desensitization to what?"

Xie Jing paused for a moment before replying, "An overreaction to sudden contact and an excessive vigilance towards uncontrollable social environments."

His voice remained flat, yet Shang Song inexplicably detected a hint of difficulty: "For example, some approaches without any threatening intent. For example, using equipment to try to shake hands, and... hug."

Shang Song was completely stunned. His mouth was slightly open, but he couldn't make a sound.

So, over the past six months, Xie Jing has not only been silently watching over him, but has also been undergoing desensitization training on his own.

This piece of wood... how could he do this?

On one hand, they're doing terrifying things, and on the other hand, they're secretly doing things that make it impossible for anyone to be ruthless?

Shang Song felt as if something was blocking his throat, and his eyes and nose felt sore and weak.

He turned his face away in embarrassment, not daring to look into Xie Jing's eyes, which were now so calm, for fear that he would forget the lesson and that he would be soft-hearted and weak.

He even began to regret his earlier aggressive remarks about pursuing a normal relationship; at the very least, he shouldn't have said that to Xie Jing, because they were truly incompatible.

For Xie Jing, being asked to do these things was a cruel form of coercion, and for Shang Song, forcing himself to comply was also a form of irresponsibility towards himself.

He should stop here.

Stop asking, stop listening, and stop making excuses for your own soft heart.

But those words were stuck in my throat; I couldn't swallow them down unless I asked them.

"...What does desensitization training look like?"

Xie Jing remained silent for a long time.

Only the persistent sound of flowing water outside the window remained in the east wing. He lowered his eyes slightly, his gaze falling on his hands resting on his knees.

Those hands, with their distinct knuckles, long and strong, were now unconsciously curling their fingertips, as if recalling some unpleasant experience.

"Initially, it mainly involved contact with different materials." He began, his voice low and calm, without much inflection, as if he were recounting something mundane unrelated to himself: "Recording tolerance time and... physiological reactions."

He paused, then took a deep breath almost imperceptibly. "Later, I tried to simulate some scenarios."

He continued, speaking slowly, omitting the parts that made him uncomfortable, and summarized: "We will also use some assistive tools, with the goal of gradually extending the contact time and reducing... the level of resistance."

He spoke very briefly.

They didn't say they felt disgusted, they didn't say they were afraid, and they didn't say they felt so nauseous that they wanted to vomit.

As Shang Song listened to Xie Jing's tone, which was trying to remain calm but was still inexplicably strained, and looked at Xie Jing's upright and straight posture, which still revealed a bit of stiffness, the bitterness in his heart grew bigger and bigger.

He dared not think too deeply about what the so-called simulated scenario was. Was it trying to hold a cold hand while wearing layers of protective gloves? Or was it forcing himself to stay still when someone suddenly approached, even if he resisted in his heart?

"...It's very uncomfortable, isn't it?" Shang Song asked softly, staring at Xie Jing's tightly clenched hands.

Xie Jing curled his hands, which were resting on his knees, even more.

He didn't answer immediately; after a long while, he nodded slightly.

The amplitude was very small, so small that it was almost like an illusion.

But that was indeed a positive answer.

Shang Song's vision blurred instantly.

Hot tears welled up in my eyes without warning and splattered onto the round wooden table.

Shang Song didn't even react until a tear fell on his hand on the table. He hurriedly turned his head away and raised his hand to wipe it haphazardly, but the more he wiped, the more tears appeared.

"Stop doing it." His voice was thick with a nasal tone, muffled. "That training, stop doing it."

Really, it's not suitable. So, don't do it.

Xie Jing was stunned.

He watched as Shang Song's tears suddenly burst forth, his eyes red and swollen, revealing a deep sense of helplessness he had never shown to anyone before.

Almost instinctively, he raised his right hand and reached out towards Shang Song's tear-streaked cheek.

His fingertips were long and slender, yet they trembled slightly.

He wanted to touch him.

I wanted to wipe away his tears.

I wanted to... comfort him.

However, he couldn't do it.

Just before his fingertips were about to touch Shang Song's skin, his movement abruptly froze in mid-air.

That distance, perhaps less than an inch, felt like an insurmountable chasm.

The outstretched hand, in Shang Song's tear-blurred vision, slowly curled up at the fingertips, and finally, as if having exhausted all its strength, slumped down and rested back on Xie Jing's lap.

Xie Jing lowered her eyes again, avoiding Shang Song's gaze, which was perhaps filled with disappointment or hurt, through her tears.

His Adam's apple bobbed a few times with difficulty before he answered Shang Song in a low, firm voice, hoarse to the point of being almost distorted:

"...We have to do it."

He said, word by word:

"I want to touch you, Shang Song."

"It's not about being separated by anything, it's not about having to rehearse beforehand... it's real, I really want to touch you."

"So, we have to do it."