Everyone Hates My Frail Body.

Chapter 42: Frail Body

Chapter 42: Frail Body

The crisp slap rang through the room, unexpected and sharp. Lu Beihuai's head barely tilted from the impact, and yet, he didn’t flinch. His expression remained neutral as he lifted his hand to gently touch the reddened spot on his cheek, a wave of numbness spreading through him. It wasn’t the pain that bothered him—it was something far deeper, a stirring that reached into the hollows of his chest.

He fixed his gaze on Song Qie. His ears were tinged with red, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears, the anger flaring from within him. For the first time in years, Lu Beihuai felt something break free inside him. The emotional dam that had held everything back, all those pent-up feelings, all the unresolved tension—it surged forward, quickening his pulse.

Hassan stood frozen at the door, his wide eyes darting between them. Harvard’s top student and Cambridge’s top student... fighting like this? His mind raced, searching for an explanation.

Song Qie’s heart pounded so hard that he could feel it in his throat. His clenched fist throbbed from the impact of the slap, and he nervously glanced at Lu Beihuai. The red mark on his cheek was clear, but Lu Beihuai's expression remained unreadable. He didn’t seem angry—or was he? The man was impossible to decipher.

What a psychopath, Song Qie thought. Every time they met, it was the same. If he didn’t assert himself, Lu Beihuai would walk all over him, assuming he was someone easy to toy with.

“Does your hand hurt?”

Before Song Qie could react, Lu Beihuai reached out and gently took the hand that had slapped him. Song Qie frowned, trying to pull away, but Lu Beihuai leaned in, his closeness suffocating.

And then, to Song Qie’s utter shock, Lu Beihuai pressed his hand back against his own red cheek. “If you didn’t hit me hard enough, do it again.”

Song Qie’s eyes widened, disbelief washing over him. His hand was trembling as he tried to free it. “Let go!”

Instead of releasing him, Lu Beihuai gripped his wrist tighter, guiding his hand to slap him once more. The second slap landed with a light, almost controlled force—nothing like the first.

Song Qie was speechless. His fingertips tingled, caught between the absurdity and the madness of the moment. He stared at Lu Beihuai in utter disbelief.

“Go ahead. Hit me again,” Lu Beihuai said, his voice deep, threaded with something dark and possessive. He lowered his head slightly, his eyes hidden beneath the glint of his gold-rimmed glasses. “As long as you don’t run away from me. As long as I get to see you.”

The gentleness in Lu Beihuai’s voice contrasted with the raw intensity of his words. His cheeks, already flushed from the slaps, betrayed no anger—only a calm, almost affectionate indulgence. He looked like someone who would humbly endure anything for the person in front of him, someone who would willingly lower himself in the name of love.

Song Qie’s breath hitched. This man is insane.

“Let go,” Song Qie repeated, his voice shaky, glancing toward Hassan, who looked like he was about to burst from the tension.

“No.”

The defiance in that single word made Song Qie close his eyes, trying to steady his trembling heart. After three years, Lu Beihuai hadn’t changed—his manipulative games, his overwhelming presence—it was all still there, refined even. And once again, Song Qie had played right into his hands.

As the moment stretched, Hassan’s internal radar finally kicked in. Even though he had always been sure of Song Qie’s orientation—he had never seen his roommate so much as glance at anyone romantically in the past three years—something about this scene made him question everything.