When Shen Qingyue was eighteen years old, he fell from the clouds and became an abandoned son of his family, reduced to a commodity waiting to be sold.
The one who bought him was Jiang Yan, the Alpha who stood at the top, rescued him from the mud, and put shackles on him with his own hands.
Everyone said that Jiang Yan raised a white camellia plant.
Warm, clean, noble and eye-catching in the exquisite crystal cover.
Only Jiang Yan knew that this flower was grown by watering it with lust for power and using money as soil.
It has thorns and oozes poison, and even the roots are full of backlash juice.
Shen Qingyue always lowered his eyes meekly.
Between the intertwining breaths, obedience, dependence and just the right amount of resistance were used as knives to carve into the softest part of his heart.
Jiang Yan locked his freedom, while he looked at the hunter soberly, silently indulging in the net he had set.
Seven years is enough for the roots of a flower to spread and become entangled in the blood of the breeder.
My friend couldn't stand it: "You don't call this love, it calls mutual torture."
Shen Qingyue stroked the cold dial on his wrist. Under the dial, the locator flashed silently.
He chuckled: "Then torture until death."
——"Has he learned to love?"
——"He learned to feel pain."
White camellia is never truly tame.
Under the warm surface, twisted rhizomes have already grown, tightly intertwined with the soil, and integrated into one.
——This is a feast of two-way plunder.
Whoever is tempted first loses.
But they could no longer tell who knelt down first and kissed the other's chain.
Reading guide:
1. A two-way redemption that begins with plunder
2. He thought he had tamed a flower, but he did not know that he had become the soil for the flower.
Concept: Love is not domestication, but freedom