When he was obsessed, it was pure obsession.
Even his deep, fathomless possessiveness—it was pure.
Only non-human creatures could have eyes this uncontaminated.
Humans, on the other hand, always projected human emotions onto animals—thinking snakes were sinister, wolves cruel, foxes cunning.
But if one observed closely, they would realize that whether it was a snake, a wolf, or a fox, even as they tore into their prey’s throat, their eyes remained pure.
There was nothing in them but the instinct to eat.
Not a trace of impurity.
Humans, however, are never driven by a single desire.
If hunger were the only factor, there wouldn’t be a distinction between organic food and synthetic food.
There wouldn’t be hierarchies among manufacturers and suppliers.
There wouldn’t be monopolistic corporate giants built upon colossal chains of profit.
Human greed is filthy, shrewd, and endless.
A monster’s greed was also endless, yet it was so clean, so pure.
At last, Zhou Jiao understood why Jiang Lian always carried an air of pristine clarity.
She had always thought it was because his appearance was like a snow-covered mountain at dawn—sharp, cold, and untainted—so no matter what he did, there was always an inexplicable sense of purity about him.
Now that she thought about it, it was probably because of his utterly inhuman gaze.
Because he lacked human nature, he was cold-blooded, cruel, and violent.
But for that very reason, he also seemed clean, uncomplicated, unadulterated.
With this realization, Zhou Jiao suddenly didn’t know how to regard Jiang Lian anymore.
If he were a cold, venomous snake, she could have taken pleasure in taming him, toying with him.
But in truth, he was neither cold nor venomous—on the contrary, he had the purest eyes in the world.
Her lashes trembled as she lowered her gaze, almost flustered, before fleeing into the bathroom.
—
Jiang Lian, seeing her brush past the gifts without a second glance, grew irritable again.
She didn’t like them?
Why?
These were the finest things this planet had to offer.
He had put considerable thought into preparing them.
First, he had to determine what held the most value. He had considered lavish jewelry—humans revered those metals and gemstones to an extreme degree.
But no matter how much they worshipped them, he couldn’t see them as rare treasures.
He had seen metals with far greater hardness, higher melting points, superior chemical stability—elements that were truly scarce across the entire universe.
Those cheap jewels weren’t worthy of her.
He had also considered gifting her the entirety of biological technology, but there was a high probability that, once she took control of the corporation, she would turn it against him.
He had read her psychological evaluation.
She was someone with a weak sense of morality—she was fully capable of betraying him without hesitation.
So in the end, he settled on clothing—expensive, luxurious, rare.
And in one of the boxes, he had placed the biometric key to a villa.
Two months ago, that villa had belonged to Fujiwara Osamu, the former CEO of BioTech.
Yet she hadn’t even noticed the key—she had just turned away and left.
Jiang Lian’s gaze turned terrifyingly cold.
Every time she rejected him, a wave of fury and panic surged inside him—just like back in that narrow escape tunnel.
She had kept refusing him.
Until, in the end, she walked away without looking back.
It took an immense effort for him to suppress the icy, brutal urge to destroy.
As a top predator, he had never treated anything with care before.
Whenever he encountered obstacles, his first instinct was always to eradicate them.
Yet for Zhou Jiao—again and again—he held back.
No one told him that this behavior defied the laws of nature.
He himself didn’t think he had defied anything.
He only knew that it felt unbearable.
—
Zhou Jiao stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp, and saw Jiang Lian sitting on the sofa.
A suppressed hostility clouded his brows, his cold gaze fixed on the unopened boxes—as if considering how to destroy them.
Ever since she realized that his eyes were as pure as an animal’s, she had found it difficult to meet his gaze.
Every time she looked at him, a strange, unexplainable flutter stirred inside her.
…It almost felt like bullying a kitten or a puppy.
But at the same time, she was curious—just how far could he go for her?
Zhou Jiao continued to dry her hair as she sat down across from him.
Her hair wasn’t long, just reaching her shoulders. It hadn’t been permed or dyed—a shade of black that could blend seamlessly into the night, yet still catch the faint glow of dawn.
As she dried it, a few water droplets flicked from the tips of her hair.
Before they could land on the carpet, a transparent tentacle caught them midair.
She didn’t notice.
Jiang Lian’s throat bobbed as he swallowed them.
He stared at Zhou Jiao, wanting to do something for her, but not knowing what he should do.
Just then, that human’s voice spoke again:
“Ask her if you can help dry her hair.”
Jiang Lian frowned.
Asking meant risking rejection—why not just take the towel from her directly?
His pupils flickered, sometimes contracting into pinpoints, sometimes dilating into full circles, before he reluctantly accepted the human’s suggestion.
“…Excuse me,” he said stiffly, “may I help you dry your hair?”
Since descending into ‘Jiang Lian,’ he had only ever spoken in commands.
This was the first time he had used a phrase so heavy with politeness and uncertainty.
The result was oddly stilted—both awkward and absurd.
Jiang Lian stepped behind Zhou Jiao, looking down at her from above. His gaze was deep and unreadable.
—If she dared to laugh at him, he would put his earlier, rougher imaginings into practice.
But Zhou Jiao merely glanced at him, then handed him the towel.
Jiang Lian’s pupils dilated to the extreme, nearly consuming his irises.
…Even more like a little animal.
Zhou Jiao turned her head away. She tried, she really tried, but in the end, she couldn’t hold it in—she let out a quiet chuckle.
The next moment, her chin was seized.
A shadow fell over her as Jiang Lian lowered his head, pressing down toward her.
Zhou Jiao closed her eyes—but the kiss never came.
She opened them again.
Jiang Lian was staring intensely at her lips, as if he desperately wanted to kiss her.
Yet, something invisible held him back—no matter what, he couldn’t do it.
For a fleeting second, Zhou Jiao almost thought he had encountered some unimaginable restriction.
Then, after several dozen seconds of silent tension, Jiang Lian’s expression darkened.
Bit by bit, he reluctantly released her chin and straightened, his gaze deep and shadowed.
Zhou Jiao studied his expression.
She was sure—he had originally planned to pin her down and kiss her mercilessly, without hesitation.
So why had he changed his mind?
Jiang Lian, unaware that his thoughts had been entirely seen through, merely sat there, expression unreadable, tension radiating from his every fiber.
He was rapidly adjusting his expression.
A mere second before he would have kissed her, a thought surfaced in his mind—
The foundation of human relationships is respect.
He must respect Zhou Jiao.
But—
Her sweet, tempting lips were right there, separated from him by nothing but the thinnest, most fragile layer of restraint.
Inside him, the instincts of plundering and possessing surged restlessly.
Plunder. Respect.
Plunder. Plunder. Plunder—
No. He had to respect her.
Zhou Jiao would never know how much effort it took for him to tear his gaze away from her lips.
In that brief instant, as he finally forced himself to look away, he saw strands of floating, transparent filaments in the air—
He had wanted to kiss her so badly that his gaze itself had become tangible, stretching out like sticky, invisible threads.
Jiang Lian remained frozen for a long moment before he finally forced his chaotic expression under control.
Then, he stepped in front of Zhou Jiao.
—Respecting someone means facing them directly.
He reached out and braced one hand against the space beside her, leaning in slightly.
—Beyond facing someone, respect requires meeting their gaze—eye to eye, on equal footing.
Jiang Lian’s vision blurred momentarily.
Where was he supposed to look?
If he looked at her lips, he would lose control.
If he looked at her eyes…
A strange, unsettling sensation bloomed within him.
As if scalding water was slowly spreading across the shell of his ears.
His ears were flushing red.
Why?
Zhou Jiao watched as the tips of Jiang Lian’s ears gradually turned crimson.
A thought crossed her mind—
Could a “god” feel shy?
At that moment, the sky outside darkened.
Neon lights from the streets below filtered through the rain-soaked window, casting flickering colors across the living room.
Half of Jiang Lian’s sharply defined face was shrouded in shadow, the other half illuminated in shifting hues of shimmering light.
For the first time, Zhou Jiao’s heartbeat wasn’t driven by adrenaline.
Wasn’t spurred by fear.
Her heart raced violently—simply because of Jiang Lian himself.
The intensity was so strong that it tugged at her nerve endings, pulling hard at her ear roots, sending a faint sting through her chest.
—For her, he was desperately trying to integrate into human society.
And at that moment, Jiang Lian spoke.
“…Excuse me,” he said, his gaze locking onto hers—so entangled, so tight, it felt as if they were being woven together.
“May I kiss you?”
Zhou Jiao’s breath hitched, as if she were about to agree.
Jiang Lian’s throat bobbed as he waited for her answer.
But she said, “Do you even know what a kiss is?”
Jiang Lian replied, “We’ve kissed many times before.”
Zhou Jiao shook her head. “That wasn’t kissing. No one kisses just to drink the other person’s saliva.”
Jiang Lian’s gaze turned cold.
He thought she was stalling.
She simply didn’t want to kiss him.
Just as his mood was about to sink further, she suddenly reached out, wrapping her arms around his neck.
She tilted her head up, her lips brushing against his in a light, fleeting touch.
“This is a kiss.”
One touch, then gone.
So brief.
Yet Jiang Lian’s heart went wildly out of control, hammering against his ribs with a tearing, frenzied bang, bang, bang.
Why?
He hadn’t even tasted her saliva.
The next second, she leaned in again.
Another touch—just as fleeting.
But this time, she flicked the tip of her tongue lightly against his lower lip.
Before he could capture it, she had already pulled away.
“This is a kiss,” she said. “Understand now?”
Jiang Lian didn’t understand.
All he knew was a dizzying sense of madness, his pulse hammering all the way down to his fingertips.
His hands were shaking uncontrollably.
Zhou Jiao chuckled softly and, seeing that he still seemed confused, taught him again.
Each time—a brief touch.
Light. Gentle. Neither wet nor sticky.
Yet his body—paralyzed, stiff, and numb.
Why?
He had always thought he was simply obsessed with her saliva—so why did these fleeting, featherlight kisses suppress that urge?
“Still don’t understand?”
She cupped his face with both hands, a mock-regretful sigh in her voice.
“That just means you don’t actually want to kiss me. You just want to drink my saliva.”
Then, she leaned back against the sofa, her lips slightly parted, moist and half-revealed—an invitation.
An invitation to kiss her, just like all the times before.
Jiang Lian suddenly became aware—if he kissed her now, their relationship would revert to that of predator and prey.
He wanted to. Madly.
His throat twitched—as if something deep inside was writhing, struggling to break free, desperate to swallow her whole, to devour every breath and every drop of her saliva.
But he held back.
Jiang Lian slowly straightened, stepping back.
Only when the suffocating urge began to settle did he finally speak, his voice cold.
“You’re seducing me. I won’t fall for it.”