The Human Who Let Him Drown
///
Zhou Jiao stifled a laugh. “How did I seduce you?”
Although her features were cold and delicate, as beautiful as a fresh white camellia, when she smiled, she was charming and captivating. Adding to that, her hair wasn’t completely dry—several damp strands clung to her cheeks, making her look as if she had just broken into a sweat from kissing.
Jiang Lian stared at her for a few seconds before looking away. “You said before that your leaving me had nothing to do with me—it was about the laws of nature. You didn’t want to be with a predator.”
He paused, his voice turning colder. “But just now, you were se-ducing me into kissing you like a predator. You wanted me to make a mistake so you could strip me of the right to pursue you, isn’t that right?”
Zhou Jiao could barely hold back her laughter.
She hadn’t meant it that way at all—but she had indeed intended to seduce him.
She tilted her head slightly, her fingers unconsciously brushing against her lips. “Then, will you make a mistake?”
Jiang Lian stared at her fingers. His Adam’s apple bobbed visibly as he swallowed heavily.
His gaze was cold-blooded and focused, like a crawling reptile—never satisfied, never giving up on its prey, never stopping its plundering.
Yet, he turned his head away and said indifferently, “I told you, I won’t fall for your tricks. Unless you confirm that our relationship is no longer that of predator and prey, I won’t… kiss you that way.”
Zhou Jiao paused for a moment before suddenly asking:
“Why do you care so much about whether our relationship is that of predator and prey? Dr. Jiang, you… haven’t actually fallen for me, have you?”
The same question, but from a different position.
Back then, when she had asked this question, it was merely to test Jiang Lian’s attitude toward her—to see if the all-powerful ‘god’ could be dragged down into desire, into weakness, into restless agitation.
Now, she already knew the answer to this question, and yet she still asked it again.
Why?
She didn’t know.
Maybe she just wanted to ask.
And she was indeed curious about how Jiang Lian would respond. Would he, like before, dismiss her as delusional? Or…
“Yes, I like you.” Jiang Lian answered without hesitation.
Zhou Jiao’s fingers curled slightly.
Jiang Lian turned his head to look at her.
Even though he had admitted he liked her, there was still no trace of human emotion in his eyes. That intense inhumanity sent a chill down her spine, making her feel a strange mix of physiological unease and psychological thrill.
He said, “I know that you are a small, inferior, fragile creature—so small that you are no different from dust, so inferior that your lifespan is measured in mere years, so fragile that you could die at any moment.”
“From both a macro and micro perspective, love between us is impossible. Moreover, you have only one brain, and I have to suppress my ability for joint cognition just to communicate with you normally. Otherwise, you would never be able to keep up with my thoughts. When I said I wouldn’t like you, it wasn’t out of contempt but a rational, objective conclusion. However…”
He furrowed his brows slightly, looking deeply puzzled. “I still ended up liking you.”
Zhou Jiao’s teeth chattered lightly, as if she had shivered involuntarily.
She realized that the reason she had once found his gaze terrifying was not merely because of his apex predator aura, but also because of the endless hunger in his eyes—an insatiable craving that invoked a primal, physiological fear in her.
If humans were without tools, relying only on their degenerated teeth, nails, and limbs, it would be absolutely impossible for them to stand at the top of the food chain. That is why, when facing a predator alone, they will always experience a physiological fear.
This is also why all carnivores are inevitably assigned vile traits, as if doing so could serve as a warning to future generations and prevent the tragedy of being hunted.
And yet, when a top predator dons human skin, it does not evoke any sense of ugliness. Instead, because of the raw purity in its gaze, it exudes a cleanliness that does not belong to humanity.
Zhou Jiao did not know whether she should continue thinking about this.
She was coming to understand Jiang Lian.
Understanding a person is a very dangerous beginning.
Why are there endless disputes on the internet?
Because people struggle to see netizens as independent individuals, always assuming the other party is merely an embodiment of a particular viewpoint—faceless, identity-less—thus greatly amplifying their impulse to attack.
But once you truly understand someone, it becomes different.
From then on, they have a distinct face, a complex personality. In them, you can see both good and bad… and may even begin to understand their every action.
That was too dangerous.
More dangerous than the relationship between predator and prey, ruler and weakling, or even between “god” and ordinary person.
…She was understanding him as if he were her own kind.
The smile on Zhou Jiao’s face faded.
She lifted her eyes, looking at Jiang Lian with an assessing gaze, her expression cold as frost.
Jiang Lian did not meet her eyes.
He glanced at the towel in his hand, recalled something he had yet to do, and walked behind her to help dry her hair.
It was obvious that he was not accustomed to such “human” tasks. His movements were stiff—some areas were rubbed so vigorously that it felt like they might catch fire from the friction, while others were so carelessly done that when Zhou Jiao reached out to touch them, she could still squeeze out water.
She blinked, waiting for him to impatiently toss the towel aside.
Yet he never did.
Instead, when he reached the point where the towel alone could no longer dry her hair, she suddenly felt a chill on her scalp—something invisible seemed to slide over her head, transforming into a formless, liquid-like structure that seeped into the gaps between her hair. Tiny pores unfolded, writhing and contracting, sucking up every last drop of excess moisture.
Zhou Jiao: “………………”
She must have completely lost her mind to have ever thought of him as her own kind.
Her lips twitched, and she snatched the towel from his hand, forcing a stiff smile.
“Thank you for liking me, Dr. Jiang, but your ‘sit-down’ time is over. You should leave now. And don’t forget to take that pile of stuff in the living room with you, unless you want me to hire someone to throw it out later.”
Jiang Lian paused and said, “Those are gifts.”
“For every gift given, there’s the right to refuse.” She replied, “I don’t want your gifts.”
Jiang Lian fell silent.
A few seconds later, the cardboard boxes in the living room slowly began to dissolve, as if corroded by some highly acidic substance. Yet the floor remained perfectly intact—it must have been the secretion of his tentacles, a powerful corrosive mucus.
Not only had he learned to endure, but he had also learned to hide himself—his former self would never have concealed his appendages, would have spread them wherever he went, just like a lion leaving its pungent scent to mark its territory.
—He was suppressing his biological instincts for her.
Zhou Jiao’s heart skipped a beat.
The subconscious sense of danger intensified.
That danger mixed with her erratic heartbeat, sending a faint stiffness down her back.
She thought of those who were obsessed with taming wild beasts—how they loved to place their hands beneath the sharp fangs of predators, flaunting their ability to control them.
But in truth, they never really knew whether the beast would bite down.
The act of reaching into a predator’s mouth carried an element of trust, a gamble, and, more than anything, the intoxicating thrill of walking a tightrope over danger.
If she continued to understand Jiang Lian on a deeper level, this sense of danger would only grow stronger, never weaker.
…Not that she feared danger.
She was too excited. Her scalp tingled, her cheeks burned, and her heart pounded wildly.
She didn’t want Jiang Lian to know how exhilarated she felt.
Besides, he had tasted sweetness—now it was time for him to leave.
Seeing that he remained motionless, she stood up and grabbed his wrist.
Jiang Lian’s gaze immediately shifted from the empty living room to her hand, then lifted to meet her eyes.
By all logic, he was a supreme being. Any human who approached him would either spiral into unease and madness or become a puppet to his emotions.
His tentacles were terrifying—grotesque, writhing, expanding, spreading, endlessly replicating, defying all known physical laws, existing beyond the scope of human comprehension.
And yet, at this moment, she felt as if she were using the complexities of human nature… to bully him.
“…” Zhou Jiao cursed under her breath, dragged him to the door, and pushed him out with a swift motion. “Dr. Jiang, thank you for bringing me an umbrella, and thank you for that pile of gifts. Goodbye.”
As soon as she finished speaking, she shut the metal door without hesitation.
Even as the door sealed completely, Jiang Lian’s gaze remained locked on her.
He still seemed confused as to why he had been pushed out.
Thinking back to the baffled look in his eyes, Zhou Jiao couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh.
She closed her eyes, carefully sorting through her emotions… Excitement, exhilaration, passion. Aside from the subtle, unsettling rhythm of her heartbeat, what she felt most was the thrill of conquest and the satisfaction of vanity.
And this was only the first day.
As expected, only Jiang Lian could stir her emotions so intensely.
Life was finally interesting again.
Zhou Jiao lay back on the sofa, plucked a cigarette from the pack on the coffee table with her teeth, lit it with a lighter, and exhaled a stream of smoke toward the neon-lit night outside the window.
She looked like a cat basking in ultimate comfort, exuding a lazy, languid aura.
The next day, Zhou Jiao went to work as usual.
The moment she opened the door, she froze.
Jiang Lian was still outside.
He seemed to have been standing there all night. Still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, the moment she opened the door, his gaze snapped onto her like a snake perpetually in hunting mode, coiling tightly around her.
“…” Zhou Jiao pressed a hand to her forehead. “Why are you standing here? You’re the CEO of a biotech company now—are you really this free all day?”
Jiang Lian paused for a moment before asking, “Do you want to be the CEO of the biotech company?”
Just then, the door of the neighboring apartment opened. A man in a suit, carrying a briefcase, hurried toward the elevator. He glanced at them several times, his face full of an expression that practically screamed, How many drinks did you have to dream up something like this?
Zhou Jiao: “…”
She couldn’t blame him—she also felt an overwhelming sense of unreality.
She asked, “Are you willing to let me be the CEO of your biotech company?”
Jiang Lian replied, “No. You’d use it against me.”
“…” Zhou Jiao’s face remained blank as she pushed his shoulder. “Move. I have to go to work.”
The next moment, he seized her wrist.
Liking her hadn’t changed his body temperature.
His fingers were still cold and slick, like those of a reptilian creature covered in scales, exuding an unsettling chill.