Luo Binghe is perfectly happy to be held. Despite everything, he feels as though he's never done that before in his life. He realizes now—he thought that he had already made the decision, to turn away from his previous life and embrace something new, but he had only been toying with the idea. But being with Shen Qingqiu has laid it brutally bare: he has never, before, loved someone he took to bed. Never before has he wanted to please them so much, or received so much pleasure simply from their attention. If this is what's real, then all of Luo Binghe's life has been a sham.

It's exactly what he feared—when he kissed Claudius and then flinched away, when he raged at the library book that seemed to know him better than himself, when he got drunk with Janet and said all that nonsense. This is what he was terrified to discover, and now he cannot ignore it. But it is worth it for Shen Qingqiu. He has never had this before, but he has it now, and the sheer wonder and joy of it makes everything he previously valued cheap by comparison. One hundred-some wives for Shen Qingqiu is an easy trade. He buries his face in Shen Qingqiu's neck, hoping that any wetness there will be masked by sweat, and that any shaking of his shoulders will be taken as recovery from exertion.