The scene presented itself as a picture of perfect tranquility—peaceful tis captured in sunlit stillness. Marcus found himself genuinely reluctant to disturb that fragile mont. Instead, he quietly extracted a thick volu from the opposite bookshelf section and settled cross-legged onto the plush carpet.
Warm sunlight bathed his back, dispelling morning's residual chill and allowing his tension-wound nerves to release by microscopic degrees.
He made a performance of flipping through pages, allowing ti to flow in comfortable silence. Occasionally he'd steal furtive glances at her quiet profile through gaps between shelved books. For one fleeting mont, he actually entertained the thought that perhaps continuing like this—existing in mutual peace—wouldn't be entirely terrible.
However, after approximately fifteen minutes elapsed, he realized with so embarrassnt that he hadn't absorbed a single word from the text before him. Of course not. I'm fundantally not soone who can settle into calm reading. Never have been.
Just as he prepared to rise and "create an opportunity" for point-earning contact, he observed through bookshelf gaps that Elena had closed her volu and rotated her wheelchair, apparently intending to return the book to its designated high shelf position.
But that particular shelf towered well beyond comfortable reach for soone seated in a wheelchair. Replacing books proved exponentially more difficult than retrieving them.
The wheelchair had already elevated to maximum height. Elena stretched her arm upward with visible effort, fair silk sleeve sliding downward to bunch at her elbow, exposing an arm like carved jade.
Sunlight illuminated her bamboo-shoot-delicate fingers and the faintly purple veins standing out against pale skin on the back of her straining hand. She tilted her head back with obvious urgency, jaw and neck forming an elegantly taut curve. Her breathing grew audibly heavier with exertion.
Can't quite reach... truly... so endearing. So vulnerable.
The opportunity has arrived!!!
Internal joy surged through Marcus. He closed the distance in two quick strides, extending his hand. His fingertips made "accidental" contact, gliding lightly across Elena's hand before smoothly "appropriating" the heavy volu from her grasp. He effortlessly tucked it into the vacant slot on the high shelf.
[Ding! Congratulations, Host! Through helpful behavior combined with minor skin contact, you have acquired 1 Positive Value!]
That wonderful notification chid through his consciousness. Marcus felt delighted satisfaction, though sowhat unsatisfied—greedy for more. He pressed his luck further, deliberately allowing his forearm to make contact with Elena's still-extended, slightly cool arm.
[Positive Value 1!]
The score increased again! Marcus's heart blood with triumph.
Elena, however, reacted as though scalded by his sudden proximity and the warm sensation transmitted through arm contact. She yanked her hand back abruptly and rotated her head toward him.
The movent brought her forehead dangerously close to Marcus's abdon—nearly making contact.
"Why are you here?" Her voice carried unmistakable notes of disturbed displeasure mixed with reflexive wariness.
"I ca to read, obviously." Marcus lowered his arm, projecting cheerful nonchalance while attempting to make his actions appear perfectly reasonable. "If you're having difficulty replacing books, you should call for assistance. Why struggle alone unnecessarily?" His tone carried deliberately manufactured familiarity and concern.
Elena pressed her thin lips together, turned her face away to avoid his gaze, and responded with cold dismissal: "None of your concern."
"How is it not my concern?" Marcus imdiately adopted the posture of a "devoted, attentive husband" and even reached out to pat her shoulder supportively ( 1).
"You're my wife! When my wife requires sothing, I naturally respond to every request!" The words flowed with increasing smoothness as he elaborated his performance: "Not rely physical labor either—if you encounter any academic difficulties requiring tutoring assistance, I can help with that too! For instance, that book you were just reading—if there are any challenging concepts, feel free to ask !"
Speaking with absolute confidence, he pivoted his head to examine the spine of the volu he'd just shelved, curious what profound scholarly work rited such focused study—
Color Atlas of Human Anatomy
The clear, large characters registered with devastating clarity.
Marcus's smile froze instantly solid. He inhaled sharply through clenched teeth, feeling ice-cold sensation shoot from the soles of his feet straight through to the top of his skull like electrical shock.
Elena absorbed his instantaneously transford expression with obvious satisfaction, releasing an extrely faint derisive sound through her nose—undisguised mockery: "Perhaps you should focus on managing yourself first."
With that cutting dismissal, she maneuvered her wheelchair away, gliding silently toward another section of the study, leaving Marcus standing alone with creeping chill spreading across his back.
Marcus shuddered involuntarily. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief, confirming once more—yes, definitely Human Anatomy!
Hehe... hehehe...
Cold sweat erupted across his skin. Internal wailing comnced imdiately:
Dear god! She reads books like THIS every day?! How am I supposed to feel comfortable "getting cozy" for point acquisition now?! Every step feels like frantically testing boundaries on danger's razor edge!
Following that morning's anatomical textbook shock in the study, Marcus behaved with considerably more restraint throughout the afternoon. He limited himself to leisurely strolling through the backyard gardens, admiring ornantal fish and flower arrangents, carefully avoiding any active provocation toward Elena.
After all, visualizing those delicate hands thodically turning through dissection diagrams made his skin crawl with primitive unease.
However, by evening—confronting the prepared bathing supplies—Marcus's heart, perpetually restless in pursuit of "one hundred million yuan," activated once more with renewed determination.
This represents a golden opportunity for legitimate "intimate contact"!
His eyes darted calculatively as a plan crystallized. He enthusiastically gathered the neatly folded silk pajamas, fragrant shower gel, and fluffy soft bath towel, transporting the entire collection to the bathroom entrance. Then he arranged his features into what he believed represented his warst, most harmless smile and addressed Elena as she maneuvered her wheelchair toward him:
"Wife, your mobility presents challenges—let provide assistance! I'll carry you to the bathing chair with absolute stability. Guaranteed safe transfer!"
Elena lifted her gaze. Those eyes remained clear and cold, facial expression utterly neutral. Her rejection erged direct and uncompromising: "Unnecessary."
Marcus's smile developed cracks. He attempted persuasion: "Can you... manage independently?" He genuinely struggled to visualize the logistics.
"Of course." Elena's tone carried undeniable certainty.
Her legs might not function for walking, but her arms possessed considerable strength, and her core stability had developed through rigorous long-term training. Basic self-care activities had long since ceased presenting insurmountable problems, though they required substantially more ti and effort compared to able-bodied individuals.
Marcus regarded her with obvious skepticism: "How do you bathe?" Genuine curiosity colored his question.
Elena didn't verbally respond. She simply aid a remote control device toward the bathroom interior and pressed a button.
A specialized bathing chair descended smoothly from the bathroom ceiling mounting system. The chair's surface featured drainage perforations, sturdy armrests positioned on both sides, and height calibrated to align perfectly with her wheelchair seat level.
The adjacent bathtub also displayed custom engineering—edge height designed for convenient direct transfer from wheelchair positioning.
Despite witnessing these accessibility accommodations, traces of genuine pity still stirred in Marcus's chest. Precisely at this mont, the system materialized with spectacularly poor timing:
[Fortune: Host! Seize this opportunity! Once-in-a-lifeti situation! Assist her with bathing—extensive contact area, prolonged duration, Positive Value will absolutely skyrocket!]
Marcus ntally rolled his eyes with exasperation. "Fortune, you fundantally misunderstand the dynamics. Forcing the issue at this juncture would prove counterproductive. I need to demonstrate respect for her dignity and self-esteem."
Mission completion remained critically important, yes. But observing such a proud young woman potentially forced to expose helpless vulnerability before him... that tiny fragnt of conscience he still possessed erged from wherever he'd buried it.
Sympathy temporarily outweighed hunger for accumulated points.
Elena ignored him entirely, maneuvering her wheelchair into the bathroom. Then, with a soft click, she gently closed the door, establishing firm boundary.
Soon, faint sounds filtered through that barrier—fabric rustling as clothing was removed, slight gasps and shifting movents as she transferred her body from wheelchair to specialized bathing chair with careful balance maintenance.
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