The Savior’s Troublesome Bodyguard

Upon learning he was to become the Savior’s bodyguard, Zhuo had initially refused.

Of course, his refusal wasn’t verbal. Instead, he simply displayed an intense, almost mocking interest in the “Savior.”

The fools at the agency had told him that Saviors were inherently good—utterly devoid of impure thoughts, always eager to help others, and fearlessly brave. A veritable embodiment of all the world’s most beautiful virtues.

Zhuo detested such things.

Now, however, Zhuo realized those scoundrels had deceived him, and the reality was far worse than he had ever imagined.

“You’re going to sleep? Now?” Zhuo questioned, standing at the bathroom entrance as Yuan Anqing emerged.

“What else?” Yuan Anqing replied, towel-drying his hair. “I have no work at the moment.”

Zhuo glanced out the window at the bright sunlight and the leaves rustling in a gentle breeze. The temperature was mild, the day was young. “It’s twelve noon,” he stated flatly.

“Precisely why I need to rest,” Yuan Anqing countered. He hadn’t enjoyed a peaceful night’s sleep in ages. Since Bai Tian had instructed him to await further news, it essentially amounted to a brief respite. What else was a man to do on a day off besides sleep?

“Can’t you spare a thought for those suffering?” Zhuo asked, sounding genuinely exasperated. “Like that old man at the bus stop earlier?”

Yuan Anqing seemed surprised. “Ah, you actually remembered him.” He ran a hand through his damp hair, peering into the mirror. Without his glasses, his inherent coldness became even more pronounced, his golden eyes sharp and distant. “Are you worried about him? How kind of you.”

Zhuo’s mouth twitched subtly.

Yuan Anqing switched on the hairdryer. “Don’t worry. Mr. Bai has already taken that man away and secured him.” As for those who suffered, their plight had little to do with Yuan Anqing. Ultimately, their suffering wasn’t his fault, so he felt no personal responsibility to solve it.

“Hey.” Zhuo walked up behind Yuan Anqing, reaching out to slap the mirror with a heavy thud. Through the glass, Yuan Anqing could see Zhuo’s playful yet predatory expression.

Zhuo’s crimson eyes met Yuan Anqing’s golden ones in the reflection. “Can someone as heartless as you truly be called a Savior?”

Yuan Anqing’s expression finally shifted. His brows furrowed, and he gritted his teeth, letting out an irritated hiss. “Hmph!”

Zhuo’s smile widened. He knew that cold exterior was merely a facade. He waited for the righteous indignation, the lecture on duty—

Yuan Anqing clutched his abdomen. “My stomach hurts. I should have eaten first.”

Zhuo’s smile froze. “Huh?”

Yuan Anqing walked past Zhuo’s outstretched arm, heading to the living room to pick up his phone. “I’m ordering takeout. What does the delivery app look like in this world?”

“Takeout isn’t healthy,” Zhuo quickly retorted, following him.

“It’s fine,” Yuan Anqing said, already scrolling through the app store.

Zhuo loomed over him, enunciating each word. “I. Do. Not. Eat. Takeout.”

“Then don’t eat it,” Yuan Anqing replied, finding the solution remarkably simple.

“I must eat, but it cannot be takeout. Takeout is filthy,” Zhuo declared, crossing his arms.

Yuan Anqing looked up, surprised. “You cook for yourself?” He hadn’t expected a monster to possess such a domestic skill.

He was mistaken. Zhuo waved his hands dismissively. “I don’t cook. You do it.”

Yuan Anqing stared at him for a second, then lowered his head back to his phone. “Then you’re definitely not eating.”

“You can’t withhold my meal allowance. I’m your bodyguard,” Zhuo stated, highly displeased.

Yuan Anqing, however, remained unmoved. “Nor can you exploit my labor during non-working hours.”

The two stared at each other, neither willing to yield. Just as Zhuo was about to issue a physical threat, Yuan Anqing let out a long, weary sigh. “Fine. Let’s go to the supermarket.”

Zhuo’s threat died in his throat. He blinked in confusion.

Yuan Anqing truly didn’t want to cook, but he also couldn’t bear the bodyguard’s constant nagging. If Zhuo kept arguing, it would ruin his nap. Dealing with an unrestrained scoundrel was a battle of attrition he didn’t have the energy for.

Zhuo gritted his teeth and forced a smile, convinced the Savior was merely trying to toy with his emotions.

Yuan Anqing and Zhuo walked down the street together. To a casual observer, Zhuo looked more like a “Savior” than Yuan did.

Zhuo was tall, robust, and wore a bright smile, appearing like a cheerful, athletic young man. Only a closer look would reveal the sharp cunning in that smile. Meanwhile, Yuan Anqing walked with his head slightly bowed, wearing a surgical mask and looking thoroughly gloomy.

“Hey, Savior.” Zhuo poked Yuan Anqing’s back. “Are you angry?”

“No. We’ll buy the ingredients and go straight home,” Yuan Anqing mumbled, walking purposefully through the aisles of the store.

Zhuo pouted. “You know the vegetables are cheaper at the wet market, right?”

“I don’t cook for myself often,” Yuan Anqing replied. It had been years since he’d visited a wet market.

“Oh, look at you, so delicate. Can’t even handle a little mud on your shoes at the market.” Zhuo poked Yuan Anqing’s spine twice more.

Yuan Anqing offered no comment. He felt that Zhuo, who demanded three freshly prepared meals a day at fixed times, had no right to criticize a man who survived on office cafeteria food.

Suddenly, Yuan Anqing paused at the alcohol section, lost in thought. He had a history of gastric ulcers and had been hospitalized for a bleeding stomach two years ago. Logically, he shouldn’t touch the stuff.

Zhuo watched as Yuan Anqing picked up a bottle of 58% alcohol liquor and placed it in the shopping cart.

“You just said your stomach hurt,” Zhuo remarked. Even with his basic socialization, he knew a bad stomach and high-proof spirits were a poor match.

“It does,” Yuan Anqing acknowledged, offering no further explanation. It was a bad habit, but under the crushing weight of his life, smoking and drinking were the only direct ways to find a modicum of peace.

Zhuo didn’t care about Yuan’s health, but he was delighted to see the Savior courting disaster. “You’re definitely going to suffer for that. You’ll probably die early!”

“Likely,” Yuan Anqing conceded.

Then Zhuo asked, “You get your poison, but what about me?”

“You drink?” Yuan Anqing was puzzled. Could alcohol even affect a monster?

“No, I want soda. Sweet stuff.”

Yuan Anqing felt a wave of envy. This monster’s life seemed far happier than his own. “Will a six-pack of two-liter bottles be enough?”

Zhuo’s red eyes widened with genuine delight.

“But you’re carrying them yourself,” Yuan Anqing added.

“No problem!” Zhuo’s smile was no longer predatory; he was genuinely happy.

Yuan Anqing breathed a sigh of relief, thinking the trouble was over. He was wrong.

As they walked back, Yuan Anqing noticed a pack of cigarettes at a small corner shop. He habitually reached for them, only for his arm to be caught in a vice-like grip.

“You can’t smoke,” Zhuo declared.

“Why?” Yuan Anqing’s brows furrowed.

“While tobacco shortening your lifespan is a net positive for the world, I don’t tolerate secondhand smoke,” Zhuo stated matter-of-factly. “We are civilized beings. You need to be civilized.”

Yuan Anqing had so few pleasures left; he didn’t want them stripped away. “I can smoke in the restroom.”

“My nose is sensitive. I’ll smell it through the door,” Zhuo refused. “I won’t allow tobacco in my space. If you buy them, I’ll soak them in water.”

This troublesome creature was not just threatening his life; he was stifling his very soul. Yuan Anqing felt a headache brewing, but then he spotted a potential argument. He pointed behind Zhuo.

A subspecies was passing by, a cigarette dangling from its mouth. This particular individual had a head like a featureless, smooth shuttle, with four eyeballs floating around it in a slow orbit. Noticing them staring, the subspecies waved a friendly hand.

That was when Yuan Anqing noticed the creature’s mouth was located in the center of its palm.

Yuan Anqing had intended to point out that plenty of people smoked here. But before he could say a word, Zhuo had already lunged.

The shuttle-headed subspecies was pinned to the pavement in seconds.

“Hey, don’t kill—”

“Call the police!” Zhuo interrupted.

“What?” Yuan Anqing was bewildered.

“Smoking in public is forbidden in this district, and it incurs a heavy fine!” Zhuo’s face contorted with a terrifying, self-righteous fury. “No one smokes in front of me! No one breaks the rules!”

He was becoming increasingly agitated, his skin flushing a dark, bruised purple—a hint of his true form leaking through.

“Call the police!” Zhuo snarled. He wasn’t a fool; he knew he couldn’t kill anyone while his “leash” was active, but he could certainly use the law to satisfy his aggression.

Twelve minutes later, at the local station.

The police officer sighed, rubbing his temples. “Usually, people don’t call us for a sidewalk smoking violation.”

Yuan Anqing kept his head low, dying of embarrassment. “I apologize for the trouble.”

“Your friend… has a very strong sense of civic duty,” the officer commented, his own eyes heavy with dark circles.

“I am so sorry,” Yuan Anqing muttered. He had faced many things, but this level of public humiliation was new.

“A sense of morality is a good thing,” the officer said slowly, taking a sip of lukewarm tea. “Do you want a commendation? I suppose we have to give one for a formal report.”

Yuan Anqing looked up, horrified. “Please, do not put my name on that document.”

Outside the police station, Zhuo carried his six massive bottles of soda, looking smug.

“Those officers smelled like an ashtray,” Zhuo complained.

“Because they’re overworked and stressed,” Yuan Anqing replied, holding up a small slip of paper.

Zhuo squinted. “What is that ugly thing?”

“‘Outstanding Citizen Award: Mr. Zhuo,'” Yuan Anqing read aloud in his usual deadpan voice. “Your first commendation. I’m going to frame it and hang it on the living room wall.”

Zhuo’s body stiffened. “Are you mocking me? Hmm?”

Yuan Anqing reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, cheap red paper flower—the kind given to primary schoolers. “I specifically asked for this, too. Do you want to wear it on your chest?”

“Your mockery has gone too far,” Zhuo narrowed his eyes, a dangerous smile returning. “You’d best enjoy your sleep, Savior. If you keep pushing me, I’ll make sure your death is anything but quick.”

“I’ve already taken a photo of the award and sent it to Mr. Bai Tian,” Yuan Anqing said, completely unperturbed. “He sent back a ‘thumbs up’ emoji.”

Zhuo: “…”

“Do you think he’s shared it in the agency’s main group chat yet? He mentioned they have a big staff group. You’re probably the talk of the office.”

Zhuo: “Shut up!”