That voice sounded somewhat similar to Li Moyuan’s.
Wen Zhiyu froze.
“Your contact information.”
Li Moyuan’s voice was deep but exceptionally clear.
Wen Zhiyu shook her head, then recited her number.
Before long, a stranger sent a friend request, and Wen Zhiyu tapped accept.
She set it aside for now—since the other party wouldn’t be back for a while, she still had time to earn money.
“Zhizhi, don’t worry, my young master is a good person.”
Wen Zhiyu nodded and ate with Li Mei.
What’s done is done—let’s eat first.
While Li Moyuan was eating, he received an uninvited guest.
A handsome man walked in, glanced at the food on the table, then joined in on his own, asking a servant to bring him chopsticks.
“How outrageous—you’re sneaking a meal behind my back.”
Lu Chen grumbled, and Li Moyuan shot him a glance.
“Bro, do me a favor.”
“What favor?”
Li Moyuan leaned back, picked up his coffee, and took a sip.
“Help me get a girl’s contact info.”
He placed his phone in front of Li Moyuan.
On it was a Moments post Li Manzhu had shared, which Lu Chen had liked.
He’d asked who the other girl was, and Li Manzhu had replied with a rolling-eyes emoji.
The two girls sat together—one soft and adorable, the other clever and mischievous.
They were eating barbecue and crayfish.
Li Moyuan’s fingers paused, and his gaze shifted again to the girl resting her chin on her hand, looking at the camera.
Her playful expression couldn’t hide her sweetness.
“She works at your restaurant and knows your sister. She and I are destined.”
Li Moyuan looked at him with a half-smile. “You’ve done quite a bit of digging.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“You’re close with your sister—help me get her contact info.”
Li Moyuan tapped his fingers lightly on the table. “You haven’t recognized her?”
“Who? I know her? See, we really are destined.”
“She’s Wen Zhiyu.”
“The little tyrant.”
Lu Chen stood up and looked at the phone again.
The girl in the photo had not a single thing in common with the little tyrant.
“How is that possible?”
Li Moyuan patted him on the shoulder.
Lu Chen didn’t believe it—what could he do about that?
After sending the dejected Lu Chen on his way, a message popped up on his phone from Little Fairy.
Little Fairy: [Had such bad luck today, got into a car accident.]
Little Fairy: [Brother, my knee hurts so much.]
Little Fairy: [Wuwuwu.]
Li Moyuan called her directly via video, and Wen Zhiyu answered.
“What happened?”
“My scooter crashed into someone’s car.”
“The other party paid you?”
“No, I paid them.”
“Hm?”
Wen Zhiyu bit her finger sheepishly. “My scooter accidentally hit a car that was parked.”
After three seconds of silence, Li Moyuan let out a slow, low chuckle. “Truly careless indeed.”
Wen Zhiyu felt he was laughing at her and pouted.
“Good thing you refused to ride on the back of my scooter—thank you for not killing me.”
Her delicate cheeks flushed hot, and she tried desperately to defend herself.
“That was just because I wasn’t familiar with it at first—I’m not a road hazard.”
Li Moyuan hummed softly in response. “Let me see the wound.”
Wen Zhiyu sat on the carpet, bent her knee, and aimed the camera at the injury.
Her knee was red and swollen, the surrounding skin fair and smooth with no visible pores.
In contrast, it looked quite badly hurt.
Her skin was silky, and the skirt hadn’t caught on it, revealing a stretch of thigh that invited the imagination to wander.
The expression on Li Moyuan’s face was unreadable. He walked to the sofa, loosened his tie, and sat down.
His Adam’s apple rolled slowly.
“I’ll call a doctor for you.”
“It’s fine, I still have the ointment you gave me.”
Having been injured so many times, Wen Zhiyu was well-versed in treating wounds.
Once she finished tending to it, Li Moyuan asked about something else.
“How do you know my surname is Li?”
The cotton swab in her hand dropped to the floor. Wen Zhiyu’s mind went into overdrive, racking her brain for when she’d let it slip.
She thought it over once and couldn’t recall, so she nervously swallowed.
“When did I ever call you Mr. Li?”
“Last night.” Li Moyuan paused, then added, “When you were drunk.”
Wen Zhiyu scrolled up through their chat history and saw a call lasting an hour. Her whole body tensed up.
She only remembered going to bed early last night—she didn’t remember being drunk at all. Total blackout.
“What did I say?”
She probed cautiously.
The most important thing was whether she’d exposed herself—the whole thing about using someone else’s photos for an online relationship.
“You wouldn’t let me ride on the back of your scooter.”
Wen Zhiyu fell silent.
“You called yourself ‘big sister.'”
Wen Zhiyu bit her finger. How dare she.
“You called me Mr. Li.”
Wen Zhiyu: !!
Alcohol ruins everything—she’d never drink again from now on.
Who gets knocked out by just one glass of beer?
“Was it my friend who told you to start an online relationship with me, or was it my family’s arrangement?”
Huh?
Li Moyuan’s thoughts went in a different direction.
“I was instructed by your friend, Mr. Li. I’m very sorry for deceiving your feelings. What’s fake is ultimately fake—let’s break up.”
Forget it, she’d use this chance to break up. She was tired of living in constant fear.
“As for those transfers, someone else spent them. Even though she looks like me, the person inside is different. If you want the money back, you can ask her.”
Finally finishing her words, Wen Zhiyu let out a long sigh.
There was no reply from the other end for a long time, only the sound of their breathing tangled together.
Every moment of silence was a verdict passed on Wen Zhiyu.
“Hello, Mr. Li, are you still there?”
“Should I believe you, or should I believe I’m the First Emperor of Qin?”
Li Moyuan stared at the screen and let out a cold laugh.
“I believe you’re the First Emperor.”
Wen Zhiyu’s voice grew softer and softer.
Who would believe something like book transmigration if you told them?
And yet it happened to her.
“Open the door. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
The man’s tone left no room for argument.
“No, please, I don’t want to go to a mental hospital.”
Wen Zhiyu was so scared that little pearls of tears started falling.
She had worked so hard, and still couldn’t escape her miserable fate.
“Wuwuwu…”
Li Moyuan listened to her crying, and his heart was gently tugged by a small hand.
“What are you crying about?”
“You’re going to send me to a mental hospital.”
“I’m having a doctor check whether you’ve been drinking.”
There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the line, then Li Moyuan’s voice came through with an explanation.
So that was it.
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
Wen Zhiyu blew a big bubble out of her nose, and she frantically wiped it away, thankful that Li Moyuan hadn’t seen it.
“Your skirt.”
Li Moyuan’s voice came through the phone, slightly husky.
“What about my skirt?”
She looked down and saw that the hem of her skirt had ridden up to her thighs from her earlier struggle—she was exposed.
Wen Zhiyu let out a shriek and banged her head against the cat.
She had made such a fool of herself in front of Li Moyuan.
“Forget what I just heard. No matter who put you up to this, I can let bygones be bygones. Don’t mention breaking up again. When I get back, we’ll meet.”
Li Moyuan’s tone deepened, turning serious.
He didn’t mention her exposure, which made Wen Zhiyu feel a little better.
But the mention of meeting made her want to tear her hair out.
The progress was too slow—she had to work even harder.
“What’s your blood type? Type A? No—you’re my type.”