*Can I Get a Reward?*
Song Qingxu rarely got angry.
People she’d worked with in the industry often praised her for her good temper. Aside from an aloof exterior, she had never once quarreled with colleagues.
Most of the time, she kept to herself. Whatever others did or said hardly mattered to her.
But this time was different. She was actually upset—over something Yuan Lai had said.
If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be angry.
Did that mean she’d started to care about Yuan Lai?
No. Impossible.
Whether she was unwilling or simply afraid to admit it, Song Qingxu shot down the thought before it could take root.
Their marriage was a business arrangement—mutual need, mutual benefit. When the time came, they would go their separate ways. She would never waste her attention on Yuan Lai.
Whether that was “wouldn’t” or “wasn’t allowed to,” only Song Qingxu herself knew.
Yuan Lai, realizing she had misspoken, immediately apologized. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.”
Because she’d read the original story, she knew Xia Shaoshao harbored feelings for Song Qingxu and didn’t want the two to get too close. But there was no way she could explain that to her. The words tangled up on her tongue, and she grew flustered.
Standing in front of Song Qingxu, she didn’t know what to do with her hands or feet.
She wanted forgiveness, yet feared that saying more would only make things worse—make Song Qingxu dislike her even more. Her fingers twitched anxiously at her sides.
Song Qingxu took a deep breath. Her face betrayed no anger; she wore the same poised mask as always. But her voice, calm and even, cut straight into Yuan Lai like the edge of a blade.
She said—
“It’s fine. I don’t care what you say.”
The more she cared, the harder she denied it.
In that instant, Yuan Lai felt as if she’d plunged into an ice cellar. Tiny needle-sharp icicles pierced through her veins, freezing her blood solid.
Even her heartbeat seemed to grind to a halt.
Her mouth opened, but all the words she’d prepared stuck behind her teeth. She could only stare blankly at Song Qingxu’s shadow.
Song Qingxu, as if unaware how cutting her words were, didn’t look at Yuan Lai at all—just calmly wiped the wild fruit juice from her hands with a tissue.
Only she knew how bitter the pulp tasted in her mouth.
Half the fruit still remained, but she no longer had any appetite.
Just like before, she raised her walls again, sealing herself away. It was the only way to block out harm.
But it also shut out warmth.
Her lashes trembled as she lowered her gaze, casting long shadows beneath her eyes. She hid herself in that darkness, quietly tending to her own wounds.
She was the one who’d said the hurtful words. So why was she the one feeling miserable?
The dim shelter flickered under the weak glow of the camping lamp, their shadows pooling heavy on the walls. The darkness around them felt like a yawning maw, ready to swallow them whole.
Song Qingxu stood barely a step away, yet Yuan Lai felt as if mountains and rivers now lay between them—and that Song Qingxu was drifting even farther away.
No. She couldn’t accept that.
A warm palm covered Song Qingxu’s cold hand—just a light touch, fingertips trembling.
Hoarsely, Yuan Lai murmured, “It’s… it’s okay. It doesn’t matter if you don’t care about me.”
Inside, she whispered: It’s enough if I care about you.
Song Qingxu flinched but didn’t pull away. She didn’t even glance at Yuan Lai.
Yuan Lai’s eyes, however, were fixed wholly on her.
“What I meant earlier was… if you get too close to Xia Shaoshao, the haters will come after you. They’ll say you don’t know how to keep boundaries. I didn’t mean there was anything between you two.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t explain myself well” Yuan Lai added.
Song Qingxu replied, “So just because we’re married, I can’t talk to anyone else? How does that make sense?”
Relieved to hear Song Qingxu actually respond, Yuan Lai’s heart loosened. “Of course you can! I was being narrow-minded.”
She’d tried to live like a saint, giving haters no excuse to attack. But even if you were perfect, flawless, some people would still hate you.
They didn’t care about right or wrong—they only cared about hurting you.
“It was my fault. I shouldn’t have lectured you, the victim, instead of calling out those brainless attackers.”
“Be yourself. If the haters make noise, I’ll handle them.”
They weren’t just empty words—they were a promise from Yuan Lai.
Song Qingxu didn’t know what was wrong with her—getting upset over a single comment, then softening again at an explanation.
She couldn’t remember the last time her emotions had been so volatile.
Was she… in her susceptibility period?
She cautiously released a faint thread of pheromones, then quickly pulled it back.
Good. Her control was precise, no accidental leaks. Physically, she felt fine.
But then a sound reached her ears—fast, shallow breathing. Looking up, she saw Yuan Lai’s cheeks flushed, panting heavily in a way that was impossible to ignore.
Only belatedly did she realize the culprit was her own pheromone release. This time, she was the one to apologize.
In the cramped space, the light scent of honeysuckle lingered stubbornly around Yuan Lai’s nose.
Her face flushed even redder, prompting Song Qingxu to ask, “Are you okay? Do you need—”
Before she could finish, a burst of citrusy pheromones rushed out.
Now both their faces were flushed.
“I meant, do you need me to step outside,” Song Qingxu snapped, voice softer than usual—almost like a mild scolding. To Yuan Lai’s ears, it only made her heart race faster.
Lowering her voice, Yuan Lai murmured, “In… in our current state, going outside isn’t an option.”
The crew had gone off-duty, leaving only the automated cameras running. Most guests were inside by now, but plenty of viewers still watched the livestream.
If they stepped out looking like this—flushed as boiled shrimp—someone would notice.
“Stay away from me,” Song Qingxu said, breathing unevenly. “Once the pheromones dissipate, we’ll be fine.”
“But…” Yuan Lai glanced at the sealed doors and windows. “That might take a while to happen.”
She suggested, “Then why don’t we—”
“Shut up!” Song Qingxu cut her off instantly. “Don’t even think about it!”
Yuan Lai wasn’t suffering much—just flushed and breathing hard. Song Qingxu, however, was clearly more affected.
Her cheeks burned scarlet, her temperature rising. Beneath her hair, her glands ached faintly.
She clenched her fists so hard her nails bit into her palms—until another pair of hands gently pried them open.
Yuan Lai laced her fingers around them.
“If it’s too much, you can dig your nails into me. I can take it.”
She looked down at the crescent marks in Song Qingxu’s palms, eyes clouded with distress.
Song Qingxu didn’t scratch her, didn’t speak. Her eyes were half-lidded, hazy.
Still, Yuan Lai could feel the tension in her curled fingers, the strength she was holding back so she wouldn’t hurt anyone.
“Don’t hold back,” Yuan Lai coaxed softly. “Do whatever you want. I’ll support you no matter what you decide.”
Her voice was like a witch’s charm, coaxing hidden desires to the surface.
Follow your heart.
Song Qingxu asked herself—what did she want most right now?
Her mind could no longer reason, only answer with instinct.
She tilted her pale, graceful neck in silent invitation.
Yuan Lai didn’t move right away. Instead, she released her pheromones again, letting the faint honeysuckle scent nearly fade away.
Before it disappeared completely, she leaned closer and breathed it in.
“The flowers smell so sweet.”
Then she bent down and pressed her lips to Song Qingxu’s back. Her shoulder blades rose and fell with each breath, like a snow-covered ridge beginning to thaw and reveal the soft lines beneath.
“Can I have a little more of that fragrance?” she murmured, voice full of teasing plea.
The only reply was the sound of Song Qingxu’s breathing.
Fresh from her shower, Song Qingxu wore only a thin layer of clothing. Yuan Lai’s warm palm met her heated skin, her temperature radiating through the fabric.
The summer night carried a faint, restless heat. Song Qingxu parted her lips, trying to draw in cooler air—only to find the shelter had no air conditioner, not even a fan. The heat pressed down on them in waves.
“…Hot,” she whispered.
Hot?
Yuan Lai disappeared for only a moment, then returned with a mouthful of cold water. Sliding an arm around the soft, pliant Song Qingxu, she lowered her head and sealed her lips.
Like a parched traveler finding an oasis, Song Qingxu eagerly drew in the coolness.
The water was precious. When a few drops slipped down the corner of her mouth, Yuan Lai didn’t let them go to waste.
She dipped her head, catching the escaping droplets before they could fall.
Once she’d claimed that last bead of water, she didn’t pull back. Instead, she lingered—savoring, exploring, coaxing.
She was patient, like an artisan honing her craft, learning with each touch until the movements flowed with ease.
She allowed Song Qingxu moments to breathe, gauging every reaction.
Under the dim light, Song Qingxu’s lips glistened a ripe peach-red, as if one bite would spill sweet juice.
Yuan Lai wanted a taste.
Staring at those lips, she swallowed hard.
She couldn’t say how many times she leaned in again—only that every time she caught them, they were sweeter than any fruit.