Many people carry labels.
Some are kind-hearted, lively, and adorable.Some are gentle and quiet, thoughtful and understanding.Some are temperamental, arrogant, and domineering.
But in Zhong Nian’s eyes, Liang Yifeng was someone who could not be defined by a single word—or even a handful of them.
He was too difficult to decipher. Even back in school, he had already been someone who could control his emotions with terrifying precision. Trying to understand him, to pin a label onto him, was nearly impossible.
But after spending more time with him, Zhong Nian discovered one thing—
Liang Yifeng had terrible morning temper.
And it was severe.
That was his only label.
That rainy night, she had fallen into a deep sleep. The next morning when she woke, she found Liang Yifeng still lying on the narrow sofa. Even on something so small, his sleeping posture remained elegant. His hands rested on his abdomen, eyes closed, breathing steady.
Alongside her gratitude was a trace of guilt. She got out of bed to wake him so he could return to his room. Barefoot, she had taken only a few steps when his cold voice cut through the air:
“You’re awake?”
She stopped. “Mm.”
He slowly sat up, reaching to rub his neck. Without his glasses, she realized he actually had double eyelids—thin ones, almost hidden.
One hand held the blanket in place to prevent it from slipping. His gaze fixed on her bare feet. Then it traveled upward—to her camisole nightdress.
Zhong Nian had developed early. Beneath the thin straps, her full chest was visible. The faint morning light spilled over her pale skin, casting a soft sheen. Her collarbones were delicate, the hollow between them pronounced under two slender straps.
Red lips. White teeth.
At that hour, to Liang Yifeng—
She was lethal temptation.
His voice was like ice shards. “Go back to bed.”
She didn’t know what had happened, but his eyes were pitch-black—like a storm gathering, a tidal wave suppressed behind restraint.
She obeyed.
“Cover yourself.”
“Turn around.”
She turned.
Then she heard rustling. Moments later, her bedroom door opened—and slammed shut with a thunderous bang.
The bed trembled.
She attributed everything to—
Morning temper.
But she did not understand what every morning meant to a man in adolescence.
At least, to Liang Yifeng, after Zhong Nian had moved into the Liang residence—
Every morning was torment.
Liang Yifeng rarely used such a word.
His starting line had long been most people’s finish line. In middle school, he had already mastered high school material. By high school, when he realized he was invincible academically, he had begun testing his hand in the stock market.
Torment—
To want something yet not have it.
To burn in silent restraint.
That was how he defined it.
Like that morning.
He returned to his room wrapped in a blanket, disheveled.
Before the massive mirror in the bathroom, sweat gathered at his temples.
The bathtub filled with water, its steady stream echoing. But he remained outside, turning on the showerhead above. Icy water cascaded down.
His burning body was covered in cold droplets.
One hand braced against the wall. A restrained, suppressed groan escaped him.
The other hand moved lower. Fingers curled.
Eyes shut.
Breathing heavy.
He relieved himself in silence.
Now—
Zhong Nian looked at Liang Yifeng.
His lips were pale. In such a short time, sweat had already formed on his forehead. Damp strands of hair clung to his skin. His face was bloodless—more fragile than before. Compared to his eyes, the rest of him looked almost sickly.
When she didn’t answer, he repeated, “When did you arrive?”
She realized he was speaking to her. “About fifteen minutes ago.”
He nodded and said nothing more.
It was Shen Fang who filled the silence cheerfully:
“Third Brother, why are you here so early? Isn’t the hospital busy? Sleeping in the daytime—how strange you are!”
Liang Yifeng adjusted his glasses. His tone was flat. “Get out.”
Shen Fang clutched his chest dramatically. “You’re being mean to me!”
“Get out.”
“…Alright.”
He vanished instantly.
The enormous office was left with only the two of them.
Liang Yifeng tugged at his collar and returned to the lounge inside, leaving Zhong Nian standing alone.
She hesitated.
Should she leave?
In the end, she stayed.
She couldn’t explain why. But since he hadn’t told her to go, she didn’t dare leave either.
After all, someone she had once feared offending still stood high above her—even years later.
Liang Yifeng emerged quickly. He seemed to have showered. The scent of body wash lingered in the air. Unlike his usual tailored suits, he wore something casual today.
Late May. Early summer.
White shirt. Black tapered trousers. Long legs accentuated.
He stood before her, tall enough to block much of the overhead light.
Zhong Nian was only 163 cm tall. She usually wore flat sneakers for field reporting. Looking up at him now, she felt he seemed taller than before. In high school, he’d been 182 cm. Now—probably 185.
“What are you doing later?” he asked.
“Going home.”
“I’m heading back too. Same direction.”
He opened the door for her.
The assistant nearby stared in disbelief.
Liang Yifeng tapped on her desk. “You’re off work.”
“But President Liang—”
“Off work.”
“…Yes.”
In the parking garage, Zhong Nian froze slightly when she saw his car.
Reporters had sharp memories. Especially for faces and vehicles.
After fastening her seatbelt, she said, “I think I’ve seen this car before.”
He hummed faintly.
“When I first returned, Sui Yu nearly collided with a car like this.”
He raised a brow. “His driving skills are terrible.”
“I’m talking about the car.”
“It’s mine.”
She stared. “You?”
“Shen Fang was driving.”
Silence.
Finally she said softly, “Drive carefully in the future.”
She turned to look at the neon lights streaking past.
But inside the dim car, Liang Yifeng interpreted her words as something else.
Concern.
His grip on the steering wheel loosened slightly. His pupils contracted.
She’s in the car.
Her life is in your hands.
Calm down.
At her apartment building, she got out—then suddenly turned back and knocked on his window.
He rolled it down.
“Do you have time?”
“Why?”
“I owe you dinner.”
“Now?”
“Mm. If you’re not busy.”
He was busy.
Very busy.
A week’s worth of documents awaited his signature.
But he smiled faintly. “Not busy.”
She cooked quickly.
Three dishes and a soup.
From the sofa, he watched her silhouette through the slightly open kitchen door.
He fell asleep.
When he woke, dinner was ready.
They ate in silence.
It was nearly nine when they finished.
Outside, rain poured heavily. Wind whipped through newly green trees. Raindrops battered the windows.
He stood on the balcony, back to her, lost in thought.
“I’ll go,” he said.
“I’ll walk you down.”
Outside, the storm was violent.
They stood in the lobby, watching sheets of rain.
“I’m leaving,” he said.
He had taken only a few steps when her voice stopped him.
“Liang Yifeng.”
Soft. Slightly trembling.
“Don’t go.”
He stopped. A smile flickered unseen before he turned back, face once again indifferent.
“Mm?”
“Stay here tonight. There’s a guest room.”
The exhaustion between his brows was obvious. He’d been coughing all evening—likely lingering effects from getting drenched before. Driving in this weather required intense focus.
She wasn’t at ease.
Besides—
They had lived together before.
He adjusted his glasses. His cough broke his voice into fragments.
“Okay.”
“She’s Zhong Nian.”
“Mm.”
“There’s ‘heart’ in her name, but she has no heart.”
“Because her heart is with me.”
Liang Yifeng touched the spot beneath his collarbone.
The tattoo there seemed to burn.
“You’re insane.”
“…Heh.”