A wave of overwhelming panic surged through her, and Song Man suppressed the tremor in her voice.
“I’m applying medicine… it stings a bit. Is there something you need, Sister Shen?”
There was a brief silence on the other end, followed by a light laugh.
“It’s nothing major. I just wanted to ask—can you come with me in a few days to try on the engagement dress?”
“After all, you’re Junyan’s niece, and he dotes on you the most. Whatever you pick, he’s sure to love it.”
Those words hit her like a bucket of ice water, jolting Song Man awake.
She couldn’t stop herself from shivering. “Okay.”
“Then it’s settled!”
“It’s getting late—rest well, Man’er! Recover quickly!”
Song Man listened to the dial tone, turned off the screen, and her eyes, brimming with a tangle of emotions, were reflected back at her.
She raised a hand to cover them, her palm-sized face cast into a small patch of shadow.
Noticing her unusual behavior, Song Junyan reached out to pull her hand away.
The little one was surprisingly strong—his first tug didn’t budge her, but he caught a glint of moisture at her temple.
Song Junyan’s eyes darkened. “What did she say to you?”
Song Man shook her head.
“I told you not to meddle.”
His voice had clearly softened.
Song Man looked up at him.
He had a pair of peach-blossom eyes that made anyone he looked at seem the object of his affection.
Right now, he looked at her that way—and that afternoon, he’d looked at Shen Zhiyin the same way.
She looked away, a lump of frustration stuck in her chest. “And in the future? Still not meddle?”
His brows slowly knitted together. “Man’er.”
Song Man paused, ignoring his warning, and continued, “Miss Shen invited me to accompany her the day after tomorrow to pick out your engagement dress—I agreed.”
She bit out the last few words.
She was stating a fact, but also telling him her decision.
Song Junyan came from a prestigious family. After coming of age, he’d taken over his father’s business. His background and ability were nothing short of astonishing—some even secretly called him “the Little Crown Prince.” Naturally, everyone flattered him, curried favor with him, afraid of earning his cold glare.
In a single day, she’d given him a sour face twice.
Song Junyan’s temper flared. He pulled his hand away, wiping the ointment carelessly on the bedsheet.
“Whatever you want.”
…
Song Man had a wound on her knee. Ruan Wenhua, afraid it would leave a scar, wouldn’t let her go to school or move around much.
Song Man stayed cooped up in bed for a few days, and for those same days, she didn’t see Song Junyan.
Despite the relationship between them, on the surface they were still uncle and niece across generations—so they had to stay even more hidden than the illicit birds that couldn’t see the light.
They’d been sneaking around for years. At first, it might have felt thrilling, but over time it faded, grew tiring, and turned stale.
Besides, she’d said what she’d said that day, and Song Junyan wasn’t the type to lower himself.
Perhaps he’d silently accepted her decision.
Song Man pushed aside the aching, swollen pain in her heart, got up, picked out a pair of high-waisted jeans and a white ruffled camisole, and headed downstairs.
Ruan Wenhua was listening to music in the living room, a plate of cut fruit arranged beside her. When Song Man came down, she didn’t ask if she wanted any.
She knew Song Man had agreed to try on dresses with Shen Zhiyin today.
“Pick one out for yourself too. Your little uncle is getting engaged—as his niece, you can’t lose face.”
Afraid Song Man wouldn’t take it to heart, she added another reminder.
“Don’t underestimate that little shop—the tailor’s skill is top-notch. Many officials’ wives line up for her scissors.”
Song Man paused, nodded to say she understood, and headed out the door.
The Shen family’s car was already waiting at the entrance.
A Mercedes-Maybach S450.
The Song family always claimed to be incorruptible and clean, so a car like that was a bit eye-catching to drive in.
But the Shen family were wealthy merchants who’d made their fortune in logistics. The car suited their status while also showing how much they valued the Song family.
Rich, and knowing the rules—marrying Song Junyan might be marrying up, but she’d be easy to control, and there was no fear of messy complications down the road.
No wonder Elder Song had agreed to the match.
Elder Song’s word carried immense weight. Once he agreed, it was set in stone.
As for her—what she thought didn’t matter.
She really should let go now.
Song Man approached the car, forcing a smile onto her face. “Sister Shen, sorry to keep you wait—”
The door opened inch by inch, each inch revealing Song Junyan’s face in the back seat.
Song Man’s heart lurched.
Why was he here too?