The moment Rong Jiqiao saw the message, her heart almost stopped. Her pulse thundered in her chest as she quickly deleted it and blocked the number.
She didn’t let Duan Yan notice anything unusual.
In her past life, she had spent too long in that world of vice and vanity—constantly surrounded by wealthy, overweight bosses or self-styled intellectuals. She had received so many bags and pieces of jewelry that she couldn’t even count them anymore.
But no matter how hard she racked her brain, she couldn’t remember who exactly had given this Chanel bag. Even after digging through memories from both lives, there was nothing.
Afraid that being idle would make her slip up in front of Duan Yan, she proactively said she would cook.
Duan Yan stood up. “It’s fine, I’ll do it.”
She softened her voice. “No, it’s okay. You carried so much today, just rest. I’ll just make something simple.”
“Alright.”
She grabbed her phone and headed quickly into the kitchen.
While preparing ingredients, her mind was still elsewhere.
Then the screen lit up again with a cold white glow.
Unknown number:
[Heard you moved?]
She stared at those words and nearly cut her finger with the kitchen knife.
Cold sweat instantly crawled down her back.
How did this person know she had moved?
She had only just moved today. Apart from Old Zhao and Duan Yan, no one else knew. This was definitely not a normal spam message.
She clenched her teeth and quickly blocked the number again.
Less than ten minutes later, her phone vibrated again.
A new unfamiliar number:
[What did I do this time to upset you again? Blocking me again?]
Rong Jiqiao: “……”
Of course I blocked you because I don’t want messages from you!
Is this person stupid?!
Do they not have even basic social awareness?!
……
After dinner and washing up, Duan Yan still noticed that something was off about her.
“What’s wrong?”
His voice was steady, emotionless, but his gaze had already landed on her tense shoulders.
Rong Jiqiao snapped back to attention and forced a smile.
“Nothing,” she said stiffly. “Just tired. We moved around a lot today.”
Duan Yan stared at her for a few seconds.
Her eyes were unfocused, avoiding his gaze. Even her fingers were nervously picking at something.
The edge of the newly bought bedsheet.
He didn’t expose her obvious attempt to hide it. Instead, he got up and went into the bathroom to wash up.
“Then sleep early.”
At night, the streetlight outside seeped through the gap in the curtains, stretching long streaks of light across the wooden floor.
Rong Jiqiao lay with her eyes closed, tossing and turning but unable to fall asleep. Her mind was filled with those two persistent, ghost-like messages, her nerves stretched to the breaking point.
The mattress behind her dipped slightly.
Duan Yan turned over, stretched an arm out, and pulled her directly into his embrace from behind.
His arm tightened, leaving no space between them.
Through the thin fabric of their sleepwear, the steady warmth of his body mixed with the faint scent of laundry detergent continuously pressed against her.
She stiffened for a moment.
Duan Yan said nothing.
No explanation, no questions—he just held her, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head, breathing slow and steady.
As if he simply wanted to hold her.
Rong Jiqiao stared into the darkness ahead, her heartbeat slowly slipping out of rhythm.
At that moment, she almost turned around and told him.
Told him someone was following her. That someone knew they had moved.
But reason forced that sentence back down her throat.
She couldn’t say it.
If Duan Yan knew, he would definitely investigate—the surveillance, the source, who she had been in contact with recently.
Once he started digging, everything from her past life—the things she couldn’t see the light of day, the lies she had told, even the truth about that medical bill back then—could be exposed at any time.
Keeping the secret meant survival.
She bit down on her tongue, using the pain to force herself awake.
The room was quiet. Only the occasional chirping of insects outside. The streetlight cast long, thin shadows across the floor.
On impulse, she turned over to face him.
In the darkness, she could only barely make out his profile. A straight nose bridge, a sharp jawline, eyelashes resting low over his eyes—he looked like he was watching her, or perhaps staring into some empty space behind her.
This man rarely said unnecessary words during the day, his gaze always indifferent, as if he didn’t care about anything.
But when he pulled her into his arms, there was not a single moment of hesitation.
Her throat tightened.
Softly, she asked, “Are you—”
“Are you asleep?”
Duan Yan didn’t respond.
After a few seconds of silence, he gave a low “Mm.”
Clearly, he wasn’t asleep.
Something inside Rong Jiqiao trembled slightly, but she forced herself to suppress it.
She turned her face away and buried her chin against his chest, lowering her voice.
“Then go to sleep.”
Duan Yan didn’t answer.
His palm pressed lightly against her back—steady, neither heavy nor light—as if soothing something.
In the darkness, Duan Yan opened his eyes.
The faint light from outside reflected in his pupils.
He looked at the back of her head, feeling the tension in her body.
She was hiding something from him.
But he didn’t speak, didn’t withdraw his hand.
He didn’t even ask.
He simply tightened his arm, holding her more firmly against his chest.
……
The next day after work, Rong Jiqiao changed out of her uniform and walked out of the dressing room.
At the entrance of the clinic, Zhu Xiaoyue was leaning against the glass door, scrolling on her phone.
As Rong Jiqiao passed by, Zhu Xiaoyue glanced at her, the corner of her lips curling into a half-smile before she lowered her head again.
Rong Jiqiao ignored her and pushed the door open.
The evening wind carried a slight chill. The smell of fried street skewers drifted through the air.
A black Mercedes was parked by the roadside. Xiao Le stepped out of the driver’s seat with his hands in his pockets, walking toward the clinic entrance.
Just as he was about to greet Zhu Xiaoyue, his peripheral vision caught a figure.
Duan Yan was leaning against an electric scooter, wearing a dark blue security uniform, head slightly lowered as he looked at his phone.
Xiao Le’s steps suddenly stopped.
He stared at that side profile, and something in his mind suddenly exploded.
Half a year ago, he had accompanied a client to a banquet—an event hosted by the Duan Group.
On the large screen in the banquet hall, a memorial video of the late chairman, Duan Chi, was playing on loop.
Back then, he had only glanced at it casually; it had nothing to do with him.
But now, that face suddenly became clear in his memory.
The bridge of the nose, the brow bone, the jawline.
The young man in the security uniform in front of him… and the middle-aged man in that video…
Seven or eight parts alike.