At the dinner table, Wen Li poked at the rice in her bowl with her chopsticks, caught up in her own thoughts.
She was still mulling over what had happened upstairs.
Was my plan wrong? Does Ji Zongting actually like clingy women?
Impossible.
After mulling it over, Wen Li arrived at a conclusion.
Pent-up. He has to be pent-up.
Ji Zongting was twenty-nine this year. According to what she had learned in her last life, he had never had a woman before her. Not after the marriage either. Five years married in her last life, and she had been the idlest Madam Ji in the world. In wealthy circles, what wife didn’t have to swat away a few pretty things throwing themselves at her husband now and then? She alone had never personally dealt with a single rival.
It wasn’t that no women had thrown themselves at Ji Zongting. Quite the opposite. Plenty had. From A-list actresses to noble young ladies, every type imaginable. But before any of them could dance their way in front of her, Ji Zongting had disposed of them himself.
She had once suspected he had some kind of spiritual fastidiousness. Otherwise, how could a man in his position live so ascetically? Or maybe the words “love” and “desire” simply didn’t exist in his dictionary, and he had no need of them.
Either way, a man who had been abstinent for twenty-nine years was pent up to the point of being a powder keg. A single spark and he’d blow.
So that reaction earlier definitely wasn’t because of her. Anyone could have groped him and he would have reacted the same.
That thought settled her mood nicely.
She picked up a piece of braised pork rib and put it in her mouth, and bit down on a piece of ginger. The spicy bite exploded on her tongue. Her brows drew together, and she instinctively moved to swallow it.
That was how it had been in her last life.
She had been a terribly picky eater since childhood. No ginger, no garlic, no scallions, no cilantro. Half the dishes on a table she wouldn’t touch. After marrying Ji Zongting, to maintain that gentle, virtuous, uncomplaining wife persona, she had forced herself to become someone who ate anything and had no preferences. Whatever the housekeeper cooked, she ate. However much it disagreed with her, she smiled and swallowed it, never once furrowing her brow.
But now. Why should she keep shortchanging herself?
Wen Li spat the ginger onto her plate with a sharp pfft, slapped her chopsticks down on the table, and pitched her voice into full spoiled-brat mode. “I don’t eat ginger! No ginger in the dishes next time!”
Auntie Zhou, serving at the side, froze for a beat, her face uncertain. Her gaze drifted instinctively toward Ji Zongting at the head of the table. In this house, the master’s preferences came first. How would braised pork ribs be cooked without ginger to cut the gaminess? The master had always loved this dish.
“But the master…” Auntie Zhou began cautiously.
“Listen to Madam.”
Ji Zongting’s voice drifted over, cool. He didn’t look up, his expression as distant and indifferent as ever, as if this small matter was beneath his notice.
Auntie Zhou nodded quickly and reached for the plate of ribs. “Yes, Madam. I’ll take the dish back to the kitchen and make you a fresh portion without ginger.”
“Wait.”
Wen Li stopped her, her finger tapping lazily on the table to indicate one dish after another. “This, this, this, and this. No ginger, garlic, or scallions from now on. And no cilantro. For meat, I only eat fish, shrimp, and chicken breast. Red meat has to be prepared until there’s no gaminess left at all before I’ll touch it. Vegetables have to be organic. Nothing left over from the day before.”
She rattled off a long list, singling out most of the dishes on the table.
She’d had these quirks back at the Wen house. Wen Xiyue used to scold her every time, “How are you going to grow tall with all this picky eating,” then tell Auntie Liu to remake everything to her taste while he was scolding.
In her last life she had hidden all these picky habits away. This life, she was going to spill every one of them out.
Picky, troublesome, high-maintenance. A woman like this, surely Ji Zongting would be sick of her.
She recited the list while sneaking glances at his expression.
Ji Zongting heard her out in silence, set down his chopsticks, and turned to Auntie Zhou. “Note Madam’s preferences. From now on, all three meals are to be made to her taste.”
Auntie Zhou nodded repeatedly and pulled out her phone to jot it all down.
Wen Li couldn’t help herself. She wrinkled her nose and eyed him with suspicion. “You don’t think I’m a hassle?”
Ji Zongting picked up his water glass and took a light sip, expression unruffled. “Just picky eating. If you don’t like these things, have the hospital put together a custom vitamin supplement for you. That’s enough to make up the trace elements your body needs.”
Wen Li was completely thrown.
How was this turning out so differently from what she’d imagined?
Shouldn’t he be frowning, looking annoyed, thinking his wife was far too much trouble? Why was he arranging custom vitamins for her?
Ji Zongting, are you following the script or not?
The meal ended amid Wen Li’s confusion and Ji Zongting’s calm.
After dinner, Ji Zongting went upstairs. Wen Li lingered in the living room downstairs for a while before heading up, tense.
Tonight was the wedding night. It wasn’t her first time, but tense was tense.
She showered, changed into her bathrobe, took a deep breath in front of the mirror. She pushed the door open and stepped out, ready to face the first round of tonight’s head-on battle.
The bedroom was empty.
Wen Li blinked. She turned her head and looked.
The door to the study next door stood wide open, bright light spilling out through the doorway, announcing the master’s whereabouts.
She walked over. Ji Zongting was seated behind the desk, a pair of gold-rimmed glasses on his face that somehow made his already handsome features look even more refined and dangerous. He faced his computer, his long fingers tapping the keyboard now and then, expression focused and cold. He didn’t so much as glance toward the bedroom.
On their wedding night, her new husband was working overtime in his study.
Wen Li stood there a moment, turning it over in her head.
No. This didn’t happen in my last life.
In her last life, when she came out of the shower, he was already waiting in the bedroom. Tonight, though, he had hidden himself away in the study.
So my acting worked?
The corner of Wen Li’s mouth had just started to curl before she forced it back down.
She was happy the plan was working, but being brushed off still stung.
Hmph. Then don’t come. As if anyone was looking forward to it.
She took off her bathrobe and changed into her pajamas, then climbed into bed, pulled the covers up, and lay down with her back to the outside, huffing.
Fine. I’ll sleep first.
Wen Li had barely lain down for two minutes when a soft, even tread came up behind her, and the mattress dipped slightly.
A warm, large hand settled on her shoulder. The thin silk of her nightgown was no barrier against the heat of his palm. It burned, and her shoulder twitched.
“What’s wrong?” Ji Zongting’s voice came from above, low and probing.
Wen Li, back still to him, yanked the covers tighter and let her voice come out drenched in pique. “I thought my husband was looking forward to tonight as much as I was. It’s our wedding night, and you’re still working. Forget it. I’m going to sleep.”
Yes. She was making a fuss over nothing.
The air went quiet for a beat.
Then a pair of strong arms reached around from behind and gathered Wen Li, blankets and all, into a warm, broad embrace. Ji Zongting’s chin rested on the top of her head, his chest pressed to her back.
“Wen Li. I was looking forward to it.” His voice was low.
His warm breath tickled her ear, but she wasn’t about to let him off. “You were looking forward to it? Looking forward to what? Looking forward to overtime, more like…”
“If I didn’t go do something to distract myself,” Ji Zongting’s voice dropped, faintly hoarse, his arms tightening, “I was afraid I’d scare you.”
Wen Li froze.
That sentence carried far too much.
She managed to turn in his arms and tilt her face up to meet his gaze. The bedside lamp fell on his face, and that face, usually so cold it bordered on heartless, was churning with a desire she had never seen before. His dark eyes were deep, like a beast inside deciding whether to devour.
Is this still Ji Zongting?
Wen Li’s eyes went wide, her gaze traveling over his face as if she were trying to work out whether he had been swapped for someone else.
She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could make a sound, Ji Zongting had already leaned down over her.
One hand cradled her cheek, his thumb brushing softly across her lips, gentle. His hot mouth pressed lightly to her tender lips, a brief taste, a touch and gone.
After the kiss, he drew back half an inch, his forehead against hers, their breath tangling.
“Before… have you ever?”
Wen Li’s heart was hammering so hard it was about to leap out of her throat, her head dizzy as if she’d been drinking. She shook her head honestly. “N-no.”
Ji Zongting let out a low laugh. It was soft, a faint vibration in his chest that passed into her body and sent a shiver of numbness through her. When he smiled, the sinister edge between his brows eased, and there was something almost tender in it.
“Good girl.”
He lowered his head and kissed her deeply.