Temperature…
Nan Zhi felt her body temperature had long since exceeded the standard. No, far beyond standard, she was practically overheating, like a boiling kettle where every single inch was scorching hot.
She restlessly shifted her hips just a fraction.
If Fu Minglin touched her again, even just once, she would completely explode.
Yet, Fu Minglin made no further move.
Even the palm that had been resting on the back of Nan Zhi’s neck was pulled away.
The faint, lingering cloud of emotion dissipated in an instant. Realizing her own aversion, Nan Zhi hurriedly snapped out of it.
The cup of milk—steady and held for so long that it had already gone completely cold—finally spilled over, soaking into the fabric of Nan Zhi’s nightgown.
“What are you afraid of?”
Even though the distance had already been established between them, Nan Zhi still felt as though the voice was pressed directly against her ear.
At that moment, Fu Minglin had resumed her posture of resting her cheek in one hand.
Lounging softly in the sofa, she leisurely sized up the person before her. “Am I that terrifying?”
Hearing that question, Nan Zhi shook her head immediately, though what slipped out of her mouth instead was: “I’m sorry.”
Apologizing seemed to have already become Nan Zhi’s reflex.
Yet this time, it caused Fu Minglin’s expression to darken abruptly.
“I don’t like it.”
Ever since moving into the Fu household, this was the first time Nan Zhi had witnessed such a direct shift in Fu Minglin’s emotions.
The two little tiger fangs at the corner of her lips were no longer visible.
Those amber eyes were filled with irritation, so much so that even the small red mole beneath her eye seemed to carry emotion.
Nan Zhi instinctively went to apologize again, but swallowed the words right before they crossed her lips.
She nodded and said obediently, “I’ll change.”
The things you dislike.
I’ll change them all.
This answer seemed to be the correct response.
And so, Nan Zhi watched as those eyes lit up once more.
“Oh?” Fu Minglin’s voice was very soft, present yet ethereal: “Will you change everything?”
Her gaze slowly drifted, pregnant with meaning.
Her shallow breathing was intertwined with the warmth and fragrance constantly radiating from her body, acting like a tether.
The string controlling the puppet was slowly tightening around her throat.
Yet Nan Zhi remained entirely oblivious, nodding proactively. “I’ll change everything.”
“The things you dislike,” she voiced her innermost thoughts, “I will change them all.”
Ever since she was brought back to the Fu family, Nan Zhi had been given a second rebirth.
Like someone arriving in this world for the very first time, she cautiously relearned the rules of the surroundings.
For instance, Fu Minglin’s germophobia—one that was clearly severe to the extreme, yet never outwardly expressed in the slightest.
With this thought, Nan Zhi’s gaze drifted once more to Fu Minglin’s knees.
The hem of the skirt draped down, covering her knees, leaving behind only the trace of where she herself had just been sitting.
She felt a sense of unease.
Had she known things would turn out like this, she should have stayed in the shower just a little longer. Even though she was already clean enough, whenever she was in front of Fu Minglin, she always felt dragged back to that rainy day when they first met.
They were, after all, people from two entirely different worlds.
Fu Minglin did not speak again.
It was clearly an illusory statement, yet spoken with those pure, limpid eyes, it didn’t carry a shred of discordance.
An inexplicable urge for destruction raged quietly at the bottom of Fu Minglin’s heart.
Yet her hand continued simply to support her cheek, making no movement.
Receiving no reply, Nan Zhi assumed she had said something wrong. But since she couldn’t say “sorry,” she could only instinctively bite her lip.
Did I ruin it?
Her teeth sank fiercely into her lip, pressing down tighter and tighter.
Until a rust taste diffused throughout her mouth, Nan Zhi still did not let go.
Sensing the distinct emotional shift in the person in front of her, Fu Minglin’s gaze locked onto the vivid red blooming against her skin.
In the bone-dry world of medical knowledge, only the fresh blood gushing forth when an anatomical scalpel sliced downward could make Fu Minglin feel excited.
She had previously reflected on whether she had already been repressed to the point of perversion, but physicians cannot heal themselves—perhaps she had been sick all along.
Right at the moment when Nan Zhi’s emotions were on the verge of fracturing, she heard that voice once more.
“Since you aren’t afraid of me,” Fu Minglin paused, “then why did you hide just now?”
Just now?
Nan Zhi was somewhat dazed; her words had been vague, making it difficult to discern what she meant.
Was it because she hadn’t come in immediately just now, or because she hadn’t responded to those words?
Or perhaps just now…
Nan Zhi’s mind was a complete mess.
Not knowing which “hiding” was meant, she bit her lip and simply bared the thoughts at the bottom of her heart: “Because I was afraid… afraid of pressing against your knee.”
That mottled mark was clearly on Fu Minglin’s body, yet it weighed heavily upon Nan Zhi’s heart.
After entering the room just then, she hadn’t heard any sounds of bumping into things from inside the bathroom.
And the marks on Fu Minglin’s knees were definitely not simple impact injuries.
Was it from when she was pressing against her while dealing with Miss Gu?
Or was there more to it—things she didn’t know about?
Nan Zhi didn’t dare to ask.
The person before her held a tremendous attraction for her, and at the same time, concealed countless unknowns.
That unknown was a mystery that even Nan Zhi, who fancied herself well-versed in the streets and markets for over a dozen years, could not unravel.
With her gaze locked onto Fu Minglin’s knees, Nan Zhi desperately wanted to kneel down and inspect the injury closely, yet she was terrified that her actions would provoke Fu Minglin’s disgust.
A sense of powerlessness pinned her in place.
Her teeth continued to worry her lip, her fingers restlessly twisting together.
“Afraid?”
Surprised that her knee had been noticed, Fu Minglin raised an eyebrow lightly and chuckled. “But I was asking about the milk.”
Just a moment ago, they had been so close.
Close enough for Fu Minglin to capture every single flicker of emotion in the depths of Nan Zhi’s eyes.
The pitch-black pupils had clearly been clamoring with desire.
Yet the moment she actually closed the distance, Nan Zhi had backed away.
How could anyone possibly control the desire at the bottom of their heart?
Fu Minglin refused to believe it.
“M-Milk,” caught by the culprit in her hands, Nan Zhi nervously bit the tip of her tongue and explained, “I was afraid of spilling it on you.”
Fu Minglin’s germophobia.
Nan Zhi had always remembered it.
“What if I’m not afraid?” Fu Minglin’s playful streak had been stirred; she leaned forward slightly, her voice very soft: “What if I permit it?”
Permit…
These two words acted like some sort of command.
The moment they were input into Nan Zhi’s brain, they were accepted almost instantly.
“Then—”
A single syllable popped out from Nan Zhi’s lips.
Fu Minglin caught the fleeting flash of excitement in those eyes.
She chuckled softly, enticing her: “Then, what would you do?”
Fu Minglin found herself looking forward to it.
Those eyes were simply too clean, pure to the point of feeling unreal.
She was waiting for the person before her to reveal a flaw, just to corroborate her own absolute certainty.
Yet Nan Zhi fell silent.
The room grew quiet.
Outside the window, the night was heavy, the moon having slipped into the clouds at some unknown point, leaving only the faint scent of milk between their breaths.
After a long silence.
That straight, proud spine finally began to curve downward bit by bit.
As Nan Zhi edged closer, the distance between them was steadily erased.
The trace of disdain in Fu Minglin’s heart was growing wildly, but right as that furry head kept lowering until it was level with her own line of sight, it suddenly stopped.
Mustering infinite courage, Nan Zhi tilted her face forward.
The advantage of both having high nose bridges meant that a slight nod was all it took for them to gently brush against each other.
The tip of her nose lightly grazed the tip of the other’s.
Nan Zhi’s voice was very soft, very gentle.
She said, “Good night.”
Taken aback by the sudden approach, Fu Minglin froze; before she even had time to react, the other had already pulled away.
Her gaze lifted, catching only a hurried retreating back.
Just like when she had arrived.
The person who turned and rushed away was so nervous she walked with matching arms and legs, yet even so, she still gently clicked the door shut behind her upon leaving.
That brush of desire hidden in those eyes had not spilled over.
Instead, using the very trick Fu Minglin had used to entice her, she had brushed right back.
“Tch.”
With a look of distaste, Fu Minglin pulled a tissue to wipe the tip of her nose. “What a thoroughly uninteresting person.”
Tossing the crumpled tissue paper back into the trash can, the person who had just walked out of the bathroom turned right back around.
The nightgown that had been sat on and wrinkled was also stripped off and tossed into the trash.
The housekeeper began work promptly at 8:00 AM.
After knocking on the doors of the two young ladies, she dutifully began clearing the room’s hygiene and emptying the trash cans.
As that crumpled dress, wrapped inside a black trash bag, was hauled away, a sleep-deprived Nan Zhi shuffled out to the dining hall, letting out a yawn.
Even for breakfast, it was still a healthy spread of six meat and three vegetarian dishes.
Placed at her designated seat was a bowl of multigrain porridge at just the right temperature.
“A-Zhi.”
The woman sitting at the head of the table raised her eyes, her austere and solemn face devoid of emotion.
Her well-tailored business suit, long hair tied back behind her head, and slender, narrow gold-rimmed glasses only barely concealed faint, fine lines around her eyes.
She was the master of this house: Fu Ci.
The hazy Nan Zhi was startled into full wakefulness by the call, her footsteps unconsciously quickening as she sat down. “Mother, good morning.”
Though her words were respectful, Nan Zhi’s gaze instinctively searched for her anchor.
Sitting across from her, Fu Minglin appeared to have already been seated for a while; the porridge in front of her had grown somewhat cool, a layer of starch film forming over the surface.
Unlike the night before, Fu Minglin at this moment had resumed her usual solemnity.
A shirt buttoned meticulously all the way to the top collar, layered with a thin cashmere sweater, and a light application of makeup concealing every trace of flaw on her cheeks.
Nan Zhi opened her mouth to greet her as well, but was cut off.
“Everyone is here, let’s eat.”
Six short words, carrying the undeniable weight of a command.
No one offered a further response. Nan Zhi pulled her gaze back, and only when she heard the sound of a soup spoon did she raise her hand to stir the porridge before her.
Fatigue left Nan Zhi with zero appetite for the food in front of her.
In fact, before moving into the Fu household, Nan Zhi didn’t even have the habit of eating breakfast.
The reasons were simple: First, it was a waste of time; second, she had no money.
An opportunity like this, where she could sit leisurely and wait for porridge to cool down, had simply been an extravagant wish during the first nineteen years of her life.
She mechanically swallowed half a bowl of porridge without tasting a thing.
Nan Zhi truly couldn’t eat another bite, though fortunately, Fu Ci had already stopped eating.
“Didn’t sleep well last night?”
Sitting at the far end of the table, Fu Ci didn’t press on why Nan Zhi had only called her “Mother” earlier without addressing her sister.
Instead, her gaze fell upon Nan Zhi’s somewhat short cuffs, and she frowned. “Clothes don’t fit?”
The question carried no discernible emotion, lacking even a clear subject.
Nan Zhi’s heart instinctively clenched; she slowly set her soup spoon down, before she even had a chance to speak.
Fu Minglin spoke up first: “Apologies, the newly tailored suit will arrive by noon today.”
The atmosphere at the dining table plummeted instantly to the freezing point.
“It’s just that I didn’t wear the right thing,” driven by an unprovoked wave of annoyance, Nan Zhi instinctively chimed in to defend her: “Every piece of clothing in the wardrobe fits fine.”
The moment the words left her mouth, Nan Zhi realized her mistake, but it was already too late.
Nan Zhi heard a heavy thud land on the dining table, causing her head to snap up by reflex.
Their gazes collided unexpectedly.
Nan Zhi clearly caught Fu Minglin’s expression—or rather, the lack of one.
Compared to her own annoyance, Fu Minglin appeared far more tranquil.
A tranquility bordering on numbness.
“I don’t like excuses,” Fu Ci’s expression grew somewhat displeased. “I only care about results.”
Hearing this, before Fu Minglin could reply, Nan Zhi stood up proactively. “Apologies, I’ll go fix it.”
Ignoring Fu Ci’s steadily darkening gaze, Nan Zhi walked straight back to her room.
She was used to rushing against the clock. Back when she worked as a mascot greeter in the mall, wrapped in a thick plastic shell under forty-degree heat, she had mastered the art of using the few seconds when no one walked by to lift off the mascot head to its absolute limit.
And so, in less than a minute, she came back out wearing a much better-fitting outfit.
The dining table remained cold and desolate.
Fu Ci made no movement, and Fu Minglin kept her head lowered.
The death-like stillness finally eased only when Nan Zhi took her seat again.
Fu Ci said nothing more and continued her meal.
Yet Nan Zhi truly couldn’t eat; her eyes kept drifting uncontrollably toward Fu Minglin.
The dream from last night had tangled her up so thoroughly that she couldn’t tell reality from illusion anymore.
The soup spoon sank down, then scooped up some porridge.
Repeated over and over.
Nan Zhi tortured herself through the time until Fu Ci finally put down her spoon.
“When I’m not home,” Fu Ci picked up a napkin, leisurely wiping her lips, “sisters should look out for one another.”
With her pause, no one else at the table could continue eating.
Nan Zhi, having set her spoon down, raised her head. In a haze, she heard herself reply “Okay,” but her gaze uncontrollably drifted toward Fu Minglin.
Yet no returning gaze met hers.
“I will,” Fu Minglin said flatly, devoid of emotion. “Mother.”
Expressionless, Fu Ci showed no particular reaction to the answer, merely asking: “I heard your research group has opened up a new project?”
Breakfast was, after all, a family meeting.
Nan Zhi had no right to participate; her mind was completely occupied by Fu Ci’s mention of “looking out for each other.”
Was last night’s encounter considered looking out for each other, too?
The moment she looked at Fu Minglin, her thoughts were irresistibly pulled away.
Nan Zhi couldn’t help but recall last night’s dream once more.
In the past, she rarely dreamed at all, but during this period since being brought back to the Fu family, she had experienced more dreams than in her previous nineteen years combined.
Last night, she had dreamed of Fu Minglin again.
It was once more the moment she had just stepped out of the bathroom, only this time, she wasn’t holding a cup of milk, knocking cautiously and acting obedient.
From the very second she stepped through the door, Nan Zhi had seized Fu Minglin’s wrist.
The bookshelf reaching all the way up to the ceiling became the weight-bearing center of their bodies pressing back.
Her steps crowded forward, relentlessly closing the distance.
Until their spines slammed against the bookshelf simultaneously with a muffled thud.
Fu Minglin’s eyes stung red from the impact, her tiger fangs biting her lip as she asked with a trembling voice, “What are you doing?”
There was no answer.
Physical action always outpaced the mouth a step further.
The milk she had regretted missing all night was transferred by Nan Zhi’s lips directly into Fu Minglin’s mouth.
Like a starving, feral dog, she bit down hard on those lips without tasting: “I want you.”
“The only reason I agreed to return to the Fu family,”
Driven by desire, Nan Zhi finally voiced the darkest corner suppressed deep within her heart.
Lowering her gaze, she looked at the lips kissed swollen and red beneath her, greedily poking out the tip of her tongue to lightly lick them.
“Was to get you.”
The gripped arms were hoisted high above her head, Fu Minglin’s pitiful pair of tiger fangs pushed step by step from a state of trembling clench into total defeat.
Watching the timidity leak out of those eyes, the desire surging in Nan Zhi’s heart grew heavier.
She was no longer satisfied with just a simple kiss.
The nightgown that barely covered her knees was crumpled even more, bunched up all the way.
The clamoring desire drove Nan Zhi forward like a frenzied beast—
Her hand sank down, her tears surged up.
The legs that had been pressing against those knees suddenly clamped tight. Nan Zhi shuddered, and the soup spoon in her hand went clang, striking against the plate with a sharp ring.
The dream shattered.
Feeling the water droplets splashing across the back of her hand with stark clarity.
Nan Zhi snapped abruptly back to her senses.
Her knees weren’t squeezing against Fu Minglin’s, nor were they clamping the edge of a quilt like she had upon waking up that morning.
They were under the dining table.
A transient flash of panic made Nan Zhi want to flee, but the gaze falling upon her forced her to look up.
“Do you have an objection to my arrangements?”
Fu Ci still wore that expression of neither joy nor sorrow, though her voice dropped lower: “Hmm?”
Having heard none of it clearly, Nan Zhi instinctively wanted to answer. She lifted her head, only to meet Fu Minglin’s eyes.
The response caught in her throat.
Fu Minglin’s expression right then remained numb, save for the fact that within those eyes, a glimmer of hope seemed to have reignited because of the sudden clatter she had caused.
Though it was only a tiny flicker.
The fleeting speed of it made Nan Zhi wonder if she was just seeing things.
Fu Ci was still waiting for an answer.
Her presence felt like the sword of Damocles suspended directly overhead.
Hanging not only over Nan Zhi’s head, but Fu Minglin’s as well.
Acting purely on an inexplicable impulse, Nan Zhi chose to shake her head, even though she had no idea what topic Fu Ci and Fu Minglin had been discussing just now.
Yet Nan Zhi still chose to deny it.
“Hah,” Fu Ci let out a sound as if watching a huge joke, mocking: “An ungrateful wretch.”
It was unclear who those words were directed at.
Because having dropped that sentence, Fu Minglin—no, Fu Ci—abruptly stood up from her seat.
Even in such a state of anger, the table and chairs dragged no harsh noises across the floor, presumably because the entire room was fully laid with carpets.
Nan Zhi suddenly felt a sense of irony; the dignity of high-society aristocracy seemed entirely tucked away inside self-crafted deceptions.
As Fu Ci departed,
the atmosphere at the dining table seemed to ease, yet at the same time, it didn’t.
Not daring to space out any longer, Nan Zhi initially wanted to lower her head, but the reminder of Fu Minglin’s words—look people in the eye—flashed through her mind.
And so Nan Zhi raised her head, only to find that Fu Minglin was looking right back at her.
“Why would you talk back to mother?” Fu Minglin looked somewhat surprised; she hadn’t expected Nan Zhi to stick her neck out for her at all.
Especially since last night’s enticement had clearly failed.
Facing the inquiry, Nan Zhi finally felt a bit of helplessness.
She didn’t dare admit that she had been lost in a dream and hadn’t heard a single word, terrified that Fu Minglin would probe into the true reason for why she hadn’t slept well.
“It’s just…” Nan Zhi stammered out a lie, “I felt what she said was wrong.”
The lie was terribly clumsy, and Nan Zhi was already bracing herself to apologize.
Yet Fu Minglin did not press further.
She gave a very faint laugh.
The amusement vanished in a flash, so quickly that Nan Zhi suspected it had just been a hallucination.
“Don’t do that next time,” Fu Minglin withdrew her gaze, stirring the porridge in her bowl. “There’s no need.”
No need?
Nan Zhi was utterly baffled, growing all the more annoyed that she hadn’t paid attention earlier.
She had no clue what mother and Fu Minglin had been talking about—was it something about the experiments?
Operating on the principle of never speaking randomly means never being wrong,
Nan Zhi bit her lip and softly said, “As long as it concerns you, there’s always a need.”
When promises slip out effortlessly, it’s usually because the person making them has no concept of their weight.
Therefore, Fu Minglin didn’t believe her, simply shaking her head.
“Really,” knowing she hadn’t taken it seriously, Nan Zhi reaffirmed her promise: “No matter what happens, I’ll stand on your side.”
Always?
This time, Fu Minglin’s interest was finally piqued.
Resting her cheek in one hand, she wanted to say something, but changed topics instead: “Eat faster, the driver is waiting to take you to school.”
Nan Zhi caught that flickering emotion.
She wanted to pursue the question, but didn’t dare.
She simply nodded and said obediently, “I’m full.”
“Fine.”
Having no desire to continue the topic, Fu Minglin set down her soup spoon as well and stood up. “Let’s go, then.”