Nan Chu’s mind was still in a fog. She felt herself being carried, and she groggily blinked her eyes open.
Under the moonlight, the man’s face was backlit, impossible to make out clearly.
She felt a bit dazed, a strange sense of familiarity washing over her—as if she had seen this face somewhere before.
The scene felt like déjà vu. Someone had once held her like this too.
But back then, everything around her had been pitch black. She had been too terrified to make out the person’s face at all.
“Who are you?”
Seeing the redness at the corners of her eyes, Shang Lin lowered his head, his deep black eyes shimmering with layers of faint light.
“Nan Chu, it’s me.”
Bang.
A firework suddenly burst open in the sky, illuminating the dark night in an instant—and also illuminating the man’s face beneath the night.
Composed. Refined.
Nan Chu stared at him for a long moment, then parted her lips. “Shang Lin.”
“Mm.”
A single simple syllable, like a calming pill, made Nan Chu close her eyes again.
Before long, Shang Lin heard Nan Chu’s soft, shallow breathing once more.
She seemed to have fallen asleep again.
On the way back to Qingshan Residence, Nan Chu slept soundly.
Shang Lin carried her all the way to the master bedroom, gently laid her on the bed, and turned to leave.
Perhaps because the surrounding air suddenly turned cooler, that sense of emptiness made Nan Chu’s lashes tremble.
She struggled to open her eyes and instinctively grabbed his wrist.
Her eyes were red-rimmed, as if asking him where he was going.
Shang Lin’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly. He patted the back of her hand soothingly.
“I’m not leaving. I’m just going to get you some hangover soup.”
He walked to the door, took the hangover soup from Uncle Liu, and when he turned back, the bed was already empty.
“Nan Chu?”
Shang Lin’s heart sank. Just as he was about to go look for her, he heard a sound coming from the walk-in closet.
The tension in his chest released. He walked over and came face to face with Nan Chu’s fair, smooth back.
Under the dim yellow light, the line of Nan Chu’s spine curved elegantly. As she changed her clothes, the line disappeared into the depths of her nightgown, adding a subtle, elusive allure.
Shang Lin’s breath caught. The next moment, he had already turned and walked out of the closet.
Ten minutes later, Nan Chu emerged from the walk-in closet.
She didn’t notice the man sitting on the sofa. She shuffled slowly to the bed, lay down, pulled the covers over herself, and was about to go to sleep.
Shang Lin rose and walked to the bedside, his voice low and calm. “Don’t sleep yet. Drink the hangover soup first.”
The sudden male voice startled Nan Chu.
She snapped her eyes open and met Shang Lin’s unfathomable gaze directly.
Having just bathed, her fair cheeks were flushed with a faint pink, and the corners of her eyes still carried a dampness from the alcohol.
She looked up at him from below, so pure that it made one want to possess her completely.
To stain that snow-white with an entirely different color.
Seeing the bowl in his hand, she braced herself on the bed with both hands, her red lips slightly parted.
Obediently waiting for him to feed her.
A coquettish charm, seductive to the extreme.
Shang Lin’s dark pupils narrowed. He stared at her tender lips, his gaze growing heavy and dark.
He couldn’t. At least not now.
Nan Chu was drowsy, and her arms had gone numb from supporting herself.
She finally managed to open her eyes, only to meet the man’s bottomless gaze.
Like fire, yet like ice. Like an abyss, drawing one in to drown.
So hot.
Nan Chu let out a breath. Her eyelids were heavy, her head spinning. She simply didn’t have the strength to wait any longer.
She turned her head away, let her arms slide down, and slowly pulled the blanket up over herself. She lay down, ready to sleep again.
Seeing Nan Chu turn her back to him, as if she were upset, Shang Lin let out a soft laugh.
He glanced at Nan Chu, who, even in her drunken state, had wrapped herself up like a zongzi, then bent down and lifted her into his arms. He let her head rest against his chest, adjusted her to a comfortable position, and spoke calmly.
“Open your mouth.”
Nan Chu’s mind was foggy, but she obediently parted her lips.
Shang Lin scooped up a spoonful of the hangover soup, blew on it to cool it down, and then fed it to her.
After feeding her about half the bowl, Shang Lin set her back down.
He first loosened the tightly wrapped blanket and tucked the edges in around her feet.
Only then did Nan Chu settle down.
Shang Lin watched her sleeping face for a moment, then went to take a shower.
But when he came out, his whole body carried a chill.
Nan Chu didn’t sleep well that night—her dreams were filled with bizarre, surreal images.
In the latter half of the night, she was jolted awake by the heat.
“So hot.”
She mumbled unconsciously, and the next second, she felt her body lift into the air as someone picked her up.
Nan Chu was startled and instantly woke up.
The moment she opened her eyes, she found herself leaning against Shang Lin’s chest, her arms wrapped around his neck.
Why was Shang Lin here?
Her breath was warm, her head dizzy, and she tilted her face up to look at him.
“Where are we going?”
“You have a fever. I’m going to cool you down physically.”
Physically cool down?
The kind where you wipe someone down with warm water?
Nan Chu took a second to process, then her mind snapped fully awake. She quickly shook her head.
“No need. There should be fever medicine at home. I’ll just take some.”
Home.
Shang Lin liked hearing that word. As if he could see right through her thoughts, he nodded.
“Alright.”
He set Nan Chu back down on the bed and went to get the medicine and a glass of warm water.
After taking the medicine and drinking the water, Nan Chu felt the dryness in her throat ease considerably. She murmured, “Thank you.”
“Do you feel a bit better?”
“Mm.”
“If anything still feels off, tell me.”
“Okay.”
“Sleep now. I’ll stay with you.”
The man’s voice was low and gentle, especially pleasing to the ear in the darkness.
Moonlight spilled through the window, its silver glow softening his cold, sharp features—radiant like the moon itself.
Deep brows, a straight nose, perfectly shaped lips—he didn’t seem like an ordinary mortal.
In the play of light and shadow, Nan Chu felt herself bewitched. She heard herself say,
“Mr. Shang.”
“I’m here.”
“Can I kiss you?”
When she woke again, the sun was already high in the sky.
Nan Chu sat up from the bed in a daze, still groggy.
For a moment, she couldn’t tell if it was a dream or reality.
She glanced sideways at the empty spot beside her—clean and tidy, as if no one had been there.
But thinking back on everything that had happened last night, her heart beat faster and faster.
Was it a dream?
Otherwise, how could she possibly have been bold enough to kiss Shang Lin?
And without even getting his consent.
Nan Chu got up and walked to the bathroom, splashing her face with warm water.
Water droplets slid down her cheeks. She looked at herself in the mirror and began to replay the events of last night.
She was eating dessert—why did she get drunk?
Fine, she got drunk. But then she had to go and take liberties with Shang Lin.
Thinking about how the man had patiently fed her hangover soup, given her medicine, and then ended up being the one she molested, Nan Chu wanted to bury herself in the ground.
She was done with herself. She spent a long time in the bathroom repenting before finally heading downstairs.
She’d figured that since it was already ten o’clock, Shang Lin would have gone out.
But she hadn’t expected to see Shang Lin sitting in the living room when she came down.
Nan Chu’s steps faltered, and she instinctively took a step back.
Hearing the sound on the stairs, the man lifted his gaze slightly.
Whether it was just Nan Chu’s imagination, she felt that Shang Lin’s gaze on her had grown even more intense.
Feeling a twinge of guilt, Nan Chu composed herself and headed downstairs.