Li Zhihuan’s mind went blank for a full three seconds.
The large hand at her waist felt like a piece of red-hot iron. Through the thin fabric, she could feel an astonishing wave of heat.
She could also feel Qi Weiguo’s arm muscles suddenly tense the moment it touched her.
The entire space fell into silence, broken only by the overlapping sounds of their breathing and heartbeats.
“Th-thank you.”
Li Zhihuan was the first to react. She struggled out of his arms and steadied herself, her cheeks burning uncontrollably.
It was purely a physiological reaction—nothing to do with attraction.
In her previous life of endless overtime shifts, she had never even had the chance to get this close to a man.
“Mm.”
Qi Weiguo released her as if electrocuted and took a step back, widening the distance between them.
The tips of his ears were faintly red.
He turned away, placed the bag on the table, and spoke in a somewhat stiff voice.
“What are you doing?”
“Cleaning up. Getting ready to change the bedsheets.”
Li Zhihuan pointed at the emptied room, forcing her tone to sound normal.
Qi Weiguo’s gaze swept over the empty room, then over her slightly messy hair and flushed cheeks from working.
He said nothing more and walked straight over.
With one hand, he effortlessly lifted the heavy wooden bedboard.
“I’ll do it.”
He didn’t say much—he simply carried the bedboard back into the room and placed it in position.
Then he silently helped her move the wardrobe back inside as well.
Li Zhihuan watched his busy back with slight surprise.
This iceberg male lead didn’t seem completely heartless after all.
The two of them quietly finished tidying the room. Dinner remained just as silent.
Only during the meal did Qi Weiguo occasionally space out, his gaze drifting toward Li Zhihuan before quickly looking away again.
The next day, Li Zhihuan’s reputation as a “lazy woman” finally reached her ears.
Or rather, someone deliberately brought those words to her face.
In the afternoon, Li Zhihuan was sitting under a tree in the courtyard, studying how to make a pillowcase from newly purchased fine cotton fabric.
A gentle voice sounded above her head.
“Zhihuan-jie, all alone?”
She looked up and saw a face so pretty it carried no aggression at all.
Meng Yao.
She wore a dance practice outfit from the cultural troupe, with a white shirt over it. In her hands was a porcelain enamel bowl containing several clean, freshly washed apples.
“Ah, Meng Yao. What is it?”
Li Zhihuan’s tone was neither warm nor cold.
“I just brought some apples from home. I thought you might be bored alone, so I brought you a couple to try.”
As she spoke, Meng Yao naturally sat down on the small stool beside her and handed the bowl over.
Her smile was gentle and friendly, as if she were truly a caring neighbor.
If Li Zhihuan hadn’t known her true nature, she might really have been fooled.
“No need, thank you. You can eat them yourself.”
Li Zhihuan didn’t take them.
“Don’t be so polite, Zhihuan-jie.”
Meng Yao pushed the bowl forward again, looking at her sincerely like a little deer.
“We live so close to each other now—we’re neighbors. We should look out for each other.”
She paused, her gaze casually sweeping over the fabric and needlework in Li Zhihuan’s hands.
Then she said as if unintentionally:
“Zhihuan-jie, why have you been staying home alone all these days? I heard from the aunties in the compound that you’re not feeling well? If there’s any work you can’t do, just tell me—I can help you.”
Here it comes.
Li Zhihuan sneered inwardly.
These words sounded like concern, but every sentence was a trap.
First, she pointed out that Li Zhihuan was “always at home alone,” implying she didn’t fit in.
Then she used the “aunties” as a source, suggesting she was “unwell,” subtly labeling her as lazy.
Finally, the “I can help you” line placed Meng Yao on a morally superior pedestal of diligence and kindness, highlighting Li Zhihuan’s supposed incompetence and fragility.
If it were the original owner of this body, she would have exploded on the spot—completely confirming the image of an unreasonable troublemaker.
But who was Li Zhihuan?
A seasoned corporate slave who could argue with dozens of old foxes in meeting rooms without changing her expression.
To her, this level of green-tea tactics was child’s play.
Li Zhihuan put down her needlework and looked up, giving Meng Yao a perfectly standardized, flawless smile.
“Thanks for your concern. I’m in great health.”
She lifted the fabric in her hands and waved it slightly in front of Meng Yao.
“I’m working. Wei… Weiguo is in the army all year round; it’s very hard on him. I thought I’d make his living space more comfortable. So I’m making him new bedding so he can sleep better at night.”
Just a few casual sentences carried enormous information.
First: she wasn’t idle—she was “working.”
Second: she wasn’t working for herself, but for her husband “Weiguo,” fully aligning with the standard of a virtuous wife.
Third: the intimate way she addressed “Weiguo” asserted ownership and subtly implied their harmonious relationship.
The smile on Meng Yao’s face froze for a moment.
She hadn’t expected that kind of response.
This was completely different from the foolish, impulsive woman she remembered.
This was completely unlike the foolish, impulsive woman in her memory.
“So it was made for Battalion Commander Qi. Sister Zhihuan, you’re really considerate.”
Meng Yao quickly adjusted her expression and continued smiling.
“However, these are all minor matters. A grown man like Battalion Commander Qi wouldn’t care about this kind of thing. I think that when men are out striving for success, what they want most is a good wife at home who can handle social relationships for them, so they have no worries at the back.”
Her tone shifted, subtly steering the conversation in another direction—social connections.
She was implying that Li Zhihuan only knew how to shut herself indoors doing useless chores, and didn’t understand how to maintain her husband’s social network.
“You’re right.”
Li Zhihuan actually nodded in agreement.
Meng Yao’s eyes lit up. She was about to continue her “lecture.”
But Li Zhihuan suddenly changed direction again.
“However, our Weiguo is different from others.”
Her tone carried a hint of sweet “showing off.”
“He’s very upright, and he hates all that social greeting and networking stuff. He always tells me that soldiers should act like soldiers, focus on training and national defense, and not waste time on meaningless social politeness.”
“He also said that everything at home is enough for me to handle alone, and I shouldn’t get involved outside. Staying at home properly is the greatest support I can give him.”
As she spoke, Li Zhihuan looked at Meng Yao with an indulgent expression, as if to say, My man is just so principled, I really can’t do anything about him.
This completely blocked all of Meng Yao’s follow-up arguments.
It elevated “not engaging in social relations” into being “upright” and “principled.”
It reframed “staying at home” as “listening to her husband” and “not causing trouble.”
Meng Yao felt as if she had punched cotton—she didn’t just fail to hurt the opponent, she almost injured herself in frustration.
She opened her mouth but couldn’t say a single word.
She realized that Li Zhihuan was like a slippery loach—no matter from which angle you attacked, she would smoothly deflect it and even counterattack.
At that moment, the whistle signaling the end of training sounded.
Not far away, a group of men in military uniforms walked toward the family quarters.
Leading them was a tall, cold, and imposing figure—Qi Weiguo.
Meng Yao’s eyes lit up. Opportunity had arrived.
She immediately stood up and waved toward him, her voice sweet.
“Battalion Commander Qi!”
Qi Weiguo looked over and paused.
Meng Yao quickly jogged toward him, wearing a perfectly concerned smile.
“Battalion Commander Qi, you’re back. I was just chatting with Sister Zhihuan. She’s alone at home, so I came to keep her company. I was worried she might feel bored.”
Her words were meant for Qi Weiguo—and also for the surrounding soldiers.
Look how kind and considerate I am.
Qi Weiguo only nodded faintly. His gaze, however, passed over her and landed on the calm figure standing under the shade of the tree.
Li Zhihuan also stood up and walked over slowly.
Seeing that Qi Weiguo wasn’t responding, Meng Yao added,
“Battalion Commander Qi, don’t blame Sister Zhihuan. She might not be used to things here yet and doesn’t like going out. I’ll keep her company more in the future.”
The “tea” in her words was practically overflowing.
Several nearby soldiers who were familiar with Qi Weiguo exchanged knowing looks.
Everyone was waiting for Qi Weiguo’s reaction.
According to Meng Yao’s expectations, even if he didn’t reprimand Li Zhihuan, he would at least thank her and show a trace of dissatisfaction toward his wife.
However, Qi Weiguo merely frowned slightly.
Looking at Meng Yao, his tone was calm yet distant and unquestionable.
“No need. She likes quiet. If she doesn’t want to go out, let her be.”
After speaking, he didn’t look at Meng Yao again and walked straight toward Li Zhihuan.
Under everyone’s shocked gaze, he naturally took the sewing basket filled with needles, thread, and fabric from her hands.
Then he said something that made everyone’s eyes nearly fall out.
“Let’s go home. What do you want to eat today?”
His tone was still somewhat rough, but the familiarity and natural intimacy in it were impossible to miss.
Even Li Zhihuan was briefly stunned by the move.
But she reacted quickly and immediately cooperated with a smile.
“I want the big steamed buns you brought back from the mess hall last time.”
“Mm.”
Qi Weiguo responded, carrying her basket as the two of them walked side by side toward home.
Leaving only Meng Yao standing frozen in place.
The color drained from her face bit by bit, her expression becoming as if she had been slapped in public.