In the study, Jiang Pei stood rigidly before the enormous black ebony desk, his back perfectly straight. He had been standing there for a full ten minutes, while the man behind the desk hadn’t even lifted an eyelid.
Finally, Ye Mochen signed the last document and snapped shut his expensive pen with a crisp click.
“Lord Mo,” Jiang Pei seized the moment to speak, “regarding Miss Ran… I took the liberty to conduct an investigation.”
He handed over a thin file.
“Her background… is spotless. Almost unnaturally so, as if she appeared out of nowhere in the manor, with no traceable connection to anyone behind her.”
Ye Mochen didn’t take the file, not even glancing at him.
He slowly raised his head, those bottomless black eyes settling on Jiang Pei’s face. There was no question, no anger—just a suffocating, silent pressure.
“Did I ask you to investigate?”
His voice was calm, utterly devoid of emotion, yet colder than any harsh reprimand.
Cold sweat broke out on Jiang Pei’s forehead. He hurriedly bowed in apology: “Forgive me, Lord Mo! I overstepped! But for your safety, I must eliminate every potential danger!”
It was his duty. Even if it angered Lord Mo, he had to act.
Ye Mochen rose, his tall figure exuding an invisible pressure, and stepped toward Jiang Pei.
Without looking at him, he drew the file from Jiang Pei’s hand.
Jiang Pei exhaled in relief, thinking Lord Mo would at least glance at it.
But the next second, Ye Mochen flicked his wrist, sending the file—filled with Jiang Pei’s worry and effort—into the nearby fireplace. Flames leapt, reducing the document to ash almost instantly.
“Jiang Pei,” Ye Mochen finally spoke, voice as cold as ice, “remember this: she is mine.”
He tilted his head, eyes like knives, enunciating each word: “I don’t care where she came from, or her background. She is a gift from heaven to me. This is the first and the last time.”
Jiang Pei’s face drained of color as realization hit.
In Lord Mo’s eyes, Miss Ran’s status surpassed all rules and doubts. She was not a potential danger to scrutinize—she was a sacred trust not to be defiled.
“Yes! I acknowledge my mistake! Please punish me, Lord Mo!” Jiang Pei’s head nearly touched his chest.
“Leave.”
Two words. No more, no less.
Jiang Pei, feeling as if granted a royal pardon, bowed and retreated, nearly running out of the study.
In the following days, Ran Weiyi officially began her “enclosure” life.
With pen and paper, she meticulously created a regimen for Ye Mochen—from acupuncture, medicinal baths, herbal soups, diet, to daily routines—leaving nothing to chance.
The first bowl of medicine was brewed by her own hands.
Carrying a bowl of dark, peculiarly scented liquid into the study, even the usually composed, fifty-plus-year-old butler Lin looked slightly unsettled. He hesitated in front of her, eyes briefly lingering on the bowl, then struggled to speak: “Miss Ran, Young Master he—”
Before he could finish, Ye Mochen raised his head from behind the desk.
Ran Weiyi ignored Lin’s warning and his fearful expression entirely, walking straight to the desk.
“Ye Mochen, drink this first.”
[DouDou: Sister, this recipe tastes… indescribable. Are you sure he’ll drink it? This is bitterer than Huanglian, even I, a system, feel like formatting myself just from the smell.]
Ye Mochen’s gaze passed over Lin’s stiffened shoulders, locking unblinkingly on Ran Weiyi’s face.
He wasn’t looking at the bitter concoction—it was her holding it. If she gave it to him, even the most poisonous brew would taste like honey.
He lifted the bowl and drank it in one go, smooth and decisive, as if it were water, not medicine.
Butler Lin’s eyes nearly popped out of his head; his mouth opened, yet no words came.
Ran Weiyi looked at the empty bowl. She knew exactly how bitter it had been, and couldn’t stop worrying for him.
Then she reached into her pocket, took out a piece of candy, unwrapped it, and held the small pink candy to his lips.
Ye Mochen lowered his eyes, looking at the candy perched on her fingertip. He didn’t eat it immediately.
He gently touched her finger with his tongue before taking the candy into his mouth. The warm, wet contact made Ran Weiyi’s fingers curl slightly.
Leaning back, the sweetness spread in his mouth, counteracting the harsh bitterness.
He looked at her, deep and intense, as if he wanted to see her completely, to take her in.
[DouDou: Male lead’s possessiveness is stable, love value +5%! Sister, what you gave him isn’t medicine—it’s a love potion!]
Indeed, it felt exactly like that.
From then on, the manor staff witnessed a daily spectacle.
Ran Weiyi could carry her various colorful, strange-tasting medicines or foods freely into any of Ye Mochen’s private spaces.
And the master, who rarely touched even the finest dishes prepared by top chefs, accepted all of them without question.
She asked him to drink medicine—he did.
She asked him to soak in a medicinal bath—he did.
She instructed him to sleep before eleven—he complied.
The staff’s perception of Ran Weiyi shifted from curiosity to reverence.
Butler Lin and Jiang Pei stood at the end of the study corridor, like two silent guardians, their eyes drifting toward the closed door.
Sunlight filtered through stained glass, casting mottled patterns on the polished floor. The air no longer felt stagnant; faint hints of herbal aroma and daily life pervaded.
This change began only with Ran Weiyi’s arrival.
Lin, seeing Jiang Pei’s usually tense expression, couldn’t help but comment: “Jiang Pei, I saw Young Master in the garden for ten minutes yesterday… he was… looking at the flowers Miss Ran planted.”
A seemingly trivial act, yet it brought warmth to the eyes of the old butler who had watched Ye Mochen grow.
Jiang Pei’s cold, unyielding expression softened slightly. Only those close to him knew how much the young master had once resisted the world, living like a soulless shell.
Now, the manor had light.
At that moment, the heroine, Ran Weiyi, was in the apothecary handling newly arrived herbs, carefully grinding a dried purple-black herb with focused, skilled movements.
[DouDou: Sister, male lead’s world-aversion value has dropped to 70%! Your treatment is effective—his body functions are improving!]
Ran Weiyi paused, letting out a long, silent breath, finally relaxing her tense shoulders from days of strain.
She wiped her forehead, noticing a thin layer of sweat.
Then, a faint, serene smile slowly curved her lips.