The heavy study door clicked open, abruptly interrupting the conversation between Butler Lin and Jiang Pei. Both men turned their gaze immediately.
Ye Mochen stepped out, scanning the corridor. Not finding the person he wanted to see, he subtly furrowed his brow.
He looked at Jiang Pei, voice calm:
“Where is she?”
Jiang Pei didn’t hesitate for even half a second. “Miss Ran is in the apothecary handling the newly arrived herbs.”
By now, the word “she” had a clear, exclusive reference within the manor. No one would misunderstand.
No sooner had he spoken than Ye Mochen strode toward the apothecary, long legs carrying him forward without pause. Even a second’s delay in seeing her seemed unbearable.
The apothecary was thick with the complex aroma of herbs. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, illuminating the tiny particles floating in the air.
Ran Weiyi was completely absorbed, grinding a single herb with rhythmic, controlled movements. The sound of the mortar was steady and constant.
She had minimized her awareness of everything else, fully immersed in her own world. She didn’t notice the shadow falling at the door, nor the footsteps nearly drowned out by the grinding.
Ye Mochen stood quietly behind her.
He watched her focused profile, the fair wrist revealed by her rolled-up sleeve, and the sunlight dancing in her hair.
The entire room smelled of her; this was her domain, and yet he, the intruder, felt more at ease than ever before.
Finally, he stepped closer, silent, unintrusive.
His tall figure loomed over her from behind. He placed his hands on either side of the herb table, creating a protective, solid barrier.
He didn’t press himself against her but kept her firmly within his aura.
The sudden heat at her back, the familiar scent of pinewood, made Ran Weiyi pause mid-grind. Her spine stiffened, and she knew without turning who it was.
There was only one person in the manor whose presence could dominate so completely.
She slightly turned her face; her dark hair brushed his jaw.
“What are you doing here?”
Ye Mochen lowered his head, nose nearly touching her ear, warm breath fanning her neck. He inhaled her unique, pleasant scent, voice low and direct:
“I missed you.”
Two words, unadorned, yet like a stone dropped into her calm heart.
Ran Weiyi lowered her head and smiled. His way of expressing longing was always so blunt, so unrestrained.
Apparently finding that insufficient, he rested his chin lightly on her shoulder, closed his eyes, and leaned in completely unguarded. His weight pressed down on her—not burdensome, but a tangible offering of trust.
Rather than recoil, Ran Weiyi instinctively straightened her back, letting him rest more comfortably.
[DouDou: Love value +5%! Possessiveness remains high and stable. Sister, he didn’t come looking for you—he came to recharge. You’re his human charging station!]
Ran Weiyi chuckled inwardly.
She paused her work, letting him lean in.
She could feel his tense muscles slowly relaxing in the embrace.
“Still busy with work?” she asked softly.
“Not important,” Ye Mochen murmured, a hint of heaviness in his tone. “Not as important as you.”
He nuzzled her neck again; the unreserved dependence and subtle teasing softened Ran Weiyi’s heart.
She put down her tools and turned to face him, pressed almost fully against his chest due to the small space. Tilting her head up, she saw only the sharp lines of his jaw.
His eyes were closed, long lashes casting shadows. The usual coldness and distance vanished, leaving only near-pure exhaustion.
She lifted a hand, awkwardly, patting his broad back gently, like comforting a large wounded animal.
Ye Mochen stiffened for a moment—a brief hesitation like a system lag before rebooting.
Then his eyes shot open, deep pools swirling with intense emotion.
Before Ran Weiyi could react, his arms, once braced on the table, shot around her slim waist.
A forceful pull brought her fully into his embrace; her nose pressed against his finely tailored shirt, the pine scent enveloping her instantly.
“Mm…”
She gasped, his heartbeat drumming urgently in her ear.
[DouDou: Male lead’s possessiveness spikes +5 instantly! Sister, your comforting pat just overloaded his CPU!]
Ran Weiyi inwardly laughed at his crude, simple ways of expressing emotion—and she loved him for it.
She wrapped her other arm around his back. This time, her touch was no longer tentative but steady and warm.
Feeling her response, Ye Mochen’s grip shuddered briefly, then tightened further.
He buried his face into her neck, greedily inhaling her scent, letting out a soft, contented sigh.
Meanwhile, at the Southern City Film Base:
“Hey! You, the extra! You’re blocking the camera! Can you walk straight?!”
The assistant director’s roar cut through the noisy set. Chen Caiwen flinched and stepped back, almost colliding with a prop box. For half a month, this had been her “freedom” after avoiding Ye Mochen.
During lunch break, she was jostled by someone behind her; half of the vegetable soup spilled from her lunchbox.
No one apologized, no one spared her a glance.
She quietly moved to a corner, crouched down, and picked at the remaining rice.
Her phone vibrated. A message from her agent: another web drama audition failed; the casting directors thought her appearance too plain to carry the role.
She read the words without much reaction, feeling an odd, twisted calm.
This was the life she was meant to lead.
She, Chen Caiwen, the illegitimate daughter unfit for the stage, was supposed to crawl through mud.
In her previous life, Ye Mochen’s gifts felt like a dream, unreal and terrifying.
Now awake, standing on solid ground—even if rough and unwelcoming—it felt tangible.
Even the hardships here, compared to the humiliation and slaps from her half-sister Chen Xue, seemed fairer.
At least these struggles had clear rules: a day as an extra earned 100 yuan and a lunchbox, however unpalatable.
In the Chen household, she suffered merely because of her birth.
Another girl, also an extra, came over and glanced at her enviously: “Your skin’s so nice. Mine’s all acne. But honestly, looks like yours are too common in this industry—hard to stand out.”
Chen Caiwen said nothing, forcing a laugh more painful than tears.
Yes—plain, destined to be swallowed by the crowd.
She shoveled the last bite of rice into her mouth, as if swallowing all the messy thoughts along with it.