Ye Mochen’s gaze fell on the tip of the straw, where a faint ring of her lipstick remained—a soft rose color, like the first bloom of dawn.
His Adam’s apple rolled slightly, and his eyes lifted from that rosy mark to meet her expectant gaze.
In silence, he leaned forward, following her hand, and took the straw between his teeth.
[DouDou: Ahhh! Indirect kiss achievement unlocked! Heart rate monitor off the charts! Sister, his heartbeat is so fast!]
The unfamiliar, fruity-sweet taste exploded in his mouth, completely different from the bitter black coffee he usually drank.
Ran Weiyi bent her eyes in a smile: “How is it? Good?”
Ye Mochen released the straw, eyes lingering on her lips, now even more plump and hydrated from the milk tea, and said in a low voice:
“Mm… very sweet.”
It was unclear whether he meant the milk tea… or her.
After finishing the last sip, Ran Weiyi let out a satisfied little hiccup.
Ye Mochen glanced at her, a trace of almost imperceptible amusement flickering in his eyes. He took her hand and led her toward the parking lot.
Jiang Peili and the bodyguards followed silently, only letting out a quiet sigh once they were safely in the car.
The car drove steadily away from the bustling commercial area, eventually stopping outside a serene courtyard.
No flashy neon lights; only a simple wooden plaque with three flowing characters: Lan Yue Xuan.
As the door opened, a middle-aged man in an exquisite Tang suit, seemingly the manager, hurried forward, bowing respectfully: “Master Mo, you’ve arrived.”
When his gaze fell on Ran Weiyi beside Ye Mochen, he showed no unnecessary scrutiny—only more humility as he added, “Miss, greetings.”
Ye Mochen acknowledged with a hum, holding Ran Weiyi’s hand, and walked straight inside.
The manager led them through winding corridors until they reached a thick, solid wooden door.
This was Lan Yue Xuan’s exclusive VIP room, not open to the public—a private domain of Ye Mochen. The interior was elegant, a stark contrast to the noisy milk tea shop earlier.
Ye Mochen pulled out a heavy rosewood chair, gesturing for Ran Weiyi to sit first.
She obeyed, her fingertips brushing the smooth, cool surface of the table.
He then seated himself beside her, the chairs separated by a comfortable social distance.
Ye Mochen’s brows furrowed slightly. This distance, to him, was intolerable.
The next second, under the watchful eyes of the manager and waitstaff, he acted.
His long arm wrapped around Ran Weiyi’s slender waist, pulling her toward him, while the other hand hooked the leg of her chair, pulling it inward with a soft click. The chairs now fit tightly together.
His hand remained snug around her waist, finding the perfect position. The warmth of his palm radiated through her thin clothes.
The entire motion flowed naturally, with a sense of entitled dominance. Ran Weiyi felt her body lighten, enveloped in a familiar, reassuring presence.
She tilted her head, only able to see his perfectly sculpted jawline.
Ye Mochen’s gaze remained forward, expression calm, as if he had simply moved a piece of furniture rather than a living person.
She resisted laughing, nudging his firm abdomen with her elbow, earning a brief glance from him, as if asking, “What’s wrong?”
The manager, professional as ever, showed no reaction.
He stepped forward with measured pace, presenting a heavy, silk-wrapped menu to Ye Mochen with both hands.
“Master Mo.”
Ye Mochen didn’t glance at it, eyes fixed entirely on Ran Weiyi. He reached out, took the intimidating menu, and gently placed it before her without hesitation.
His message was clear: he was here only to accompany her. Whatever she wanted to order, she chose.
Ran Weiyi’s heart softened at his subtle favoritism.
“Yi Yi, what do you want to eat? You pick.”
She took the menu and slowly pointed at a few dishes: “Basil Black Pepper Baked Cod, Chicken Oil Hua Diao Steamed Sanmen Crab, Sesame Shrimp with Coral Sauce, and Cheese Fruit Vinegar Avocado Tart.”
The manager immediately complimented: “Miss has excellent taste; these are all our chef’s signature dishes.”
She added: “And one portion of Bamboo Fungus with Matsutake mushrooms.” She remembered Ye Mochen’s preferences.
Ye Mochen’s gaze stayed on her; at this mention, he straightened slightly, and the coldness in his deep eyes melted into gentle warmth.
He nodded to the manager, who understood and bowed before quietly leaving, closing the door behind him.
The room was now theirs alone, intimate and serene.
Ye Mochen reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the warmth of his fingers slightly burning.
The dishes arrived in succession, delicate white porcelain contrasting with the dark rosewood table.
The lead waiter placed the steamed Sanmen crab in the center, its rich roe glistening orange-red under the lights.
The staff quietly withdrew, as if never there.
Ran Weiyi picked up the crab tools but her wrist was gently restrained by a warm, strong hand.
“I’ll do it,” Ye Mochen said calmly, taking over.
He turned the crab toward him, skillful fingers working with practiced elegance. The shell opened effortlessly, meat removed neatly, and the vibrant crab roe carefully placed into a small bowl.
Every movement precise, silent, and spotless.
He pushed the bowl toward her, then used serving chopsticks to offer a piece of boneless cod to her lips.
“I can do it myself,” she whispered.
Ye Mochen didn’t respond, his eyes on her, arm raised, clearly saying: I want to feed you.
Ran Weiyi held his gaze for two seconds before giving in, opening her mouth. The tender fish melted in her mouth, spiced lightly with black pepper and basil aroma.
Seeing her eat, a faint curve appeared on his lips. He set down the chopsticks, took a spoon, and fed her a bit of crab roe.
Ran Weiyi obediently enjoyed the service, letting her thoughts wander happily.