Midsummer night, raindrops knocked haphazardly against the glass window.
Pale fingertips, slick with sweat, slid down along with the rain.
“Keep your waist down. Why are you trembling?”
The man seemed to be holding back his anger, deliberately tormenting her.
“Why didn’t you dodge when you were catching up with your old flame? You just had to let me see it. What do you think we should do about that?”
The unbearable torment wore down Song Yunyi’s nerves. Tears of physical reflex streamed down uncontrollably. She tilted her head back, gasping for air, and couldn’t help but curse at him: “You wicked bastard!”
“Lawyer Song curses so politely—how do you ever win a case? Why don’t you curse a few more times and let your husband help you practice your eloquence?”
As if stung by the word “husband,” Song Yunyi’s slender, frail body stiffened. She lowered her head and said nothing more.
A cold sneer suddenly sounded from behind her.
Her body was abruptly lifted into the air, and by the time Song Yunyi realized what was happening, she had already sunk into the soft brocade bedding.
A tall figure loomed over her.
She frowned and let out a muffled groan, her slender neck arching upward like a little lamb bound in body and soul, unknowingly offering up her most vulnerable throat.
He pinched her soft, tender cheeks and lowered his head to kiss her.
Song Yunyi shuddered, turned her head away, and reiterated: “I won’t kiss you.”
The ambiguous atmosphere suddenly turned cold.
The man’s lips pressed into a thin line, and a fierce glint crept into his gaze.
That look was overwhelmingly present in the darkness. She tried hard to open her eyes wide, but still couldn’t make out his features clearly.
“If not me, then who do you want to kiss?”
As if deliberately going against her wishes, he not only kissed her but also cruelly teased her sensitive spots, kissing deeper and deeper until she couldn’t breathe.
“Just… mmph—not you!”
The man let out a scoffing laugh, then scooped her up and sat her on his lap.
His large hand traveled up her trembling spine, grabbed the back of her neck, and forced her to tilt her head up and look straight at him: “If not me, then are you thinking of Gu Lianhuai?”
Song Yunyi froze, staring at him in bewilderment.
Her pretty little face was streaked with tears, her nose red from crying, her lips swollen and glistening from being bitten, strands of hair clinging to her sweat-dampened cheeks.
She had clearly been bullied quite badly.
She really did seem to be at a loss.
Right—the fact that she was resisting proved he wasn’t Gu Lianhuai.
Then who was he? And where was this?
A flash of lightning illuminated the dim room, and the man’s striking features suddenly became clear.
His short hair was casually swept back, making his brow bone appear more pronounced and sharp, yet the naturally upturned corners of his eyes softened some of that sharpness, adding a hint of allure.
He leaned back on one hand, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips, radiating a lazy air of absolute control.
Song Yunyi’s breath nearly stopped.
Feng Cheng’s lips curved with an ambiguous smile, and with malice…
“Don’t be so unwilling. Who knows, you might already have my seed in you.”
“Madam Feng.”
Consciousness slowly sank away.
“Bang!”
The sound of a glass shattering shattered the dream. Song Yunyi jolted awake from her sleep, a thin layer of sweat forming on her forehead.
She clutched her chest, breathing heavily.
The noise in the private booth instantly quieted, and whispers began to buzz around her.
“She’s really carefree. At a time like this, with Young Master Gu not even here yet, she can still fall asleep?”
The one who spoke was a girl, her tone dripping with sarcasm: “Young Master Gu went to pick up Qiao Shuran. As if she could do anything about it!”
“Exactly. Everyone in the circle knows how low Young Master Gu stooped to chase Qiao Shuran back then—he practically worshipped the ground she walked on. If Qiao Shuran hadn’t been uninterested in him, Song Yunyi wouldn’t even be in the picture.”
“Which girlfriend is as pathetic as her? Tsk tsk tsk, she’s worse off than a mistress.”
“She only looks impressive on the surface. Behind the scenes, everyone knows she’s just someone Young Master Gu uses to make Shuran jealous.”
The group didn’t seem afraid of her overhearing, bursting into laughter together.
Song Yunyi’s mind was a mess and she paid no attention to the surrounding gossip.
As she recalled the content of her dream, her face grew increasingly pale.
Had she still not adjusted to the time difference? Why would she have such a lewd dream?
And with Feng Cheng of all people…
Gu Lianhuai’s archrival.
That young lord was notoriously arrogant and reckless in the capital’s social circle, acting entirely on whim and never sparing anyone’s face.
It was said that his mother’s side had a complicated background. He had lived with her in America until age five, surviving numerous assassination attempts, after which his sparring partners were all internationally renowned mercenaries.
Back when she had skipped grades to her senior year of high school, Feng Cheng wasn’t at Saint Lance. Her impression of him came only from what others said:
Unrestrained and willful by nature, no one in the capital dared to provoke him.
He was the complete opposite of Gu Lianhuai, who was gentle as jade, upright, and proper.
She had heard that in their sophomore year, they had a massive falling out, after which Feng Cheng went straight abroad to study.
A few days ago, at a charity gala where she attended as Gu Lianhuai’s date, she had met him for the first time.
The two had long since shed the hostility of their school days. After chatting briefly about recent market conditions, Gu Lianhuai suddenly introduced her to Feng Cheng: “You went abroad quite early back then, so you might not know Yunyi. She’s something of a legend—skipped two grades and got into a top law school. Even you couldn’t have done that at the time, right?”
Gu Lianhuai rarely spoke so sharply.
Song Yunyi knew he was deliberately comparing her to Feng Cheng, so she played along and took the initiative to speak up: “Hello, President Feng. My name is Song Yunyi, and I’m currently a lawyer.”
At the time, Feng Cheng didn’t acknowledge her right away. Instead, he cast a dismissive glance at Gu Lianhuai before finally extending his hand, his tone flat: “So you’re Lawyer Song. I’ve heard of you.”
His expression was cold, and his tone left nothing to be faulted.
But Song Yunyi couldn’t shake the feeling that he was mocking something.
Perhaps he looked down on her profession, or perhaps he looked down on Gu Lianhuai and, by extension, her as well.
But none of that seemed to have anything to do with her.
Pulling herself out of her thoughts, Song Yunyi got up and headed to the restroom.
She splashed some cold water on her face before gradually calming her emotions.
It was just a dream.
After all, there was no way she would ever have any entanglement with Feng Cheng in this lifetime.
Why bother thinking about it so much?
Pushing open the private room door, the deafening music rushed at her.
She paused mid-step, looked up at the room number, and furrowed her delicate brows.
She hadn’t walked into the wrong room.
“Yunyi, why are you standing there frozen?”
Gu Lianhuai led her toward the sofa, explaining along the way: “There was some traffic on the road, so we arrived a bit late. Why are your hands so cold? Did you catch a chill?”
Song Yunyi shook her head.
There were quite a few unfamiliar faces in the room now.
Among them, a few looked familiar—they were the ones who had been close to Gu Lianhuai back at Saint Lance.
After they sat down, a young man in a pink shirt raised his glass to Song Yunyi, speaking in a familiar tone: “Sister Song, sorry I’m late. I’ll punish myself with three cups.”
With that, he downed two cups readily. When he reached the third, someone patted his arm.
The person chided him: “You just had a stomach flare-up yesterday, and you’re still drinking this much?”
“This little bit won’t hurt.” Cheng Ziyan raised his hand and downed the drink, flashing Song Yunyi a smile.
The girl, feeling snubbed, pouted in mild displeasure.
The guy sitting beside Cheng Ziyan elbowed him in the ribs: “Are you asking for it? Shuran’s just worried about you, and you’re being stubborn. Go ahead, drink a few more cups—see who takes care of you when you’re dead drunk.”
Qiao Shuran covered her mouth with a chuckle: “Brother Zhen, stop teasing him. Have you forgotten last time when Ziyan got drunk and clung to a utility pole, refusing to let go, shouting over and over, ‘Patrick, let’s go catch jellyfish!’? A passerby posted it online and it made the local trending list. He hasn’t gotten drunk since.”
Embarrassed by the mention of his blunder, Cheng Ziyan’s ears instantly turned red. He shook Lu Zhen by the shoulders, demanding he delete the memory.
The group burst into laughter.
This interruption cut off what Song Yunyi had been about to say and successfully shifted everyone’s attention, leaving her set aside.
This was clearly a shared memory among the four of them. Beside her, Gu Lianhuai couldn’t help but curl his lips, his eyes filled with gentle warmth.
Song Yunyi’s gaze flickered slightly, and she quietly looked away.
Once the laughter died down, Qiao Shuran seemed to finally remember to greet her.
She rose with a smile and extended her hand: “Yunyi, it’s been so long. You haven’t changed a bit—still just as beautiful. Welcome back.”
The room fell into a strange silence.
The awkwardness and self-consciousness they expected to see on Song Yunyi’s face never came.
Under the weight of everyone’s gaze, Song Yunyi stood up, her slender fingers lightly touching the other woman’s palm, her voice clear and pleasant: “Thank you. Miss Qiao is still as charming and lovely as ever.”