After finishing her hot shower, Zhu Fan’s gaze landed on the neatly folded towel, but her hand reached out only to pull back again.
In the end, she chose to grab the gray bath towel instead.
She dried her hair until it stopped dripping, then wrapped the gray bath towel around herself.
The mirror was clouded with steam, her reflection hazy and indistinct.
As the door opened, air rushed in, and the mirror cleared.
Zhu Fan’s foot, which had been stepping out of the bathroom, silently retreated the moment she saw Fang Qizhou sitting on the sofa.
Her body moved before her mind could catch up.
She slapped herself firmly.
There was nothing to hide from, and nothing to be afraid of.
Using the bathroom doorframe to conceal most of her body, she cautiously poked half her head out.
Fang Qizhou was still sitting on the sofa, but his gaze landed on her lightly yet precisely.
The girl peeked out timidly, her exposed skin whiter than the snow of deep winter.
Zhu Fan didn’t avoid his gaze. Her voice went soft as she asked, “Fang Qizhou, could you get me a pair of slippers?”
The indoor lighting had been dimmed considerably. A slanted beam of warm yellow light fell across the man’s brow, casting a faint, tired shadow beneath his eyes—barely noticeable. Perhaps it was because he’d showered and changed into clean clothes, but the man’s sharpness and cold hardness had softened considerably. Instead, he exuded a loose, weary air. He looked drained, yet still so handsome it was hard to look away.
Fang Qizhou’s gaze was as dark and heavy as the light.
Zhu Fan pouted.
Her feet were wet and slippery, genuinely uncomfortable.
She grumbled inwardly—even an ice cube knows to melt after a hot shower, but this man was worse than an ice cube after his.
When she saw Fang Qizhou stand up, Zhu Fan wrapped her arms around her chest and slowly shuffled toward him. She didn’t feel secure in the bath towel wrapped around her, constantly feeling like it might slip off.
Zhu Fan raised a smile. “Do you like eating—”
Fang Qizhou stopped in front of her, but as he passed, he spent half a second leaving his slippers behind for her.
Then he walked straight toward the kitchen—
Zhu Fan, completely ignored, clenched her fists.
Didn’t they say you don’t hit someone who’s smiling at you?
Was her smile not sincere enough, not sweet enough?!!
Fine, fine, fine. Fang Qizhou, you’re so aloof. So very aloof.
Zhu Fan stomped hard into the black slippers.
The slippers were too big. She trudged awkwardly toward the kitchen.
Staring at Fang Qizhou, who was drinking water at a leisurely pace, Zhu Fan bared her teeth.
When Fang Qizhou looked over, she quickly piled on a sweet, gentle smile.
Fang Qizhou’s drinking motion paused slightly.
Zhu Fan smiled even sweeter.
Was she looking at Fang Qizhou? No. That was a blood bag. That was her blood bag.
A familiar ringtone sounded.
Before her shower, Zhu Fan had ordered the underwear she needed on her phone. Despite the rain, the delivery driver hadn’t been late.
The problem was, the delivery couldn’t be brought inside—she needed to go downstairs to pick it up.
The delivery driver’s slightly urgent, pressing tone made Zhu Fan scratch her head.
Before she could say anything more, the driver had already hung up.
There was absolutely no way Zhu Fan was going downstairs in a bath towel to pick up the delivery.
She cast a hopeful look at Fang Qizhou. “Actually, cool guys are even cooler when they talk.”
“You look more handsome when you speak than when you don’t.”
“Do you know what happens to ice cubes? They get put into milk tea and drunk.”
After saying those three sentences, Zhu Fan was so embarrassed she wanted to dig a hole with her toes.
His icy cold gaze made her blood run cold.
He didn’t think she was trying to act cute, did he?
God, Zhu Fan, what the hell is your little mouth even rambling about?
Fang Qizhou set down the mineral water bottle, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “You want me to go get the delivery?”
His voice was soft, without any deliberate coldness, carrying a jade-like cool texture that burrowed into her ears.
Zhu Fan deeply realized she had thoroughly inherited her grandmother’s habit of saying a bunch of useless things before asking someone for help.
She nodded like a pecking chick. “I won’t let you help for nothing—I’ll cook you some tangyuan.”
Zhu Fan skillfully pulled open the freezer drawer. “What kind do you want? Big ones, small ones, or one bag of each?”
The look in Fang Qizhou’s eyes made Zhu Fan’s heart skip a beat.
Realizing she’d gone through his fridge without permission, Zhu Fan awkwardly scratched her cheek. She quickly explained, “I saw the sticky note you wrote. Going through your fridge without asking was rude of me—I apologize. You want to know what tangyuan tastes like, right? I thought if you had some in your fridge, I could cook them for you.”
While Zhu Fan spoke, Fang Qizhou’s dark eyes remained deep and still.
She ventured tentatively, “Can you taste the flavor of things I’ve eaten or touched?”
Fang Qizhou looked down at her from above, his eyes revealing nothing.
“Why?”
Zhu Fan let out an “ah.”
She’d guessed right.
“Why can I taste the flavor of things you’ve touched or eaten?”
Zhu Fan met his cold, puzzled gaze, then lowered her eyelashes. She couldn’t help but soften her voice as she asked, “Does everything you eat taste like nothing?”
He simply watched her quietly, one hand resting on the kitchen island. After a long moment, he said, “The taste of book paper.”
Zhu Fan wanted to curse.
When she’d read the original novel, it never mentioned or established that Fang Qizhou had a problem with his sense of taste.
It wasn’t that Fang Qizhou wanted to become a lunatic—it was this world that had turned him into one.
If a person had tasted nothing but paper-flavored food since birth, she dared not imagine what it would be like if it were her. She probably would have gone mad long ago.
When Zhu Fan raised her eyes again, her gaze no longer wavered.
She looked at Fang Qizhou, staring past him into the boundless night behind the man. Even with the city’s dazzling lights and towering buildings, an inexplicable sense of unreality still rose within her.
“Has it always been like this?”
Fang Qizhou’s gaze turned sullen and cold almost instantly.
Oh no. Fang Qizhou was unhappy again.
Zhu Fan pressed her palm against the back of his hand resting on the kitchen island.
An electric current seemed to travel through her palm, fine tingles climbing up her spine—
Zhu Fan cleared her throat and spoke seriously: “Tangyuan have a chewy, sticky texture, and the filling is sweet. Some have black sesame filling inside, some have fruit flavors, and some—”
“Does it feel good to touch?”
Fang Qizhou’s sudden words cut off Zhu Fan’s sentence.
Zhu Fan: “Huh?”
Under the dim yellow light, invisible fine particles floated in the air.
Their stacked hands absorbed a warmth that didn’t belong to either of them.
The palm on the back of his hand was soft, warm. In her bright pupils was his reflection.
Dazzlingly bright.
The large hand beneath Zhu Fan’s palm withdrew. Watching Fang Qizhou’s tall, straight back as he walked away, her face suddenly grew hot.
Her action of touching the back of Fang Qizhou’s hand just now—he must have misunderstood.
Heaven knows, she really wasn’t trying to take advantage of him.
She felt mortified. Why had she suddenly gone and touched the back of his hand?
But just now, if she hadn’t grabbed him, he really seemed like he would disappear.
In that moment, that was the feeling she had.
“Fang Qizhou,”
Zhu Fan called out to the tall figure that had stopped, “After you grab the takeout and come back up, you can eat the tangyuan.”
When Fang Qizhou had changed his shoes and walked out the door, Zhu Fan called out again.
The tall figure stood behind the shadow of the doorframe, pausing at the sound of her voice.
From Zhu Fan’s line of sight, she couldn’t tell whether Fang Qizhou had stopped walking.
She muttered: “Is it that hard to make a sound? So rude.”
“Not just rude—he’s also Mr. Grumpy.”
“Come on, come on, let’s cook some tangyuan for Mr. Grumpy and make him happy.”
Fang Qizhou leaned against the door, occasionally catching the girl’s cheerful self-talk. He pressed the button on his phone, which kept vibrating with incoming messages.
[Qizhou, Dad is waiting for you to come home for dinner.]
[Driving in the rain isn’t safe. The driver is already downstairs at your apartment.]
[Your brother is making the fish you wanted.]
Fang Qizhou expressionlessly turned off his phone and shoved it into his pocket, striding into the elevator with his long legs.
Ten minutes later.
Plump, white tangyuan bobbed in the boiling water.
Zhu Fan stirred the bubbling water, occasionally glancing toward the door. Her other hand wasn’t idle—she was playing a match-three game.
When Ming Yazhi’s video call came through, she was about to decline it.
But her hand was wet with water droplets, and her finger slipped—she accidentally answered.
“A Fan, you have no idea how outrageous Fang Qizhou is. He said one word about wanting to eat the sea bass Fang Qibai makes, and Fang Qibai’s piano performance tonight—which was so important—got canceled because of him.”
The voice from the phone in the kitchen carried into the living room.
With her back turned, Zhu Fan couldn’t hear the click of the door opening over the noise of the range hood.
Ming Yazhi’s indignant and angry voice continued through the speaker: “I think Fang Qizhou did it on purpose. He’s such a jerk, such a monster.”
Zhu Fan frowned. “What does this have to do with you?”
Ming Yazhi’s voice softened. “A Fan, I’m just worried you might be in a bad mood.”
Zhu Fan scooped out the tangyuan. “I’m in a great mood. Bye.”
Don’t distract her from scooping the tangyuan.
As Zhu Fan turned around holding the bowl, a phone ringtone from behind startled her so much she nearly threw the bowl.
Fortunately, she managed to restrain herself.
Seeing Fang Qizhou standing in the living room after picking up the takeout, she set the bowl on the kitchen island and cheerfully called him over to eat the tangyuan. “You’re back—why didn’t you make a sound? You scared me.”
Zhu Fan had no idea that Fang Qizhou had heard every word Ming Yazhi had just said.
She reached for the takeout bag in Fang Qizhou’s hand, planning to change clothes in the bathroom.
Fang Qizhou didn’t let go of the bag.
Zhu Fan tugged at it hard, blinking. “Give it to me.”
Her wrist was seized by Fang Qizhou.
As the man sat down, the sofa sank, and Zhu Fan found herself seated on Fang Qizhou’s lap, cheek nearly touching cheek.
Fang Qizhou let out a light scoff, holding his phone up in front of Zhu Fan.
An incoming call from Fang Qibai.
Zhu Fan looked at him in confusion.
Fang Qizhou’s long fingers hovered over the screen, a defiant smirk curling his lips. “Want him to attend tonight’s piano performance?”
Zhu Fan felt awkward in her current position. “What does his piano performance have to do with me?” She struggled, trying to get off Fang Qizhou’s lap.
The sudden coldness that hardened Fang Qizhou’s brows and eyes made Zhu Fan realize—this man had come back from getting takeout even more unhappy than before.
The more she struggled in his embrace, the more displeased he seemed.
Zhu Fan lowered her head and obediently sat still on his lap.
“Fang Qizhou, you’re gripping my wrist so hard it hurts. Can you ease up a little?”
“Why are you so mean?”
As the girl’s soft, trailing voice faded, Fang Qizhou’s phone emitted Fang Qibai’s cold-toned voice.
“Fang Qizhou.”
Fang Qizhou casually tossed the phone onto the sofa. He lowered his head to look at Zhu Fan in his arms, who, upon hearing Fang Qibai’s voice, had suddenly covered her mouth and hung her head.
So afraid that Fang Qibai would find out she was here with him.
On the other end of the line, Fang Qibai’s voice was low and hoarse, punctuated by occasional coughs.
“Dinner is ready. Dad asked me to invite you to come eat.”
Fang Qizhou seemed not to hear Fang Qibai’s words at all.
Zhu Fan felt the large palm roaming at her waist and looked up at Fang Qizhou with a fierce glare.
The moisture and indignation in the girl’s eyes made Fang Qizhou’s brows furrow. “Don’t cry.”
Fang Qibai’s voice on the other end of the line suddenly went silent.
Zhu Fan instinctively glanced at the phone.
Fang Qizhou followed her gaze, casually glancing at the phone, his palm covering her slender nape.
“Seducing me, climbing into my bed, staking out my place.”
“Zhu Fan, did you think about the consequences before provoking me?”