Warm, humid breath brushed against her ear.
Fang Qizhou’s gaze pressed down on Zhu Fan until she held her breath.
She was prey he had marked.
From head to toe, she was steeped in his scent.
The man stood one meter ninety tall, and she was trapped in his embrace, forced to tilt her head back and look directly into his eyes.
Her neck ached.
The presence, the scent, the voice, the tone that surrounded her made Zhu Fan’s body tremble involuntarily.
This feeling wasn’t fear—it was excitement.
She swallowed. “Do you have any rope at home?”
Fang Qizhou seemed intensely intrigued by her lack of fear and her refusal to follow convention. Even his world-weary face broke into a smile. “Want to hang yourself in front of me?”
Zhu Fan covered her left earlobe, trying to ward off the scent that was seeping into her skin from every direction.
“You think I’m going to hang myself?”
“What’s going on in that head of yours?”
She wanted to live—she just wanted to live well.
“Can you think of something positive for once? Can you be a little more optimistic?”
Fang Qizhou stared at the soft, parting lips before him and the eyes that sparkled with indignation, and the corner of his mouth curled up.
Zhu Fan met Fang Qizhou’s half-smiling, tangible scrutiny and softened her tone. “I want to live well—with you.”
Fang Qizhou raised an eyebrow. “Want to live well with me.”
It wasn’t a question—it was a restatement of her words.
The way he said it sent a chill down Zhu Fan’s spine. She explained, “I want the rope to tie the two of us together properly.” She reached out and pressed her hand against Fang Qizhou’s arm.
Her gaze swept the room, wishing she could find a rope right now and tie herself directly to Fang Qizhou.
The consequences of provoking Fang Qizhou were severe, so he absolutely must not let her go.
That way, she could not only keep a close watch on whether her blood bag had dangerous thoughts, but also prevent Fang Qizhou from doing anything life-threatening.
Don’t let her go. Whatever he did, don’t let her go.
The joy in Zhu Fan’s eyes turned into specks of starlight.
She looked at Fang Qizhou with such happiness and desperate hope.
Fang Qizhou felt the fragile neck beneath his palm and finally gripped it firmly. “I really want to see if there’s a different soul underneath this skin of Miss Zhu’s.”
Zhu Fan responded to Fang Qizhou’s sharpness in the most direct way possible—she reached out and covered his mouth with her hand, then shifted into a more comfortable sitting position.
This man already didn’t trust the world, and he went looking for death from time to time.
If she admitted that this body had been swapped with a different soul, that would be a disaster.
“Fang Qizhou, before last night we’d never had deep contact, so you don’t know me. From now on, let’s have lots of deep contact and get to know each other properly. What do you say?”
The girl’s innocent, harmless gaze showed no trace of pretense as she stared straight at him, waiting for his response.
Sensing the change in his body, Fang Qizhou scooped her up by the waist.
Deep contact, huh.
Zhu Fan hurriedly clutched the towel over her chest, and only when she met Fang Qizhou’s desire-laden eyes did she realize she’d said the wrong thing.
That wasn’t what she meant by deep contact.
What she meant was getting to know each other’s personalities on a deeper level and—
The chill on her legs made her brain nearly explode.
She had definitely, absolutely just flashed him.
When she was pressed down onto the big bed, a muffled whimper escaped Zhu Fan’s throat.
The towel came loose—
Zhu Fan grabbed at Fang Qizhou’s clothes, tears streaming uncontrollably.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Fang Qizhou, I’m not comfortable…”
“You were so rough last night…”
Fang Qizhou’s kiss stopped at the hollow of her neck, and his pale, long fingers withdrew.
Her hot, salty tears were swallowed into his mouth, carrying a taste of salt and bitterness.
Where his gaze fell, the girl’s fair cheeks were flushed with an enticing crimson.
Zhu Fan looked at Fang Qizhou through tear-blurred eyes.
The man’s arm muscles tensed as his thumb pressed against the tears at the corner of her eye.
Fang Qizhou’s dark, heavy gaze and the not-at-all-gentle way he wiped her tears made Zhu Fan stop crying.
The weight on her left, and she rubbed her itchy eyes, looking for her towel.
The towel had been thrown to the floor. Zhu Fan wrapped her arms around herself, wanting to go pick it up.
Fang Qizhou’s gaze never left her, and she felt both mortified and hot-faced.
The next second, a soft blanket fell over her.
Fang Qizhou’s movements weren’t gentle at all, and his eyes were deep and heavy.
Zhu Fan obediently let Fang Qizhou wrap her up in the blanket like a silkworm chrysalis.
It was clear that Fang Qizhou was quite satisfied with how he’d bundled her up.
The two phones in the living room rang like a symphony.
Zhu Fan, wrapped in the blanket, stole a glance at Fang Qizhou, then shuffled off the bed in a sorry state.
Meng Yin’s gentle voice asking when she was coming home gave Zhu Fan the guilty feeling of a thief.
It was 10:13 PM now.
Zhu Fan realized it was already very late.
Fang Qizhou emerged from the master bedroom carrying the moisture of a shower.
Zhu Fan’s hand paused on the doorknob. “The tangyuan went cold, so I reheated it for you. Remember to eat it.”
With that, she pressed down the handle, and the door swung open.
The girl’s black short-sleeve shirt hung loose and baggy on her, her two straight, fair, slender legs swaying into view.
“Zhu Fan.”
The man’s low, magnetic, cold voice made Zhu Fan turn her head instinctively.
“He won’t be able to attend the piano performance tonight.”
Fang Qizhou was telling her about Fang Qibai.
Zhu Fan nodded, indicating that she understood.
This was their own family matter, and also Fang Qibai’s own business—it had nothing to do with her.
Fang Qizhou picked up his phone from the sofa and strolled lazily toward her.
The phone clutched in Zhu Fan’s hand buzzed.
Fang Qizhou had accepted her friend request.
The driver was already downstairs, so she didn’t linger any longer.
Her little pink pig slippers made a squeaky, crunching sound against the floor as she walked.
Zhu Fan couldn’t quite muster a smile.
These slippers were just a random add-on she’d thrown into a takeout order. They were comfortable enough to wear—lightweight, no real heft—but the noise they made with every step was just too loud.
Her collar was yanked back—
Zhu Fan turned around, cheeks puffed with irritation, and glared at Fang Qizhou. “What are you doing?”
The girl’s voice was crisp and clear, laced with annoyance.
“You’re in my way.”
Zhu Fan: ?
The elevator doors opened, and Fang Qizhou’s long, enviable legs made Zhu Fan clench her jaw.
Long legs, huh. Real impressive.
Fang Qizhou just lazily glanced down at her from the corner of his eye.
The elevator was unnervingly quiet.
Zhu Fan asked out of curiosity, “Are you heading home to eat fish?”
Fang Qizhou’s deep, dark eyes fixed on her. Suddenly, a playful smile curled at the corner of his lips. “Compared to eating fish, a fight sounds more interesting, don’t you think?”
Oh. Fang Qizhou was going home to pick a fight with Fang Qibai.
Well, that had nothing to do with her either.
But fights could lead to injuries, and injuries would definitely lead to unhappiness.
Zhu Fan tried to talk him out of it, smiling sweetly. “How could a fight be more fun than eating fish, right?”
The tension in Zhu Fan’s eyes was caught precisely by Fang Qizhou, and his gaze turned cold.
So she was already feeling protective of Fang Qibai.
Zhu Fan gently tugged at the hem of Fang Qizhou’s shirt. “The tangyuan I made for you—you haven’t eaten them yet.”
Fang Qizhou lowered his head, leaning in close to Zhu Fan, his gaze level with hers. “Zhu Fan, from this moment on, whenever I call for you, you come. Tonight, I’ll let him off.”
Zhu Fan agreed without a moment’s hesitation the instant the words left his mouth.
The amusement in Fang Qizhou’s eyes was gone.
Zhu Fan spotted her family’s car and stepped out of the elevator with light, brisk steps.
Behind her, unseen, Fang Qizhou watched the girl’s carefree retreating figure and lit up his phone.
A photo of Fang Qibai kneeling on the ground, holding a plate of steamed sea bass with both hands, suddenly filled the screen.
The sea bass on the celadon porcelain plate gleamed with an enticing sheen, slivers of ginger and strips of green and red pepper adorning the fish like a work of art.
Even through the photo, one could almost smell the fishy scent.
For nineteen years, every bite of food Fang Qizhou had ever eaten tasted like the paper of books.
Only fish—that, he could taste the fishiness.