Spring morning light.
Sunlight slipped through the white curtains, teasing the person still lying on the bed.
Song Wenxi opened her eyes. Her gaze was clear as she quietly studied the crystal chandelier above.
She lifted her arm and touched the silk of her nightdress.
Last night… really wasn’t a dream.
She had been too tired, too sleepy. Even after waking briefly, she hadn’t wanted to move. Subconsciously, she hadn’t resisted his closeness, so she simply drifted back to sleep.
Her body felt fine—no discomfort at all. She had slept well.
Today was Sunday. The entire villa was unusually quiet.
When she went downstairs, only Aunt Zhao was busy.
“Madam, good morning. Would you like breakfast now?”
“Morning, Aunt Zhao. I want egg rolls.”
“Alright, I’ll make them right away.”
Song Wenxi ate slowly and comfortably. The children were still upstairs. After finishing, she went to check on them—but when she opened the room, they were gone.
Odd.
At that moment, in the guest room, the three children sat on a large grey bed hugging their toys, still half-asleep and confused in an unfamiliar space.
When Song Wenxi pushed the door open, she saw their sleepy, dazed little faces.
“Oh, you really are here. Why did you all run to Daddy’s room?”
Clearly, they had slept there.
The three children instantly woke up and rushed toward her, excitedly explaining how their father had carried them there last night.
Mo Nanqing waved her closer. Song Wenxi bent down obediently. Standing on the bed, he leaned in and whispered:
“Mommy, I’ll tell you a secret. Daddy kissed my forehead last night.”
The other two immediately heard it—and looked extremely envious.
In the end, all three of them got kisses from her and were instantly happy again.
After washing up, they went to their rooms to freshen up.
Song Wenxi knocked on the study door.
Hearing the man’s low voice inside, she pushed it open.
Mo Hanche looked up. His gaze landed on her.
She was still in her nightdress. For a moment, he thought of last night—his eyes darkened slightly, heat flickering beneath—but he quickly looked back at the computer screen, though his attention had already scattered.
“You’re awake?”
“Mm.”
Song Wenxi walked in, looking around the study. The large room was divided by a carved screen: one side for resting, the other for work. Two walls were filled with books. On the desk sat two small succulents.
She walked to the window and sat cross-legged on a single chair.
“I just wanted to tell you—you did pretty well yesterday.”
Mo Hanche abruptly looked at her. His ears turned faintly red.
“Ahem… as long as you don’t blame me.”
After all, no matter how justified he tried to be, it still couldn’t erase the fact that he had taken advantage.
If she was praising him… did that mean she wasn’t upset? Or at least, not resisting him?
Mo Hanche studied her.
At first, when she suddenly appeared in his life, he had suspected she lacked boundaries. But after these past few days, that didn’t seem true.
The kisses were mostly initiated by him. She didn’t resist, even seemed to enjoy them—but there was always a sense that she treated them lightly afterward, as if they didn’t require responsibility.
In short—physical enjoyment, nothing more.
But why… was there no more disgust in her eyes when she looked at him?
Last night, when she woke briefly, there had been a moment of clarity before she closed her eyes again, completely at ease—as if she trusted him entirely.
Song Wenxi frowned slightly.
That expression of his—what was that supposed to mean?
She straightened.
“Why would I blame you? You came immediately when we needed you—that’s good. And you even helped put the kids to sleep last night. Not bad.”
Mo Hanche: “……”
Later that day, Song Wenxi worked in the garden. The basement was silent, no disturbance at all. She went back upstairs to write something, but inspiration wouldn’t come.
Thinking of what the children said at the art museum, she suddenly ran upstairs to the third floor.
In the art room, she rummaged through storage boxes—and indeed found the children’s old drawings.
As Mo Dongchen had said, the youngest drew surprisingly well for his age: a sketch of a woman’s back in a bright yellow dress, delicate lines showing flowing hair and a handbag, ascending stairs—clearly recognizable as her.
Mo Beiyu’s drawings were rough but expressive: three small figures standing amid black flames.
Hard to comment.
Mo Nanqing’s art was wild and surreal: colorful fish swimming in a blue sky, a sun twisting inside a black-and-white vortex sea.
Further inside were earlier drawings—bright, chaotic, innocent.
But Mo Beiyu’s work had changed over time. One drawing stood out: a faceless woman in a yellow dress walking up stairs. It was unmistakably her.
Song Wenxi’s fingers paused.
Of the three children, Mo Beiyu was usually the most composed—but also the most sensitive. His drawings carried subtle darkness now, something like shadows creeping in.
They were still so young… yet already carrying emotional weight.
Her chest tightened slightly.
She carefully put the drawings away.
Passing the piano room, she paused—and went in.
She sat at the piano.
Her fingers pressed the keys. A gentle melody flowed out, slipping through the half-open door, drifting into the spring air.
Mo Hanche’s hand paused mid-page.
Following the sound, he walked to the piano room.
There she was—in a white dress, long hair falling over her shoulders, fingers moving lightly across the keys.
Wind moved softly.
She looked beautiful.
Song Wenxi turned and saw him leaning against the doorway. She smiled at him without hesitation.
Something in his chest stirred.
When the piece ended, she lifted a brow.
“How was it?”
“Good,” he said honestly. “And very beautiful.”
She stretched lazily.
“Just a little rusty. I haven’t played in a while.”
She stood, rolling her shoulders.
“I’m a bit of a hobbyist—but good enough to teach the kids.”
Before she could leave, Mo Hanche pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead.
“You didn’t know how to play piano before.”
“Oh, I know quite a lot—you just didn’t know.”
Painting, piano, photography, languages… she had learned them all out of interest. Even combat training—her brother had forced her to learn when she once planned to travel alone. She could even knock him down if he wasn’t careful.
She left his arms and went downstairs.
This was her life now—her choices, her pace, her rules.
Whatever came before… wouldn’t hold her back.
Later, at the villa pool.
The children had just finished training and were happily showing off their moves.
Song Wenxi laughed, scooping them into her arms, completely unable to resist—hugging, poking, tickling, kissing.
So soft. So fun.
Mo Hanche came out and saw her playing with them.
She called out:
“Can you swim?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Then come down! We’ll teach the kids together.”
He smiled faintly and went to change.
When he returned shirtless, Song Wenxi’s eyes immediately stuck to his abs.
She reached out instinctively.
He dodged.
She clicked her tongue and hugged a child instead.
Mo Hanche taught the older two; she taught the youngest.
The children improved quickly. By the end of the afternoon, all three had learned to swim.
Even if Mo Dongchen’s style looked like a “dog paddle,” he was extremely happy doing it.
They were pulled out of the pool.
“Go change yourselves. No running around,” Mo Hanche ordered. “You’ll catch a cold.”
The children ran off obediently.
Song Wenxi tried to climb out—but Mo Hanche suddenly pulled her back into the water, turned her around, and kissed her.
Then casually said:
“You can touch it.”
He didn’t want her looking elsewhere.
Song Wenxi finally got what she wanted.
The feel… was indeed quite good.