Afterward, Mo Yinhe pressed his temples, nursing a headache. "Half an hour after you go upstairs," he said, "call out to me from there. Have me come up as well."
"What for?" Si Mingjing asked, bewildered and wary.
Mo Yinhe lowered his voice. "To get me out of a tight spot."
Si Mingjing was speechless.
Mo Yinhe adopted a troubled expression. "This friend of mine isn't just promiscuous; he doesn't distinguish between men and women. He flew all the way here in the middle of the night just to drink with me—and on Christmas Eve, no less. I'm afraid he might get ideas if he drinks too much."
Si Mingjing's pupils narrowed. She looked up at Mo Yinhe. "You're joking, right?"
Mo Yinhe's expression was dead serious, his tone equally grave. "If you don't believe me," he said, "ask my sister. This friend has had designs on me for a long time. Due to business connections, I can't afford a falling out. Just seeing him gives me a headache."
Si Mingjing truly didn't believe him.
