Emerging from the bathroom, over an hour had passed—Jiang Zhi's hands ached more than before, barely holding her phone.
Shang Chi, in contrast, looked refreshed—his injured hand untouched by water.
She opened WeChat—dozens of missed video calls from Jiang Qinian.
Frowning, she glanced at Shang Chi brushing his teeth.
Pressing the voice button, she whispered, "Focus on your show—I've a surprise. Busy, so not coming."
String him along—let hope grow, then crash. No need for revenge—just cut ties clean.
But he's stubborn—time for a "shock therapy."
Jiang Qinian had waited all day—haunted by the "similar back" image, elated to be unblocked, then crushed by silence.
Emotions: rollercoaster—highs and lows, panic.
Her voice message soothed him—but doubt lingered.
He craved her presence—called immediately.
Jiang Zhi's heart skipped—she hung up.
Jiang Qinian's anxiety spiked—she'd never hung up before.
Once, she'd prioritized him above all. Now, second hang-up—only after their breakup.
He knew she'd keep rejecting him—maybe even block again, like that night.
What changed overnight?
He texted: "Zhi Zhi, video call? Just want to see you—one glance."
Jiang Zhi, hands still shaky, sent a voice: "Tired—talk tomorrow."
Jiang Qinian seethed—but knew he'd hurt her, needed patience.
Unblocked + voice messages = progress.
He replied gently: "Okay—rest well. Goodnight."
Once, she'd repeat "goodnight" endlessly. Now, one message made her nauseous.
She ignored him, powering off her phone—Shang Chi exited the bathroom.
He glanced at her phone, said nothing, climbed into bed. "Not sleeping?"
Jiang Zhi, guilty about Jiang Qinian, clutched her phone. "Sleep."
She lay on the far side—but his arm pulled her close, warmth and dampness seeping through their clothes.
Startled, she yelped—his hand slipped under her pajama top, grazing her stomach, hovering at her pants.
His touch sent electric shivers—she froze, voice trembling. "Achi… are you…?"
They'd just "helped" each other in the bathroom—why again?
He didn't answer, caressing her abdomen—testing her awake reaction.
Not yet—the timing's off.
But he needed to prove something.
After a long pause, he spoke—low, hypnotic. "You'll give it if I want?"
She nodded, whispering, "Yes."
Their marriage: a transaction—no love, just duty.
He lifted her pajama pants—her body tensed.
His lips brushed her ear—voice gravelly. "You helped me—now I return the favor."
Strange, thrilling sensations—she gripped his hand, nails digging in, anxiety turning to arousal.
Shang Chi watched her face—every micro-expression noted.
She felt like a fish in a pond—rain falling, water rippling. At first, calm—then storm, trapped.
No escape—she surrendered.
Her breath hitched, a soft moan escaping—eyes watering, lids reddening.
He knew—gaze darkening, resolve hardening.
Jiang Zhi's eyes widened—unexpected turn.
His expression flickered—then returned to cold composure.
"Did he touch you?"