It was the weekend, and the city center was bustling with people. Cars moved slowly through the long traffic queue, finally coming to a halt at the intersection.
Shang Chi rested one hand on the steering wheel, tapping it lightly twice. His gaze drifted involuntarily to the rearview mirror.
Manman was still chattering away: "... Teacher Ming, I really didn't mean to! I just wanted you to meet my uncle, so I dragged him along."
As she spoke, Manman puffed out her chest, her voice full of righteous indignation.
"It must have been because Uncle was so heavy! I had to pull so hard to move him, that's why I couldn't stop the car in time and bumped into Teacher Ming."
Shang Chi clicked his tongue. "Shifting the blame—you're quite skilled at that."
"With your brute strength, if I hadn't pulled you back, Teacher Ming would've been sent flying into the back rack."
He let the last syllable trail off. "Teacher Ming, isn't that right?"
"..."
Ming Zhe, repeatedly mentioned by the two, sat stiffly in the backseat. Her jet-black hair fluttered in the breeze from the open window, revealing faintly flushed ears.
Hearing Shang Chi call her name, she stiffened, her heart pounding like a drum. She could only manage a muffled, hurried response: "Uh... thank you, Mr. Shang."
Ming Zhe couldn't fathom how things had spiraled into this.
When they collided in the classroom, she'd practically thrown herself into Shang Chi's arms.
Her forehead had slammed against his firm collarbone, her nose pressed against his solid chest. Her hand, instinctively reaching out to steady herself mid-air, had landed on the warm curve of his waist.
In that split second, Ming Zhe had thought, utterly bewildered.
Though Jincheng was warm, with daytime temperatures hovering around 15 degrees Celsius even in late autumn, everyone had added layers to ward off the chill.
Why was Shang Chi still wearing his coat open, and why was the shirt underneath so thin?
The bodies pressed together suddenly tensed. His supple muscles grew firm and rigid, radiating a searing heat.
As if a blazing fire raged within him.
Just that brief contact warmed her slightly chilled fingertips.
Then came a flurry of confused questions and apologies.
She looked up blankly, feeling warm fingertips gently touch her forehead. Immediately after, the man's low voice carried a mix of resignation and regret.
"Teacher Ming, you've bumped your forehead."
"...Shall I drive you home?"
Ming Zhuo stumbled into Shang Chi's car, her hand firmly held.
Only after the sedan started moving, driving a distance away from the stop-and-go traffic of the CBD, did Ming Zhuo slowly raise her hand to touch her forehead.
It felt slightly warm.
That bump had been a bit hard.
Ming Zhe didn't think much of it.
Since losing her sight, she had to feel her way through everything on her own. Especially during the initial adjustment period, her body was covered in bruises from constant bumps and scrapes. She had no choice but to slow down, and gradually, she grew accustomed to it.
Now, only when she occasionally touched a sore spot would she belatedly realize she'd bumped into something again.
She didn't mind, but she hadn't expected someone else to care.
A few minutes later, the car abruptly stopped.
Mingzhu looked up in confusion, hearing the sound of a door opening and closing from the front passenger seat.
Beside her, Manman sat quietly, rustling with a candy wrapper and humming an anime theme song, showing no sign of curiosity.
Mingzhu sat stiffly in the backseat, turning her head toward the breeze.
Why did Shang Chi get out?
Was something wrong?
As possibilities swirled through her mind, her ears twitched. Her keen hearing instantly picked up the familiar rhythm of footsteps approaching.
Mingzhu lifted her head slightly.
The next second, the rear door on her side slid open from the outside.
The man carried the rich fragrance of late-blooming osmanthus from the roadside as he leaned closer, his voice growing nearer.
"Teacher Ming, slide in a bit further."
Ming Zhu instinctively shifted toward the center.
Unable to see anything, she could only gaze blankly to the side, waiting for the next command from the person approaching.
Then came the cool ointment.
The faintly mint-scented ointment touched her flushed forehead. The sudden chill made Ming Zhu's body tremble involuntarily, and she recoiled backward without thinking.
A warm, prepared hand gently cradled the back of her head, pulling her back with the lightest touch.
"Don't move."
Mingzhu heard Shang Chi's voice, so close that even the faint breath accompanying his words brushed against her.
He said, "Just applying some ointment. It'll be over soon."
Mingzhu froze completely, feeling the warm fingertips gently massaging the ointment in circular motions across her forehead. Her breath grew increasingly ragged, filled with the crisp, pleasant scent emanating from the man.
She struggled to control the tremors coursing through her body, digging her fingertips into the soft palm beneath hers. Unaware, however, was that the very act of tilting her head back for the application had laid bare every emotion within her.
Shang Chi's movements slowed involuntarily.
Tall as he was, he had to brace one knee against the backseat cushion and arch his back to squeeze into the cramped rear space.
He could have simply asked Ming Zhe to shift over, sparing himself the discomfort.
Nor would his bulk have blocked most of the light while applying the ointment.
Yet, as if compelled by some unseen force, when Shang Chi opened the rear door and met those trembling amber eyes turning toward him, the words urging her to sit inside slipped out.
The milky-white ointment gradually melted into transparency beneath his fingers, blending into the pale, faintly pink skin of her forehead.
Shang Chi lowered his gaze without a flicker of emotion, his eyes glancing over Mingzhuo's small ears—now bare of hair, flushed a crimson so vivid it seemed ready to bleed.
One hand cradled the rounded nape of her neck, his fingers tangled in the soft, cool strands of hair chilled by the wind.
The other hand massaged her forehead, occasionally brushing the side of his palm against her pale, delicate cheek, transmitting a soft, warm sensation.
This soft warmth was visibly intensifying.
In the blink of an eye, a delicate blush spread like petals from her temples to her cheeks.
Her almond-shaped eyes fluttered rapidly, gathering a faint mist within them like trembling stars. For a moment, they seemed to gain a living, perceptive quality.
"..."
Shang Chi's massaging fingers froze.
Ming Zhe's breathing grew ragged, her voice trembling with each syllable.
"Is... is it okay now?"
She tilted her head slightly, her neck stretching into a luminous curve, as if fleeing in terror, unable to bear it any longer.
Yet, unexpectedly, her crimson earlobe pressed into Shang Chi's palm.
Soft, hot, yielding to his touch...
Then she hastily pulled away.
Shang Chi's Adam's apple bobbed as he slowly withdrew his hand.
After a few seconds of silence, he replied in a low, husky voice, as if nothing had happened: "It's fine."
Mingzhuo's heart pounded in her chest, each beat deafening. Blood rushed to her face, and a fine sheen of sweat broke out on her spine.
Suppressing her trembling fingers, she fumbled through her small crossbody bag, feeling the familiar edges of a packet. She pulled out a small pack of wet wipes and offered it forward.
"Thank you... Use these to wipe your hands."
She didn't even bother addressing him as Mr. Shang anymore.
Shang Chi gave a lazy hum and reached out to take the wipes Mingzhu offered.
His warm, long fingers lightly brushed against her soft, pale fingertips.
With a sharp jerk, like a small animal whose tail had been stepped on, Mingzhu swiftly withdrew her hand. She clasped her fingers together and placed them neatly on her knees.
Shang Chi's lips curved slightly, a hint of amusement playing there.
He lifted his gaze, the faint teasing in his eyes still lingering, only to find it meeting the gaze of the chubby little girl behind Mingzhuo.
Manman, chin propped up, was watching with rapt attention. Her large, clear eyes blinked rapidly, a smile spreading across her face to reveal a row of tiny, pearly teeth.
Shang Chi: "..."
Manman opened her mouth: "Uncle—"
Shang Chi suddenly cleared his throat, his expression unchanging as he cut off her words. "I'll drive you home."
The back door slammed shut.
Mingzhuo listened to Shang Chi's movements as he got in, bit her lip, and quietly rubbed her burning ears.
Home.
Yes, she needed to hurry home now.
Otherwise, Shang Chi had merely offered to apply medicine out of courtesy and concern, considering her blindness. Yet here she was, flushed and flustered, her heart pounding like a drum.
It was just too embarrassing.
Mingzhu kept her head down, taking deep breaths to steady her pounding heart while mentally rehearsing her thanks.
She thought about it the whole ride.
When the car stopped and Manman cheered "We're here!", Mingzhu straightened her back as if receiving a battle signal. Her fingers fumbled toward the door handle, ready to deliver her polished thanks.
"Thank you so much, Mr. Shang..."
Manzhan: "I'm home! Bye, Teacher Ming!"
Mingzhuo: "...?"
Wait.
The kid's home.
But what about her?
The car door beside her slammed shut.
Amid the nanny's repeated calls to slow down, the child ran off giggling.
Ming Zhe blinked blankly.
Then, from the driver's seat, a slow, lazy, smiling male voice drifted over.
"It's almost dinnertime."
"Teacher Ming, would you like to have dinner with me?"