The heat of his breath made Wen Zhi instinctively shrink her neck, her whole body tingling.
She said helplessly, "Mo Tingyan, do you even want dinner anymore?"
"I do," he replied lazily. "But first—an appetizer."
Before she could react, he turned her to face him, lifted her effortlessly by the waist, and set her right onto the countertop.
His lips—still warm, still damp—claimed hers, then trailed slowly to her ear, her neck, her collarbone.
Unhurried.
Relentless.
As if there was nowhere to retreat, nowhere to hide.
By nightfall, Wen Zhi received a call from the purser.
Unexpectedly, Mo Tingjue hadn't filed a complaint at all.
Instead, it was Wen Xue who complained—about Wen Zhi hitting someone.
Since that was an undeniable fact, Wen Zhi was grounded for one week.
Mo Tingyan worried she'd be upset and had planned to "pull some strings" for her—but fate had other plans.
That very night, Wen Zhi's period arrived.
Seeing how miserable she was, he dropped the idea entirely and let her rest.
Following a remedy he'd had someone look up last time, Mo Tingyan boiled ginger brown sugar water and carried it into her room.
She lay weakly on the bed, hair damp with cold sweat, too drained to tidy it.
His brows furrowed unconsciously.
How could there be such a strange affliction in this world?
He pulled her up gently, propped a pillow behind her back, and handed her the heatproof cup, his usual roguish tone completely gone.
"I made you some brown sugar water. They say it works better when it's hot. I don't know if it'll help—but drink it."
Wen Zhi looked at the cup in his hand and felt warmth spread through her chest.
Last time, it was belly rubbing.
This time, brown sugar water.
No one had ever taken care of her like this before.
For a moment, she didn't even know how she was supposed to respond.
She accepted the cup and said softly, enduring the pain,
"Thank you."
"What's the point of verbal thanks?" he said lightly.
"If you really want to thank me, once this is over, you can reward me properly."
He adjusted her posture.
"Come on—lean back. I'll rub your stomach."
She was about to say it wasn't necessary—but he'd already lifted her pajama top.
After warming his hands, he placed them gently on her lower abdomen, kneading slowly.
A wave of warmth seeped in.
And with it, something unfamiliar slipped quietly into Wen Zhi's heart.
That night, Mo Tingyan stayed in her room as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Just like last time, she lay against him, and he warmed her through the entire night.
The next day, Mo Tingyan went to the airline.
Wen Zhi stayed in bed until the afternoon.
Once the pain eased, she called Lian Qiao and invited her over for the next day—
because Mo Tingyan would be off.
Before he returned home that evening, Wen Zhi started a livestream.
Since she'd suddenly changed her video style recently, the moment she went live, her room flooded with viewers and rapid-fire questions.
She openly admitted that the man in her video was her boyfriend.
As for the rest—she didn't explain.
She chatted as usual.
By the end of the stream, even the tips surprised her.
The next day at noon, Lian Qiao arrived right on time.
Mo Tingyan opened the door.
Seeing the tall, handsome man with a straight posture, Lian Qiao couldn't help taking an extra look before saying solemnly,
"Hello. I'm Lian Qiao—your wife's best friend. The closest kind."
From the kitchen, Wen Zhi walked out just in time to hear Mo Tingyan respond calmly,
"Hello. I'm Mo Tingyan—your best friend's husband. The closest kind."
Wen Zhi: "..."
What kind of introduction was that?
She smiled and handed Lian Qiao a pair of new slippers.
"Qiao Qiao, don't stand there. Come in."
Lian Qiao shoved a pile of gifts into Mo Tingyan's arms and linked her arm with Wen Zhi's, looking around.
"This place is bigger than where you lived before."
"Yeah," Wen Zhi replied. "One extra room."
Lian Qiao nodded with satisfaction.
"Living conditions—acceptable. Passed."
After touring the apartment and discovering they slept in separate rooms, Lian Qiao was speechless.
"You two are practicing some new-age marriage? Separate rooms right from the start?"
Before Wen Zhi could answer, Mo Tingyan spoke up immediately.
"Exactly. Your best friend's hard to handle. Why don't you talk some sense into her?
How does it make sense to leave a man as pretty as me untouched and sleep alone every night?"
Lian Qiao burst into laughter and turned to Wen Zhi.
Wen Zhi: "..."
This shameless man.
"Go pour Qiao Qiao a glass of juice."
Mo Tingyan complied.
The moment he left, Lian Qiao leaned in and whispered excitedly,
"He's way hotter than that scumbag. Looks pass in my book. And he seems humorous, too. I'm fairly satisfied—for now. Let's observe further."
Wen Zhi chuckled.
Lian Qiao was a die-hard looks addict.
They sat down on the sofa.
Thinking about Wen Zhi being grounded, Lian Qiao fumed.
"That bitch Wen Xue got you grounded and you're just letting it go?"
"I got my period anyway," Wen Zhi replied calmly. "I'll treat it as a break."
Mo Tingyan brought over two drinks—warm milk for Wen Zhi, orange juice for Lian Qiao—then sat down nearby.
Lian Qiao raised an eyebrow.
Considerate.
Passed.
But she still put on a dissatisfied tone.
"Mo Tingyan, you're not bad. But your family members? Trash. Especially your younger brother—"
"My family," Mo Tingyan interrupted calmly,
"is only your best friend. No one else."
Lian Qiao lifted her brows in satisfaction.
This man might be a bit poor—but the way he stood up for Wen Zhi was far better than Mo Tingjue, who always played the nice guy, preaching about his mother's hardships.
Then Lian Qiao suddenly remembered something and nudged Wen Zhi with a grin.
"Oh right—you probably haven't heard. That scumbag Mo Tingjue has been extremely unlucky lately.
He pissed someone off and got beaten into the hospital. Just got discharged—and then, in two days, got rear-ended three times.
Today's accident even gave him a mild concussion. Back to the hospital again.
This is… karma."
Wen Zhi froze.
She recalled the bruise near Mo Tingjue's eye.
Getting beaten wasn't accidental—but three car accidents in a row?
That probability was almost nonexistent.
She turned slowly and looked at Mo Tingyan.
Could it be… him?
Her mind flashed back to the day her father had forcibly taken her home—and Mo Tingyan had stormed in with a group of men to save her.
Her grip on the juice glass tightened.
Suddenly, she realized—
She might not know Mo Tingyan nearly as well as she thought.
Did she truly know him at all?
And just how much of Mo Tingyan…
would she ever be able to see?