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Ming Zhao nonchalantly withdrew her gaze.
Uncle Wang considerately raised the partition between the front and back seats, giving the siblings space to catch up in private.
The lingering scent of agarwood softened the air, mingling with the faintly bitter richness of ebony. It was a composed, restrained, and gentlemanly fragrance—one that surprisingly suited Zhou Tingyun even better than it had in the past.
Ming Zhao didn’t have much to say to him. She leaned lazily against the seat, crossing her legs, and distracted herself by playing with her phone.
Lin Zhiwei: [Spa on the weekend?]
Ming Zhao: [Sure.]
Lin Zhiwei: [Go away.]
Ming Zhao: [Kiss (^з^)-☆]
Ming Zhao was playfully bickering with Lin Zhiwei when the soft, luxurious texture of the cashmere blanket brushed against her skin.
Before she could react, her calf was gently held through the blanket by the man’s long, defined fingers.
“What happened here?” His voice was low, tinged with concern.
Ming Zhao was momentarily stunned. She instinctively followed his gaze and only then realized that, over time, the bruise on the inner side of her skin had become more pronounced.
It was all because of that phone call of his!
Thankfully, it didn’t hurt unless touched, but the color contrast made it look much worse than it was.
“I just bumped into something by accident.”
Zhou Tingyun looked up with his expression calm. “And the medicine was also forgotten by accident?”
Ming Zhao was momentarily at a loss for words. She couldn’t help but snap back, “What’s it to you?”
She tried to pull her leg back, pushing against him, but it wouldn’t budge, no matter how much effort she put in.
She glared at him. “Zhou Tingyun!”
The man released her leg, reaching into the storage compartment to grab the usual medicine. He handed it to her with an indifferent tone that masked any emotion. “Stop acting childish.”
Ming Zhao stared at him for a long moment, suddenly struck by how ridiculous the situation was.
A wave of frustration bubbled up, and she slapped his hand away.
“Childish?!”
“Young Master Zhou, Mr. Zhou, what’s with this act like you’re an elder now? Do you even share the same surname as me? Is your household the Ming family?”
“Do you need me to remind you that you only have one biological sister, named Zhou Siyu? Now that you’ve acknowledged your roots, what are you here for? Is it just to eye the trifling matters of the Ming family?”
“What gives you the right to be my brother?”
…
The air was as still as frozen butter, with nothing but the sound of their rising and falling breaths.
Outside the window, light and shadow swept across her eyes and brows.
Golden fragments of sunlight mingled in her gaze, flickering like two sparks of fire.
Until the flames slowly began to subside.
“Finished venting?”
Zhou Tingyun picked up the ointment that had fallen to the floor and wiped it clean with a disinfecting wet wipe.
Ming Zhao clenched her fingers, remaining silent.
In fact, as soon as those words left her mouth, she regretted them, yet the resentment in her heart was hard to extinguish.
The man’s slender fingers twisted off the cap, squeezing the milky-white ointment onto a cotton swab. With meticulous care, he gently applied it to the bruise.
Once finished, he tossed the cotton swab into the trash bag and put the ointment away.
Only after everything was done, he finally spoke with his voice calm and undisturbed.
“Ming Zhao, the formula you drank as a baby—I prepared it and fed you. When you were four, you wet the bed, and I washed the sheets. When you were six, you sat on my back, wanting to ride me like a horse.”
Ming Zhao’s head buzzed, stunned for a moment. What on earth was he saying?!
“Zhou! Ting! Yun!”
Coming to her senses, Ming Zhao flared up, leaping forward to cover his mouth.
Just at that moment, the vehicle made a right turn.
“—”
In the inevitable force of inertia, an indescribable situation was formed.
Her hand pressed against his shoulder, and her knee was kneeling on his thigh.
The position wasn’t as disastrous as expected, but it certainly wasn’t ideal.
The heating intensified the woodsy fragrance in the air, as if every strand of hair had absorbed his scent.
With a cold expression, Ming Zhao was about to push him away and rise, but the hand that had originally been lightly resting on her waist now pressed firmly down, trapping her.
“Now, would you like to properly recall it?”
His brows and eyes were calm.
“Do I really not have those qualifications?”