Font Size:
The thought flickered through her mind but was immediately dismissed.
If she caused a big scene and got lectured again at the Zhou residence, where would she put her face? She still had to maintain her dignity.
Ming Zhao lay in bed, her nose filled with the familiar scent of sandalwood.
Just a sister…
Those words echoed in her ears. She touched her chest, confused.
Wasn’t she hoping to be Zhou Tingyun’s sister for life? So why did this dull, uncomfortable feeling settle inside her?
Ming Zhao shook her head, opened her phone, and scrolled through videos to distract herself.
In this age of fragmented information, short videos had become a popular trend. Combined with their emotional intensity and broad appeal, she often found them quite entertaining.
She swiped up on the screen.
Suddenly, the video showed a slender, white fingertip pressing against a man’s chest.
The delicate-looking female lead, like a little white rabbit, gazed up at him with innocent, pretty eyes. Slowly, she advanced, cornering the tall man against the bed.
With a gentle push, she pressed him down.
The atmosphere was perfect. The music was perfect. Their looks were perfect.
Ming Zhao was captivated, her cheeks flushing as she quickly pushed aside any thoughts of ‘sister’ or ‘not sister.’
Her red lips brushed lightly over the man’s prominent nose, then moved to his tightly pressed thin lips, finally trailing down to his throbbing Adam’s apple.
Her delicate, soft hand slid down along his defined abs.
Ming Zhao’s face turned even redder, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
She recalled how Aire had previously dragged her to watch similar films, insisting that good things must be shared.
Of course, Aire preferred local flavors, and the films she chose were very passionate and exuberant.
Muscles glistening with sweat, golden hair flying, screams rising in pitch.
“You don’t like it?” Aire asked in surprise, eyeing the stunned Ming Zhao.
Her expression was calm, her heart unfazed. Could she be…emotionally frigid?
Ming Zhao silently picked up her cup of water and explained, “Well…maybe in our culture, most people prefer something more…subtle. Restrained.”
A style of tension, of silent push and pull.
Just like this—
A fair, delicate hand gently hooked a belt and pulled it loose.
A much larger hand than the female lead suddenly clasped her slender wrist—not to restrain, just to hold.
The camera lingered on their faces.
The man’s brow furrowed, the dark shadows in his eyes deepening. A low, muffled groan escaped his lips.
The little white rabbit lifted her gaze, feigning surprise. A slow, knowing smile curved her lips.
“Didn’t you say you only saw me as a sister?”
“Then why did you…?”
“…My dear brother.”
What?!
Huh?!
Ming Zhao’s eyes widened in shock.
The screen slowly fades to black.
Then, at the bottom—bold, eye-catching tags.
#Fake Siblings #Forced Love #Later Blackening
Who?
Forced love with who?
Her brother?
At that moment, a ringtone suddenly sounded.
She flinched, almost dropping her phone.
Ming Zhao couldn’t face Zhou Tingyun right now. The explosive dialogue from the video still echoed in her ears —certain keywords were muted, yet their meaning unmistakable.
But if she declined the call, that would definitely raise suspicion. After hesitating for a long moment, she finally turned the camera toward the ceiling.
“Zhao Zhao?” His voice came through.
Ming Zhao, muffled under the covers, hummed in response.
The other end of the line fell silent—only the sound of soft, rhythmic breathing, providing steady companionship.
But on such a still night, his breathing seemed amplified, merging with the lingering echoes of the panting from the video.
…Help.
Ming Zhao’s ears burned.
“Zhou Tingyun, tell me a bedtime story!” she blurted, desperate to break the tense atmosphere.
He didn’t comment on her abrupt request. After a brief pause, his voice came again—low and husky, reading a story.
This might be even worse.
There was something about his voice tonight—calm, magnetic, the rich undertones lingering in the quiet space between them. Unhurried, steady. Between sentences, she could hear the subtle sound of his Adam’s apple bobbing.
Ming Zhao was momentarily dazed, suddenly realized what he was reading.
Walden.
…Huh?
Even Zhou Tingyun’s voice couldn’t save this book.
Her eyelids grew heavy. Her head slowly drooped to the side.
Soon, a soft snore drifted through the phone.
Zhou Tingyun listened for a moment, then chuckled lightly.
Just like a little piglet.
The room was warm, the heating turned up high. Wrapped snugly in Zhou Tingyun’s blanket, Ming Zhao slept soundly, her breath steady and soft. The faintly bitter, rich scent of ebony lingered in the air.
Her rosy cheeks pressed against the pillow, a bead of sweat glistening at the tip of her nose.
A slight furrow appeared between her delicate brows. Just as she felt too hot, a corner of the blanket was lifted, allowing a cool breeze to waft in, bringing her some relief.
In the next moment, her ankle was gently grasped.
A warm hand glided from her ankle up to her calf. The fingertips, slightly calloused, felt rough against her delicate skin, quickly rousing her from her slumber with a sense of discomfort.
The familiar scent approached, and soft lips brushed against her earlobe.
“Why is my baby sweating so much?”
A steady, gentle voice rang out.
Ming Zhao’s pupils dilated slightly, and a tingling sensation spread from her spine, making her feel weak at the waist. Just as she was about to turn her head, she felt a gentle grip at the nape of her neck, pressing her down.
His fingertips grazed her delicate skin, rubbing in a teasing manner. “Were you up to no good behind my back?”
The warm, humid breath sent shivers down Ming Zhao’s neck, and the unusual atmosphere behind her made her heart race. She instinctively shook her head in a panic. “B-Brother…”
He replied softly, “Let me check.”
Check, check, check—check what?
Wait, her pants!
In the fragrant, shadowy night, Ming Zhao buried her face in the pillow, helplessly biting her knuckles as she cried, her tears soaking a large patch.
“Zhao Zhao? Zhao Zhao?”
In that instant, as if falling from the clouds, Ming Zhao jolted awake, her eyes flying open.
Her consciousness slowly returned from the enchanting chaos of the dream, her pupils unfocused as she stared blankly at the ceiling, a buzzing sound ringing in her ears.
I’m really going crazy.
How could she have dreamt such a thing?
And the subject was…
Morning light streamed in, casting a warm glow across the room. The video call, still active from the night before, remained connected
“Zhao Zhao?”
Ming Zhao’s mind was blank, and she instinctively replied.
“Did you have a nightmare?” he asked.
What nightmare… wait.
Her heart pounded as panic set in, her eyes widening in alarm.
He couldn’t have heard anything, could he?
Anxious and tense, she bit her lower lip and cautiously probed, “How did you know?”
“I heard someone crying and calling my name as soon as I woke up this morning,” his clear, low voice was slightly hoarse from sleep. “What kind of nightmare was that terrifying?”
…What?
Crying and…calling his name?
The most inappropriate images flooded her mind, and Ming Zhao felt her entire face burning up—her cheeks and ears were flushed, hot enough to cook an egg.
It’s all that video’s fault!!