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For a moment, Ming Zhao’s mind finally cleared, and she realized that Zhou Siyu’s words were simply unforgivable!
She pressed her lips together and began to stare blankly at the floor, her fingertips lightly resting on her chin.
The grayish-blue cobblestone path was neatly arranged, with a slightly mottled surface and crisscrossing patterns, scattered with dried yellow leaves that floated down gently onto it.
But… he’s just my brother, right?
Ming Zhao mused, tracing patterns on the stone path with her gaze.
In the evening, the alley hummed with life—laughter, sizzling oil, the crisp snap of fresh scallions being chopped. The air carried the mingling scents of fried sauce noodles and slow-braised meats, a comforting warmth against the cool evening breeze.
Zhou Tingyun was standing in line at a popular eatery.
The Zhou family’s business was widespread, and he often attended various events and meetings. His face had been seen countless times online, and it wasn’t long before someone snapped a candid photo.
[So, even the privileged young master loves our sugar-coated cake!]
[Even the privileged young master waits in line, while the son of that one guy keeps cutting—where’s his conscience? (Not that I’d refuse a bribe to let him through, lol.)]
[Ahh, why does Daddy have a bandage on his head? Did he leave a scar from medicine?]
[You don’t understand, battle scars are more charming!]
He had just come out of a meeting and didn’t pay much attention to the gazes around him, engrossed in replying to messages on his phone.
The black coat made his pale skin even starker, an air of restraint woven into his tall, upright figure. The bandage on his forehead should have marred his elegance, but instead, it added something else—an edge, a quiet strength.
Noticing something on his screen, Zhou Tingyun’s lips quirked into a faint smile—deep and knowing.
Little Cutie: [Why aren’t you back yet? /Rolling around]
Just as he was about to reply, a new message popped up from the other side—
Little Cutie: [I miss you so much.]
Zhou Tingyun’s fingers paused slightly.
Little Cutie: [Bring me back some sugar-coated cake!]
For just a second, his fingers paused over the keyboard. It was just a casual message, just her usual sweetness—but for some reason, it lingered. If Ming Zhao had a personal dictionary, ‘tiramisu,’ ‘cream puffs,’ ‘gooey mochi,’ and ‘Oreo layers’ would have their own full-page entries. His name? Probably scribbled in the margins somewhere—if it made the cut at all.
He deeply understood the trouble caused by her sweet tooth, especially her love for desserts. The tiny troublemaker had once snuck chocolate into her mouth late at night, hiding under the covers like a sugar-greedy squirrel. Too scared to get caught, she skipped brushing her teeth—until the inevitable happened.
As a result, when the pain finally came, she curled up on his lap, face buried in her hands, hiccupping between muffled sobs. “It hurts… Brother, it hurts so much…”
He was genuinely angry and wanted to teach her a lesson, but seeing her cry so pitifully, he ended up coaxing and comforting her into going to get the tooth pulled. Afterward, her eyes were filled with tears, looking utterly miserable.
After that, Zhou Tingyun took charge of her sugar intake like a strict yet reluctant warden, enforcing bedtime brushing patrols with unwavering resolve.
So, he replied to her. [No cake for three days.]
Little Cutie: [Wuu wuu wuu wuu wuu]
He was unrelenting: [Pouting won’t help.]
As the sky darkened, Zhou Tingyun stepped inside and immediately spotted Ming Zhao on the rocking chair in the courtyard, covered with a small blanket.
She sat curled up in the rocking chair, a small blanket draped over her, the edges barely covering her curled-up frame. Her fine, chestnut-tinged curls spilled over the scarf wrapped around her face, soft and tousled, like a porcelain doll misplaced in the rustic embrace of an ancient courtyard.
Beside her, a stone table held a pot of steaming tea, wisps of white steam rising gently.
It looked quite cozy; he had expected her to be bored at this hour.
Perhaps she heard his footsteps, though he suspected it was more likely that her little dog-like nose had caught the scent of food, prompting her to sit up suddenly.
Her round, slightly upturned eyes lit up instantly as she tossed aside the blanket and hurried over in a few quick steps.
Zhou Tingyun, anticipating her eagerness, pulled the bag away slightly, careful not to let any grease get on her.
The next moment, she wrapped her arms around his waist.
A soft, fragrant bundle nestled against him.
Zhou Tingyun frowned and lifted a hand to grasp the back of her collar, pulling her away.
“Enough. You just came in from outside, and you’re covered in dust,” he said.
Ming Zhao pouted her cheeks but quickly relented, flashing a sweet smile as she reached for the sugar-coated cake.
But then her wrist was caught.
Looking up, she met his slightly cool gaze.
His clear eyes focused on a scratch.
“Ming Zhao, what did I tell you?”
A distinct red scratch marred the fair skin on the back of her hand.
Ming Zhao’s eyes flickered for a moment, but she quickly adopted a pitiful tone. “I already put medicine to it.”
Seeing him frown, she switched tactics, pouting as she whined, “It hurts so much.”
Zhou Tingyun had a reprimand on the tip of his tongue but swallowed it back.
“Who told you not to listen?” His expression was not very pleasant.
Just as he finished speaking, the hand he was holding suddenly broke free, lifting towards his face. However, the movement was too forceful, and she accidentally brushed against the corner of his lips.
Zhou Tingyun paused.
It was cool and delicate.
Her soft, dewy fingertip carried a hint of sweetness, with a healthy blush to it?!
“Can you blow on it for me?” the girl demanded, her tone with entitlement, as if nothing had just happened.
Zhou Tingyun looked down at her, noting her stance—one that suggested she’d start whining in pain if he refused. With a sigh, he reached out and grasped her wrist again.
Ming Zhao had a small frame, but she wasn’t frail or thin.
Her slender wrist was wrapped in soft flesh, like milky mochi—yielding and delicate. A gentle pinch would easily leave an indentation.
It was creamy to the touch.
A faint tingling sensation spread from the back of her hand, making Ming Zhao’s eyelashes to flutter.
The man in front of her remained composed and serious; even as he gently blew on her wound, he was like someone signing a contract—completely focused and utterly unaffected.
Ming Zhao glanced at her pretty nails and beautiful hand, silently grumbling to herself with dissatisfaction.
He really has no taste.
…
During dinner, Zhou Lao once again brought up Fang Yuanshuang, mentioning Tongsen group’s promising projects and subtly implying that she would be a perfect marriage partner.
He spoke eloquently at the dinner table, while Ming Zhao, sat next to Zhou Tingyun, was quietly engaged in a battle with a piece of fish, poking at it with her chopsticks.
“So many bones,” she mumbled under her breath.
Almost immediately, her bowl was taken away, and another bowl— filled with perfectly deboned, glistening fish—was placed in front of her.
“Stop playing around,” Zhou Tingyun said, “Eat properly.”
He usually deboned her fish, though he wasn’t sure what had prompted him to do it today. Perhaps it was just an excuse to make sure she actually ate.
Ming Zhao curved her lips into a smile, happily picking up a piece and placing it into Zhou Tingyun’s bowl.
“Thank you, Brother.”
Zhou Tingyun chuckled, “Miss Ming, you’re thanking me with the fish I deboned?”
Ming Zhao blinked, “Oh, we’re family, we shouldn’t be so formal.”
Zhou Tingyun remained unmoved, “Who was it this morning that said they were an outsider?”
What a grudge!
Ming Zhao secretly scoffed, but playfully said, “I’m the outsider, and my brother is my insider.”
“Keep being cheeky, and you won’t be eating cake for five days,” he replied blandly.
The girl immediately fell silent. After a brief moment, though, she muttered under her breath about how stingy and authoritarian he was.
Unable to resist, she lightly kicked the hem of his suit pants under the table, leaving a faint dusty footprint.
Zhou Tingyun remained unfazed. Instead, he calmly ladled a bowl of pear soup—perfect for moisturizing during the autumn and winter—and placed it in front of her. “Finish it all.”
Meanwhile, Zhou Lao, completely ignored, wore a dark expression.
Zhou Qian chuckled heartily.
Zhou Siyu silently ate her meal, puzzled over why Ming Zhao had suddenly started ignoring her.
The others at the table, each harboring their own thoughts, quietly calculated the potential benefits if someone from their side could get close to Ming Zhao.