Chapter 7  

The two arrived at Tianhe Grand Residence as the rain grew heavier. The newly planted saplings lining the road swayed violently in the wind, as if about to snap in half.  

He Cheng stepped out of the car first and approached He Yang: “It’s all my fault. If you hadn’t given me a ride, you would have been home by now. The rain was lighter earlier, but now the wind is so strong, and it’s dark—it’s not safe. Why don’t you come inside to wait out the rain… okay?”  

That last “okay” sounded like a soft, delicate hook.  

“Thank you,” He Yang replied quickly, pushing her electric bicycle through the gate. Inside the iron gate was a garden with no shelter from the rain. “Is there somewhere nearby to cover the bike? There’s no place to put it.”  

He Cheng said, “Come inside first. Uncle He can take it to the parking lot.”  

He Yang remembered Uncle He as a middle-aged man in his fifties and immediately declined. “No, no, I can’t trouble him like that. Just tell me where to go—I’ll take it myself. I’m already soaked anyway.”  

Uncle He, having heard the conversation, emerged from a small side house. Without a word, he took the electric bicycle. “Miss He, you’re drenched. Go inside first. The parking lot isn’t far—I’ll handle it.”  

He Yang had no choice but to thank him and followed He Cheng into the house.  

Jiang Xuehui had already prepared water and medicine. When she heard the door open, the sweetly uttered “young master” caught in her throat as she stared blankly at the person standing behind He Cheng.  

A girl, about seventeen or eighteen.  

Not short, decent-looking—though not as pretty as her.  

Wearing the exact same uniform as He Cheng. They were classmates.  

As Jiang Xuehui sized up He Yang, He Yang was also observing Jiang Xuehui.  

The woman before her wore a fitted, off-white V-neck dress, her wavy hair tied into a low ponytail. The slight upward tilt of her eyes gave her a somewhat alluring air, and she didn’t look very old.  

Her skin was well-maintained, but fine lines were visible at the corners of her eyes.  

He Yang straightened up, hands pressed to her sides. “Hello, Auntie.”  

Her delicate features and sweet voice made her seem every bit the well-behaved student visiting a classmate’s home.  

Jiang Xuehui’s face darkened.  

He Cheng bent down to look for slippers, his peripheral gaze never leaving He Yang.  

He couldn’t help it. Before, he’d never had the chance to be this close to her, and even then, he couldn’t control his eyes or ears—let alone now, when she stood just half a step away, within reach if he simply stretched out his hand.  

The rainy air was damp, but she carried a cloyingly sweet fragrance. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but every inch of He Yang’s skin seemed to exude honey. The closer he got, the more overwhelmed he felt by the sweetness, wondering—what would it taste like if he licked it?  

His chest burned abruptly. He bit his lip, regaining his composure, and pulled out a pristine pair of slippers from the shoe cabinet.  

“Wear these.”  

A pair of pink slippers with bunny ears.  

He Yang took off her shoes and socks, hesitating before stepping in. They were too clean, too pink—she almost felt embarrassed.  

Once she had them on, she glanced up and caught He Cheng quickly turning away, his ears seemingly flushed.  

She wanted to ask if he had a fever, but remembering they were in his home with another person present, she stayed silent.  

He Cheng bent down again, picking up He Yang’s discarded shoes and socks and placing them together with his own. To Jiang Xuehui, he said, “Leave them here. I’ll take care of it.”  

Jiang Xuehui responded with a quiet “Yes.”

It was only then that He Yang belatedly realized this woman wasn’t his mother—no wonder she looked so different. She must be the family’s housekeeper. What puzzled her was the housekeeper’s unfriendly gaze, staring at her intently for a long time, making her uncomfortable. Then it occurred to her—perhaps the woman disliked being called “auntie”?

Right. Women never liked being called old.

She was barely eighteen, and the housekeeper looked quite young, probably around thirty. Calling her “auntie” was indeed a bit inappropriate.

He Yang offered Jiang Xuehui an awkward smile.

He Cheng’s expression darkened instantly.

“…He Yang,” He Cheng called her.

He Yang responded, “Hmm?”

He Cheng dismissed Jiang Xuehui: “We don’t need you here anymore.” After she left, he continued, “You’re soaked in some spots. You should change, or you’ll catch a cold. Could you go upstairs to shower? I’ll find you some dry clothes…”

He Yang shook her head repeatedly. “I’m very healthy—a little rain won’t make me sick. I’ll wait for the rain to stop and then head home.”

As if answering her, the rain poured harder, thunder rumbling overhead.

He Yang shrank her neck slightly.

He Cheng suggested, “Or… I could have Uncle He drive you back?”

He Yang glanced at the sky—dark and heavy, the storm raging with thunder. Riding her electric bicycle was out of the question, but Uncle He could drive. Just as she was considering this, Uncle He pushed the door open, his face wrinkled from the rain. “Young Master, anything else you need?”

He Cheng began, “You—”

He Yang immediately waved at He Cheng, signaling not to trouble him. The weather was terrible, and Uncle He already looked exhausted. Making him drive her home in the pitch dark would weigh on her conscience.

He Cheng smoothly changed his tone. “Never mind, Uncle He. You should rest.”

Uncle He acknowledged and retreated to his room, closing the door behind him. The first floor housed Uncle He and Jiang Xuehui, along with a guest room. He Cheng’s domain was the second floor—a space no one was allowed to enter without reason, by his own rule.

He Yang felt uneasy.

She had never stayed overnight at someone else’s home before, let alone with someone she barely knew. They’d only met once—how had it suddenly come to this?

Her damp clothes clung uncomfortably to her skin. She tugged at them lightly, noticing raindrops dripping from the hem onto the plush carpet below. Embarrassed, she apologized, “Sorry… I made a mess…”

She looked around for a spot without carpet.

He Cheng felt like his heart might burst.

He had seen He Yang happy, crying, angry, triumphant, furious…

He had witnessed countless versions of her, but this was the first time her expressions were so vivid and alive in front of him—her brows slightly furrowed, a mix of shyness and frustration, even a hint of helplessness, like a fawn lost in the human world, her face full of confusion.

He wanted—so, so badly—to…

He Cheng lowered his gaze, his eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings.

A dry thirst rose in his throat. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath his collar. It took him a moment to find his voice again. “It’s fine. The carpet doesn’t matter. My clothes are dirty too.”

He Cheng led He Yang upstairs.

The first floor had a guest room with its own bathroom.

But the second floor was his domain. He led the way, heading straight for a small living room facing the stairs, with its soft sofa and an LCD screen covering nearly half the wall. He should have taken He Yang to the bathroom at the end of the hallway, but instead, he turned and opened the door to his own room.

He Cheng took out clean clothes from the wardrobe and handed them to her. “I haven’t worn these. You can rest assured.”

To the left was the bathroom. He pushed the door open and motioned for her to enter.

He Cheng was also drenched by the rain. His black hair clung to his forehead and temples, with droplets of water clinging to the sides. His gaze was fixed on He Yang, his eyes veiled in a silky gentleness that faintly concealed a trace of gloom.

He Yang’s legs rooted to the spot. Under the bright indoor lighting, her vision was unusually clear. Behind He Cheng was a window tightly sealed by black curtains. The room was neat and tidy, yet it carried an indescribable sense of oppression.

She was gripped by a suffocating feeling for a few seconds before snapping back to reality and realizing He Cheng had been watching her all along—shy and bashful as ever. Their eyes met briefly before he quickly averted his gaze.

Swallowing the inexplicable unease, she took the clothes and entered the bathroom.

Being soaked by the rain was uncomfortable. He Yang had initially planned to take a quick shower, but once she stood under the warm spray, the soothing heat made her slow down.

She noticed a bathtub nearby, porcelain white. It reminded her of the apartment she rented in City A. When choosing it, proximity to her workplace had been the priority. The area wasn’t exactly cheap, but it was comfortable. Her bathroom there had a bathtub too, and after work, she loved soaking in it, letting the day’s fatigue melt away…

A sharp, stabbing pain suddenly pierced her head.

She squeezed her eyes shut, pounding her head hard. Some fleeting images flashed through her mind, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t grasp them.

Once the pain subsided, He Yang gasped for breath like a fish out of water.

The steady stream of warm water pulled her back from the void of confusion.

She must have forgotten something.

And it was definitely connected to this inexplicable rebirth.

She was certain of it.

But what exactly was it?

He Yang turned off the water, distracted as she hastily dried herself. She put on her underwear, then the loungewear He Cheng had prepared—a long-sleeved top and pants. The outfit looked awkward on her; the sleeves were rolled up in large folds, and the loose pant legs kept slipping down no matter how many times she rolled them.

He Cheng was still standing by the door, seemingly unmoved from his earlier position, still in his soaked school uniform. The underfloor heating had dried his hair somewhat, leaving it frizzy and sticking up. At the sound of the door opening, his bright eyes turned toward her, his expression once again soft, gentle, and shy.

He Yang hadn’t expected him to still be there. Instinctively, she took half a step back before recognizing him and letting her guard down. Then she noticed He Cheng’s flushed face and the dampness in his eyes.

“…Are you feeling unwell?”

He Cheng didn’t answer. His body felt weak.

Something was clearly wrong with him.

He Yang stepped forward and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. First, she felt the chill of his damp bangs, then the scorching heat beneath.

“You have a fever.”

He Cheng let out a weak hum, his voice hoarse. “Probably. I don’t feel well.”

His eyes sparkled as he lowered his head, instinctively pressing his forehead against the back of her hand. When she tried to pull away, he unconsciously leaned forward, swaying slightly before He Yang steadied him.  

In that instant, he felt bubbles of warmth gurgling up from the depths of his heart. The arm she held burned with a fierce heat, and he mumbled, “Cold…”  

He Cheng leaned most of his weight against her, as if surrendering all his strength. He Yang planted her feet firmly to keep her balance. “Your clothes are still wet. Go inside and rinse off, then change. I’ll call Uncle He.”  

“…Don’t call him.”  

“Then I’ll ask the housekeeper to come up.”  

“No,” he breathed out, his words laced with heat. His eyes were damp, pleading pitifully at her. “Don’t call anyone…” Don’t let anyone else come.  

He Yang was at a complete loss for words.  

She had once thought He Cheng had a good temper, without a trace of a young master’s arrogance. Now she realized how wrong she had been. He wasn’t haughty or conceited—but he was delicate. The tears in his eyes were like morning dew, clear and glistening, his expression as pleading as a fawn’s…  

It was truly hard to refuse his requests.