Chapter 13 Where did you learn these tricks?

A cool, crisp scent—oddly familiar.

Song Yiyi instinctively struggled, thinking she’d run into a hooligan, and raised her leg to strike the man between the legs.

“Don’t move.”
A deep, magnetic voice sounded by her ear.

The man caught her knee mid-strike and pushed her further toward the wall.
In that brief moment, Song Yiyi finally got a clear look at him.

It was Cen Yue—Cen Bowen’s political-commissar uncle.

Pinned between the wall and his body, Song Yiyi felt one of his hands clamped over her mouth and the other holding down one of her legs.
In broad daylight, the position was about as suspicious as it could get.

Cen Yue turned his head toward the mouth of the alley, his face cold and serious.

Song Yiyi had mild face-blindness—if she hadn’t met someone at least three times, she usually couldn’t remember their face unless they had a distinct feature.
But Cen Yue was an exception—his face, height, and build would stand out even in modern times.

She gave a muffled “mm-mm” and shot him a warning glare.
When he tilted his head, a faint bite mark was visible on the side of his neck.

Cen Yue quickly turned back, lowering his lashes and speaking in a low voice:
“Don’t shout. I’m on a mission.”

On a mission? That phrase was completely foreign to Song Yiyi.

But she quickly pieced it together—he was wearing plain clothes, alert, like he was guarding against someone… or waiting for someone.
She’d never seen pigs run, but she’d eaten pork—this must be one of those era-specific situations.

Trying to calm herself, Song Yiyi widened her eyes in what she thought was her most innocent, pure expression, hoping to stir a trace of sympathy in him.

She gave a small nod.
Sure enough, seeing her like that, Cen Yue slowly removed his hand from her mouth.

In a small voice, she said, “Comrade Commander, could you let me go first?”

Cen Yue arched a brow, studying her. “What are you going to do?”

“Run.” Song Yiyi’s voice was airy. “Don’t worry, I’ll never look back—hundred-meter-dash style.”

In these times, catching a spy on the street might involve knives or guns.
She valued her life—especially since this was her second one.

But Cen Yue’s grip on her hand didn’t loosen in the slightest.
“Too late to run, Comrade Song Yiyi. Pardon the offense.”

As he spoke, footsteps sounded at the mouth of the alley.
Cen Yue suddenly leaned in, lowering his head toward her.

“This alley—I saw someone run in here!”
A harsh male voice rang out.

Song Yiyi’s knees went weak, and Cen Yue’s arm slid around her waist, pulling her back against him.
His lips brushed her cheek, landing on the pale skin of her neck.
“Cooperate with me.”

With the arrow already nocked, there was no turning back.
Without thinking, Song Yiyi hooked her arms around his neck.

The footsteps stopped at the alley entrance, and her gaze met the eyes of a few fierce-looking men.
She let out a startled scream and burrowed into Cen Yue’s chest.
“Ah!”

Her scream was so piercing that even the birds at the corner took off in a flurry of wings.

The men froze as well, glancing at each other, then at their leader.
In broad daylight, it was rare to stumble across such a… vivid scene—
A tall, broad-shouldered man entangled with a beautiful woman, his hands rather… exploratory.
And that leg… Tsk tsk. Not something you wanted to keep looking at.

If this had been a real case of harassment, both of them would’ve been shot on the spot.

Only then did Cen Yue seem to “realize” what it looked like—he shielded Song Yiyi carefully in his arms, turning a cold gaze toward the alley entrance.
“Get lost.”

His voice was icy, and the sheer force of his presence made one’s heart tremble.

Meeting Cen Yue’s eyes, the leader felt a jolt of unease.

At those words, several men reached for their waists—tension thick in the air.

“Boss, it’s not him. We’re looking for a fat guy—not this tall.”
One of the leader’s underlings quickly reported.
“If we keep chasing down this alley, he’s definitely still inside!”

There was a rush of footsteps, and with Cen Yue shielding her, Song Yiyi felt a gust of wind sweep past.
Then—silence.

After a while, certain nothing was happening, she cautiously opened her eyes—only to see Cen Yue standing two steps away, watching her with a faintly amused expression.

Song Yiyi stiffened her neck. “What are you looking at?”

Cen Yue slowly curved his lips, speaking evenly:
“Comrade Song Yiyi, thank you. Your reflexes aren’t bad.”

On the surface, it sounded like praise.
But coming from him, it carried an undercurrent of mockery.

“Alright, I’m leaving.”
She’d watched enough TV dramas to know those men could come back any minute.

Cen Yue was on duty—he had neither the time nor the obligation to explain anything to her.

She brushed off her hands, then patted down her clothes—especially the spots where he had grabbed her.

Just as she turned to go, his deep, amused voice sounded again:
“Song Yiyi…”

He had only spoken half a word before she suddenly lunged toward him—grabbing the front of his jacket, pulling him down to her height, and rising on tiptoe to meet him.

A soft pressure on his lips.

Cen Yue lowered his gaze—her eyes were closed, long lashes trembling faintly.

From the other end of the alley came whistles and raucous laughter.
“Not done making out yet? You two are really into it.”
“Haha, need it to be this thrilling? Brother, you’re in for a good time.”
“Alright, enough fooling—let’s check over there!”

That group of men really did come back, moving from one side street to another. The leader barked an order, and the others obediently scattered.

Once they were gone, Cen Yue was just about to push Song Yiyi away when he felt a sharp pain on his lips. Song Yiyi’s fingers, which had been pressed against his thin lips, dragged across them hard. She glared at him with open indignation.

Cen Yue watched as Song Yiyi quickly stepped back. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and when he spoke, his voice was tinged with a faint hoarseness.

“Where did you learn tricks like that?”

Just now, in the heat of the moment—so no one would suspect anything, and also to cut off whatever Cen Yue had been about to say—Song Yiyi had done that. It had looked like they were kissing, but in reality, she had only kissed her own fingers, which she’d placed over his lips.

“That’s not something you need to worry yourself about, Comrade Commander. Better get back to your mission.” Her words carried a trace of resentment.

Once she’d finished, Song Yiyi walked off without looking back.

After that little episode, she had no mood left for strolling the streets and headed straight back to the compound. She had just settled into a seat on the bus when she looked up—and saw Cen Yue get on as well.

He bought a ticket, then sat down next to her with an expression of perfect calm.

Song Yiyi: “…”

The two of them said nothing the entire way—one turning to look out the window, the other sitting ramrod straight. From time to time, other passengers would glance in their direction.

When they reached the compound, Song Yiyi was quick to step off the bus ahead of Cen Yue, walking at a brisk clip.

At the gate, besides the sentry on duty, there was also a soldier standing with a backpack slung over his shoulder.

As Song Yiyi passed, she gave him a quick glance and sighed inwardly—not bad, even random people here are this good-looking.

The soldier saw her and gave a warm, gentle smile. Song Yiyi resisted the urge to whistle and returned a deliberately shy smile of her own.

They brushed past each other.

Then she was called back.

“Yiyi.”