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Chapter 19: Suddenly Stirred — Mischievous Whims Quietly Begin to Take Root

Pei Yunzhe frowned deeply, straightened his suit with a handkerchief, and wanted to message Assistant Zhang, but then realized his phone was gone—it must have been thrown away in the heat of the struggle with Liu Hui.

He retrieved it from the ground, its screen shattered. He pressed the power button—no response.

“Do you need to call someone? I can lend you mine,” Zhong Yang kindly offered her phone.

“Thanks.” Pei Yunzhe called Zhang Lin. “It’s me. I’m okay, no need to come. Bring a clean suit and a new phone to Building C, Apt 1801 at Nanan. Also, follow up with the police, remind security to tighten up, and have someone inspect the car.”

After hanging up, he said, “The car might be tampered with. It’s not drivable—Miss Zhong, we’ll walk home.”

Zhong Yang halted, remembering, “My umbrella’s back at Mingzhu’s office!”

“No worries,” Pei Yunzhe produced a large black umbrella from the car, almost like a magician. “I have one.”

Rain had intensified—droplets fell constantly, thunder rumbled in the distance, and the sky was a deep gray cloud.

“It looks like a heavy downpour is coming,” Zhong Yang said, concerned about his injured hand. “Let me hold the umbrella.”

Under its cramped cover, rain pattered, and Zhong Yang strained to hold it high—until fatigue set in and she accidentally struck him with it.

“Let me hold it.” He took the umbrella, his fingertips brushing hers. A jolt of warmth—and she quickly pulled her hand away.

Autumn rain was cool, but under that small umbrella, the air was steady.

Shoulder to shoulder, they walked so closely she could trace his profile—his defined nose, firm cheek, and the throat’s soft bump. Her heart thumped again.

She reminded him, “Be careful—don’t let rain touch your wound.”

He lowered his gaze. “Yes. I know.”

Building C, Apartment 1801 was cozy—with a clean, studio layout. Pei’s clothes were soaked, his suit clinging and his shoes drenched, yet Zhong Yang still looked composed.

“I’ll wait outside for slippers.” She rolled her pants, switched shoes, then grabbed disposable hotel slippers from a cabinet. “These are the only ones we have—just use them for now.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Economical.”

“Well, we’re broke these days.” She gestured at the damp suit. “You’re soaked—want a shower? I’ll get you clean clothes; I’ve got a full men’s set. You can change now and switch back once Zhang delivers the new suit.”

“If it’s convenient… thank you.”

Used to luxury—chauffeurs and assistants—this was humiliating for him. Yet the damp, clinging fabric was unbearable. A shower and dry clothes would help—and he didn’t want to soil her apartment.

The bathroom was just as neat. He stripped off wet clothes and turned on the shower.

Water hit his injured wrist, causing a sting. He barely flinched—his pain had become desensitized.

He thought of Pei Rurong—the aunt he once fantasized killing—now unable to touch him emotionally. He’d reclaimed what was his and exacted justice. The hatred he carried felt spent—like morning mist dispersing in a silent wood.

Late at night, staring at piles of files, he searched for emotion—but found emptiness. No joy, no sorrow—just a still, murky pond of the soul.

Watching the TV flicker in the living room, he felt… something. Could this be home?

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Meanwhile, in Zhong Yang’s apartment near Nanan:

She worried about safety since the building was mixed-use. She’d learned self-defense tips online—like hanging men’s clothes on the balcony to deter intruders.

She folded and set out a men’s outfit (extra-large) in case he needed it.

Hearing the shower running, she knocked: “I left the towel and clothes by the door—they’re all new.”

“Great, thanks.” His slender hand emerged to retrieve them.

While he showered, she changed into comfortable home wear and wrapped a blanket around herself on the sofa.

She waited, curiously noticing through the frosted glass a reluctant hesitant footstep—clearly, he was embarrassed.

Of course—she’d placed him into bright-yellow duck cartoon shorts, a matching t-shirt, and pink donut-themed boxers.

That tall, intimidating CEO was now… sweet, and absurdly cute.

Her inner nerd screamed. She stifled a laugh, scooting over. “All done? Come sit. I’ll dress your wound.”

He crept out, avoiding her gaze, and took a seat.

“It’s getting cooler. Let me cover your legs.” She draped a pink Hello Kitty mini blanket over him. “Hand out.”

His injury looked worse—red, bleeding in places, signs of soaking too long. With a worried frown, she swabbed iodine and wrapped it in gauze.

“…Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She packed up the first-aid kit. “It’s almost dinner time. And with the rain still going, takeout isn’t great. Let me cook.”

He paused, then shook his head. “No need.”

She smiled. “Even if you weren’t here, I’d cook anyway. I’ll just make extra rice.”

He asked, “Do you need help?”

“Sit and wait nicely.” She pressed a hand over her heart, then headed toward the kitchen.

Alone, he noticed loose sheets on the coffee table—scripts, character notes, details on Jin Dian, plus her personal performance notes and drawings. They showed her research and imagination.

One page had adorably crude doodles—yellow ducks, cats, dogs, giraffes, turtles… and at the bottom, a tiny note: If this audition gets accepted, I’ll get a kitten!

He stared, then quietly put the pages aside.

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Dinner: stir-fried veggies, green pepper beef, and pork-rib corn soup.

The aroma drifted in. Though he wasn’t hungry before, now he found himself drawn in.

They ate quietly across from each other.

She asked, “Do you cook often?”

“I do. I cook for myself most of the time. Making and eating good food both bring happiness.”

She served him a piece of beef. “Try it.”

He tasted it, pleasantly surprised: “Better than expected.”

“Thanks.” She laughed softly. “I believe—that a good meal can lift anyone’s spirits.”

He swallowed, nodding subtly.

Dusk settled into night. The rain tapped softly outside as lights glowed warmly inside.

He finished a third bowl of soup and found himself smiling at her bright face.

“I believe you.”

Outside, the rain’s ripples spread on puddles.

Perhaps… this gentle storm, arriving unseen, had begun stirring his dormant heart. The dormant water had begun to ripple.

He hadn’t felt cared for like this in years—maybe not since he was eight, when his life turned to dirt, hate, and obligations. So he’d built a defense, using anger to shield himself.

As older brother, he shielded his younger one; as CEO, he stood responsible for thousands of employees and their families.

Everyone called him a cold steel machine—but was he?

If he could choose, he’d rather be an ordinary man—surrounded by family, friends, someone to share simple meals with. Peaceful. Ordinary. Content.

Like this moment.

“Thank you, Miss Zhong.”

“You’re welcome.”

She suddenly grinned and said: “Have you noticed how many times today we’ve said ‘thank you’ and ‘you’re welcome’?”

“Yes,” he acknowledged. “Shows we’re polite.”

She laughed and, looking at his playful face, felt her heart move.

“Mr. Pei—could you stop calling me Miss Zhong? My name is Zhong Yang.”

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