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The heavy rain poured relentlessly.
The damp air seeped through the window that hadn’t been properly closed, making the chill of the autumn night feel even more intense, as if one could almost smell the scent of rain in the air.
“Due to the intensified impact of thunderstorm clouds, it is expected that our city will experience high-intensity rainfall in the next 1 to 3 hours. Citizens are advised to take precautions…”
The news continued to broadcast in the living room, but Ming Zhao was focused on handing a rosewood scroll box to Old Master Zhou. Inside was an authentic painting of flowers and birds from the Song Dynasty.
The painting was meticulously done in fine brushstrokes, vibrant and lifelike, capturing both form and spirit. It felt as if one could almost smell the flowers and hear the crisp sound of birds singing.
The more Old Master Zhou looked at it, the more moved he felt, though his outward expression remained calm and impassive. He cleared his throat and said in a deliberately indifferent tone, “I suppose you have a bit of taste after all.”
He then quickly suppressed the smile tugging at his lips, gesturing for the servant to take it away.
Ming Zhao slightly curved the corners of her eyes, gently bumping her head against Zhou Tingyun’s shoulder.
He lowered his gaze, catching the gleam in her eyes, which seemed to say, ‘Look how impressive I am, hurry up and praise me!’
He pinched her cheek, though he didn’t say anything to stop her from being so thoughtful, not wanting to ruin her excitement.
Old Master Zhou had no idea what was going on in his grandson’s mind. When he saw the two of them heading toward the door, he quickly called out, “Hey!”
Ming Zhao turned back in confusion.
“What are you running around for in such heavy rain?” Old Master Zhou said with a neutral expression, then let out a stiff snort. “Our Zhou family isn’t lacking in rooms.”
Just then, a thunderclap rumbled in the sky.
Instinctively, Ming Zhao shrank her neck.
Zhou Tingyun raised his hand and gently patted her back, offering comfort, his gaze drifting to the streams of rain pouring outside.
The roads were slippery in the rain, and it indeed wasn’t the best time to drive.
Old Master Zhou watched them with a frown, muttering, “You’re more timid than an ant!”
At this, Ming Zhao perked up. She loved going against people, so she deliberately curled closer to Zhou Tingyun’s chest.
I’m so scared!
Her sly, playful expression clearly showed her intentions.
The man didn’t avoid or push her away; instead, he calmly allowed it.
Old Master Zhou was losing his patience, preferring to avoid seeing it. He gestured for the servant to hurry up and take the troublesome girl upstairs.
…
Upstairs, on the second-floor corridor.
Remembering Aunt Lin’s words, Ming Zhao curiously asked Zhou Tingyun, “Do you have a room here?”
“Yes, but I don’t stay here often,” he replied. “I used to stay more frequently a few years ago.”
Just as Ming Zhao was about to ask what his room looked like; they arrived the guest room door.
The light switched on.
The room was decorated in a modern Chinese style, with dark tones as the base. Most of the space was left blank, allowing the beautiful porcelain pieces to stand out. Accents of peacock wood added a touch of greenery.
Zhou Tingyun opened a drawer near the entrance of the room and handed her a knitted fabric pouch.
It contained toiletries prepared for temporary guests, including high-quality silk undergarments made from top-grade mulberry silk.
Since most of Ming Zhao’s clothes were made from this material, wearing them would be quite comfortable for her.
Taking the pouch, she asked, “What floor is your room on?”
“Your room is the third one on the left,” Zhou Tingyun said as he stepped into the bathroom, adjusting the water temperature to her usual preference.
Ming Zhao followed closely behind him, like a clingy little tail. Perhaps the unfamiliar surroundings made her instinctively stick close to someone she felt comfortable with.
Her gaze drifted to the hooks next to the bathroom, and suddenly, she realized something. She tugged at his shirt.
“What about my pajamas?”
She hadn’t brought anything… Was she supposed to sleep naked?
Although sleeping in the nude was comfortable and good for health, this wasn’t her own home.
Zhou Tingyun’s movements paused briefly.
After a moment, he answered, his face unchanged, “I’ll go get them for you later.”
“Huh?”
Ming Zhao was puzzled. “Whose are you going to get?”
There shouldn’t be any of her pajamas here.
She definitely didn’t want to wear his clothes.
The man was unusually silent. Ming Zhao was a princess—particular about fabrics and comfort—while he wasn’t so picky about materials. He knew she’d find it uncomfortable to wear something that didn’t suit her.
As for why he had her nightgown…
Zhou Tingyun pondered for a few seconds, considering how to explain it.
It had probably been Aunt Lin. While organizing clothes, she must have accidentally tucked Ming Zhao’s nightgown between his shirts and put it in the closet.
At the time, he had been busy managing Zhou family affairs and temporarily staying here. When he opened his suitcase, he noticed a piece of fabric that didn’t belong to him.
He could have easily sent it back. Folding it neatly and returning it would have been the reasonable thing to do.
That would have been much more reasonable and proper.
But back then, Ming Zhao had just left for abroad. She wasn’t around.
The man quietly gazed at the nightgown in his hands, his fingertips faintly carrying its familiar fragrance.
In the end, he chose to hang it in the wardrobe.
“Aunt Lin must have placed it in the wrong spot.” Zhou Tingyun said, smoothly glossing over his own boundary-crossing behavior.
Ming Zhao didn’t think much of it. Her mood brightened instantly—she felt like her luck was really quite good.
She followed him to the door, peeking through the crack with an exaggerated look of politeness, as if she weren’t the one who had barged into his room earlier without notice.
“Come in,” Zhou Tingyun spoke, ending her little performance.
The room’s décor wasn’t much different from the guest room—clean, simple, and orderly.
But since this was Zhou Tingyun’s second home, Ming Zhao was curious. She looked around, inspecting everything, touching this and that.
Until the sound of a drawer opening broke the silence.
She quickly stepped closer, pressing herself to his side.
In the next second, amidst a row of dark-colored formal attire, she saw something entirely out of place—
A sweet, lotus pink silk nightgown.
It was very pink. Very girly.
The wardrobe was considered a more private space, and even in the past, their clothes had never been mixed together.
Now, this satin-like fabric—though not much in quantity—was tightly pressed between his suits, contrasting sharply with more subdued, cool-toned style. It subtly gave off an unspoken, ambiguous air.
Ming Zhao inexplicably felt her gaze burn, her voice faltering, “Why… why didn’t you just fold it?”
In her memory, Zhou Tingyun had always been composed and restrained.
Meticulous in his actions. Always proper in his interactions with others. He never crossed boundaries. The only way her nightgown could ended up in here was if she had placed it there herself.
The man’s long fingers gently tapped on the wardrobe door.
“It wrinkles easily,” he explained.
She couldn’t find a reason to criticize.
But still, Ming Zhao felt herself shrinking inwardly.
Especially when…
She bit her lip, watching as he reached for the hanger, his long fingers effortlessly hooking the delicate strap.
The nightgown slid off, the silky fabric cascading softly into his palm.
As he handed it to her, faint creases remained where his fingers had gripped it.
His long fingers—elegant, with well-defined joints—held the intimate garment with an ease that felt strangely out of place. Against the soft pink fabric, his touch carried an inexplicable, almost suggestive aura.
On someone like Zhou Tingyun—so composed and restrained—it felt just a bit… improper.
A little too intimate.
A little too dangerously close to crossing a line
…
After finishing her shower and getting dressed, the image of the Zhou Tingyun casually hooking the strap surfaced in Ming Zhao’s mind. For a brief moment, it lingered—uninvited, persistent.
She glanced at the mirror, only to see one of her straps slipped down.
“……”
A few seconds later, her face flushed a deep, burning red.