No matter how fearless she seemed, she was still just a kid, barely out of school.
The moment she walked out of the police station, she started crying—silently, stubbornly tugging her hoodie down over her face to hide her tears.
She made no sound, just let the tears fall, drop after drop.
As she walked, blinded by her tears, she suddenly bumped into something soft—the palm of a hand.
The unexpected contact made her stumble back a few steps.
She shook her head, looking up to see Ye Xijing’s exasperated expression.
He stared at her tear-filled eyes, momentarily stunned.
After a long pause, he lowered his voice, smiling as he made a suggestion.
“Qian Dailan, why don’t you find a different place to cry? Let’s not crash into trees, okay? Imagine how much that tree would hurt.”
For the longest time, Qian Dailan believed that when Ye Xijing stared at her like that, it was because he had fallen for her at first sight.
It wasn’t until much later that she realized—his dazed expression came from how much her eyes resembled Wu Ke’s.
Qian Dailan’s first relationship had been a “young love” affair.
Even though Yin Shenyan had mockingly said, If you two actually make it, I’ll run naked and ring the temple bell, she had never truly considered breaking up.
Other than Wu Ke, there had been no major obstacles between her and Ye Xijing.
Oh, until now.
Ye Xijing had been successfully admitted to Cambridge University.
In just two weeks, he would leave for the UK.
Not only was he a wealthy second-generation heir, but he was also a young prodigy.
At least among the people Qian Dailan knew, no one else had entered university before the age of fifteen, let alone secured admission to Cambridge for a master’s program.
And her?
She hadn’t even known Cambridge University was in the UK.
When he first mentioned his plans to apply, she had thought Jianqiao University (which sounds like “Bridge Building University” in Chinese) was a school that taught civil engineering.
She had an uneasy feeling that once Ye Xijing left, not only would the physical distance between them widen, but their contact would also dwindle—especially since international calls were expensive.
Half-asleep, Qian Dailan rolled over in the soft, comfortable bed, vaguely hearing the sound of running water from the en-suite bathroom.
…Huh?
Her first instinct was to sit up, but after a moment, she slowly lay back down.
It had to be Ye Xijing.
Who else could enter the room she was in?
Yang Quan had mentioned that Ye Xiyan didn’t like others in his home—not even Yang Quan himself, who worked for him.
And Ye Xiyan, being upright and well-mannered, wouldn’t possibly intrude.
It could only be Ye Xijing.
Qian Dailan felt a bit caught off guard, a little dazed—like what, exactly?
She had borrowed a high school textbook from Yin Shenyan before, and she remembered something from her Chinese literature class—O.
Henry’s storytelling technique: “Unexpected yet perfectly reasonable.”
Every time Ye Xijing kissed her, he would always get hard, which embarrassed him terribly.
After every kiss, he would make up all kinds of excuses to bend over or cover himself up.
He was only a little over six months older than Qian Dailan, but sometimes she felt like he was even more innocent than she was—less experienced, less worldly.
As she hesitated, the sound of running water stopped.
She heard the man’s footsteps—slightly unsteady, a little off.
That was normal, Qian Dailan thought.
Ye Xijing always got nervous, and when he did, his movements would become awkward.
Even before their first kiss, he had walked with an exaggerated outward stance for a while before finally blushing and asking if he could kiss her on the cheek.
He’s got some guts tonight, huh?
Qian Dailan thought.
Then, she suddenly caught a faint scent of alcohol—sharp and spicy, distinct even amid the usual warm and mellow oud fragrance he carried.
She immediately understood.
Liquid courage.
Before she could figure out why Ye Xijing had been drinking when he was supposed to be taking care of a sick friend, a corner of the goose-down duvet was lifted.
The mattress sank deeply, and in the dark room, without turning on the lights, the man lay down beside her.
The rich, gentle scent of oud enveloped her completely.
Qian Dailan patiently waited for the next step—the usual routine: a kiss, a soft murmur, and one thing leading to another.
But he didn’t move.
She waited another minute.
Still nothing.
Another minute.
Still nothing?
Huh—
So, he’s still the same old pure-hearted Ye Xijing after all.
He must have just wanted to sleep next to her, nothing more.
Sister Mai had always said that male college students were naïve and inexperienced.
With that thought, Qian Dailan let out a breath of relief.
At the same time, the man beside her shifted slightly, and his right hand accidentally brushed against her left hand—now damp with nervous sweat.
Wait.
The night was silent, the moonlight steady and unshaken.
Qian Dailan was the one who had been touched, yet she could feel him freeze under the covers.
A moment later, he slowly propped himself up and turned to look at her.
The curtains hadn’t been drawn, and the faint moonlight illuminated Qian Dailan’s face.
Still adjusting from sleep, her eyes were slightly unfocused.
The dim light shone directly into them, making it hard for her to see clearly.
The man’s face, hidden in the shadows, was even harder to make out.
A hand pressed against her shoulder, while another large palm gently cupped her cheek.
Qian Dailan blinked, trying to get a clearer look at her boyfriend.
Just as she was about to call out “Xijing,” she heard his deep, hoarse voice.
“Why is it this dream again?”
She was confused.
“Is this some new kind of romantic talk? You know my education level is low—I don’t understand vague stuff. Can you be more direct?”
Also, after half a year apart, why does your voice sound weird?
It’s different from how it sounds over the phone.
Is it because of the alcohol?
The scent of oud intensified, like dark clouds swallowing up the fresh, floral notes of a rose garden.
Before she could finish speaking, the man leaned down.
His loosely tied, dark-colored bathrobe fell open slightly, and his firm, broad chest pressed directly against her.
This long-awaited kiss was rougher than any before—fierce and urgent, probably because they hadn’t seen each other for so long.
Didn’t the old saying go, “A brief separation is better than a new marriage”?
But Qian Dailan never expected the man to actually treat this as a new marriage.
He kissed her so intensely that she nearly ran out of breath, her head spinning, almost passing out.
The experience was far from pleasant, and for the first time, Qian Dailan panicked.
She tried kicking at him, but her thin legs were easily pinned down, like an ant trying to shake a tree.
She had thought that since she wasn’t wearing pajamas, she could just slip away like a slippery little eel.
But against overwhelming strength, technique meant nothing.
Before she could catch her breath, her hands were restrained, and her wrists pinned down as the man kissed her from her forehead all the way down to her collarbone.
Where did Ye Xijing get all this strength from?!
Back when they argued, Ye Xijing had once tried to force a kiss on her—only to be shoved so hard that he fell straight onto his ass.
All those K-dramas and TV romances lied—forced kisses aren’t impossible to escape from.
As long as you have enough strength, not only can you break free, but you can even flip the guy over.
So what’s going on today?
Had he been secretly training for the past six months?
Doing sit-ups, pull-ups, push-ups, working out in the gym behind her back?
Before she could figure it out, the man let her go.
His lips hovered at the curve of her collarbone, and he chuckled softly.
One of his fingers traced the dimple at the corner of her mouth, still carrying the faint scent of her jasmine perfume.
“It feels so real today,” he murmured, as if talking to himself, or maybe teasing her.
“You must’ve really missed me, huh, Lan Xiaomei?”
Qian Dailan, on the other hand, felt that today was anything but real.
Even the way he said “Lan Xiaomei” sounded different.
Drinking really does mess people up.
“You’ve got quite the strength,” the man mused, gently biting her collarbone.
“You scratched my neck—I should punish you for that.”
Qian Dailan heard that she had scratched his neck and instinctively tried to sit up and check.
But before she could move, he easily wrapped his arm around her waist and flipped her over.
One second, she was kneaded like dough.
The next, she was flipped over like a pancake by some uncle making street food in Shandong.
Her face sank into the soft silk goose-down pillow.
As she struggled to lift her head, something hot pressed against her—like a fresh-baked Russian rye bread.
She froze instantly, too scared to move.
A hand braced against her waist, pressing her down slightly—just enough to make her arch her back like a stretching cat.
Another hand landed lightly on her backside with a soft smack.
Qian Dailan stiffened.
She couldn’t take it anymore.
She raised her voice in outrage.
“Ye Xijing! If you’re gonna do it, then do it! If not, then get the hell off me—what’s with the ass-slapping?!”