He remained seated on the huge black leather sofa—so large that three people could probably roll around on it comfortably—still reading his English magazine.
She couldn’t see the cover.
She couldn’t see his face.
He didn’t even lift his head.
But Ye Xijing wouldn’t let go.
He held her like a cat, inhaling her scent.
Only after he had enough did he finally release her and start explaining his lie from last night.
“Dailan, I didn’t mean to hide it from you. It’s just… you always got jealous about this before, and I was scared—”
“Scared? No.”
Qian Dailan sharply interrupted him.
“That wasn’t fear—that was guilt.”
“If you were really innocent, why would you be afraid?”
“Or are you saying that you think I’m just some jealous, unreasonable, drama-creating girl?”
Ye Xijing froze.
He reached out, wanting to hug her again.
From the sofa, Ye Xiyan finally spoke:
“Xijing, don’t overdo it.”
Qian Dailan shot him a grateful look.
Ye Xiyan didn’t return it.
He was still reading his magazine.
“Let Dailan go rest. She probably had a tiring interview today.”
“I’m not here to rest. I came to take my luggage,” Qian Dailan corrected.
“I already rented an apartment this afternoon. I’ll be moving out later.”
Her decisiveness caught everyone off guard.
Ye Xiyan closed his magazine—he had been stuck on the same page for five minutes anyway.
For the first time, he looked directly at Qian Dailan.
The distance and the lighting made his gaze seem calm yet unreadable.
“You’re moving out tonight?”
His tone was polite, distant—like a boyfriend’s older brother who wasn’t that familiar with her.
“Mm.”
“Don’t tell me you’re moving in with that bastard—”
Ye Xijing stiffened.
“You were with him all afternoon, weren’t you?”
“Watch your mouth,” Qian Dailan cut in coldly.
“Don’t think I didn’t hear you just now—you were about to call him a ‘dog.’”
Ye Xiyan frowned slightly and asked, “How are you getting there?”
“By bus,” she said.
“There’s a direct route—I already checked the bus schedule. The last bus leaves at 10 PM, so I have plenty of time.”
“Where is the apartment?”
She only gave a vague answer, mentioning the district.
Ye Xijing’s expression changed.
“You’re really leaving tonight? You already signed the lease? You won’t stay even one more day?”
Qian Dailan met his gaze.
“I can’t stay here.”
“I don’t want to wait until we have an argument and hear you say, ‘This is my house. Get out.’”
Ye Xijing’s face twisted.
“I would never say that—”
But Qian Dailan just looked at him.
“You also told me you’d never lie to me.”
Ye Xijing couldn’t say a word.
Qian Dailan turned to Ye Xiyan, her tone polite:
“Thank you, Brother.”
Then she walked into the bedroom to pack her suitcase.
The backpack she had brought with her was temporarily placed on the table.
After running around all afternoon, she hadn’t noticed that the zipper had broken at some point.
Through the small gap, a worn-out book was faintly visible.
Ye Xiyan placed his magazine on the glass coffee table, then leaned forward slightly, examining the book more closely.
It was Book 4 of New Concept English.
The pages were creased from frequent use, and on the curled-up edge of one page, he could see dense, handwritten notes filling every available space.
“She’s so damn stubborn,” Ye Xijing muttered to himself.
“Just stubborn for the sake of being stubborn.”
Then, looking helplessly at his brother, he pleaded:
“Bro—can you help me take Dailan to her place? It’s so late, I really don’t feel comfortable letting her go alone.”
Ye Xiyan responded, calmly:
“You trust me?”
“Mm,” Ye Xijing nodded.
“Her temper is always like this—stubborn and impossible. Right now, she’s mad at me, so there’s no way she’ll let me take her. But I don’t want to let that bastard Yin Shenyan take advantage of the situation.”
As he spoke, his voice became more bitter.
By the end, he was gritting his teeth:
“I’m begging you, Bro—just do me this favor.”
But Ye Xiyan simply said:
“I’ll call Yang Quan to pick her up.”
“That works too,” Ye Xijing mumbled, then hesitated.
Lowering his voice, he tentatively asked:
“Can you also ask Yang Quan to check something? I want to know if she’s actually living with Yin Shenyan. If she is… can he bring her back tonight?”
“I don’t want her living with some wild man…”
He suddenly noticed—
His brother’s expression had darkened.
“Watch your words,” Ye Xiyan said, clearly displeased.
“Even if it’s a co-ed apartment, it’s not a big deal.”
“I guess,” Ye Xijing muttered.
Then, as if suddenly realizing something, he said: “But the real wild men are those who know someone has a boyfriend and still sleep in the same bed with them.”
“Tell me, Bro—isn’t that just disgusting?”
And Then—
“Hey, Bro—why are you standing up? Bro, where are you going—?”
Bang.
The guest room door swung open.
Qian Dailan stepped out, dragging her suitcase behind her—
And almost walked straight into Ye Xiyan.
A faint, steady sandalwood scent enveloped her.
She didn’t dare look him in the eyes.
Ye Xiyan, too, looked away.
Ye Xijing felt weird.
Something was off between his brother and his girlfriend.
But he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what.
“I asked Yang Quan to take you,” Ye Xiyan said, his tone calm and steady.
Without hesitation, he took her suitcase from her hands, moving with the natural ease of a considerate older brother.
“It’s too late for you to go alone. It’s not safe.”
Ye Xijing remained silent.
He knew his girlfriend’s temper well—
Saying anything now would only add fuel to the fire.
Qian Dailan didn’t bother trying to snatch the suitcase back.
For some reason, she never felt like she could argue with Ye Xiyan.
Maybe because—
Last night, he had been… hard against her.
“I made some white fungus, lily, and lotus seed soup—from the first batch of fresh white lotus seeds from Jianning this year,” Ye Xiyan said, casually.
“Yang Quan will need time to get here—it’s rush hour, so traffic is heavy. Eat something first, then leave.”
Qian Dailan realized—
She hadn’t eaten dinner yet.
But how did Ye Xiyan know that?
She hesitated.
Eating out would cost money.
Sure, Ye Xiyan’s food was free.
But as the saying goes—there’s no such thing as a free dinner.
Staying meant risking another fight with Ye Xijing.
But… she really liked him.
So much so that, right now, she didn’t want to argue irrationally.
She wanted to wait until she cooled down—
Because otherwise, she knew exactly what would happen.
She would tear into him.
She would curse out his entire family tree, all eighteen generations, until he was crying.
She knew her own mouth too well—it was sharp enough to verbally destroy him.
And she didn’t want to do that in front of Ye Xiyan, who would witness his younger brother sobbing uncontrollably.
“Right? My brother’s cooking is amazing,” Ye Xijing happily continued.
“You have to try it—he’s an incredible cook!”
“Xijing,” Ye Xiyan said.
“Go wash your hands, set the table, and get the chopsticks—the pink set is Dailan’s. Don’t mix them up.”
Ye Xijing ran off to the kitchen.
And just like that—
Qian Dailan was cornered.
They had already made the decision for her.
Leaving now would just be awkward.
Ye Xiyan gently placed her suitcase down and spoke in a low, even tone: “Don’t worry. I’ve already forgotten about last night. Xijing doesn’t know a thing.”
For the entire time, Qian Dailan had been staring at the sharp crease of his black dress pants—impeccably ironed, perfectly straight.
At those words, she suddenly snapped her head up and looked at him.
Ye Xiyan avoided her gaze.
He turned and walked into the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as he went.
A well-built, muscular forearm came into view—
Veins standing out, coiled with power, hidden beneath the crisp white fabric of his shirt.
Qian Dailan finally understood—
Why, no matter how hard she fought last night, she couldn’t push him away.
Why she had been forced to endure it.
He really had been working out.
Ye Xijing hadn’t lied—
Ye Xiyan really could cook.
For just two people, he had prepared:
Silky tofu with mushrooms.
Braised cherry pork.
Lotus root and pork rib soup.
White fungus, lily, and lotus seed dessert.
The rectangular black walnut dining table was set—
And since Ye Xijing had already placed her pink chopsticks next to his own seat.
Qian Dailan had no choice but to sit across from Ye Xiyan.
It was awkward.
Even though Ye Xiyan seemed completely unaffected.
Throughout dinner, they didn’t look at each other.
Not even once.
They followed strict, polite table manners—
As if an invisible barrier had been placed between them, holding them firmly in their roles:
Older brother.
Younger brother’s girlfriend.
The only moment of contact came near the end of the meal.
Qian Dailan—distracted and uncomfortable—reached for the ladle at the same time as Ye Xiyan.
His large hand covered hers.
A complete accident.
So subtle that even Ye Xijing didn’t notice.
The second their skin touched, Ye Xiyan immediately let go—
But Qian Dailan felt it.
A sharp, electric prickle along her scalp.
It was like something had exploded in her brain.
Last night came rushing back.
A flood of forbidden images—
That firm, unyielding hand, gripping hers, pressing down.
His lips on her neck, her collarbone.
The heat, the hunger, the unbearable tension.
A Russian rye bread, hard and aching, straining against restraint.
She jerked her hand back—
And knocked over a bowl of lotus seed soup.
The warm, milky liquid spilled onto the table—
And onto her dress.
Right at her stomach.
It looked almost like a final punctuation mark to the unfinished scandal from last night.
Ye Xijing, clueless, only saw his girlfriend possibly getting burned.
He immediately grabbed some napkins to help wipe it off.
Qian Dailan pushed him away.
She kept her head down and walked to the bathroom.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ye Xiyan stand up.
“Bro… or is it you…?”
She heard Ye Xijing’s confused voice, but she wasn’t paying attention anymore.
She washed her hands, then glanced up at the mirror—
Just in time to see Ye Xiyan enter.
His shirt sleeves still rolled up, his scarred left hand placed a small bottle next to her.
“Spray this on your dress,” he said, his voice polite.
“It’ll remove the oil stains.”
“Alright, thank you,” Qian Dailan replied, just as politely.
“I understand.”
Ye Xiyan gave a slight nod, then left.
The entire time, he had been looking at the mirror—
Never at her.
She dried off her dress—but something still felt off.
Slowly, she took a step back,
Moving into the exact spot where Ye Xiyan had been standing.
Then, she mimicked his gaze—
Tilting her head, staring at the mirror, just as he had done.
And Then, She Saw It.
A faint, deep purple mark.
Barely visible at the edge of her old dress’s collar.
A kiss mark.
Pressed too hard, leaving a dark, smudged bruise.
It Was From Last Night.
Left by Ye Xiyan.
She had been too focused on checking her shoulders and collarbone for marks—
She had overlooked this one.
She had assumed it was hidden.
Just like how they had both pretended that nothing had happened.