At first, Meng Yanxi had his back against the door, a large hand pressing Jin Zhao into his arms. At some point, the man who had claimed he was leaving did not leave at all, and instead moved farther and farther into her room.

From the doorway to the sofa.

Later, Meng Yanxi was sitting on the sofa, Jin Zhao sitting in his lap. His hand gripped her waist, her arms looped around his neck.

Jin Zhao was quick to learn; Meng Yanxi went without saying—ever since childhood he had always been far ahead of everyone else, the type most adept at figuring things out on his own.

Outside the balcony were mountains, the wind blowing in gusts, the grasses, trees, and vines on the mountainside making intense rustling sounds in the night.

Very heavy—wind and vines entangling with one another, unwilling to stop.

Jin Zhao’s first kiss melted her into a pool of water.

As if her bones had been drawn out. Later, until Meng Yanxi finally stopped, breathing a little raggedly by her ear, she lay limply in his arms, her eyes, as if washed by water, staring blankly at the intertwined shadows of trees outside the window.

A very real feeling, and yet a very unreal one. She did not know how to describe it, only that she wanted to hold this man tightly.

The two of them embraced each other closely.

When Meng Yanxi left, it was already close to midnight.

He did not even know what he was doing.

He clearly knew she had an early class the next morning, yet he had stayed here for so long. And having stayed here for so long, all he had done was kiss her.

As he was leaving, his eyes seemed to have a will of their own, his gaze pausing for a brief moment on her small single bed.

The sheets and duvet cover were all in pale, light colors, looking very soft, very warm, very comfortable.

At first, Jin Zhao did not know what he was looking at. She followed his line of sight and glanced over—there was nothing special—then looked back at his eyes.

Against the plain, pale bedding, his gaze appeared frighteningly deep.

Jin Zhao’s face flushed red in an instant.

Meng Yanxi was always rational. Even if he very occasionally revealed his true nature, his rationality would return quickly. Realizing his unconscious impropriety, he immediately turned his eyes away.

The incandescent light was blunt and bright; the person beneath it was so beautiful it struck straight at the heart.

Her fair face had turned pink, a few slightly disheveled strands of hair falling by her temples. Her lips were a little swollen from his kissing, her eyes full of water.

He looked at her, his prominent Adam’s apple rolling unconsciously.

He gave a light cough, then, half sanctimonious and half embarrassingly earnest, found himself a decent excuse: “There was a mosquito up there just now.”

Jin Zhao was startled.

He immediately said, “It flew away again.”

The man stood there without moving. After a few seconds, he said again, “How about I go buy you some mosquito repellent liquid?”

Jin Zhao pointed toward the socket in the corner.

An electric mosquito repellent was already plugged in there, the small red light glowing silently in the corner, as if mocking someone.

Meng Yanxi: “……”

“Mm, then I’ll head out first.”

Jin Zhao nodded.

Although she was a little reluctant, it really was too late.

She walked him to the door. The man stopped, then turned back and said, “Your bag—I’ll bring it over to you tomorrow.”

Jin Zhao instinctively wanted to say there was no rush, then realized that it wasn’t that there was no rush.

She didn’t dare let him know that she was already a little eager to see him again.

And they hadn’t even separated yet.

She lowered her eyelashes and gave a soft “Mm.”

“When are you free tomorrow?”

“I have class early tomorrow morning, in the afternoon… mm!”

He didn’t even wait for her to finish speaking before bending down to kiss her.

This time, one stood inside the door, the other outside. She tilted her head up, he bent down. The moon was visible in the courtyard, bright white moonlight falling on his sharply defined shoulders.

His hair was a little messy.

He didn’t dare touch her again, restraining himself by gripping the doorframe. Because of the force, veins stood out one by one on the back of his hand.

His teeth nipped at her lips, never enough, his breathing rapid and heavy.

Footsteps sounded faintly down the corridor.

In the stillness of night, even the slightest movement was magnified.

It was unclear which late-returning teacher it was, dragging weary footsteps, about to turn around the corridor—one glance up and they would see them.

See them kissing across the doorway, both full of desire and yet purely in love.

Jin Zhao’s heart nearly jumped into her throat, nerves so tight that her palms were damp with sweat.

The footsteps drew closer and closer. Just as Jin Zhao was about to anxiously pull him inside, the man finally released her.

“I’ll come find you tomorrow afternoon,” he said hoarsely, his forehead resting against hers.

His pitch-black gaze looked as if it could swallow her whole.

At this point, even Jin Zhao’s mind felt damp and foggy; she nodded in a daze.

Meng Yanxi urged her inside, and before the late-returning teacher turned the corridor, he pulled the door shut for her.

By the time he left the school, it was already the latter half of the night.

Meng Yanxi drove, the curve at the corner of his mouth never fading. After driving for quite a while, he finally realized he had gone the wrong way.

The opposite direction.

President Meng, who had never made such a low-level mistake in his life, let out a self-mocking laugh.

He shook his head and resignedly turned around at the next intersection.

At this hour, the city center was no longer busy or congested. Streetlights lined the road, illuminating the rows of roadside trees; the Maybach cruised down the middle of the main road, buoyant and carefree.

At 12:27 a.m., the big capitalist had no trace of sleepiness. Long fingers tapped once on the steering wheel; with a shift of thought, Meng Yanxi returned a call to his assistant, Zhuang Yu.

An hour earlier, Zhuang Yu had messaged him saying that Jin Zhao’s bag had already been retrieved, asking whether it should be delivered over right away.

But at that time, how could he have had the mind to deal with any Zhuang Yu?

All of his body and mind only wanted to deal with Jin Zhao—deal with her properly.

The tip of his tongue pressed lightly against his lip, and the curve of his mouth lifted again at once.

“President Meng.”

Zhuang Yu was an outstanding special assistant. At this hour, there was not the slightest hint of drowsiness in his voice—only love for work and loyalty to his boss.

Meng Yanxi: “At home?”

“Yes, at home.” A shrewd assistant was still a shrewd assistant; before Meng Yanxi could even speak, he already knew the boss’s intention. “I’ll head out now. I’ll be at your place in twenty-five minutes.”

“No need. Get the things ready. I’ll come over.”

The dim glow of the phone screen lit Meng Yanxi’s jawline, casting a handsome face that looked refreshed and spirited.

Such a lazy big capitalist—after kissing a girl, he’d even become diligent.

But Zhuang Yu was drawing a six-figure monthly salary; making Meng Yanxi personally run this errand was practically a neglect of the renminbi.

“No, President Meng.”

Zhuang Yu sprang up from the bed, grabbed his outerwear and threw it on, heading out while putting it on. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

There were few people on the road now; speeding a little probably wouldn’t matter.

“No need.”

Meng Yanxi glanced at the rearview mirror. Reflected in the glass was a roguish smile in his peach-blossom eyes, as if afraid others wouldn’t know just how pleased he was at this moment. He let out a lightly bragging chuckle. “I’m in a good mood today. I’m willing.”

Zhuang Yu: “Understood, President Meng.”

The big capitalist being willing to run errands was one thing; a worker’s self-awareness was another—especially for a high-level worker earning six figures a month. Zhuang Yu was already downstairs early, holding Jin Zhao’s bag as he waited. When Meng Yanxi’s car pulled up, Zhuang Yu quickly stepped forward.

Just as Jin Zhao had said, it really was just a canvas bag, with hand-drawn patterns—colors bright, with a touch of playful charm.

Meng Yanxi took it in his hand and looked it over, then placed it in the passenger seat. When he looked up again, Zhuang Yu was still standing by the roadside, wearing a look ready to see him off.

Meng Yanxi: “You go back up.”

After Zhuang Yu went upstairs, Meng Yanxi stayed parked downstairs for a bit longer, then suddenly picked up his phone.

The canvas bag had no zipper. Inside was a set of practice clothes and a red dance skirt. The keys were at the very bottom; the chiffon dance skirt lay on top, faintly revealing a thin, rosy corner of gauze.

At first, Meng Yanxi had only wanted to take a photo to send to Jin Zhao, to tell her that he’d picked the things up.

He glanced at the time, then held back.

It was already past one o’clock. She had an eight a.m. class tomorrow.

But with all this energy in him right now, he had to do something. After pausing for a moment, he tapped into Moments.

Meng Yanxi rarely posted on Moments—one or two posts a year. In years when he was especially aloof, there wasn’t even a single one. Other people had rough lives and exquisitely curated Moments. He had a luxuriously furnished life and a rough, bare-bones Moments.

But tonight, the big capitalist went wild, shooting the canvas bag on the passenger seat from every angle.

Lights on, lights off; flash on, flash off; pulling the skirt out just a little, pulling the skirt out a bit more… He took dozens of photos and spent ages picking, yet somehow every one of them still felt just a little off.

Meng Yanxi’s gaze fell on his own hand.

Someone seemed to particularly like his hands—staring straight at them whenever she had nothing better to do.

With calculated intent, Meng Yanxi placed his right hand on it.

-♥︎ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞♥︎ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞♥︎ ྀི

Meng Yanxi had overestimated Jin Zhao.

He didn’t know how he had come to believe that just because she had an early class tomorrow she would definitely be able to fall asleep. The reality was that Jin Zhao lay on her bed, uncharacteristically suffering from insomnia.

Even though he had left over an hour ago, her heartbeat was still racing. She tossed and turned on the small bed in her dorm, now thinking of that lingering, lingering kiss on the sofa, now thinking of the kiss through the doorway before he left—the one that looked like he wanted to swallow her whole.

She forced herself to think about something else, like tomorrow morning’s Public English class. But perhaps because Public English had no technical difficulty whatsoever, she drifted off in three seconds, and in the end couldn’t help thinking again of the look in his eyes when he had stared at her bed before leaving.

It must be that she was too impure—her body instantly burned up.

She quickly took out her phone to scroll and calm herself down; otherwise she wouldn’t sleep all night.

At 2:27 a.m., Jin Zhao opened WeChat.

The very top post on Moments was from the man she had been thinking about incessantly, tossing and turning for—posted half an hour earlier.

There was no caption, only a single photo.

In the dim car interior, a hand-painted canvas bag lay on the passenger seat. Whether intentional or not, a corner of fabric was faintly revealed, and the man’s right hand rested on it as if by accident.

Jin Zhao recognized at a glance that it was Meng Yanxi’s hand.

His hands were very distinctive—like his eyes, the best-looking she had ever seen in all these years. Cool white skin, long fingers, joints sharply defined, and on the back of his hand, one sensual vein after another standing out.

Every time she saw those hands, her heart would start racing.

Especially now.

The lighting was dim; the deep black leather seat was filled with masculine presence. On the passenger seat, a corner of her skirt was exposed—thin chiffon, rosy and vivid—while the man’s sexy large hand rested on her skirt.

It was clearly just a picture, just a piece of fabric, yet she found herself breathing quickly, the tip of her heart burning hot.

At this hour, Si Tian and Luo Heng were surprisingly still awake. The two of them ran into the post on Meng Yanxi’s Moments and casually started chatting.

Si Tian: 【? Brother Yan, did your account get hacked?】

Luo Heng: 【What kind of weird selfie is this—holding a piece of cloth?】

Si Tian replied to Luo Heng: 【Are you made of iron, bro? That’s not cloth at all—that’s a skirt, a girl’s skirt!】

Luo Heng replied to Si Tian: 【Holy shit! That lewd?】

Luo Heng: 【Brother Yan, is what she said true?】

At the very bottom, Meng Yanxi replied—

【Yeah, my girlfriend’s skirt.】

Girlfriend Jin Zhao lay on her bed as a flush visibly crept up her cheeks, bit by bit.

She pulled the blanket up to cover her face. After a while, she pulled it down again and opened her phone.

Her eyes moist and bright, she softly gave Meng Yanxi’s Moments post a like.