Chapter 52: What Wouldn’t I Dare?

Those four short words carried an indulgent laugh. What should have been a sincere statement came out light and breezy, as if harboring no deeper meaning—simply to satisfy Bai Jin.

“Lu Huan.” Bai Jin took a step closer.

Facing her approach, Lu Huan lifted her gaze and tilted her head toward her. The hand holding her chopsticks paused midair.

Bai Jin stared straight into her eyes. “Look at me and say it again.”

“I…” Lu Huan parted her lips to speak, but her voice caught in her throat, trapped there by some unspoken force.

Perhaps it was the sight of Bai Jin’s eyes.

A lie, once locked in direct eye contact, crumbled of its own accord.

Time seemed to freeze for several seconds, their breaths growing subtly tighter.

In that suspended moment, the water in the pot hit its boiling point. Bubbles surged upward in a rolling boil, sending a hot droplet splashing onto Lu Huan’s hand.

She hissed in pain and snapped back to reality. Only then did she realize the noodles were ready. Seizing the opportunity, she changed the subject. “The noodles are done. Let’s wash up and eat.”

She bent down to turn off the flame, and the heavy silence dissolved naturally.

Bai Jin cast a few more indifferent glances before turning to wash her hands. She didn’t press the earlier topic.

Fortunately, Bai Jin didn’t ask further.

Lu Huan let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Distracted, she brushed the edge of the pot and scalded herself again. She cursed inwardly.

“…”

With chopsticks and a ladle, they divided the noodles into two bowls. Bai Jin helped carry them to the dining table, and breakfast was underway.

They ate facing each other.

Lu Huan held her phone in her left hand, scanning files her subordinates had sent via WeChat, while her right hand twirled noodles.

Bai Jin watched her in silence from across the table, her gaze lingering on Lu Huan’s right hand.

Slender fingers with prominent knuckles gripped the chopsticks, veins standing out on the back of her hand—a clear sign of strength.

It looked powerful, and it was.

When Lu Huan noticed Bai Jin’s stare, she blinked, her eyes silently questioning the scrutiny.

Bai Jin’s expression darkened faintly as she looked away. “Your hand got scalded.”

“Oh.” Lu Huan knew she meant the earlier accident. She glanced at it carelessly before resuming her meal. “It’s nothing—just a little burn.”

A small red patch had formed. Lu Huan had rinsed it under cold water and left it at that, without any ointment.

Bai Jin fell silent.

As usual after eating, she headed to the sink to wash the dishes.

Lu Huan stood in the kitchen doorway, watching Bai Jin’s slightly hunched back. She sensed something was off about her today.

That morning, the corners of her eyes had still held traces of redness and swelling.

Now, her waist looked stiff, her movements slower than normal.

Was her back hurting?

Lu Huan held her tongue for the moment and went back to clear the table first.

Once finished, she settled onto the living room sofa with her laptop on the coffee table.

As Bai Jin walked past, Lu Huan called out, “Come here. Let me rub your waist.”

Bai Jin froze for two seconds, averting her eyes. “I’m fine.”

Lu Huan ignored the protest and pulled her close.

“!” Bai Jin was tugged forward, her knees bending to press against the sofa cushion between Lu Huan’s legs. She ended up half-kneeling, towering slightly over the seated Lu Huan.

Lu Huan’s hands rested on her shoulders.

“Stubborn as ever.” Lu Huan placed her palms against Bai Jin’s waist and began rubbing gently.

Last night, her body had trembled uncontrollably.

Stubborn, just like then. Even at her limit, clutching Lu Huan’s shoulders, she’d still demanded more—even taunting her into it, forcing Lu Huan to oblige until she reached this sore, spent state.

“Mmm…”

Bai Jin pressed her lips shut, but a soft sound escaped through her nose.

The ache eased considerably, yet the strength holding her upright softened in tandem. Bai Jin leaned forward, her upper body pressing against Lu Huan’s.

Their cool fragrances mingled. Lu Huan caught the scent again—that potent aroma from their reckless night.

Bai Jin’s natural fragrance.

Faint snow lotus, blooming wildly under cover of darkness, now tempered in the light of day.

The position was far too intimate. Lu Huan’s palms continued their gentle kneading.

After a stretch of time, a mischievous impulse stirred in Lu Huan.

Her fingers trailed upward along Bai Jin’s waist.

A jolt of numbness shot through Bai Jin. She instinctively squeezed one eye shut.

“…Lu Huan.”

Bai Jin tried to pull away, but Lu Huan’s arms locked around her waist, holding her in place.

She called Lu Huan’s name again.

Lu Huan curved her lips into a smile. Unbidden, a memory resurfaced. “Since when did you switch to my full name?”

“Didn’t you call me ‘sister’ so sweetly yesterday? What’s stopping you now?”

That voice—elegant timbre laced with desire—ethereal and yielding, impossibly alluring.

Nothing like the cool detachment in her tone now.

Lu Huan could still faintly recall the last time Bai Jin had called her “sister” right to her face.

It was during their trip to sweep the tombs. Before stepping out of the car, Bai Jin had looped an arm around Lu Huan’s neck and murmured a cryptic “thank you, sister.”

It seemed every instance came in some charged moment. Each time, Lu Huan experienced a fleeting disorientation, as if the aloof Bai Jin before her had transformed.

But the illusion never lasted beyond a couple of seconds.

Because Bai Jin always slipped back into her usual shell.

Lu Huan tilted her head back to meet her eyes, her dark pupils mirroring the woman above. “So you’re one person by day and another by night?”

Bai Jin met her gaze. “Aren’t you as well?”

One facade outside, another within. The words stayed unspoken.

Lu Huan smirked. “Not me.”

“I do at night exactly what I’d do by day.”

Bai Jin’s eyes widened a fraction. “Is that so?”

Her slender hand drifted up to cup Lu Huan’s cheek.

One of Lu Huan’s hands stayed at her waist; the other covered the back of Bai Jin’s hand against her face.

Of course—as long as Bai Jin agreed to end things, Lu Huan had no qualms. Except—

“Except I’m afraid you couldn’t take it.”

Half-joking, Lu Huan added, “For your own good.”

Bai Jin let out a dismissive cold laugh. “‘For my own good’ while pushing me to the brink… Don’t hide your cowardice behind excuses.”

“Heh, cowardice?”

What wouldn’t Lu Huan dare?

From childhood onward, there was truly nothing she shied away from.

Hearing those taunting words, Lu Huan pressed her tongue against her cheek. “You sure?” She latched onto the prior challenge.

Bai Jin enunciated each syllable. “Sure.”

Their gazes clashed like unyielding steel, sparks flying in a haze of danger and taboo.

As if the next instant would plunge them both into the vortex.

Her hand twitched toward action when a vibrating ringtone shattered the tension—and the quiet.

Startled, Lu Huan reached for her phone beside her. It was Qin Dian calling.

She answered, her voice steady and even. “Hey, Mom.”

“Huanhuan, why aren’t you at the company today?” Qin Dian sounded like she was walking and talking, faint calls of “President Qin” echoing in the background.

Since Lu Huan had taken the reins, Qin Dian rarely meddled in operations, though she popped in now and then. She must have arrived today.

“I drank too much yesterday,” Lu Huan replied. “Not feeling great.”

“Was it that real estate dinner?” Qin Dian had heard about recent dealings from Zuo You. Her tone turned helpless, dipping low. “I’ve told you countless times: bring someone to shield you from drinks. Booze wrecks the body.”

She had indeed warned Lu Huan repeatedly. Lu Huan always nodded along verbally but never followed through—she simply didn’t trust anyone else that much.

The only people fit for those dinners were her inner circle, like Yi Ming and Zuo You: competent, savvy.

Lu Huan would never shove them into the line of fire.

Silence stretched until Qin Dian sighed preemptively. “Never mind. I know my words fall on deaf ears.”

“Where’s Jinjin?”

“Right here—”

Before Lu Huan could finish, Bai Jin snatched the phone. “Auntie.”

Qin Dian’s voice warmed instantly. “Jinjin.”

The call wasn’t on speaker, but the living room’s hush let the sound bleed through.

It was always like this. Lu Huan’s heart sank a touch.

Whenever Bai Jin appeared, Qin Dian turned gentle.

Lu Huan had long assumed sternness was her mother’s default. Witnessing her softness toward Bai Jin revealed otherwise: she had a tender side, just never spared for Lu Huan.

Sometimes Lu Huan found the distinction laughable. Why blur the line between blood and adoption?

“Feeling rested?” Qin Dian inquired after her health.

“Much better. No need to worry.”

“Good. Take your time returning to work—rest up.”

“Okay.” Bai Jin’s response went to the phone, though her eyes fixed on Lu Huan. “Auntie, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Qin Dian prompted her.

Lu Huan met Bai Jin’s gaze as the latter murmured steadily, “Whenever you’re free, in person.”

“Saturday’s booked for me,” Qin Dian said. “Sunday, then. Bring Huanhuan home with you.”

The timing suited Bai Jin fine; it hinged on Lu Huan. “Let me check with sister.”

She extended the phone to Lu Huan. As their fingers brushed, Bai Jin’s eyes snagged on the red scald on the back of Lu Huan’s ring finger.

Seeing the fixation on her right hand, Lu Huan took the phone left-handed instead.

“So we’ll…”

This weekend.

The words died unspoken.

Bai Jin had claimed Lu Huan’s right hand, pressing a slow, soft kiss to the burn…

The tender brush of lips sent a shiver racing through Lu Huan’s veins to her heart. She trembled faintly.

“Why go quiet?”

“Nothing.” Qin Dian’s voice yanked her back. Lu Huan voiced the interrupted thought.

“We’ll head back this weekend.”

“…”

Meanwhile, across town at the company.

Qin Dian occupied Lu Huan’s executive chair. Sunday confirmed, she ended the call.

Loose white suit draped her frame, wavy locks tied loosely at the nape, stray bangs framing her forehead—stern yet effortlessly relaxed.

The assistant behind her smiled slowly, a note of relief in her pleased sigh. “Miss Lu and Miss Bai’s relationship is getting better and better.”

“Quite annoying,” Qin Dian replied, though the corners of her lips curved upward with a touch more amusement.

The desk before her was impeccably tidy, the folders lined up in precise, upright rows.

Qin Dian settled into Lu Huan’s chair and pulled open the drawer beside it. Inside lay a full pack of white-wrapped candies.

She recognized them at once—these were the milk candies Bai Jin used to love as a child.

When Qin Dian connected this with the details she had observed earlier, she looked away and let out a soft, scoffing chuckle.

“She’s gotten smarter.”