Like a wayfarer who sought shelter in a ruined temple only to be ensnared by mountain spirits and woodland ghouls, Fu Xiangqing recoiled a full step backward, stunned by Xu Zhiyao’s bold, forthright words.
Her face burned crimson. “W-What did you say?”
Xu Zhiyao blinked with wide-eyed innocence, her eyes shimmering with a watery gleam—pure and chaste on the surface, yet laced with an inexplicable allure that tugged at the soul. “It’s a little off-the-shoulder dress. I just bought it and haven’t worn it yet. How about I model it for you next time?”
Fu Xiangqing sensed the conversation veering into forbidden territory. She couldn’t bear to meet those eyes locked so intently on her own, terrified that a single lapse in vigilance might ensnare her in this bewitching spell.
Forcing her gaze onto the perfectly ordinary white blouse instead, she murmured in a voice even fainter than a mosquito’s hum, “You don’t need to ask me about something like that. It’s your clothes—you decide whether to wear it or not.”
She skipped past the subject in haste. “It’s getting late. Let me finish helping you quickly so we can both get some rest.”
Xu Zhiyao slipped back into her docile, obedient demeanor, murmuring a soft agreement—as if the vixen who had just shed her disguise to tempt a celibate monk into breaking his vows had been nothing more than a fleeting illusion.
Fu Xiangqing had never encountered anyone so mercurial.
The one who was aloof and tight-lipped amid crowds: her.
The one radiating murderous intent while thrashing those who deserved a beating: her.
The one who always tended to her with such thoughtful care in private: her.
The one whose words dripped with audacity, only to dismiss them as jests: still her.
She was like a capricious wind, her true nature forever eluding grasp.
Silence settled over the room, broken only by their mingled breaths and the faint rustle of Fu Xiangqing’s fingers gliding across fabric.
Fu Xiangqing was the sort to lose herself in focus with ease. Before long, she immersed fully in the final task of her evening.
Too absorbed to notice, she missed the depths of affection brimming in the eyes of the woman before her, who watched her every move.
Xu Zhiyao lacked experience but possessed a powerful grip; every loop of the binding looked excruciatingly tight.
Remembering how she’d mentioned chest pains before her period, Fu Xiangqing felt a surge of admiration.
Wasting no time, she straightened and leaned in closer. The rough cloth scraped against delicate skin, eliciting an involuntary shiver.
Fu Xiangqing, intent on her work, remained oblivious to the tremor.
With considerable effort, she at last unraveled the troublesome chest binder.
The instant the task was done, a muffled grunt escaped the woman who’d stayed silent until then.
Fu Xiangqing turned to dispose of it, but before her foot could shift, a soft, sweetly scented body pressed flush against her.
Xu Zhiyao’s voice emerged faint and frail, as though seized once more by that unspoken agony. “Let me lean on you for a moment, please? It was bound so tight for so long—releasing it all at once hurts like hell.”
Fu Xiangqing wore only a thin sweater. Though their bodies didn’t truly touch, the mere thought of Xu Zhiyao’s vulnerable state shattered her composure.
She couldn’t bring herself to shove away someone so fragile in that moment. Instead, she endured the mounting itch at her heart—like a kitten’s relentless clawing—serving as a human painkiller.
Time crawled by at an agonizing pace; she lost track of how long they remained like that.
Only when her arms, frozen rigidly in the air, began to tremble from exhaustion did the head nestled against her finally pull away.
“Thanks. I feel better now. I’ll shower first—you can go after me, okay?”
Fu Xiangqing nodded stiffly, her neck rigid. She darted to the corner ahead of Xu Zhiyao’s rise.
She tossed the binder into the trash. Xu Zhiyao slipped into the bathroom.
Only after the door clicked shut did Fu Xiangqing, still by the bin, exhale a long breath of relief.
Moments later, Xu Zhiyao emerged in a bathrobe, signaling it was Fu Xiangqing’s turn.
When Fu Xiangqing finished and stepped out, the overhead light had been switched off, replaced by the soft glow of bedside lamps.
Xu Zhiyao’s voice was thick with drowsiness. “Did you wash your hair? If so, blow it dry before bed.”
“No, I did it yesterday.”
“Then hop in. I didn’t turn on the heat—the floor’s chilly, and you might catch cold lingering there. Are you cold? I can switch it on if you are.”
“It’s fine. I’m not that sensitive to the cold.”
Fu Xiangqing reached the bed’s edge, lifting the covers as she spoke and sliding beneath them.
She’d barely settled when a warm body sidled up beside her.
Her focus elsewhere, she groped around the space next to her body.
After patting it down, she asked, “Did you lie here first earlier to warm up this side of the bed for me?”
Xu Zhiyao gave a soft smile. “Yeah, I was afraid you’d be cold, so I warmed up the bed for you first.”
Hearing that low chuckle so close to her ear, Fu Xiangqing suddenly realized just how near they were to each other.
She turned her head and locked eyes with Xu Zhiyao’s candid gaze, which showed no hint of evasion.
Perhaps it was the night’s gentle veil that had blurred their surroundings into a soft haze. If not for that, how could she have glimpsed the depths of those beautiful eyes, brimming with a tenderness deep enough to drown anyone who lingered too long?
Dazed by the sheer perfection of the moment, the young woman forgot to look away. She felt herself clearly, slowly sinking into that pool of alluring softness.
Xu Zhiyao leaned in even closer, until they could both feel each other’s warm breath brushing their faces.
Amid the night’s hazy embrace, her voice grew soft and enchanting.
“I don’t like calling you by your name the way everyone else does. If you don’t want me to call you ‘Senior Sister,’ then how about I call you ‘Sister’ instead?”
Fu Xiangqing had no recollection of what she replied, but her actions afterward made it clear that she had given her permission.
Otherwise, how could Xu Zhiyao have dared—after calling her “Sister”—to press even closer to her ear and murmur, word by deliberate word:
“Sister, I’m always a serious person. We haven’t finished that game penalty from before. Shall we continue now?”
