Chapter 13: The First to Dare Lift My Skirt

Tan Qingya’s beautiful black eyes fixed intently on Zhou Jianghao. Unable to hold back despite the stinging discomfort, she teased the flustered woman who was scrambling in panic:

“Was that on purpose?”

But Zhou Jianghao wasn’t one to take teasing lightly—or perhaps she simply missed the amusement laced through the words. She yanked her hand back at once, blurting out, “No!”

She shot to her feet in haste, nearly stumbling over herself, until Tan Qingya rose and steadied her.

A touch of helplessness colored her voice. “If it wasn’t on purpose, then why the rush?”

Just look at her—scared absolutely pale.

Why was she so afraid of her?

But if she was that terrified, how had she mustered the nerve to invite her upstairs alone late at night for tea?

Impossible to figure out.

Young people nowadays were truly baffling.

Lost in these thoughts, Tan Qingya suddenly felt her arm gripped in return. Zhou Jianghao, shedding her earlier panic, now gazed at her with steely determination. “President Tan, that scald needs treating right away.”

“Hm?”

Tan Qingya blinked in mild surprise. Before she could gather her wits, Zhou Jianghao was already tugging her into the bathroom.

The bathroom was cramped enough for one; with two of them squeezed inside, it felt downright claustrophobic.

Tan Qingya barely had time to react before Zhou Jianghao snatched up the showerhead and sprayed cold water over her leg.

“Hiss—”

She recoiled on instinct, but the half-crouching Zhou Jianghao turned assertive for once, clamping her other hand around Tan Qingya’s leg to hold her steady. “President Tan, just bear with it for a bit.”

Slowly, her leg grew accustomed to the chill of the water. The burning skin cooled at last, bringing welcome relief compared to moments before.

Yet in that instant, Tan Qingya cut a rather sorry figure.

The front of her short skirt was thoroughly soaked, the fabric plastered to her skin. Meanwhile, Zhou Jianghao—crouched before her—seemed to have set aside her earlier embarrassment, her expression grave and focused.

Then, in a blink, Zhou Jianghao—head tilted upward—slid her hand higher. Her face remained earnest as she lifted the clinging skirt with brisk efficiency to inspect the burn.

Inappropriate as the moment was, Tan Qingya burst into laughter.

The hand on her thigh went rigid. Bending down, Tan Qingya pinched Zhou Jianghao’s cheek. “You’re the first one bold enough to lift my skirt.”

The flesh caught between her fingers was soft and yielding—delightfully so.

No sooner had she spoken than the face before her flushed visibly, heating to a scorching glow.

A flicker of mischief stirred in Tan Qingya’s heart. As her other hand began to rise, Zhou Jianghao snapped out of it with an exaggerated start. Disregarding the pinch on her cheek, she jerked backward.

Tan Qingya pulled her hand back just in time—only for a sharp slap to echo as Zhou Jianghao, still half-crouched, slipped and landed hard on her backside in the slick bathroom.

“…”

Zhou Jianghao’s face burned red, her eyes wide with shock. She looked for all the world like some innocent maiden fresh from a flirtation.

And yet it was Tan Qingya whose skirt had been lifted.

With skin that thin, though, Tan Qingya took mercy and refrained from further teasing. She bent down, clasped Zhou Jianghao’s arm, and hauled her back to her feet with a gentle tug.

“The clothing up top blocked most of it—no real damage.”

With that, she let go first, tilting her head down to lift the hem of her skirt herself. Against the angry red flush from the scald below, the creamy skin beneath the fabric bore scarcely a mark.

Her skirt was short to begin with; a slight lift exposed the white lace trim of her modest panties.

Any higher, and the private delta would come into view.

Zhou Jianghao whipped her gaze away as if burned herself, bolting for the door.

A bit late to get shy now, wasn’t it?

Laughter welled in Tan Qingya’s eyes.

Moments later, however, Zhou Jianghao returned, clutching a fresh set of clothes. “President Tan, I haven’t worn this set yet. Change out of that wet skirt?”

She still looked tense, her knuckles whitening around the fabric. Tan Qingya simply couldn’t say no to her. She reached out and took the clothes, her fingers brushing against Zhou Jianghao’s icy ones. Unthinkingly, she glanced up. “Why are your hands so cold?”

“Born that way.” Zhou Jianghao kept it brief, then hurried on. “Change in the bathroom. I’ll fetch some ointment. President Tan, steer clear of the burned spot.”

With that, she scampered out again, rummaging noisily through drawers and cabinets in search of medicine.

Tan Qingya withdrew her gaze and changed out of the sodden garments.

The loose shorts and T-shirt were wonderfully comfortable. She dropped the skirt into the laundry hamper and emerged from the bathroom. Outside, Zhou Jianghao was still tearing through everything, sweat beading on her brow—a pitiful sight.

Tan Qingya glanced down at her own leg. The exposed skin glowed red but showed no blisters. She breathed easier; it hurt, true, but nothing serious.

“It’s fine—no need to keep looking,” she called out.

“We have to!” Zhou Jianghao insisted stubbornly. “Untreated scalds scar. You need to take it seriously.”

Aside from Old Madam, no one had lectured her like that in ages. Tan Qingya pressed her lips together, barely containing her smile.

She curved her mouth upward. “Understood, Doctor Zhou.”

She drew out the words “Doctor Zhou” on purpose. Zhou Jianghao froze mid-motion; even from behind, her ears shone scarlet.

The amusement in Tan Qingya’s eyes deepened.

In the end, Zhou Jianghao unearthed the ointment. Tan Qingya settled onto the sofa, watching in silence as she applied it.

It was likely force of habit from her profession; Little Doctor Zhou worked with utmost care. Tan Qingya held her tongue and behaved herself.

The ointment felt soothingly cool, yet it paled against the sensation of Zhou Jianghao’s fingers—soft, chilled tips gliding lightly over her skin, the pinky occasionally grazing with a teasing hook.

It tickled.

Tan Qingya lowered her gaze, tamping down the feeling.

Her eyes drifted to the half-drunk cup of tea. She studied it intently, then asked out of the blue, “What kind of tea is this?”

The question came abruptly.

“Chrysanthemum tea.” Zhou Jianghao glanced up on reflex, explaining with textbook precision. “It’s all I have here.”

“Chrysanthemum tea is perfect.” The girl had once regarded her with open fear; Tan Qingya was determined to change that impression, softening her tone. “Clears heat and toxins—ideal for summer.”

She reached for the cup.

Another hand beat her to it. She turned, locking eyes with Zhou Jianghao.

“It’s gone cold.”

“No worries.” Tan Qingya’s lips quirked as her fingers poked the back of Zhou Jianghao’s hand, her voice laced with mirth. “Doctor Zhou, surely a little scald won’t stop your patient from enjoying some chrysanthemum tea?”

The hand clutching the cup sprang open in haste—a near-fleeing retreat.

Tan Qingya stifled her laughter and took a delicate sip.

Hm—

The taste was odd; any praise died unspoken on her tongue.

The room fell quiet.

“President Tan.” Having finished with the ointment, Zhou Jianghao rose and drew a deep breath before speaking first. “Today Li Zhenyu told me my marriage is in her mother’s hands.”

Tan Qingya started, on the verge of denial—then remembered her earlier phone call with Old Madam. She’d found matchmaking a hassle and foisted it off on Tan Yanxi.

And promptly forgotten all about it.

Tan Yanxi must have worried about saddling her own child with Zhou Jianghao, so she’d scraped together a bunch of rejects to fob her off.

It had clearly spooked the poor girl.

“Don’t be scared,” Tan Qingya soothed. “Who you marry is entirely up to me.”

Another possibility occurred to her. “If you truly don’t want to wed, look into the Non-Marriage Clan. Life doesn’t demand marriage, after all.”

No sooner had the words left her lips than a sharp click echoed through the rental. Darkness swallowed the room whole. Tan Qingya blanked for a few seconds before realizing the power had tripped.

“Does this happen often here?”

She adjusted to the gloom and rose carefully. In the shadows, Zhou Jianghao’s face was indistinct; no answer came.

Had she frightened her?

Tan Qingya opened her mouth to reassure her—when a cool hand seized her arm. Zhou Jianghao’s voice emerged soft and trembling. “What if…”

“Hm?”

“What if I want to marry you?”