Chapter 22: The Cold and Aloof Heiress

Luo Yihuan’s gaze had turned utterly dark, the fury smoldering at the depths of her eyes nearly burning into reality. She wanted to incinerate Yang Mu standing before her—and even more, to snap the hand that woman had draped over Jiang Li’s shoulder.

“Yang Mu.”

The name came out in a voice chilled to its absolute limit, the warning unmistakable.

Yet Yang Mu merely curved her lips upward, utterly fearless. Right in front of Luo Yihuan, she shifted the hand from one shoulder to the other, completely enveloping Jiang Li beneath her oversized coat. She leaned in close. From Luo Yihuan’s vantage point, Jiang Li needed only to turn her head to rest against Yang Mu’s shoulder.

Raise her chin a fraction higher, and those glossy lips would plant a perfect kiss on Yang Mu’s cheek.

Ha—kiss.

Luo Yihuan’s fraying self-control quivered. Her fingertips tightened imperceptibly. Jiang Li’s worried gaze flicked toward her, but Luo Yihuan held herself rigid, unmoving.

Darkness shrouded her expression like oppressive thunderclouds piled thick overhead—pitch-black and seething with rage.

“What’s wrong? Did you hear that?”

Yang Mu’s nostrils filled with the familiar scent of Jiang Li’s perfume. She spoke in a warm, velvety tone, showing no fear of Luo Yihuan’s intimidation.

She even braced her hands on Jiang Li’s shoulders and leisurely lifted the nearby teapot, pouring her a cup of steaming tea.

The water bubbled out with a soft gurgle, mist rising to obscure Jiang Li’s face from Luo Yihuan’s view. But those red lips stood out vividly against the haze—tempting, alluring.

Oh, right—Li Li’s lips…

That shade triggered a memory in Luo Yihuan: the lipstick sampler she’d playfully begged for earlier.

Li Li had mentioned her own color had faded that day. She’d pointed to her lips, brushing her lower one in subtle invitation.

Had Jiang Li not shot her an irritated glare, Luo Yihuan might have tested out that famed “lip-transfer” effect right then and there.

Later, she’d leaned against the wall and watched Jiang Li trace a delicate layer of red across her pursed lips in the mirror.

Exactly the same shade as the one now staining her own mouth.

Amusement bubbled up through the shadows in Luo Yihuan’s eyes, accompanied by a low, pleased chuckle from deep in her throat. Yang Mu’s loaded gesture now seemed nothing short of clownish.

That smug look again.

Past life, this one—Yihuan’s untouchable arrogance had always infuriated Yang Mu most. As if the world spun solely at Luo Yihuan’s whim, she reigning eternally from her lofty throne.

They were mere ants scrambling at her feet, scrambling for scraps of her favor.

But things were different now!

Wild triumph flickered in Yang Mu’s eyes alongside a manic gleam. She’d been reborn. In this second chance at life, she wouldn’t lose to Luo Yihuan. She wouldn’t hand Jiang Li over.

She’d claim both her career… and Jiang Li.

“Ridiculous.”

Luo Yihuan uttered the word like ice, rising smoothly from her seat. She strode up to Yang Mu and stared down her nose at the shorter woman with unmasked scorn.

Yang Mu stood a few inches below her to begin with, and with her current hunch toward Jiang Li, the size difference felt even more crushing. For the second time, she felt reduced to the insignificant pest she despised.

Luo Yihuan caught the humiliated mix of fury and flush mottling Yang Mu’s cheeks and let out a soft, derisive huff. She had no intention of wasting another glance on trash like this.

Her hand shot out decisively, prying Yang Mu’s from Jiang Li’s shoulder.

Yang Mu’s face soured black with outrage—she hadn’t anticipated such brazen theft. She clenched her fingers, struggling to yank free, but the grip held unyieldingly.

To Jiang Li, it almost looked consensual, the way Luo Yihuan so courteously guided Yang Mu’s hand down to rest gently at her side rather than flinging it away.

Luo Yihuan stepped in closer, eyeing the stubborn fool lingering at Jiang Li’s flank. Her gaze swept to Jiang Li, who glanced nervously between them, and her own brows arched into a graceful curve.

After all, she was nothing if not polite.

“Step aside.”

Yang Mu ignored the softly issued command, planting herself in place. She arched a brow tauntingly, every trace of her usual languid warmth evaporated. “You? Who even are you?”

So much for courtesy.

Luo Yihuan bent forward until she hovered a mere breath from Yang Mu, her presence radiating heart-stopping menace. She tilted her scarlet lips aside, a teasing lilt threading her icy voice as she murmured intimately.

“Li Li tastes delicious, doesn’t she?”

“Her lips smell even sweeter with my flavor on them.”

“What do you think of her lipstick? Like the color?”

The siren’s whisper coiled around Yang Mu’s ear like a lure from the abyss, dragging inexorably at her soul—but the words themselves drained the blood from her face.

Deliberately, Luo Yihuan paused her retreat, her lips lingering inches from Yang Mu’s vision. A mocking smirk tugged at the corner.

Then her eyes dipped. Just a second was enough for recognition:

The shade on Jiang Li’s lips matched Luo Yihuan’s precisely.

They’d kissed.

And she, months into her rebirth, hadn’t so much as considered asking.

At the sight of Yang Mu’s corpse-pale complexion, Luo Yihuan extended one manicured finger and flicked her lightly on the shoulder, as though brushing away lint—and sent her stumbling past Jiang Li.

“Scram.”

The command fell cold and heavy, laced with unintentional frost. Her narrowed eyes gleamed dangerously—the first public flash of the fierce possessiveness Luo Yihuan harbored.

Yang Mu’s features locked in a rigid grimace, poised to retort when her pocket phone burst to life with ringing.

The shrill tone snapped her fractionally from her wrath. Brows knotted low, her venomous stare slid from Luo Yihuan’s serene calm to Jiang Li’s nearby face.

Her gaze tortured itself on those lips for endless seconds, jealous flames reddening her eyes, jaws clamped vise-tight. At last, after a strained beat, she swallowed her barbs and spun on her heel.

The hatred and plotting churning in her hidden gaze screamed one promise: Luo Yihuan, we’ll see about that.

Luo Yihuan turned smoothly back to her seat facing Jiang Li. The blaze in her demeanor ebbed, but shadows deepened in her gaze. “Li Li, she’s beneath you.”

In a flatly matter-of-fact tone, she recounted Yang Mu’s recent exploits, sparing no sordid detail.

“For the past month, she took ten different women to various hotels—shamelessly intimate the whole time. Afterward, she paraded some of those girls through the Yang Corporation’s shopping centers, showering them with gifts. Staff overheard her—she never used their names. Just kept cooing ‘baby’ to every last one…”

“Stop, stop!”

Jiang Li thrust up a halting hand, exasperated yet amused despite herself. Luo Yihuan sounded like some underworld intel broker—what fresh gossip was this?

“I do like Yang Mu,” she continued, catching the instantaneous furrow creasing Luo Yihuan’s brow and smiling to soften it, “but not like that.”

Her goal in this world was simple: pave a smooth, happy path for Luo Yihuan, then depart.

No matter the affection she’d harbor here, she’d inevitably leave for the next world.

So she added simply, “Rest assured, I won’t fall for Yang Mu.”

Jiang Li toyed idly with her knife and fork. Sunlight from reversed blades glinted silver along her cheek; her mouth tugged downward in disinterest, expression profoundly neutral.

The casual delivery struck Luo Yihuan like a thunderbolt. Her lips parted as if to respond, but no words emerged.

Confess her feelings? This affection now burning in her chest? Would Li Li brush it off the way she’d dismissed Yang Mu?

Luo Yihuan couldn’t risk it. Her hands clenched hard against her thighs, gripped by a child’s ancient terror—that warm hand lifting from her ears, vanishing for lonely years.

Silence deepened between them. Luo Yihuan held her tongue; Jiang Li turned to the window, where lamplight reflected cool detachment in her amber depths.

【Do you think Luo Yihuan likes you?】 Long-dormant 123 resurfaced, prompting:【Do you think Luo Yihuan likes you?】

Jiang Li propped her elegant chin on one hand, staring at a single tender white bloom unfurling amid the tree branches outside. She ignored the query entirely.

From the corner of her eye, she flicked a glance across the table. Luo Yihuan sat bolt upright, dignified as ancient pine or lofty bamboo amid the forest—refined, virtuous.

Yet those eyes hadn’t left her for an instant since they’d sat down.

Yang Mu had soured the meal’s beginning, but servers soon brought courses that bridged the awkwardness. Midway through, Jiang Li took the initiative, steering them into lighter chatter about daily life.

As with their first meeting, Luo Yihuan’s days revolved around little beyond her company and her home’s flower room and courtyard, where she lavished care on her cherished blooms.

Exactly the old-cadre vibe from Jiang Li’s impressions.

They finished eating as dusk’s lingering glow yielded to a pale round moon. Streets filled now with evening strollers.

Cool river breeze kissed the air; Jiang Li sighed contentedly, her stomach pleasantly stuffed.

“Luo Yihuan, want to take a walk?”

A walk?

Luo Yihuan blinked in faint surprise. Then warmth curved her lips. She nodded, falling into step beside Jiang Li as they descended the front steps.

For the first time in her life, someone accompanied her stroll.