Yan Meng’er adored pink, so her room brimmed with a girlish charm, all soft hues and delicate touches. Beyond the essential furniture, it was adorned with countless little trinkets.
On the bed, Yan Meng’er clutched a small doll to her chest, her nose twitching with occasional sniffles.
The doll bore a striking resemblance to Yan Zhen. She had sewn it long before her reincarnation, back when fear of gossip kept her from drawing near him. Instead, she had crafted this “cousin” from scraps of his clothing, a tangible reminder to ease her longing.
As a reincarnator, Yan Meng’er had long shed the naive heart of a young girl. Yet ever since reconciling with Yan Zhen, she found herself slipping back into that childish innocence. How else could a mere minor setback reduce her to tears?
She had simply been outpaced, that was all.
She knew full well that the future held countless prodigies—women more talented and beautiful than she—who would set their sights on her cousin. With the slightest inclination, Yan Zhen could enjoy a harem’s blessings. Yan Meng’er had steeled herself long ago for the role of the little wife.
What had truly shaken her was her own complacency.
In the wake of their reconciliation, as their interactions warmed back to the easy intimacy of old, she had convinced herself she was the closest to him by far. His fiancée, whom he had met but once, and that hopeless cousin of his paled in comparison.
And yesterday, they had even shared a kiss. The memory had left Yan Meng’er floating on air, drunk with triumph.
So when she discovered that Yan Zhen had done something far more intimate with Mentor Yu Xuan, she felt like the world’s biggest fool.
—Why was it that she, who had come first, always lagged behind other women?
Rage.
Grief.
Reluctance.
Yet she had no right to feel this way. Yan Zhen had never deceived her; it was all her own presumption.
This petulant, little-girl temper had no place in her life anymore.
She was no longer the girl she had been, and Yan Zhen had never cared for her spoiled, willful side.
“Cousin got into a clash with the mentor—hope he’s alright. I ditched him this afternoon without a word. Will he be angry? He must be back by now. Should I go to his room later, check on him, and apologize…?”
The more she dwelled on it, the deeper her gloom sank. Unbidden, a hope flickered in her mind:
If Cousin knew she was upset, would he come to comfort her?
The old Cousin would have, without question. But now?
Would he still?
She had hurt him once before. Even with forgiveness, things could never truly return to how they were.
Right?
Regret bubbled up anew in Yan Meng’er’s heart, tightening her chest until it ached. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks in a rush, soaking the pillowcase.
Then she heard Yan Zhen’s voice.
“Meng’er, you asleep? I’m coming in.”
The door—the one she had deliberately left unlatched for him—creaked open. Footsteps echoed from the threshold to the bedside. Yan Meng’er froze, her breath catching as she hugged the Yan Zhen doll even tighter. She dared not turn around.
“Meng’er? You asleep?”
At those words, Yan Meng’er squeezed her eyes shut, feigning sleep.
She felt the bed dip slightly as Yan Zhen sat on the edge. His hand gently shook her shoulder.
“Really out cold, huh? Wasted trip. Maybe I should prank her—draw a mustache on her face?”
“…”
Yan Meng’er could pretend no longer. She whipped around, glaring at her heartless cousin.
“Cousin!”
But there he was, grinning mischievously, as if to say, “No more pretending, huh?”
Yan Meng’er realized she’d been had. Her cheeks flushed crimson. She spun back around, clutching the doll tight and refusing to acknowledge him.
Yan Zhen wiped the smile from his face and asked patiently,
“What’s wrong, Meng’er? I ran into some trouble at noon, that’s why I didn’t come find you. Wasn’t trying to stand you up.”
His explanation only made the lump in her throat swell larger, her sense of grievance deepening. Her nose stung, and fat teardrops rolled down her face like beads from a string. She wiped furiously, but they wouldn’t stop. A sob escaped her.
Yan Zhen felt a wave of awkwardness. He had come to console her, but somehow he was making it worse. And he hadn’t even said anything wrong.
“Alright, no more crying, Meng’er. I’m sorry, okay? Tomorrow, I’ll take you shopping for a new dress, treat you to all your favorite foods. If that’s not enough, we’ll head to those famous scenic spots in Silver Moon City. How’s that?”
His gentle tone wrapped around her like a dream.
Once upon a time, this was how Yan Zhen spoiled her—racking his brain to cheer her up whenever she was down.
It was she who had pushed that tenderness away, terrified of wagging tongues. By the time she craved it anew, it was too late.
Reborn with regret in her heart, she had never dreamed she would feel this warmth from him again. But he had forgiven her. Truly.
Yan Meng’er’s heart melted in an instant, even as her tears flowed fiercer, blurring her vision.
She turned to face him, her gaze timid and pleading, as if begging him not to cast her aside.
“Cousin, I-I…”
Yan Zhen patted her head softly.
“There, there. No more tears. You’re not a little kid anymore.”
“Wahhh… Cousin!”
Yan Meng’er could hold back no longer. She lunged into his arms, wrapping him in a fierce embrace and bursting into loud sobs.
“You’re so mean, Cousin! You know how much Meng’er likes you, but you won’t accept me. Instead, you go flirting with other girls. Is Meng’er no good? Can’t I be someone important to you? I hate you most of all! Wahhh…”
Her words tumbled out amid fiercer sobs, her arms squeezing tighter, as if terrified that letting go would mean losing him forever.
Yan Zhen was utterly baffled. Patting her head, he racked his brain: When had he flirted with anyone else?
He hadn’t! He had steadfastly upheld his persona as an emotionless grinding machine. Even when girls from class threw themselves at him, chest first, he hadn’t laid a finger on a single one. Talk about dedication!
Dismissing her tear-fueled ramblings, Yan Zhen soothed her.
“Good girl, hush now. Keep crying, and you won’t be pretty anymore~”
Sniffling, Yan Meng’er lifted her tear-streaked face from his chest, pouting defiantly.
“If Cousin gives Meng’er a kiss, then I won’t cry.”
Well. Using tears to cop a feel? That wasn’t right.
Yan Zhen shot her a deadpan look. But her red-rimmed eyes and pitiful expression tugged at him. He couldn’t bring himself to refuse coldly. Leaning down, he pressed a quick kiss to her soft cheek.
“Better?”
He… he actually kissed her? Yan Meng’er’s heart fluttered wildly. She touched the spot on her face, a thrill of unexpected fortune washing over her.
But it was over too soon—barely a taste before it vanished. Dissatisfaction gnawed at her.
She blinked up at him, furrowing her brows stubbornly. Glaring, she wheedled,
“A cheek kiss doesn’t count. I want a real kiss.”
A real kiss? Cheek was within his persona’s limits; anything more crossed the line.
Yan Zhen turned away, but Yan Meng’er grabbed his face and turned it back. Her fierce stare made refusal impossible.
After a brief hesitation, Yan Zhen lowered his head again and brushed his lips against hers, intending a fleeting touch.
But this time, Yan Meng’er didn’t stay passive. She seized the moment, kissing back with fervor. Her tongue darted nimbly into his mouth, turning it into a deep, passionate embrace.
—Damn it, I got tricked!
Yan Zhen’s eyes flew wide.
