Chapter 16: Out of Control

In the shifting light, Mo Shaoshang's face was inches from hers, handsome to the point of seeming unreal. Wen Yinong felt her cheeks grow hotter and hotter, her head growing foggy, as if someone had stuffed a wad of soaked cotton into it.

The alcohol had numbed her brain; the part of her that processed language seemed to have turned abnormally sluggish.

That low voice reached her ears clearly. She understood every word, but strung together their meaning was blurred and hard to grasp.

Her eyes were misty, hazy as if soaked in water. She just stared at him blankly, unable to say a single word.

For his part, Mo Shaoshang fixed his gaze on the girl before him, his eyes deep and unreadable.

After studying her for a few seconds, his gaze fell on the empty wine glass in her hand. Combined with her strange reaction, he reached a conclusion: she was drunk.

The specially blended fruit wine served at the banquet tasted sweet and mellow, highly deceptive—its actual alcohol content was not low at all. The young teacher clearly knew nothing about alcohol; she must have taken the special fruit wine for ordinary juice and drunk quite a lot without any guard up.

At this thought, Mo Shaoshang couldn't help finding it funny, and the look he directed at Wen Yinong's face softened involuntarily.

"Did you hurt yourself anywhere?" he asked her in a low voice, gentle and slow, like coaxing a child who refused to put on shoes.

Wen Yinong blinked, her thoughts still sluggish. But this sentence was much simpler and more direct—she understood it.

She shook her head slowly, looking soft and dazed.

Mo Shaoshang lowered his voice again: "I'm going to let go now. Stand steady on your own, all right?"

In her tipsy state, Wen Yinong was earnest and unusually obedient. She nodded at him again. "Okay."

The fingers holding her chin slowly released. At the same time, his other hand hovered protectively at her side, the skin of his arm deliberately keeping a tiny distance from her—gentlemanly and scrupulously proper.

However, Wen Yinong's head was spinning, and the ground felt like cotton beneath her feet; her steps floated.

Freed from Mo Shaoshang's support, she instinctively reached out and gripped the edge of the long table beside her, barely steadying herself.

After a moment, Wen Yinong took a deep breath. Her thoughts cleared a little, and only then did she belatedly remember to say thank you.

Embarrassment and shame mingled, deepening the blush on her cheeks until it seemed about to drip blood. She stammered, "Just now... thank you. If it weren't for you, I probably would have fallen and made a fool of myself..."

Her drunken appearance was alluring and lovely. Mo Shaoshang looked down at her without responding to her thanks, only turning slightly to lean casually against a nearby Roman column, posture languid, tone indifferent: "Teacher Wen, what do you think of this banquet?"

The question came out of nowhere. Wen Yinong paused, then answered honestly, "It's... it's nice."

Beautiful lighting, lovely atmosphere, exquisite food.

Just then, a waiter passed by carrying a tray.

Mo Shaoshang casually took a glass of champagne, sipped lightly, and lowered his eyes to the swaying golden liquid in the glass. His tone was slow and meaningful: "I was actually quite nervous, afraid that Teacher Wen would feel constrained and bored at an occasion like this. But seeing how pleasantly you were chatting with that gentleman just now—it seems I worried too much."

Wen Yinong blinked. It took her two seconds to realize who he was referring to. "You mean... you mean Mr. Sebastian?"

Mo Shaoshang's hand paused mid-swirl of the champagne. His eyes darkened slightly, and he said nothing.

"Mr. Sebastian is quite talkative. He said he's very interested in Chinese culture and is applying for permanent residency." Wen Yinong answered with complete honesty, hiding nothing, even carrying a note of innocent sharing of an amusing anecdote. "We're both interested in psychology and Hong Kong films, so we chatted a bit more."

At this point she paused briefly, then tilted her head and lifted her small face—dazzlingly beautiful with drink—toward Mo Shaoshang.

She asked curiously, "Mr. Mo, are you upset?"

Mo Shaoshang's eyelids lifted slightly. His cool blue-black eyes fixed on her directly, and he countered, "Why would I be upset?"

"...I don't know." The young girl shook her head honestly, her eyes still hazy, her expression drowsy yet carrying a few traces of innocence. "I don't know exactly why you're upset either, but you just are."

Her tone was certain. Hearing this, a thread of interest wound into Mo Shaoshang's voice. "And where does your conclusion come from?"

"Intuition," she answered with complete seriousness, her logic rendered bluntly straightforward by the alcohol. "You already give people a somewhat fierce impression, very hard to get along with. Every time you're in a bad mood, that feeling becomes even more obvious. Just like... right now."

When her words fell, Mo Shaoshang raised an eyebrow ever so slightly.

On the surface, apart from her face being redder than usual and her eyes brimming with more moisture, this drunk little cat spoke in a sweet, soft voice with clear articulation—her logic seemed intact too.

But Mo Shaoshang could still tell: she was truly drunk.

A sober Wen Yinong would never look at him with such fearless, even judgmental eyes, and would certainly never speak to him in such a tone.

Adorably bold.

"I consider myself fairly gentle in dealing with people, and my emotions have always been stable." Mo Shaoshang looked at her calmly. "Why is Teacher Wen so insistent that I'm hard to get along with?"

Hearing this question, the drunk little cat raised her flushed face, her expression serious. She even held up one slender white index finger and wagged it side to side in front of him, continuing earnestly: "This has nothing to do with how you treat people. It's a problem caused by the combination of your personality, your looks, and your aura."

Mo Shaoshang took a leisurely sip of champagne and responded softly, "I'm all ears."

"Your personality is too quiet. You don't like talking, and that kind of personality itself creates a sense of distance." As Wen Yinong spoke, she scrutinized Mo Shaoshang's face carefully, as if conducting an academic analysis.

The alcohol had stripped away her usual reserve. She even took the initiative to step closer to him, her tone growing more and more serious. "Moreover, the folding degree of your face is too high. Your eyes, nose, lips, jawline—though they're sculpted and deep, very good-looking—the aggressiveness they project is also very strong. Add to that your aura... those of us in special education have all studied psychology. With someone like you, it's as if there's an invisible chasm between you and the outside world. Very few people are willing to risk crossing that chasm to approach you."

The distance between them abruptly shrank with her step.

The young girl's lush, charming face, carrying an intoxicating blush and an unconscious purity, was all clearly reflected in Mo Shaoshang's eyes.

His gaze began to slip out of control, drifting down, landing on her lips.

Those lips, painted with vivid lipstick, were small and full, opening and closing gently with her words.

Red lips, white teeth—the stark contrast of colors formed an innocent yet fatal allure.

One couldn't help but imagine.

What it would feel like to kiss them.

A strange heat surged through his blood. Looking at the defenseless girl before him, Mo Shaoshang's Adam's apple bobbed almost imperceptibly.

Yet when he spoke again, his tone remained composed and calm: "That's just a stereotype."

"Is it?" Wen Yinong's thick lashes fluttered, her drunken confusion evident as she countered, "Then in Mr. Mo's own eyes, what kind of person are you?"

Mo Shaoshang looked at her, his blue-black eyes fathomless. His thin lips parted slightly, and he uttered four words: "Gentle. Lively."

"..."

Wen Yinong was thoroughly stunned by those two words; even her drunkenness seemed to recede a little.

Her eyes went wide and she froze in place, as if she'd heard the most absurd thing in the world. Before she could recover from this outrageous self-assessment, the piano music flowing through the air suddenly shifted, turning into a waltz—elegant, soothing, with a distinct rhythm.

The next moment, the man before her casually set down his champagne glass and extended his right hand toward her.

Palm up, gentlemanly and refined, impeccably elegant.

Wen Yinong froze, then realized Mo Shaoshang's intention. Flustered, she stammered a refusal: "I'm sorry, Mr. Mo, I, I don't really know how to dance..."

"It doesn't matter." Mo Shaoshang's lips curved. His arm wrapped around her slender waist beneath the qipao, and with a gentle pull, he drew her into his embrace without allowing any argument. "I can teach you."

*

Under Mo Shaoshang's guidance, Wen Yinong was half-coaxed, half-pulled into the center of the dance floor.

All the surrounding light seemed to focus on them. Dizzy, she could only passively follow his steps.

His hand was broad, long-fingered, and strong, steadying her back, while his other hand interlaced fingers with hers, leading her.

At first, Wen Yinong's steps were still messy and awkward; from time to time she stepped on the tips of his shoes. Mortified, her cheeks burned redder and she wanted to retreat, but he held her firmly in the crook of his arm.

"Relax. Don't be nervous," he murmured by her ear. "Look at me."

"..." Wen Yinong's heart tightened. The moment she raised her head, her eyes fell into a pair of deep-sea-like eyes.

Mo Shaoshang's guidance was patient and professional, and Wen Yinong herself was a quick learner. Once the alcohol loosened her limbs, it wasn't long before she gradually grasped the basic rhythm and steps of the waltz.

Around them, fine clothes and elegant figures swirled.

Dazed, she seemed unable to perceive any of it. The world before her held only those deep blue-black eyes as her body naturally followed him, spinning, advancing, retreating.

The moon-white hem of her qipao traced soft arcs; the jade necklace shimmered at her neck.

The pair in the very center of the dance floor became the undisputed focus.

The man tall and coldly handsome, the girl vivacious and alluring—the two danced in tacit harmony to the melodious music, as if they were born to fit together so perfectly.

When the song ended, the banquet was also drawing to a close.

Wen Yinong left the domed club with Mo Shaoshang.

Sitting in the back seat of the Rolls-Royce, exhaustion and deeper drunkenness struck her at once, and Wen Yinong instantly felt drained.

Back in the banquet hall, talking and dancing, the alcohol's effects had been dispersed and manageable. But now, in the enclosed, quiet compartment, her head felt heavy as if filled with lead, and her eyelids began to droop.

Wen Yinong originally forced herself to stay alert, trying to remain awake, but the warm air conditioning and the smooth speed of the car were like a lullaby. Within minutes, her head tilted and she drifted muzzily into sleep.

Once asleep, her body naturally lost its balance.

Wen Yinong toppled over uncontrollably.

Beside her, Mo Shaoshang reached out almost instinctively, placing his hand between the girl's forehead and the cold, hard car window. His expression was calm. He hesitated two seconds, then turned his wrist slightly, using his palm as a pillow to cradle her burning, flushed cheek. Gently and carefully, he lowered her head onto his thigh.

The young Chinese girl's eyes were shut tight, her long lashes like two small fans casting soft shadows beneath her eyes.

Seemingly finding his slightly cool palm comfortable, she pressed against it unconsciously like a spoiled kitten, nuzzling again and again, adjusting herself into a more comfortable sleeping position in his arms.

Once adjusted, she simply treated his waist as a body pillow. Two slender arms naturally wrapped around it in a bear hug.

Tightly.

"..."

Mo Shaoshang lowered his eyes and carefully studied the defenseless girl in his arms.

Her eyes were closed, her cheeks tinged faint pink from drink, carrying a few more traces of innocent allure than usual. Thick lashes, red lips slightly pouted, breathing even and long—she resembled a small animal that had snuck a taste of honey and drifted off contentedly.

Sweet and adorable. She stirred tenderness in people, yet also awakened the destructive urge buried in one's bones.

The desire to hold her, to kiss her.

To possess her fiercely, to crush her.

And then, bite by bite, swallow her whole.

Mo Shaoshang raised his hand, the backs of his fingers brushing lightly over Wen Yinong's delicate, warm cheek. In the depths of his blue-black eyes, undercurrents surged, as if brewing a tsunami capable of devouring everything.

"Good night." Gazing at that peaceful sleeping face, he mouthed silently, "Sweet dreams."

*

The next day, Wen Yinong was awakened by a headache.

Her eyelids seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. Frowning, she forced her eyes open with difficulty. Her temples throbbed, and her throat was dry and tight.

She sat up and looked around dazedly: her bedroom in the Mo estate. Then she looked down at her body: a clean, fresh pair of cotton pajamas.

Dong—

An enormous question mark fell from the sky and smashed onto Wen Yinong's head.

Strange.

Hadn't she accompanied Mo Shaoshang to a banquet last night? In her memory, she seemed to have danced a dance with him... and then? What happened? How did she get back to the estate after the banquet? Her body and face were so fresh and clean, and she'd changed into pajamas—when had she removed her makeup, and how had she bathed?

She had no impression of any of it whatsoever.

"..." Utterly puzzled, Wen Yinong rubbed her aching temples, trying to piece together those fragmented memories.

Just then, "knock knock"—someone rapped on the door from outside.

She hurried out of bed, slipped on her slippers, and went to open it.

Standing in the hallway was the butler, Uncle Heng.

Wen Yinong cleared her somewhat hoarse throat and forced a smile. "Good morning, Uncle Heng."

"Good morning, Teacher Wen." Uncle Heng's lips curved as he handed her the small white porcelain bowl in his hands. "Fresh from the kitchen, at just the right temperature. You'll feel better after drinking it."

Wen Yinong was puzzled. She took the bowl and looked: it held a reddish-brown liquid, unidentifiable.

"May I ask what this is...?"

"It's hangover soup," Uncle Heng answered with a smile. "You drank a bit too much last night. Sir was worried you'd feel unwell when you woke up, so he specifically instructed us to prepare this for you."

Drank too much?

Wen Yinong's brow furrowed slightly, and an ominous premonition rose in her heart.

Before long, chaotic, blurry fragments of memory—like reefs exposed after the tide recedes—gradually flooded into her mind: Sebastian's warm, enthusiastic smile, Mo Shaoshang's blue-black eyes tinged with suppressed displeasure, and those colorful, sweet-tasting but deceptively potent fruit wines at the banquet...

?

No wonder her memory of the latter half of the banquet was so fuzzy—she'd blacked out from drinking!

So after drinking too much, besides exchanging WeChat contacts with that Frenchman Sebastian, what else had she done?

The floodgates of memory opened, and more scenes rushed to surface.

She seemed to have grabbed Mo Shaoshang and delivered a long-winded tirade criticizing his personality and his looks.

Saying he was fierce, saying he was hard to get along with, saying he was taciturn like a mute gourd...

At this thought, Wen Yinong's vision went black. She wished she could find a noodle right now and hang herself from the southeast branch—Heavens! Earth! Had her brain been pickled in alcohol? Why would she run off and badmouth her employer to his face!

Ahhh!

The tears in Wen Yinong's heart swelled into the surging waters of West Lake. She regretted it until her guts turned green, wishing she could travel back to last night and knock her nonsense-spouting self unconscious with a club. But despite all this, she maintained a smile uglier than crying on the surface, hurriedly thanked Uncle Heng, took the bowl of hangover soup, and retreated to her room.

She closed the door, on the verge of tears without any to shed.

Calm down, calm down.

Now was not the time for regret—she had to figure out how to fix this!

Wen Yinong pondered, set down the hangover soup, quickly grabbed her phone, unlocked it, and opened the WeChat app.

Her porcelain-white, slender fingertip trembled slightly as she tapped open the pitch-black night-sky avatar.

She entered the chat window with "M."

Ever since she'd accidentally added Mo Shaoshang on her personal account that day, Wen Yinong hadn't dared send him a single message.

First, she felt there was no proper business that required contacting him on a personal account. Second, deep down she felt her personal account—both the nickname and the hand-drawn avatar—exuded a childishness at odds with her "professional special education teacher" persona.

She didn't want to deepen her employer's impression of that side of her.

But at this life-or-death juncture, Wen Yinong couldn't be bothered about image anymore.

She opened the text box and typed rapidly: [Mr. Mo, I drank too much last night and wasn't in my right mind. Everything I said to you was nonsense, absolutely unintentional. Please don't take it to heart...]

After typing it, she read it over.

No good—the tone was too eager; it felt like protesting too much. Delete.

Wen Yinong took a deep breath, reorganized her words, and typed another line: [Mr. Mo, last night I seem to have... said some rather inappropriate things. If I offended you, I hope you'll be magnanimous. You won't take it to heart, right?]

She read it over. Still not right.

Delete delete delete again.

After several rounds of this, Wen Yinong's fair face crumpled into a little bun, and she tugged at her hair in frustration.

She sat cross-legged on the bed, racking her brains over the blank input box. After agonizing for several full minutes, she finally took another deep breath and, like a martyr about to face execution heroically, gritted her teeth and steeled her heart, ready to apologize first no matter what.

Who knew—the moment her fingertip touched the screen, before she'd typed the first character, the phone suddenly went "ding"—

Completely catching her off guard.

A new message actually appeared in the chat window.

M: [Teacher Wen, good morning.]

Wen Yinong: "!!!"

Wen Yinong blinked, alarmed and uncertain, unable to fathom whether this deep-minded employer's early-morning greeting meant he was preparing to settle accounts and call her to task. She decided to meet all changes by remaining unchanged.

Steeling herself, she typed.

Cheese Sweet Moon: [Good morning, Mr. Mo ^.^]

Almost the instant her message was sent, his reply popped up:

M: [Uncle Heng said you just woke up.]

Cheese Sweet Moon: [Mm mm] [smile]

M: [After you finish the hangover soup, come downstairs for breakfast.]

M: [I'm waiting for you.]

Wen Yinong: ...I'm doomed T T

*

Staring at this message on her phone screen, Wen Yinong's heart instantly felt like fifteen buckets being hauled from a well—seven up, eight down.

What did her employer mean? Was he planning to settle accounts afterward, or was he really just simply waiting for her to have breakfast?

She couldn't figure it out.

After thinking left and right for a good while, all sorts of possibilities churning in her mind, she still couldn't make sense of it.

With no other choice, Wen Yinong could only temporarily suppress her chaotic thoughts, take a deep breath, and decide to meet whatever came—soldiers with generals, floods with earth. If it was fortune, it wasn't calamity; if it was calamity, she couldn't dodge it. She'd deal with it once she saw him.

She got up and washed.

Cool water splashed on her face, clearing her still-foggy head considerably.

Walking out of the bathroom, Wen Yinong picked up the hangover soup Uncle Heng had brought, hesitated two seconds, then downed it in one go.

Thankfully, though the soup tasted a bit strange, she really did feel much better after drinking it. Wen Yinong set down the bowl, changed into light, comfortable casual clothes, and forced a natural, friendly smile at the mirror before taking a deep breath and heading downstairs.

The sunlight was perfect, golden rays pouring through the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows. Beyond them, the Mo estate awakened in the morning light. The distant lake was like a mirror, reflecting the azure sky and wispy white clouds; the meticulously trimmed gardens were lush green, and a few birds chirped in the branches. Everything seemed tranquil and full of vitality.

Wen Yinong walked into the dining room.

The first scene that met her eyes was, unexpectedly, Mo Shaoshang guiding Airi to drink congee with a spoon.

The man's head was slightly turned. Outlined by the morning light, that cold, sculpted profile seemed softened, gaining a trace of indescribable...

Gentleness.

Wen Yinong froze. The next instant, last night's heart-pounding memories surged into her mind like a burst dam, beyond her control: her staring at him, calling him fierce, saying he talked too little, and the high facial folding degree, the strong aggressiveness...

At this thought, she was instantly so embarrassed her toes curled against the ground, her cheeks faintly burning.

Having met, standing frozen wasn't an option.

Wen Yinong could only steel herself and speak, trying to make her voice sound natural as usual: "Good morning, Mr. Mo."

Hearing her, Mo Shaoshang lifted his eyes slightly, his expression calm and unruffled, as if he were not the person who had been subjected to her "drunken truth-telling" last night.

"Good morning, Teacher Wen," he said lightly. "Please sit."

Wen Yinong sat down in the seat across from Mo Shaoshang as told. Beside her, the attending housekeeper immediately set out bowls, chopsticks, and breakfast for her.

After thanking Auntie Zhang, Wen Yinong suppressed the awkwardness in her heart, secretly took a deep breath, and turned her attention to Airi. Her lips curved, a gentle and energetic smile blooming on her face as she said to the little one, "Good morning, Airi."

As she spoke, she noticed the spoon gripped tightly in Airi's small hand and immediately exclaimed in exaggerated amazement: "Wow! Airi is eating by himself today? That's amazing!"

Airi didn't react much to this, only unconsciously waving the spoon and tapping the tabletop.

Wen Yinong wasn't discouraged in the slightest. She reached out, gently held the little one's chubby hand, and guided him to steadily scoop up a spoonful of warm congee and bring it to that pink little mouth.

Seeing the child successfully complete one act of self-feeding, Wen Yinong's eyes immediately lit up. She gave a thumbs-up, her tone full of affirmation and encouragement: "Great! Very well done! Like!"

In Airi's clear blue eyes, his gaze remained drifting.

He still didn't make eye contact with the young teacher before him, but under her continuous encouragement and demonstration of the action, his small hand finally attempted to imitate, clumsily raising his thumb to complete this simple interactive instruction.

Seeing this, warmth stirred in Wen Yinong's heart. She continued interacting with Airi, temporarily forgetting those messy, embarrassing memories and immersing herself in work mode.

However, just then, a low, calm voice abruptly broke the pool of tranquility: "Did you drink the hangover soup?"

"..."

Wen Yinong's hands paused, and the bright smile on her face suddenly stiffened slightly.

After two seconds of silence, she squeezed out an answer: "I already drank it."

"Does your head hurt?" Mo Shaoshang continued, his tone revealing no emotion.

"...A little," Wen Yinong admitted honestly, then quickly added, "But it's okay, it's not too bad."

At this point she paused briefly, lowered her eyes, and after a moment continued in an even softer voice: "Thank you for your concern."

Mo Shaoshang looked at her calmly. After two seconds of contemplation, he spoke again: "You attended the banquet as my companion, so I ought to have taken good care of you. Letting you drink too much was my oversight. I'm sorry."

When his words fell, Wen Yinong froze and lifted her eyes in astonishment.

She had never expected that he would actually apologize to her over such an absurd, ridiculous matter.

In a split second, Wen Yinong recovered and hurriedly replied, "You're too kind. I'm an adult with my own judgment. Drinking too much was obviously my own problem—I failed to know my limits. How could that be blamed on you?"

Speaking to this point, she seemed to hesitate, biting her lip lightly. After thinking it over again and again, she finally mustered her courage and continued with what she'd been wanting to say: "Actually, I'm the one who should sincerely apologize to you. Yesterday I lost my composure after drinking and said a lot of nonsense I shouldn't have said. It was very offensive. I hope Mr. Mo will be magnanimous."

Having said this, Wen Yinong held her breath slightly, nervously awaiting a response.

Not far away, Mo Shaoshang made no sound and no movement, his blue-black eyes quietly watching her, his emotions unreadable.

For a moment, only the faint clinking of tableware and Airi's unconscious babbling remained in the dining room.

Wen Yinong waited half the day without a response and grew even more apprehensive, as if a kitten were scratching at her heart. She couldn't resist quietly raising her eyes to glance tentatively at Mo Shaoshang, met that calm gaze, and quickly dropped her eyes again.

After about three seconds, staring at the table before her, she gritted her teeth, took a deep breath, and finally added three more words in a voice as faint as a mosquito: "I'm sorry."

Her appearance was exactly like an elementary school student who had made a mistake, obediently awaiting the teacher's verdict.

Mo Shaoshang raised an eyebrow ever so slightly.

A moment later, he finally spoke again, his tone calm with a nearly imperceptible trace of playfulness: "And if I won't be magnanimous?"

Wen Yinong: "..."

She thought she'd misheard. She raised her head blankly and looked at him. "Hm?"

Mo Shaoshang looked at the dazed, adorable expression on her small face, his own expression still flat and unruffled: "I said, if I don't forgive you, what does Teacher Wen plan to do?"

Not forgive her?

Wen Yinong was completely stunned, her brain empty.

Honestly, she really hadn't considered that possibility.

Wen Yinong sat frozen like that for half the day. After a good while, she finally squeezed out a sentence, quiet and carrying a hint of grievance: "If Mr. Mo truly won't forgive me, what can I do? It's not like you want me to kneel down and beg you..."

By the end, the young therapist's voice was nearly inaudible, her cheeks so red they were about to drip blood.

Mo Shaoshang took in this pitiful appearance, silently curved his lips, and said carelessly: "If Teacher Wen sincerely wants to make amends, it's actually quite simple."

Hearing this, Wen Yinong's eyes flickered slightly, and she instinctively pressed: "How?"

Mo Shaoshang didn't speak, still staring straight at her.

That gaze was calm and deep, carrying an almost dissecting aggressiveness, like a coiled viper locking onto prey it had long coveted. It instantly made Wen Yinong's heart pound with fright, nearly suffocating her.

But it lasted only a brief instant.

Quickly, the terrifying edge in Mo Shaoshang's eyes was fully restrained, returning to its usual imperturbable calm. He lowered his eyes, took a sip of soup from his own bowl, and said lazily: "Forget it."

Wen Yinong was taken aback.

Mo Shaoshang: "It was only an unintentional mistake on your part. Holding it against you would make me seem petty."

The path twisted and turned; dark willows gave way to bright flowers.

Seeing that she had somehow inexplicably passed this hurdle, the taut string in Wen Yinong's heart finally loosened, and she quietly exhaled in relief. Then she pulled herself together, eyes watching nose, nose watching heart, and threw her full attention back into guiding Airi's meal, not daring to say another word.

*

Breakfast ended in a subtle calm.

Afterward, Wen Yinong began Airi's rehabilitation lessons for the day.

The morning's cognitive and sensory integration training went fairly smoothly, and in the blink of an eye it was time for the afternoon's language intervention session.

Perhaps because he'd just woken from his nap, Airi was clearly in a poor mood during the language lesson.

In this specially arranged speech therapy room, the child was restless and agitated all over. The various pronunciation cards and诱导 toys Wen Yinong brought out to capture Airi's attention had little effect.

"Airi, look at Teacher." Wen Yinong knelt on the carpet, keeping her eyes level with Airi's, holding a brightly colored cartoon little trumpet. She first demonstrated herself, exaggerating the "A" mouth shape. "Ah—ah—the little trumpet is singing!"

Airi glanced at the trumpet, then turned his face away, his small hands slapping the floor in irritation.

Wen Yinong pressed on undeterred.

She took out a little toy car that Airi usually loved most, pushed it along, and simultaneously made vivid, fun onomatopoeia: "The little car is coming! B—B—vroom!"

Airi remained immersed in his bad mood, even beginning to make sharp humming sounds to express resistance, trying to move away from the teaching area.

Wen Yinong maintained maximum patience throughout, continuing to try different toys and sounds to probe Airi's interests while narrating with language: "Airi doesn't like the little car? Then let's see if this little duck works? A yellow duck, quack—quack—"

Her face wore an encouraging smile as she guided him again and again, her voice gentle and lively.

And so, under Wen Yinong's persistence, Airi's intense resistance gradually subsided. Though he still wouldn't look at her, the frequency of the little one's floor-slapping slowed.

Wen Yinong seized this opportunity and once again brought out the little trumpet, held it to her mouth, and made the "A" mouth shape.

This time, Airi's lips moved almost imperceptibly, and an extremely faint syllable resembling "A" came from his throat.

Wen Yinong's heart surged with delight, and she immediately gave the most positive feedback: "Wow! Airi is so amazing!" At the same time, she sounded the little trumpet as a reward. "Ah—the little trumpet is applauding you!"

However, just as Wen Yinong thought everything was getting on track, without any warning, Airi suddenly broke down emotionally and began crying and screaming.

His mouth opened abruptly, bursting with shrill, piercing cries—no longer the irritated humming from before, but cries full of pain and rage with no outlet. He even raised both small hands, raking his nails hard toward his own cheeks...

"Airi! No!" Wen Yinong was shocked. She immediately gripped Airi's two wrists, stopping him from hurting himself.

After decisively terminating the lesson, she carefully gathered the incessantly crying little one into her arms and soothed him softly: "There, there, it's okay, Airi, don't be scared, Teacher is here. It's okay..."

Airi couldn't say anything. He struggled desperately in her arms while crying his heart out, his little face flushed red, tears and snot smeared all over it.

Wen Yinong's heart ached terribly.

For many autistic children with limited language ability, breaking down in tears was often their only way to vent their emotions.

Wen Yinong forcibly suppressed her inner anxiety and a trace of helplessness, striving to stay calm.

She used the process of elimination, first trying to bring a sippy cup of warm water to Airi's mouth—it was pushed away forcefully; she brought out his usual favorite strawberry-flavored little cookies—still pushed away; she picked up a music top he'd been playing with recently and spun it before his eyes, but even the pleasant music couldn't soothe him in the slightest.

The child cried harder and harder, his wails echoing in the well-soundproofed therapy room, making one's heart anxious.

What on earth was the reason?

Was he physically unwell? Or was there some unbearable stimulus in the environment?

Wen Yinong's heart burned with anxiety. Just then, the struggling Airi suddenly reached out, grabbed a new plush doll teaching aid from the toy box, and with all his strength hurled it viciously to the floor.

Wen Yinong instantly understood.

The problem was this new doll.

It had triggered Airi's sensory resistance, disrupting his rigid insistence on "unchangingness."

Having found the crux of the problem, Wen Yinong immediately moved the doll on the floor far away, then continued holding Airi, rocking him gently, humming children's songs, comforting him over and over.

Though she'd found the cause, such an episode during the teaching process still left Wen Yinong somewhat dejected.

She suddenly realized that the road to Airi's inner world was even longer than she had imagined.

*

By dinnertime, Airi's mood had calmed, though he was still a bit listless. After Wen Yinong attentively helped Airi finish dinner, she handed him over to the daily-care auntie.

Back in her own room, she faced her lesson plans and record book to prepare for the next day, but the images and sounds of Airi's breakdown during the day, along with the nakedly direct look Mo Shaoshang had given her, kept resurfacing in her mind.

All these thoughts tangled together, leaving Wen Yinong's heart in turmoil, utterly unable to concentrate.

After a while, she put down her pen, closed the notebook, shut the door, and went outside for some air.

The Mo estate at night had shed its daytime brightness, cloaked in a veil of quiet mystery. The wall lamps under the corridors cast dim yellow halos, barely dispersing one corner of the darkness, only to set off the deep silence of the gardens beyond.

Tree shadows swayed in profusion, rustling in the wind.

Like the soundless whispers of an autumn night.

The interior of the main residence was unusually quiet; only her extremely light footsteps echoed in the empty corridors.

Wen Yinong walked aimlessly like this, letting her thoughts drift. When she finally looked up, she realized that, without noticing, she had arrived at the infinity pool behind the villa.

The cold moon hung high, its clear light spilling down, reflecting off the pool's surface in shimmering waves, like a windless deep sea.

The surroundings were silent and deserted; only the sound of breeze through the leaves.

Seeing no one around, Wen Yinong felt the nameless vexation in her heart find an outlet. She simply took off her flat shoes, walked to the pool's edge, sat down, and dipped her feet into the water.

Moonlight spilled like mercury, dyeing the pool's rippling green a fathomless blue; the slanted shadows of the trees by the pool stretched into the water.

Two fair feet idly splashed the water, stirring circles of ripples.

The night breeze brushed her slightly warm cheeks, bringing a trace of coolness.

Gazing at the undulating water, Wen Yinong's mind calmed somewhat. She was lost in thought, daydreaming, when suddenly, without any warning, a splash broke the stillness.

Water sprayed in all directions, glittering like scattered silver under the moonlight.

In the center of the pool, a figure burst out of the cold water.

"..." Wen Yinong was so startled by the sudden event that her heart nearly stopped. Dumbfounded, she looked over.

The person's upper body was bare, his skin coldly pale, shoulders broad and waist narrow, water droplets rolling continuously down the defined ridges of his muscles, full of primal power and wild beauty.

And on the left side of that chest, near the region of his heart, a black serpentine tattoo looked almost alive beneath the wet sheen of water.

Dangerous, sinister, and exceptionally bewitching.

His short black hair was soaked; the man casually raked it back, and so his full forehead and entire coldly handsome, deep-featured face entered Wen Yinong's view.

Under the distant moonlight, the man's eyes were wet too—a deep, cryptic blue-black, carrying a few traces of probing and a suffocating darkness, enveloping her helpless self.

"..." Wen Yinong's mind went completely blank.

Mo Shaoshang?

What was he doing here!

Within a few short seconds, Wen Yinong's face and ears flushed scarlet. Embarrassed and flustered, she instinctively tried to pull her feet out of the water.

Who knew that in her panic she'd make a mistake—her foot caught on the slippery pool edge, her center of gravity gave way, and her whole body tumbled into the pool.

"Splash—"

An even bigger spray of water flew up.

The accident came out of nowhere.

In the blink of an eye, Wen Yinong's dress was soaked through, clinging tightly to her full figure, every curve revealed in fine detail.

Caught completely off guard, she gulped down a mouthful of pool water and choked on it.

The icy water and the sudden sensation of drowning were terrifying. Purely on reflex, she thrashed with all four limbs.

However, just as Wen Yinong thought she was going to drown and her panic peaked, the next second, her waist suddenly tightened.

A powerful arm encircled her waist and hips and, with effortless strength, held her up.

Bringing her above the surface.

"Cough! Cough cough cough..."

Breathing fresh air again, Wen Yinong coughed violently, her lungs burning painfully.

The terror of having survived a disaster washed over her like a tide. Like clutching a lifeline, she threw her arms around the man's neck almost without thinking, burying her cheek in his warm, damp, coolly-scented neck hollow.

From lingering fear and cold, her whole body trembled slightly.

It was a long while before her emotions settled a little and Wen Yinong managed to compose herself, belatedly raising her eyes.

Caught off guard, she looked into a pair of eyes dark and deep as the sea.

Water slid down Mo Shaoshang's cold, sculpted facial contours, tracing crisp, clean lines. He said not a word, only lowered his gaze, staring straight down at her, so close at hand.

Through their soaked clothing, Wen Yinong could even clearly feel this man's body heat—scorching hot—and could feel the sensation of the muscles of his arm and chest: firm, tough, full of explosive power...

This realization made Wen Yinong's face redder and her heart even more flustered.

The traditional upbringing she'd received since childhood made her well aware that "men and women should keep their distance." But right now, the fear of drowning overwhelmed everything; her survival instinct left her no choice but to hold him even tighter.

And so, their bodies pressed tightly together in the water, without the slightest gap. Warm, damp breaths intertwined in the cold air.

Mo Shaoshang lowered his eyes, watching the girl in his arms. Her face was powdered, her cheeks peach-flushed and crimson—whether from choking on water or from embarrassment—her long hair and eyes soaked, misty with moisture, her whole person exuding the frailty and fright of a young deer.

How fortunate the moonlight was, kissing the side of her neck where wet hair clung and the rise and fall of her chest—two mounds kneaded of water and bone, half-hidden, half-revealed, full and ample, a deep valley running between.

The water rippled and surged between their pressed-together bodies.

This scene was alluring to the extreme.

A strong, unfamiliar impulse clamored in his blood.

As if bewitched, he lowered his head and slowly leaned closer to her.

Warm breath brushed over Wen Yinong's cool, soft lips, carrying the faint saltiness of pool water and his own distinctive cold scent, like a magic, eroding and beguiling her nerves.

The distance between lip and lip shrank to an inch.

Then stopped abruptly.

"Miss Wen Yinong."

A voice came from above her head, low, sunken to a slight hoarseness, carrying a magnetism steeped in desire, and restraint.

"..." Wen Yinong's lashes trembled, her eyes watery and dazed, panicked beyond control.

Mo Shaoshang gazed at her, his long, powerful fingers gently closing around her delicate, pointed jaw, and said softly: "How to make a man lose control—it seems to be your talent."

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Author's note: Happy launch of the paid chapters, red envelopes for everyone—thank you, darlings, for supporting the official release!