Chapter 45: Secret Rendezvous

Wen Yicong had picked up Italian back in university. She'd had a crush on an Italian actress at the time, and the language elective conveniently counted toward her credits—so she'd signed up without a second thought.

Wen Yicong had always been a quick study, sharp-minded, a natural born scholar with a gift for languages.

Italian, then, had never been much of a struggle for her.

Of the twenty-some students in her class, eighty percent were Italian majors. Yet when the final exams rolled around, Wen Yicong's score had landed her in the top ten.

Her listening, speaking, and writing were all solid.

But right now, Wen Yicong regretted every minute she'd ever spent on the language.

She wished, more than anything, that she couldn't understand a single word of Mo Shaoshang's Italian...

At that moment, the man close enough to touch spoke softly, perfectly calm: 'I'll let go. You stay quiet. Alright?'

'...' Wen Yicong had no choice. She hesitated half a second, then nodded.

Only then did the large hand sealing her lips withdraw—only to shift, two fingers pinching lightly at her chin.

'Mr. Mo.'

Wen Yicong's pale face had already flushed crimson. She widened her eyes, lowered her voice in disbelief: 'Class starts in a few minutes. Do you have any idea what you're doing?'

This was school. Her workplace.

Beyond the door, the corridor still carried the occasional murmur of voices.

How could he possibly entertain such an absurd, outlandish thought?

Wen Yicong had assumed that, after hearing her protestations, this man would at least feel some shame—or at the very least, rein himself in.

But the truth was the opposite of what she'd expected.

After hearing her out, Mo Shaoshang hadn't loosened his grip on her in the slightest. Instead, he'd pressed his advantage, lowering his head, leaning in even closer.

In the span of a blink, his lips were less than half a finger's width from hers.

Wen Yicong hadn't anticipated it. She instinctively tucked her chin, shrinking back—but there was a wall behind her. The back of her head pressed flush against it. No retreat.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Wen Yicong's lashes trembled. Her lips parted slightly, drawing in air that grew thinner by the second.

For a moment, all she felt was tension and helplessness.

The illicit thrill of doing something forbidden behind everyone's backs. The electric novelty of being this intimate with a man in a public space for the first time. The rough drag of the thin, hard calluses on his fingertips as they grazed the soft flesh of her chin... Countless sensations wove themselves into fire, fiercely burning through her mind and spirit.

Wen Yicong let out a soft breath. Her whole body flushed hot.

Then the man's thumb slid upward a fraction of an inch, catching the soft pale-pink of her lower lip, and began to roll across it with maddening deliberation.

'Baby, I want to kiss you.' His low, husky voice slipped into her ear, saturated with an almost overwhelming seduction, gentle, gentlemanly in its asking: 'One kiss. May I?'

'...'

Her breath was overrun by the thick musk of his masculine hormones. Wen Yicong's mind turned to mush—like a jar of paste knocked over, dizzy, unable to form words.

Her lips could clearly feel the weight of his breathing, the cool clarity between each exhale.

Wen Yicong blinked.

Her vision gradually adjusted to the dark. The shapes and colors of everything before her finally came into focus.

Star Bridge's rest room wasn't large—just two long sofas and a few simple pieces of furniture, arranged in a cozy, homey style.

But right now, the man's excessively tall frame loomed before her, compressing the already cramped space.

The confined environment, the ambiguous atmosphere—Wen Yicong felt her breathing grow difficult.

Especially those blue-black eyes.

They pierced through the lens and the darkness, fixing on her face with a gaze that was scorching, bare, direct—brimming with the most primal urge to conquer and an undisguised desire to possess. Like a predator watching prey that had wandered into a trap.

Under that stare, Wen Yicong felt her heart clench. Her whole skin burned as if set ablaze.

Some familiar longing inside her—too shameful to name—stirred quietly awake.

Then, as if possessed, Wen Yicong heard her own voice rise in the quiet space, thin as a mosquito's hum: 'Okay...'

The tail of the word hadn't even landed before it was devoured by the man's lips and tongue.

Mo Shaoshang's fingers gripped her chin. His gaze lowered. His lips parted. He kissed her with near-violent intensity.

Wen Yicong was all soft, yielding flesh, her skin the tenderest—unable to bear the slightest rough treatment. He kissed too fiercely. In the storm of his claiming, his teeth grazed her lips, instantly drawing a slight furrow between her brows and a soft, thin whimper from her throat.

Throughout it all, Mo Shaoshang's brooding gaze remained locked on her.

The girl in his arms was soft, obedient, alluring, enchanting—pink and plush, like a cute, bewildered little lamb, easily tempted, bewitched, stumbling clueless into a marsh thick with poison.

Baring her most vulnerable throat to a venomous snake.

That kind of innocent harmlessness stirred an irresistible tenderness—and at the same time, an urge to bully her even more fiercely.

Within his sight, the small face in his arms was shy and flushed crimson. Even at the peak of nervousness, she still obediently tilted her neck up, meeting his demands.

Her usually clear eyes had grown hazy, dewy, mist-shrouded. The skin at the corners of her eyes had flushed a thin, translucent red.

As if unable to bear his too-intense kiss, she wasn't sure if it was pain or fear or simply discomfort—but she kept trying to retreat, shrinking back with a trace of timidity.

That look, falling into Mo Shaoshang's blue-black eyes, kindled a kind of pathological excitement in him.

He was so utterly fascinated by her.

Her smile. Her voice. Her brows and eyes. Her lips. And this voluptuous, supple body beneath her clothes... Every fraction, every inch, exerted an irresistible pull on him.

His gaze swept over Wen Yicong's lightly furrowed brow. Mo Shaoshang's face showed no expression, but the tip of his tongue pressed in, prying open her slightly closed teeth.

The foreign tongue—wet, soft, warm—the instant it invaded her mouth, Wen Yicong came partly to her senses.

Her hazy, unfocused eyes slowly sharpened, focused—and finally saw clearly the handsome, sculpted face before her.

In that same second, her soul snapped back. She realized she was still in the school's rest room.

'Mmph...'

Her thoughts reassembled. Wen Yicong remembered the social skills class she hadn't finished. Panic seized her heart. Her face flushed redder. Instinctively, she twisted her neck, trying to free her lips and tongue from the man's mouth, mumbling at the same time: 'Mr. Mo, the bell's about to ring. I really do need to get back to class. Please don't—'

What he'd said earlier—'one kiss'—she'd understood as lips touching lips.

Who knew this man actually wanted to go further.

Though certain things were hard to speak of, from her past few experiences kissing Mo Shaoshang, Wen Yicong was absolutely certain: this man, despite his outward appearance of noble restraint and ascetic control, was a false front. A lie.

This mixed-blood man was rotten to the core. Calling him a sex maniac wouldn't be an exaggeration.

If she kept kissing him, her lips would definitely swell up again.

How was she supposed to go back to the classroom like that? How was she supposed to face Airi and the other children?

Thoughts bubbled up one after another. The more Wen Yicong thought about it, the more panicked she grew—and the harder she pushed and struggled.

She turned her head, trying to dodge. Her neck kept twisting. Her hands pressed firmly against Mo Shaoshang's chest, shoving him away.

But a starving beast that had just tasted flesh, still in the throes of its meal—how could it possibly let go?

A young Chinese girl's strength was slight. Her arms slender, her palms small. This level of struggle had zero effect on Mo Shaoshang.

The only problem was: her body was alluring enough on its own. The more she struggled, the more her soft, dewy curves pressed against his cold, hard suit, rubbing ceaselessly.

A surge of heat shot up—from his lower abdomen straight to his cerebral cortex.

And so reason became prisoner to desire.

Mo Shaoshang kissed the girl in his arms fiercely. Then, suddenly, his arm hooked beneath her thighs, lifted her with barely any effort, and pinned her against the wall once more.

Wen Yicong hadn't expected Mo Shaoshang to do this. A low cry escaped her between his lips and teeth.

But the next second, the man flipped up the hem of her top. His cool, long hand, lithe as a snake, slipped straight in from underneath.

'...' Wen Yicong's eyes flew wide in shock. Her cheeks exploded red. Both hands abandoned their resistance, reaching down in a rush to try to pin the man's wandering palm.

Mo Shaoshang ignored those small obstructing hands. His fingertips roamed unchecked, freely caressing the smooth, soft skin along her waist.

Then he found a small, cute dimple at the small of her back—and pressed it, neither light nor hard.

Successfully drawing out the little girl's sweet, helpless whimper.

Wen Yicong's lower back dimple was sensitive. How could it possibly withstand this kind of malicious teasing?

The mist in her eyes thickened. Her face flushed so red it looked ready to bleed. Her body went soft, melting almost completely into the man's arms. But her mouth still remembered to protest: 'Mr. Mo, please take your hand away...'

Mo Shaoshang raised an eyebrow. A trace of amusement surfaced in his eyes.

A beautiful girl, blushing, eyes dewy—clearly already aroused, yet still wrestling with reason. That look was especially fetching.

His fingers tilted up her intoxicated face. He studied her. Then his lips parted, and he bit lightly at the tip of her small upturned nose, murmuring with a smile: 'Testarda mia, che tenerezza. Per ora ti risparmio.'

Stubborn Baby, makes one helplessly soft-hearted.

Then... I'll spare you. For now.

*

That day, in the second before the class bell rang, Mo Shaoshang finally let go—releasing the little bird in his arms back to the classroom.

Wen Yicong's face was still the color of pomegranate blossoms. Her heartbeat was a chaotic mess. The sensitive skin at her lower back dimple still faintly held the memory of the thin calluses on his fingertips.

She was distracted. It took considerable effort to push the shameful memories from the rest room to the back of her mind, to throw her entire self into the new lesson.

In the second half of class, Airi's performance was better than the first half.

Watching the little one pass his toy to a peer twice in a row, Wen Yicong felt both gratified and thrilled—a new hope kindling.

In her joy, she couldn't help thinking: Airi really is well-behaved. And so cute.

For the sake of such a cute little one, she'd graciously forgive his uncle—that savage, barbaric mixed-blood bastard.

So thinking, Wen Yicong's ears burned. She shook her head, pulled out her notebook, and began taking notes in earnest.

Just as she was gripping her pen and recording in detail, a sudden ding—a new WeChat message arrived on her phone.

Wen Yicong looked up.

Airi was playing with a toy car at his little desk, focused, seemingly not needing help. Only then did she pause what she was doing, take out her phone, and light up the screen.

The sender was her beloved mother.

Shen Yulan: [Daughter, are you free for dinner at home tonight? Your dad caught a big qiao ke yesterday. If you're free to come back, we'll make your favorite huoxiang fish tonight.]

Reading her mother's words, Wen Yicong blinked. Her heart warmed.

She replied: [Dad's fishing skills are getting better and better!] [Thumbs up.jpg]

Then she thought seriously for two seconds, continuing to type in the input field: [Wuwuwu huoxiang fish, I really super want to eat it! But Mom, I'm still not sure if I can come home for dinner, since I'm currently living at my employer's house...]

Wen Yicong: [Wait for me to ask the employer, I'll message you later?]

Shen Yulan replied quickly: [Okay, hurry up, don't get busy and forget again]

Wen Yicong: [Mm mm] [Kisses.jpg]

*

The class bell rang.

Wen Yicong held Airi's small hand as they walked out of the classroom.

The little one's other hand still clutched the red toy car from earlier, fingers curled tight, as if reluctant to let go. Wen Yicong glanced down at Airi, her heart softening. She couldn't bring herself to make the child return the toy right away.

In the corridor, the life aide had been waiting for some time. Seeing the two emerge, she hurried forward, beaming, and pulled a fruit juice gummy from her pocket, unwrapped it, and held it to Airi's lips.

'Airi, you did great! Class is over. Have a candy.'

Airi opened his mouth, took in the orange gummy. His cheeks puffed slightly. He refused slowly. Though he didn't make eye contact with Tang Sister, Airi's body visibly relaxed, allowing Tang Sister to take the toy from his hand and hold his other one.

Wen Yicong stood in place, turning her head, looking left and right.

It was peak dismissal time. Several classroom doors had already opened one after another. Parents walked in to pick up their children. Therapists drifted past in twos and threes. Someone nodded and smiled at her.

No sign of that ink-blue figure.

Wen Yicong grew suspicious. She turned to the life aide and asked: 'Tang Sister, did Mr. Mo leave already?'

The words had barely landed when, before Tang Sister could answer, a familiar voice rose behind Wen Yicong, gently calling: 'Teacher Wen.'

Wen Yicong turned around.

The woman who appeared behind her was about thirty-five, dressed in a warm-white professional suit, the cut sharp and well-fitted. Her long hair was pulled back, revealing a smooth forehead and refined features. Her makeup was light. The corners of her mouth held a faint, elegant smile. An exquisitely beautiful woman.

It was Principal Zhang Yao.

A smile immediately spread across Wen Yicong's face. She first asked Tang Sister to take Airi back to the car, then set off, jogging all the way toward Zhang Yao.

'Principal!' she greeted with a bright smile, then leaned in a few steps closer to Zhang Yao, lowering her voice, her tone teasing and casual: 'Long time no see, I've missed you.'

Zhang Yao's smile deepened. She reached out and lightly patted Wen Yicong's shoulder, her eyes warm as a March breeze: 'Let's go, to my office.'

Wen Yicong assumed Zhang Yao wanted to chat and catch up. She blinked, then said: 'Wait a moment, Principal. Mr. Mo came today too. Let me message him first...'

She spoke while reaching into her pocket, preparing to pull out her phone.

But Zhang Yao laughed upon hearing this and said: 'Don't bother. Mr. Mo is here too.'

Wen Yicong's eyes showed a trace of confusion at this.

Also here? What does that mean?

At this, Zhang Yao stepped a few steps closer to her, lowering her voice: 'You silly girl. Mr. Mo came—why didn't you notify me in advance? A guest like this, neither you nor I can afford to slight him in any way.'

Wen Yicong thought about it upon hearing this, and realized her behavior had been inappropriate. Embarrassed, she also said sincerely: 'I'm sorry, Principal. It was my oversight.'

'It's not a big deal.' Zhang Yao thought for a moment, then said: 'How about this—later you take the initiative to apologize to Mr. Mo, and I'll put in a good word for you. Hopefully Mr. Mo won't take it to heart, being the magnanimous man he is.'

After hearing the principal's words, the expression on Wen Yicong's face instantly became a little subtle.

But she didn't show a trace of it. She just smiled and nodded, replying: 'Okay.'

A moment later, the two walked through the corridor and arrived at Zhang Yao's office door.

The door was ajar.

Zhang Yao gently pushed the door open, stepping aside to let Wen Yicong enter first.

Wen Yicong crossed the threshold, looked up.

The sunlight outside the window streamed in. The light was too bright. She squinted. At first she saw only a cold, stern silhouette.

The man sat against the light in a single armchair in the receiving area. His suit was impeccable, his shirt collar buttoned with meticulous precision, his long legs elegantly crossed. The whole man sat silent as an oil painting. The light sketched a hazy golden edge around him, but couldn't reach his features—leaving only a deep, profound shadow.

'Mr. Mo.' Zhang Yao spoke with a smile, her tone respectful and warm: 'The Teacher Wen you've been waiting for is here.'

At this point, Zhang Yao paused, her thoughts turning, then switched to a half-joking tone, continuing: 'Just now I was telling Teacher Wen that next time you come, you must let us know in advance. This time we didn't make any preparations at all—truly inadequate hospitality. Apologies.'

After saying this, Zhang Yao shot Wen Yicong a look.

Wen Yicong understood instantly. She quickly cleared her throat, lowered her eyes, and said in a clear, proper voice with an excellent attitude: 'It was my oversight not to inform the school of your visit in advance. It's all my fault. Mr. Mo, I'm sorry.'

The words landed. The office went quiet for a few seconds.

Wen Yicong pressed her lips lightly together.

Was it her imagination? She felt that gaze again.

That omnipresent gaze—heavy, carrying some indescribable meaning—once more fixed on her.

Not far away.

Mo Shaoshang's expression was as usual. He calmly watched the young therapist before him. His gaze traveled from her lowered eyes, slowly downward, past her pink-flushed cheeks, and finally settled on her slightly swollen lips.

A moment later, he shifted his gaze away, expression unchanged.

'I didn't want to disturb anyone.' When Mo Shaoshang spoke again, his tone was indifferent and distant, betraying no emotion: 'It's not your fault. Teacher Wen, don't blame yourself.'

Zhang Yao's heart had still been hanging in suspense. Hearing these words, the smile on her face instantly relaxed.

She feared Mo Shaoshang's status and power, feared offending this employer, feared Wen Yicong's days at Mo Manor would be difficult from now on—which was why she'd reminded the young woman to take the initiative to apologize. Now seeing Mo Shaoshang's mild attitude, she smoothly continued: 'So that's how it is.'

Zhang Yao was a smart woman. She immediately shifted the topic. After only a brief thought, she continued with perfect naturalness: 'Mr. Mo, Teacher Wen mentioned that Airi has made great progress recently? That's truly exciting news.'

Mo Shaoshang: 'Teacher Wen's professional level is indeed one in ten thousand.'

Receiving such high praise from the employer, a trace of surprise appeared in Zhang Yao's eyes, followed by genuine delight. Along with it, her tense, constrained nerves relaxed somewhat. She therefore said casually with a smile: 'It seems Teacher Wen satisfies you very much.'

Hearing this, Mo Shaoshang's gaze once again swept over Wen Yicong, unnoticed.

The young girl kept her head bowed, lightly biting her lip, saying nothing. But her two crimson ear tips were completely exposed, betraying all her hidden secrets.

Mo Shaoshang looked at those crimson ear tips. The corners of his lips curved, very faintly.

'Yes.' He said, his voice light and unhurried, deeply meaningful: 'I am very satisfied.'

*

Leaving the office, Zhang Yao personally escorted the distinguished guest downstairs.

Along the way, she chatted with Mo Shaoshang, her tone perfectly measured—not overly eager, not neglectful or distant—just right, making one feel the hospitality was impeccable.

Wen Yicong silently followed behind the two, eyes on her nose, nose on her heart, quietly listening to the two important figures exchange pleasantries.

Occasionally, her peripheral vision inadvertently swept over the man's tall, picturesque back, and her heart would involuntarily speed up.

She remembered his answer to the principal—'very satisfied'—and the look in his eyes when he said it.

Dark, subtle, like undercurrents surging beneath a glacier.

For reasons she couldn't articulate, Wen Yicong just felt that Mo Shaoshang's 'satisfied' wasn't merely satisfaction with her professional level as a therapist...

Lost in random thoughts, the three walked through the long corridor, through the hall, and finally arrived at the door leading to the parking lot.

Zhang Yao stopped, smiling as she bid them farewell.

Wen Yicong waved, saying goodbye to the principal, then continued forward, following the employer.

The parking lot was quite quiet. On the empty cement ground, a few cars were parked here and there.

Mo Shaoshang walked ahead.

Wen Yicong followed step for step behind, always maintaining a certain distance from him.

After a while, the faint aroma of cooking drifted over, slipping into Wen Yicong's nostrils.

Wen Yicong guessed that Star Bridge's teacher cafeteria had started preparing lunch. At the same time, her mind buzzed twice, instantly recalling the WeChat message from Ms. Shen Yulan.

A little hungry.

Thinking of her mother's delicious huoxiang fish, Wen Yicong couldn't help but swallow.

After hesitating for a few seconds, she raised her eyes to look at the tall back ahead, carefully choosing her words, tentatively spoke: 'Mr. Mo, um... may I take some time off tonight?'

The words landed. The man's back suddenly paused.

Mo Shaoshang stopped, turned his head, and glanced at her sideways.

The lighting cast a layer of cold white light on that handsome profile. His expression was indifferent, his gaze deep, like two vast deep seas before a storm.

Time off?

For what?

Another dinner with another man?

Mo Shaoshang looked at the girl before him, his face showing no expression, his voice calm: 'Reason for the leave.'

'Oh, it's like this.' Wen Yicong answered naturally, a soft smile spreading between her brows: 'My mom missed me. She wants me to go home and have dinner with them.'

So that was it.

Hearing this explanation, the thin frost in Mo Shaoshang's eyes melted completely, replaced by an imperceptible softness.

He curved his lips very slightly and replied: 'Understood.'

Wen Yicong heard this, felt delighted, her pupils bright: 'You agreed?'

'Mm.'

'Tank you, Mr. Mo!'

She laughed, her eyes curving into crescents, light dancing inside them.

Those tiny lights fell into Mo Shaoshang's eyes, like jade thrown into a deep pool, stirring up a layer of deep and long ripples.

He watched this small face flashing with joy, and suddenly, his heart stirred.

So he stepped forward with his long legs, walking toward her.

The distance between them was compressed inch by inch. Finally, when only half a step remained, he stopped before her, lowered his head, and looked at her directly.

'After dinner ends, I'll come pick you up.' Mo Shaoshang said.

Wen Yicong heard this, was stunned for a moment, the smile on her face slightly froze.

'...That won't be necessary.' She was embarrassed, stammering as she replied: 'I'll return to the Manor House myself.'

'Not returning to the Manor House.'

Wen Yicong was puzzled, blinked, her eyes full of confusion: 'If I'm not going directly back to the Manor House, where should I go?'

The words landed. The next second, Mo Shaoshang lowered his head, leaning close to her pink ear. Their shadows fell on the ground, kneaded by the ambiguous dim light into a vague, dark mass.

His lips lightly brushed her earlobe, and he whispered in reply: 'A secret rendezvous with your underground boyfriend.'

-----------------------

Author's note: Mo Mo: Seize every opportunity to be alone with wife

—

Random 100 red packet! Remember to favorite the author's column, new book updates early