Chapter 56: "Kiss Me."

"No..."

The corners of Wen Yinong's eyes were moist, both cheeks flushed red, her whole body as if thrown into a furnace. She shook her head, voice trembling. "Mo Shaoshang, let me go..."

Mo Shaoshang turned a deaf ear.

He merely lowered his eyes, looking down at her from above, his blue-black eyes churning with fury, with the fear of what might have been, with the relief of recovering something lost, and with a wildness that nearly tore him apart.

A moment later, Mo Shaoshang reached out, his fingertips gently hooking up Wen Yinong's flushed little face, studying it for a while.

"A girl who loves to lie."

Mo Shaoshang lowered his head, his thin lips pecking lightly at her tender red earlobe. "This adorable body of yours clearly misses me too."

Wen Yinong's whole body burned, her thoughts in disarray, her face so red it seemed about to drip blood.

The man's kisses moved from her earlobe to the side of her neck, then from her neck to her collarbone—each one impossibly gentle, yet scalding like a branding iron.

Under the grinding of these shallow kisses, her reason was on the verge of collapse, like a tottering dam that could be swept away by floodwaters at any moment.

Wen Yinong could only desperately clutch the last thread of clarity, biting her lip hard.

The sharp sting came, letting her barely hold on to her senses.

"Mr. Mo, it was my fault for not saying goodbye to you in person. I apologize to you..." Her breathing unsteady, she spoke in a trembling voice, trying to steady a situation about to run out of control. "I'm sorry."

Hearing this, the corner of Mo Shaoshang's mouth hooked up carelessly—the arc light and shallow, yet enough to send chills through one's entire body.

He asked, "Your only mistake was not saying goodbye to me in person?"

Wen Yinong's lips wriggled twice; she wanted to say something more. The man's finger pressed against her full, swollen lips, rubbing and kneading them unhurriedly. The touch carried the roughness of thin calluses, stroke after stroke, as if toying with a precious antique.

"During this time, I've actually been thinking every day," he began, his tone unbelievably calm. "What reason could make you, mere days after leaving me, start seeing other men, start ignoring me, forgetting me."

As he spoke, the man's thin lips lingered slowly over her cheek, the shell of her ear, her neck—impossibly gentle, and utterly terrifying.

Every inch of Wen Yinong's skin broke out in chills.

"Now, would you like to guess," Mo Shaoshang asked softly, "when I found out you were in the south of France?"

"..." Wen Yinong furrowed her brows slightly, ten fingers clenched tightly into fists, her mind a thousand tangled thoughts, towering waves, enduring enormous torment.

"It was the fifth day after you disappeared." Mo Shaoshang suddenly bit her earlobe, saying in a low voice, "I learned that you were in Toulouse."

The moment his words fell, Wen Yinong's nearly dazed eyes instantly snapped into focus.

Her whole being was swept up in shock and fear.

"Guess again—when did I arrive here?" Mo Shaoshang's lips tugged lightly, and he suddenly laughed, a trace of self-mockery showing between his brows. "The second day after you started working at the San Diego special education school."

Wen Yinong could hardly believe her ears.

Her lips trembled; she lifted her eyes slightly, looking at this cold, stern face so close at hand.

The man's blue-black eyes held no anger, no violence—only an incomparably dense, dark tide.

What did he say?

The second day after she started her job, this man had already arrived in Toulouse?

Then every move she'd made during this time—including what time she left home each day, what time she returned, whom she met, what she said, how long she sat with Luca in the café, how many walks she took along the Garonne... hadn't all of it been under his control?

Wen Yinong's mind was in complete chaos.

Amid her thoughts, she heard Mo Shaoshang speak again in a low voice, continuing: "Right now, you must be very curious why I came to Toulouse so long ago yet only appeared before you today. Am I right?"

Wen Yinong moved her lips; her voice came out trembling to the point of breaking: "Yes. I want to know why."

Mo Shaoshang closed his eyes, his forehead pressing gently against hers.

The distance between them suddenly became very close.

Close enough that she could see the curve of his thick lashes, could feel the rhythm of his breathing—unsteady, carrying a faint tremor of something restrained to its limit.

"Because I was actually curious too—what kind of life you led in a world without me," Mo Shaoshang said. "I wanted to understand more of you, a more complete you."

Compared to his earlier violence and extremity, the man's voice now was gentle and calm—mild, even. But within those few short seconds, Wen Yinong felt a bolt of lightning split the sky and strike down, leaving her stunned.

So that was it!

No wonder Mo Shaoshang hadn't gone after her parents and family during this time. No wonder no bad news from home had reached her ears...

So all of it—everything—was because he had found her long ago, and had even come to Toulouse, secretly observing and spying on her life here.

For this whole month, the leisure, the peace, the freedom she thought she had—all of it was merely an illusion he had deliberately crafted for her.

Wen Yinong suddenly realized she was perhaps like a butterfly shut inside a glass dome, believing herself free, never knowing that every step was under this man's gaze.

Those blue-black eyes had been watching her from the shadows all along.

Watching her go to work at the special education school, watching her brew tea and read alone in her apartment, watching her stare blankly at the plane tree outside the window, watching her accept the daisies Luca handed her, watching her smile at that French boy.

And then, only after she had completely lowered her guard—on a pleasant, ordinary night so unremarkable there wasn't the slightest warning—did he finally appear.

Shattering the illusion.

Catching her completely off guard.

Invading her life once more with force, possessing her body, devouring her soul.

Wen Yinong's whole body went cold.

This man was terrifying. His patience, his restraint, his step-by-step scheming—all terrifying enough to make one's spine turn to ice. Like a hunter lurking in the dark, silently watching his prey's every move, waiting for the perfect moment, then striking a fatal blow.

Thinking of this, those eerie, cruel pictures and videos from the USB drive surfaced in her mind again.

Those figures in blue robes, those cold lists, those children recorded like merchandise...

She never should have applied for the job at the Mo estate.

Never should have agreed to date him.

Never should have become entangled with him in so many countless ways.

She regretted it.

He was a venomous snake, a devil, a...

In any case, she would not be with him—never again!

As she thought this, tears surged out at some point without her knowing. Wen Yinong thrashed with all four limbs, struggling with all her strength.

Her nails raked his arm, her knee drove against his abdomen—like a small beast cornered at a dead end, desperately trying to escape this prison.

"Let go of me, I want to break up with you," Wen Yinong cried, her voice hoarse and broken. "Mo Shaoshang, do you hear me? I don't want to be with you anymore. I want to break up, break up!"

At these words, the expression on Mo Shaoshang's face instantly sank, staring fixedly at the young girl in his arms.

She was crying, her little face flushed pink like a ripe peach. Her eyes were wet, fine droplets clinging to her lashes, trembling gently each time she blinked. The tip of her nose was red too, her lips slightly parted, breathing softly—her whole person tear-streaked like rain on pear blossoms, pitiful enough to move anyone's heart.

It made one unable to help feeling tender pity, wanting only to knead her into one's very bones and blood, to cherish and dote on her endlessly.

Yet at the same time, a scene from not long ago surfaced in his mind.

Downstairs from the apartment, the dim yellow halo of a streetlamp enveloped two figures.

The French boy stood before the Eastern girl, his tall frame shielding her from the night wind. She took the daisies from the boy's hand, then raised her head and gave him a radiant smile. In that smile were gratitude, regret, and an unconcealable friendliness and warmth.

Then what was he?

Right now, in her heart, he was apparently worth less than some strange man she'd just met.

Even less than a cat she'd petted, a dog she'd casually fed.

Thinking of this, Mo Shaoshang's face grew darker, his eyes dimmer, undercurrents surging in their depths. Enraged to the point of laughing, his mouth hooked into an icy arc, his ten fingers closing around her slender, soft waist, pinning her firmly beneath him.

"I don't agree," he said, slowly and calmly.

Seeing that she couldn't break free after so long, Wen Yinong was nearly in despair. Eyes red, with force failing she could only try softness, her tone almost pleading: "Mo Shaoshang, Mr. Mo... I beg you, let me go. You can name your terms. Tell me—what would it take for you to agree to break up?"

Mo Shaoshang's blue-black eyes, fathomless as the sea, looked straight at her.

Break up?

Did she even know what she was saying?

She had long ago sworn an oath before God, had long ago signed a contract with Satan, promising to belong to him alone for life after life.

Letting her leave before had only been part of the plan; he had never truly intended to let go.

Chasing her thousands of miles from Jinghai to Toulouse, he had prepared to tell her everything, holding nothing back—only to see her in close, intimate contact with another French man.

He was mad with rage, yet still restrained himself with all his might, afraid of hurting her.

And now?

She actually dared say those two words to his face...

How dare she?

Mo Shaoshang's expression grew ever darker.

After a long moment.

"Kiss me," Mo Shaoshang said.

Wen Yinong's lashes trembled; she froze, not reacting for a moment.

Mo Shaoshang pinched her chin and repeated in a low voice: "Kiss me."

In this situation, Wen Yinong was alarmed and frightened, terrified of provoking this man—that he might really do something extreme and insane.

She could only obey.

Hesitating for several seconds, she finally mustered her courage, stretched out both hands to gently loop around his neck, brought her lips close to his, and softly touched his thin, elegant lips.

A kiss.

Then another kiss.

The man's lips were cool, carrying the chill of the early-winter night wind. Her lips were hot, carrying the salt of tears and the warmth of breath.

Mo Shaoshang stared straight at her without moving.

As if waiting for her to go further.

Wen Yinong's heart was in turmoil, utterly conflicted. She didn't know what he was thinking, didn't know what he really wanted. To placate him, she could only steel herself, close her eyes, and kiss him more deeply.

And so her soft pink little tongue extended, tentatively pressing against the man's thin lips—warm, soft, carrying a faint, almost imperceptible tremble.

Then, after pausing several seconds, as if making up her mind, she gathered her courage and slipped through the gap between his lips, like a slippery, mischievous little fish darting into his mouth.

She didn't know how to take the initiative in kissing someone. Muddled, she searched her memory of how he kissed her.

Actually, apart from certain special moments, Mo Shaoshang was gentle most of the time.

When kissing her, he always licked her lips first, nibbled them lightly, then slid his tongue in, swept across the roof of her mouth, and curled around her tongue.

She clumsily imitated him, the tip of her tongue cautiously touching his, retreating, then touching again—like a kitten trembling on its first hunt.

In that brief instant, Mo Shaoshang's breathing abruptly grew heavy.

The ten fingers gripping her waist suddenly tightened.

And then he turned the tables, seizing the initiative, fiercely kissing her again.

Lips and tongues entwined, as if he would suck her very soul out through the tip of her tongue.

Suddenly, a trace of salty wetness seeped into his mouth.

Mo Shaoshang paused slightly.

All movement stopped.

He opened his eyes, and a pair of tear-filled eyes entered his vision.

Tears slid silently from the corners of the girl's eyes, drop after drop, like beads from a broken string. Her lashes were soaked through, clumped together; her lips were swollen red from his kisses. Her whole person withered and broken, like a jasmine drenched in sorrow.

The room was deathly still.

Only the girl's faint sobbing, and the distant, indistinct sound of car engines outside the window.

After a long while.

Mo Shaoshang let go, releasing the girl in his arms.

Wen Yinong blinked in a daze; coming back to herself, she felt as if granted amnesty, hurriedly grabbing the blanket beside her to wrap around her body, shrinking into the corner. Then she curled up, hugging her knees, face buried in her arms, exposing only a pair of red-rimmed eyes fixed on him.

Mo Shaoshang's gaze followed Wen Yinong's movement.

He saw clearly that her eyes were filled with wariness and vigilance—as if overnight, he was no longer her most intimate, trusted partner, but had become a true venomous snake, a savage beast.

Meeting those crystalline, tearful eyes, the corner of Mo Shaoshang's mouth hooked; he laughed self-mockingly.

A bitter, faint smile, like the last fallen leaf of deep autumn, spinning in the wind, not knowing where to land.

After a moment, Mo Shaoshang withdrew his gaze, stood up, walked straight to the window, and sat on the windowsill.

He pulled a box of custom cigarettes from his trousers, drew one out, and held it between his lips. The lighter's flame jumped once in the darkness, illuminating half of his cold, stern face.

Just as he was about to light it, his peripheral vision caught the young girl in the corner, and he stopped.

She was curled up there like a frightened little animal.

The smoke would choke her...

Mo Shaoshang casually tossed the cigarette box and lighter aside, then turned his eyes slightly toward the night sky outside, his expression cold and grave, no one knew what he was thinking.

Outside the window, stars and moon flickered in and out behind the clouds. The distant church bell tower showed a hazy outline in the night; its bells had long since fallen silent, and the whole city had sunk into a far-reaching quiet.

Wen Yinong sobbed, hugging herself tighter.

Neither of them spoke.

Silence stood between them like an invisible wall.

It was a good while before Mo Shaoshang spoke again, shattering the room's stillness.

"I know," he said, his tone casual to the point of carelessness. "The reason you left so suddenly was that you learned of the existence of 'the Saints,' and believed I was connected to this organization."

The moment his words fell, Wen Yinong's whole body went rigid, her face turning deathly pale in an instant.

He...

He knew everything?

Then how would he deal with her? Give her hush money and demand she permanently forget this secret? Or simply make her disappear from this world?

In a few seconds, countless speculations and thoughts flooded her mind. She was terrified beyond measure, the blood in her whole body turning ice-cold. Her fingers gripped the edge of the blanket, knuckles white, nails digging into her palm.

Yet what she never expected was that the man then lowered his eyes and laughed deeply, several low chuckles.

"I overestimated myself."

"Though I anticipated it, truly seeing all your reactions—I still can't help my heart aching like a knife cut."

"Wen Yinong, so in your eyes, I really am not worth any trust at all."

Wen Yinong was stunned.

Noticing the self-mocking arc at the corner of the man's mouth and the bottomless dark abyss in his eyes, she felt her heart pricked by something.

Originally, Wen Yinong had thought Mo Shaoshang would be furious, would turn violent, would fully reveal a hideous true face like those people in the videos.

But he didn't.

He merely sat on the windowsill, gazing at the night sky outside, falling into a long, long silence.

Then she heard Mo Shaoshang speak again.

"In my grandfather's generation, the Mo family's business in Europe was vast. Oil, shipping, real estate—nearly every field. Perhaps because a tall tree catches the wind, before long, an organization came to him."

The man's voice was low, cool, calm, as if telling a story that had nothing to do with himself.

"That organization was the famous 'Saints.'"

"Those people wore deep blue robes and deep blue masks, holding ceremonies in hidden churches. They acted warm and friendly, inviting my grandfather to join them, saying it was Europe's most elite club, and that once he joined, the Mo family's position would be unassailable from then on."

At this point, Mo Shaoshang paused a beat. "My grandfather refused."

Wen Yinong's breath caught slightly.

"Someone of my grandfather's background prided himself on having seen all the dark sides of a world of luxury and decadence," Mo Shaoshang said, his voice sinking slightly. "But when he personally witnessed what happened at those ceremonies, saw those innocent, pitiful children, his entire spirit suffered an enormous shock."

"From that day on, Grandfather began secretly collecting all evidence about the Saints organization. Recordings, photographs, lists, transaction records. He spent half his life, from the sixties to the nineties, piece by piece, assembling the full picture of this organization."

"He knew how dangerous this was—dangerous enough that if discovered, the entire Mo family would face total annihilation... But Grandfather never wavered, never stopped."

"Why?" Wen Yinong heard her own voice, light and hoarse. "Why did Grandfather collect those things?"

Hearing her, Mo Shaoshang turned to look at her, his gaze incomparably deep: "Because Grandfather knew that archive was the only weapon that could grip the demons by the throat."

Wen Yinong's ten fingers tightened, her palms damp with sweat.

"Later, the Saints organization discovered what Grandfather was doing after all. They began their retaliation. Commercial encirclement, political suppression—by every means imaginable."

Wen Yinong frowned tightly.

"Grandfather handed those materials to me, and told me I must keep them safe no matter what," Mo Shaoshang said. "Because once those things disappear, there would be nothing left to hold the Saints in check. Some of those people are politicians, some businessmen, some lawyers, even members of royalty... their desires are endless."

As he spoke, he turned his eyes back to the window, dark tides no one could fathom surging in their depths.

"These years, the Saints organization's activities have grown fewer and more restrained. You think their conscience awakened?" Mo Shaoshang's tone was mocking. "It's because my grandfather reached a pact with them. They no longer touch those children, those young girls, any of those innocent people—and the Mo family keeps their secret. This is a transaction, a compromise, choosing the lesser of two evils, a last resort."

His voice grew lower and lower, heavier and heavier.

"Three generations of the Mo family—my grandfather, my father, me... from beginning to end, we've all been doing the same thing."

"Those files in our hands, those materials, those documents—even the entire Mo family—are a sword hanging over the Saints organization's head."

"As long as the Mo family stands for one more day, those true beasts in human clothing won't dare cross the line by half a step."

"..."

Having heard this history, Wen Yinong couldn't help raising a hand to cover her lips, shocked beyond self-control.

After a long while, Wen Yinong spoke, asking: "So your and Ari's particular emotional reactions toward the color blue—that's also because of the Saints organization?"

Mo Shaoshang was silent for a good while, then nodded.

"In psychology there's a concept called 'color projection,'" Wen Yinong said in a daze. "When a person experiences some intense psychological trauma in childhood, that trauma projects into their adult emotions and behavior through the form of color. Some people develop extreme aversion and avoidance toward that color; others develop extreme obsession and indulgence."

Finished, she looked straight at him. "Ari is the former. You are the latter."

Mo Shaoshang didn't speak.

Wen Yinong finally understood completely.

Those deep blue paintings, the blue that stubbornly appeared in his works—she had once interpreted it as some obsession of this man... So it wasn't obsession at all, but trauma.

He was using his brush to trace, over and over, the nightmare that had imprisoned him his whole life, trying to find an exit from within it.

"Then... then the serpent tattoo on your chest?" she asked, her voice lighter, the ending almost trembling. "The black serpent totem is the Saints organization's symbol. Why would you?"

Mo Shaoshang lowered his head, looking at the coiled black serpent over his heart. It was soundless, like an old scar lying upon his heart.

Mo Shaoshang said: "I tattooed it on my chest to remind myself of what the Mo family must do, generation after generation."

Wen Yinong's face was white; she had no words.

After a long while, she asked again: "Have you never thought of contacting the European police, handing these materials to them? Just watching these people remain at large like this?"

"It's not that simple," Mo Shaoshang said. "Those elite figures of the European nations—their power isn't merely reflected in wealth. Their tentacles have long reached into politics, the judiciary, the media, even royalty."

"In many places in this world, the power of capital is enough to shake everything. No politician would stake his career on so-called justice, and no judge would dare take such a case. Even if the evidence were handed over, it would be suppressed at some stage, destroyed."

He paused, then continued, "Actually, my father tried once."

"While he was alive, he once contacted a senior official of Europol. That man looked at the evidence, was silent for three days, then returned the materials untouched. He left only one sentence."

"That man said, 'Mr. Mo, I very much want to help you, but if these things were made public, many people would die. Not the criminals—the people trying to expose the truth.'"

Hearing these words, Wen Yinong's limbs went ice-cold, her lips trembling.

So for a long time afterward, the Mo family chose another path.

If exposure was impossible, then containment. If it couldn't be uprooted, then restraint. Use this evidence to make those people afraid, make them hold back, make them not dare cross the line again.

This helpless compromise was a last resort—and also the only solution.

She quietly looked at Mo Shaoshang.

This man held high position and great power, was incomparably handsome—and was still so young.

When he first came into contact with those materials, he was perhaps only in his teens.

A teenage boy, having to face alone the darkest secret in this world, to shoulder alone the mission of three generations—how bitter, how hard was that?

Her heart heaved violently like churning seas, and Wen Yinong's eyes grew moist.

This past month, she had sentenced him to death in her heart countless times; every time she thought of him, her emotions were fear interwoven with despair. She had even, facing Luca's pursuit, kept persuading herself to forget him and start a new life.

And he had been right there in the shadows, quietly watching her.

Quietly watching her make every effort to forget him...

"I misunderstood you... I condemned you without distinguishing right from wrong—I misunderstood you." Guilt surged in like a rising tide, drowning Wen Yinong. She choked out, "Mo Shaoshang, I solemnly and sincerely apologize to you. I'm sorry."

Mo Shaoshang's eyes were deep as twilight mist; he said nothing.

Wen Yinong was quiet for a moment, then said: "When this first happened, I should have come to you at once to verify it, but I didn't. That was absolutely my fault—I failed to give you full trust."

Mo Shaoshang: "And then?"

Wen Yinong bit her lip and continued: "All these years you've carried such an enormous secret, and not only did I fail to understand you and support you, I lumped you in with those people. I'm truly sorry. I was wrong."

Hearing this, Mo Shaoshang tugged his lips faintly: "I've suffered such a great injustice, and you only apologize—aren't you going to give me some comfort?"

Wen Yinong was taken aback.

A few seconds later, she set down the blanket, stood up, walked to the windowsill, and gently hugged him from behind.

Her arms circled his waist, her cheek pressing softly against the lean muscle of his back.

With no clothing between them, she could clearly feel his body heat, his heartbeat, his faintly rising and falling breath.

Outside the window, in the night sky over Toulouse, the clouds had scattered, revealing a slender crescent moon. Moonlight spilled over the church bell tower, over the ancient cobblestone streets, over the distant surface of the Garonne, shimmering and peaceful as a painting.

They embraced quietly for a good while.

"Rosalini." Suddenly, Wen Yinong spoke softly.

"Hmm?"

"Has Ari been all right these days?"

Mo Shaoshang was silent a moment, then shook his head: "No."

Wen Yinong's heart tightened. "What's wrong?"

He said softly: "Ari is like me—missing you so much the days feel like years."

At these words, sourness welled in Wen Yinong's heart, her eyes growing wetter; she didn't speak.

Then Mo Shaoshang lowered his head and pressed a kiss onto the girl's porcelain-white hand, then pecked at her fingers in a desultory way. "Will the work here need some time to hand over?"

At his words, Wen Yinong fell into silence.

Mo Shaoshang sensed something, turned around, pinched her small chin and lifted it, looking straight into her eyes.

"Baby, there are no longer any secrets or barriers between you and me." Mo Shaoshang looked at her, his voice deep. "I know these things came very suddenly for you, and you surely need some time to digest, to think, to judge."

"I..."

"I'll give you time."

Wen Yinong looked deeply at him, a hundred flavors mingling in her heart, and for a moment she didn't know how to answer.

"Burdened with official duties, I can't stay away from Jinghai too long." Mo Shaoshang hooked his lips very lightly, his fingertips brushing a strand of loose hair by her ear, saying gently, "Tomorrow, I'll return home first. When you've thought everything through, tell me then. All right?"

At his words, the room fell into instant silence.

After a long moment.

"All right."

As Wen Yinong spoke, she paused a beat, then once again bloomed into a smile at him: "Then please give me a little more time, to seriously think about some things, to reflect on some things. Once I've sorted out all my thoughts, I'll come back to you."

Mo Shaoshang lowered his head and pressed a kiss onto the center of her brow, his blue-black eyes bottomless.

His mouth answered her, gentle and calm: "Mm."

*

The night grew deeper.

Mo Shaoshang left.

Wen Yinong stood by the window, watching that black Rolls-Royce disappear around the street corner. Its taillights dragged two red streaks through the night, quickly swallowed by darkness.

The whole apartment returned to the silence customary of this past month, only the clock on the wall ticking round and round.

The next morning, just after getting up, Wen Yinong received a message from an unfamiliar number.

[Teacher Wen, Sir has returned home. If you need anything, contact this number; we will provide you with every assistance.]

She was dazed for a few seconds, then replied: [Okay, thank you.]

Setting down her phone, she walked to the window and pushed it open.

Toulouse's morning was as tranquil as ever; distant church bells drifted over leisurely, and the bakery on the corner was already wafting the scent of croissants.

Everything seemed unchanged; that man's appearance last night felt like an illusory dream.

Several days flashed by.

Wen Yinong's life in Toulouse went on as usual. She went to work at the special education school every day, assisted Teacher Marie in class, and in the evenings returned home to brew tea and read.

As for Luca, Wen Yinong wrote him a long letter, expressing her gratitude to him and tactfully declining his fiery pursuit.

This cheerful, sunny boy from southern France was not discouraged in the slightest. One line—"Then I won't pursue you; I'll just secretly have a crush on you. As long as you're not married, I still have a chance"—blocked her right back, leaving her not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

That evening, Teacher Marie's daughter was celebrating her birthday, and invited Wen Yinong to her home for the child's birthday party.

Unable to refuse such warm hospitality, Wen Yinong naturally prepared a gift and gladly went.

Teacher Marie's home was in an apartment building in Toulouse's old town. The room wasn't big, but it was decorated warmly and festively.

Colorful balloons covered the ceiling; a big strawberry cake sat on the dining table, and several children clustered around it, chirping out the birthday song.

Teacher Marie's daughter was five this year, her hair in two little braids, and when she smiled she revealed two missing front teeth—utterly adorable.

The gift Wen Yinong had prepared for the little girl was a hardcover French picture book, its cover showing a little bear gathering honey.

Receiving the gift, the little girl jumped with joy.

Watching the child's delighted smile, Wen Yinong's mood was exceptionally bright too.

By the time she left Teacher Marie's place, it was past nine in the evening.

Tonight's sky had no stars, only a slender crescent moon hanging above the church bell tower like a half-closed eye. The shops along both sides of the street had long closed; only a few streetlamps still shone, casting dim yellow halos on the cobblestones.

Teacher Marie's home wasn't far from the apartment Wen Yinong rented. Glancing at the watch on her wrist, she decided to walk home.

The night wind was cool, carrying the moisture of the Garonne and the chill of early winter. She wrapped her trench coat tighter and walked slowly along the riverbank. The water was black and heavy, reflecting the lights of both banks; from far away came an occasional bark or two.

Passing through a small alley, Wen Yinong suddenly felt something was wrong.

Behind her... there seemed to be footsteps.

Very light, very staccato, as if deliberately tracking the rhythm of her steps.

Realizing this, Wen Yinong's heart thudded wildly; she didn't dare look back, only instinctively quickened her pace.

The alley was long, the walls on both sides high, blocking the moonlight completely. Only a faint light filtered in from the far end, illuminating the single exit in the darkness.

Hearing the footsteps behind her also speeding up, Wen Yinong grew more panicked.

Her palms were slick with cold sweat; her fingers gripped her bag strap, and she practically broke into a run, her flat shoes striking the cobblestones with urgent "tap-tap" sounds.

Faster, faster.

Once she reached the main road she'd be safe!

This thought sustained Wen Yinong; she summoned all her strength and sprinted forward, finally bursting out of the alley mouth a few minutes later.

The apartment building came into view. The familiar door, the familiar light.

Wen Yinong didn't stop for a single step, practically stumbling into the building, slamming the door shut behind her, leaning against it and gasping for breath.

It seemed...

No one had followed?

After waiting a while, still uneasy, Wen Yinong quietly poked her head out to look.

The alley mouth was empty and dark, only a streetlamp shining alone.

Had she misheard?

Wen Yinong frowned in suspicion, thought no more of it, turned and hurried upstairs.

*

Meanwhile.

Deep in a dark alley several hundred meters away.

Several muffled thuds—"bang, bang"—and several burly figures were knocked to the ground. Every one of them had a bruised face and swollen nose, grimacing and spitting French curses, yet none dared stand up.

In the darkness, a young man in a black suit stepped out of the shadows.

His figure was tall and straight, his features refined and handsome, his every gesture carrying a gentle, noble grace. As if smelling something foul, the young man covered his nose with a handkerchief, disgust filling his handsome brow.

Just then, a bald, burly man strode quickly over from the end of the alley, dragging a still-struggling figure in his hand.

That person was light as a chick in his grip; he was tossed casually before the young man, rolling twice on the ground.

The young man's face was expressionless; he lifted his chin slightly.

His subordinate understood, immediately stepped forward, and yanked off the other's cap and mask.

In the dim night, a young face entered the young man's view. Asian features, fair skin, regular features, the whole person exuding the particular arrogance of a spoiled rich second generation. He lay wretchedly on the ground, his suit covered in dust, a patch of skin broken at his temple, beading with blood.

Recognizing this face, Lin Ke's gaze turned intrigued.

"Young Master Yue?" He raised an eyebrow slightly, his tone carrying an imperceptible trace of mockery. "What wind blew you here?"

Having bungled what he promised Qiao Mingyi, failing to intercept Wen Yinong, Yue Jiawei was already fuming. Hearing Lin Ke's sarcastic greeting made him angrier still; he snorted coldly: "Cut the damn crap—tell your men to let me go."

"Young Master Yue, no rush," Lin Ke said unhurriedly, pacing a few steps to stop before him. "I only want to ask you a few questions."

Yue Jiawei struggled hard, but the bald brute restraining him was fierce and menacing, a hideous old blade wound on his brow bone, murderous intent churning in his eyes. The moment Yue Jiawei's eyes met his, he instantly deflated and obediently stopped moving.

Lin Ke crouched down, meeting him at eye level.

"You were following Wen Yinong. What did you intend to do?"

Yue Jiawei didn't make a sound, turning his head away.

Lin Ke raised an eyebrow and gave the bald man a look.

The bald man understood, applied force with his hands, and bent Yue Jiawei's arm backward.

"Ow, ow, ow!" A young master raised with a golden spoon—when had he ever suffered such treatment? His bones creaked; the pain twisted Yue Jiawei's entire face, and he howled like a ghost.

Worked over like this, his backbone instantly went soft; he loosened his tongue, muttering, "One serves faithfully whoever employs one. Who told that little girl to be so blind—of all people to offend, she had to offend that princess."

Lin Ke was the shrewdest of the shrewd; with a moment's thought, he instantly had his answer.

Then he asked: "How did you know Wen Yinong was in Toulouse?"

She had barely arrived in Toulouse when enemies came to her door.

A bit too coincidental.

Hearing this, Yue Jiawei shook his head: "I was just handling business for someone; I don't know anything else. Really, I don't!"

Lin Ke stared at him for a few seconds, confirming he wasn't lying.

Then Lin Ke stood up and casually waved a hand.

The bald brute nodded and dragged Yue Jiawei off into the darkness, hauling him along.

Several screams rang out—of pain, or perhaps extreme terror—tearing through Toulouse's night sky.

Lin Ke strolled over beneath the streetlamp, took out his phone, and dialed a number.

It rang a few times, then connected.

"Sir, it's all taken care of," Lin Ke said respectfully.

He paused, then ventured, "You... really plan to let Teacher Wen keep staying here?"

The other end of the line was silent for a moment.

Then came a deep voice, calm as a lake in deep winter, without a single ripple.

"Piano. (No rush.)"

"La pazienza fa sbocciare i fiori. (All things follow their own course; one need only wait quietly for the flowers to bloom.)"

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

Author's note: 100 random red packets~

————

A new synopsis is up on my column, Wildfire Kisses Me, part of the "Mountains and Rivers" series, launching this year—interested readers can bookmark it in advance~

Synopsis:

On the eve of graduating from the police academy, 22-year-old Shu Jiayu traveled a thousand miles from Beicheng to Heyuan City.

Heyuan, the border line.

Various forces entrenched themselves there; all walks of life mixed together. The boundary between daylight and darkness was blurred there like the thick fog of the rainy season.

Late at night, she slipped into an abandoned factory building.

Against the light, a man's tall figure leaned against the wall with lowered eyes, long fingers idly toying with an unlit cigarette.

Dim light fell from the side, cutting sharply defined angles of light and shadow across his face—stark brow bone, straight nose bridge, a jawline cold and hard as carved.

Even in his most relaxed posture, he could not conceal that extreme pressure, roguish yet razor-sharp.

Like a blade that had been honed and seen much blood.

The instant their eyes met, Shu Jiayu was locked in the man's gaze; even her breath tightened.

His gaze fell on her, cold and waveless, examining her from top to bottom, seemingly without any emotion—like verifying a string of numbers that had to be absolutely correct.

A moment later, the man spoke: "Shu Jiayu?"

Almost by conditioned reflex, she straightened her back: "...Yes."

"Hello, I'm Chen Wenzhou." The man stepped forward a few paces and said evenly, "A pleasure to meet you."

Shu Jiayu's heart pounded wildly.

She had heard the name "Chen Wenzhou."

Captain of the National Security Special Police Unit, the stabilizing anchor of the entire system, supreme commander of this operation—her direct superior.

And also...

The husband assigned to her by the organization, her fake-marriage partner during her undercover period at the border.

*

Meeting Shu Jiayu for the first time, Chen Wenzhou had a bit of a headache.

The mission was arduous, nine deaths out of ten, with an extremely high danger coefficient—why would the higher-ups assign him a quiet, pretty little girl?

Meeting Chen Wenzhou for the first time, Shu Jiayu was especially apprehensive.

To live day and night with such a man, playing the most intimate of spouses—just thinking about it made her legs go soft with nerves.

Later, after living together for several months,

Shu Jiayu often found her cheeks flushed, her eyes moist, and her legs inexplicably softer.

And Chen Wenzhou finally learned what it meant for love to seep into the bone—life and death, beyond all ability to stop.