Chapter 58: Lingering Affection.

Chapter 57

Wen Yicong was stunned to see Mo Shaoshang appear so suddenly. She stood in the doorway, her hand still gripping the knob, frozen as if someone had pressed a pause button on her life.

The hallway light fell upon the man, casting his shadow long and lean across the tiles of her entryway.

It took a long moment for her to collect herself.

'You...' Wen Yicong’s brows knitted together, her lips parting slightly.

She wanted to ask him if the news reports were true, to ask what exactly had happened, to ask how the vast and formidable Mo Family could have fallen apart overnight.

Heavy clouds of doubt swirled in her mind, a tangled knot she couldn't unravel.

But, looking at the faint exhaustion etched into his features and the bloodshot depths of his blue-black eyes, she felt as if her heart had been pierced by a needle. The words hovering on her lips were swallowed back down.

In the end, Wen Yicong simply wiped her face in a distracted motion, stepped aside, and murmured, 'Come in first.'

'Thank you.' Mo Shaoshang’s expression was calm. After thanking her, he reached for his suitcase.

Seeing this, Wen Yicong instinctively wanted to help: 'Let me help you with that...'

Mo Shaoshang didn’t speak; he quietly but firmly blocked her arms and gripped the handle himself.

His long, powerful fingers were clearly defined; the heavy suitcase seemed as light as cotton in his grasp, weightless, as he easily carried it into her home.

Watching this, Wen Yicong felt an even deeper ache in her heart.

Mo Shaoshang’s grandfather was a titan of commerce who had spanned the European continent, his father a legendary business genius, and he himself had been immersed in the finest resources since childhood. Everything he ate or wore was a rare treasure of the world. He had likely never had to do such things for himself in his entire life...

As she pondered this, her mind was a mess and her chest felt tight with sorrow, forcing her to take a deep breath to suppress her thoughts.

She sniffled, shut the door behind her, and opened the shoe cabinet to rummage through it.

Throughout the process, Mo Shaoshang remained silent and still, waiting behind her. His gaze rested on her slightly hunched back, neither urging her on nor making a sound.

After about two minutes, Wen Yicong finally unearthed a pair of black men’s house slippers from the very back of the cabinet and placed them on the floor.

'Can... can you wear these for now?' she asked, her voice inexplicably raspy, tentatively explaining, 'I bought them as part of a bundle deal last year. I originally intended them for my father, but he thought the color was too dark, so they’ve just been sitting in the cabinet.'

She paused for half a second before adding, 'They’re new. No one has worn them.'

In truth, Wen Yicong’s feelings were incredibly complex. There was the shock and pity over the bankruptcy of the Mo Family, the worry and heartache for Mo Shaoshang’s current plight, and a trace of subtle but undeniable nervousness.

He came from such a prominent background, a man of gold and jade since birth. She, however, had grown up in an ordinary family; her parents were the most common type of wage earners in the country. Compared to a top-tier powerhouse like the Mo Family, they were worlds apart.

Not to mention anything else, just look at the living situation.

This small apartment of Wen Yicong’s had been bought for her by Shen Yulan five years ago. It was located in the old district within the Second Ring Road of Jinghai, a two-bedroom unit with less than a hundred square meters of floor space—it was not even as large as a single tea room in the Mo Family Manor.

Would he be used to living here? Would he find it too small, too old, too shabby?

But then again...

He was bankrupt now, his company under investigation, his manor sealed, and all his assets gone. It seemed he had no reason to be picky, did he? Living in her small apartment was certainly better than sleeping on the street or under a bridge, right?

Wen Yicong’s thoughts were in a chaotic jumble.

Just then, Mo Shaoshang, one hand resting on the suitcase handle, lowered his lashes. With a calm expression, he began to change his shoes.

He didn’t raise any objections, didn’t show any dissatisfaction; his movements were natural and casual, as if these slippers, bought for thirty yuan during a supermarket promotion, were no different from the custom-made ones he was used to.

After putting on the black slippers, he even bent down, opened the shoe cabinet, and tucked his leather shoes inside, organizing them neatly.

Seeing this detail, Wen Yicong blinked in surprise.

After putting away his shoes, Mo Shaoshang straightened up, his gaze returning to her.

'I’ve disturbed you,' he said softly, his tone calm. 'Coming to you for help so abruptly was a last resort. I hope you don’t mind.'

'...' Wen Yicong had never expected him to say such a thing; she nearly choked on her own saliva.

For a long time, this man had left her with an impression of being strong, cold, indifferent, and seemingly capable of anything.

But in this very second, standing at her doorway in her promotional house slippers, his posture tall and straight, his features like a painting, his blue-black eyes fixed steadily on her, he appeared—for the first time ever—startledly... reserved.

He looked obedient.

Like a wolfhound that had accidentally gotten lost and finally found its owner again, tucking away all its sharp claws and aggression, cautiously begging for its owner’s pity.

Wen Yicong’s nose couldn’t help but sting.

After a moment, she asked softly, 'I saw the news on TV just now... is everything they said true?'

Mo Shaoshang was silent for a long while before nodding.

Having received his answer, Wen Yicong didn’t press further. She took a deep breath, adjusted her mood, and then curved her lips into a forced, relaxed smile, changing the subject: 'Anyway. Have you had dinner?'

Mo Shaoshang shook his head.

'Then go wash your hands and sit in the living room for a while,' Wen Yicong said gently, reaching out to give his arm a light squeeze. 'I’ll cook you something to eat.'

Mo Shaoshang looked at her with deep eyes, and upon hearing this, the corners of his mouth curled slightly: 'Alright.'

*

The living room TV was already off, and the space was very quiet.

After washing his hands and drying them with a towel, Mo Shaoshang walked out of the bathroom, his gaze shifting to survey the room.

This space was small but cozy. It was decorated in a light French style with pale cream-colored walls and herringbone-patterned floor tiles. Several potted plants sat on the windowsill; their leaves were thick and glossy, clearly having been meticulously cared for over a long time. In the corner stood an oak bookcase packed with books, their spines forming a quiet, colorful rainbow.

The entire room possessed a gentle warmth polished by time, every object bearing the traces of its owner’s life.

Unlike the environments he was familiar with, there was no ostentatious display of wealth here. Instead, there was the most ordinary warmth of human life, traces of being loved, and the stability a single girl had built bit by bit.

Just then, the girl’s voice drifted from the kitchen, light and soft, as if she had suddenly remembered something: 'Oh, right!'

Mo Shaoshang turned his head.

A small head poked out from the kitchen door, her expression tinged with nervousness as she asked: 'With such a big thing happening to your family...' She paused, then continued, 'What about Airi?'

'I’ve arranged for him to attend the best boarding school for special education,' Mo Shaoshang said, leaning against the wall beside the kitchen, his tone calm and his eyes faint. 'Once everything settles down, I’ll go pick him up.'

Learning that Airi had been properly settled during this storm, Wen Yicong’s tense nerves finally relaxed a little, and she nodded.

After a moment, she tentatively asked, 'Then, what are your plans for the future?'

'Start over?' Mo Shaoshang replied.

When he said those two words, his tone was as light as if he were discussing tomorrow’s weather. There was no anger, no resentment, not even much emotional fluctuation. He stated it plainly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Watching his calm and detached demeanor, Wen Yicong felt a sudden, indescribable surge of emotion.

If it were anyone else, facing such a catastrophic disaster, they would likely have collapsed long ago.

But he hadn’t.

He was calm and peaceful, like an ocean surface that could always steadily contain everything, regardless of how the tsunamis raged or the storms poured down.

'Are you... not hurting?' she couldn’t help but ask, her voice very soft.

Mo Shaoshang looked at her, silent for a moment.

'I am,' he answered. 'But this is not the end.'

For some reason, meeting those eyes as deep as the sea, Wen Yicong felt a sudden sense of stability in her heart. She nodded, said nothing more, and turned back to her work.

She filled a snow-flat pot with half a pot of purified water, placed it on the stove, and lit the fire. She opened the cabinet and took out a small handful of dried noodles.

Time ticked away, and the night outside grew heavier.

There were no stars in the winter night sky of Jinghai, only a blurred moon hanging above the silhouettes of high-rise buildings. The moonlight was cold, casting the outline of the window frame onto the floor like a layer of pale frost.

Water in the pot began to steam, the surface showing signs of boiling.

Yet Wen Yicong seemed completely unaware.

She stood blankly before the stove, her eyes focused on some void in the night sky outside the window, wondering what she was thinking.

Just then, footsteps sounded behind her, unhurried, steady, and firm.

In the next instant, her waist tightened as she was embraced by two long, powerful arms.

Mo Shaoshang had entered the kitchen and hugged her from behind.

He stood over a meter ninety, his frame tall and long, with broad shoulders and long legs; her head barely reached his shoulder. As he pulled his arms around her, his chiseled chin rested on the crown of her soft hair, his firm chest pressed tightly against her back, their bodies fitting together seamlessly.

Then came the fragmented, dense kisses. They fell like a gentle drizzle, landing on her cheek, her earlobe, and her snow-white neck.

The force was extremely gentle, like a butterfly lingering on a petal, yet every touch sent uncontrollable shivers through her.

Since parting in Toulouse, they hadn’t seen each other for over a month.

Such intimacy made Wen Yicong’s breathing tighten.

A flush rose to her cheeks. Seeing out of the corner of her eye that the water in the pot was boiling, white steam puffing upward, she instinctively pushed at him and whispered: 'Stop it. The water is boiling, I need to cook the noodles.'

Mo Shaoshang turned a deaf ear. Not only did he not stop, he intensified his efforts.

His large palm slid upward, gently gripping her slender, soft neck, guiding her to lift her head and tilt it at an angle. From above, he kissed her from behind.

His tongue probed between her lips and teeth, first licking her lips gently, as if she were hiding a delicious dessert inside.

Her lips were a bit dry from her earlier tension, and after he moistened them, they shimmered with a thin layer of water. He then took her lower lip into his mouth, sucking on it with moderate pressure.

The sensation was hot, soft, and carried an irresistible, dense quality.

'Mmph...' Wen Yicong’s lips were sealed, and she let out a few muffled sounds against the man’s scorching lips and tongue. 'You, you let me go first, Rosellini...'

Before she could finish, 'clatter'—the noodles she was holding scattered all over the floor.

The dry noodles hit the tiles, breaking into several pieces with a crisp sound.

While kissing her, Mo Shaoshang used one arm to hook under her legs, lifting her up and placing her onto the kitchen’s marble countertop.

This height was naturally suited to him. His movements between her lips and tongue became increasingly wild, intense, sucking deeply and taking greedily. His domineering tongue explored her mouth, slowly yet firmly, sweeping across her palate inch by inch, measuring every shape of her, confirming the evidence that she was aroused for him.

In the blink of an eye, a familiar scent overwhelmed Wen Yicong. The cold fragrance of cedar mixed with the chill of the early winter night wind enveloped her.

Her mind spun, her eyes grew moist, and her hands rested against his chest. Her intention had been to push him away, but her whole body was so soft she couldn’t muster the strength.

She could vaguely hear the sound of boiling water in her ears, bubbling away.

Wen Yicong suddenly remembered the pot of water and felt a pang of worry, thinking of how he hadn’t eaten dinner yet. But his kisses were overly torturous, unhurried, one after another, like a tide washing over a beach, washing away her reason bit by bit.

In a daze, she felt the man’s fingers grip the back of her head, threading into her long hair, stroking and pressing with just the right amount of force.

Electric currents like spiderwebs spread from his fingertips, invading her brain and limbs, bringing wave after wave of numbness.

Gradually, Wen Yicong’s breathing became rapid, her cheeks grew hotter, and the corners of her eyes were stained with a sheer, translucent crimson. Without realizing it, her arms, which had been pushing against his chest, relaxed completely. She lifted them, wrapped them around his neck, and began to respond in a confused, clumsy way.

Her small tongue poked out, touching the man’s, shy and timid, like a little snail tentatively extending its antennae.

Mo Shaoshang paused for a second, then kissed her even harder, his breathing clearly becoming rough and heavy.

The man’s deepening breath was like an invisible fire, burning Wen Yicong’s shyness to ashes. She drowned in the intimacy of their lips and tongues, beginning to respond more actively, her tongue tracing the shape of his lips, learning from his earlier method, gently taking his lower lip into her mouth to suck and lick.

The arm the man had wrapped around the girl’s waist tightened abruptly.

In the next second, Mo Shaoshang casually took off his glasses and set them aside, lifted her skirt, and parted her two snow-white legs. His other hand reached past her cheek and, with a 'bang', he closed the window.

This sound brought Wen Yicong back to her senses a little.

Her face was beet red. Realizing what he was about to do, her ears burned with shame. She lowered her voice, speaking almost in a breath: 'You, you haven’t had dinner yet. Aren’t you hungry?'

'Hungry.'

He lifted her chin, his thin lips pecking and touching her lips, one after another, like a dragonfly skimming the water, deliberately tormenting her with his bad intentions. His voice was deep and husky, revealing a sexiness that made one’s heart tremble.

'So I’m going to eat you.'

Wen Yicong opened her mouth, wanting to say something else, but the man’s kiss swept over her again, overwhelming and fierce, carrying a hunger that was almost desperate.

Wen Yicong let out a muffled groan, being kissed until she leaned backward, her head almost hitting the tiled wall, only to be gently protected by the man’s large palm.

In the suffocating confusion, she vaguely heard a voice in her ear, low and deep, like a painful moan, yet also like a seduction from Satan.

'Baby, I only have you now.'

'I only have you...'

'Give yourself to me.'

Mo Shaoshang’s voice was very soft, as if it could be blown away by the wind at any moment. Yet every word hit Wen Yicong’s heart heavily, making her chest feel soft and achy.

Her porcelain-white fingers, pressed against the man’s chest, trembled slightly before curling up and turning to wrap around his neck.

She held him, pressing her whole body softly against him.

He received her response and kissed her even more fiercely.

She didn’t know exactly how everything happened, only remembering that Mo Shaoshang’s lips never left her body.

From her lips to her jaw, from her jaw to her neck, from her neck to her collarbone, all the way down.

With every kiss that landed, a cluster of sparks ignited on her skin, burning her until her whole body was scorching hot.

Her dress was discarded at some point, piled at her waist.

The man’s palm covered the skin of her waist, wantonly stroking that water-soft, delicate flesh. The roughness of his thin calluses made Wen Yicong’s whole body go soft, and she couldn’t help but tremble uncontrollably.

Like a fallen leaf in the wind, she was so delicate it stirred pity, yet made one want to crush her even more forcefully.

At one moment, Wen Yicong arched her entire body.

His European heritage gave Mo Shaoshang talent beyond ordinary men.

Having gone too long without intimacy, her delicate body was still quite green, completely unable to adapt to the man’s size.

The extreme feeling of fullness made her terrified; she couldn’t help but knit her brows tightly, biting her lower lip hard with her teeth.

Sensing the stiffness in the girl’s body, Mo Shaoshang stopped.

He leaned close to her, his forehead against hers, his breathing heavy and scorching, thin beads of sweat dripping onto the side of her snow-white neck.

'Does it hurt?' he asked, his voice raspy beyond recognition.

Wen Yicong didn’t know how to answer.

This feeling was hard to describe—swollen to the extreme, stretched to the limit, so full it was about to overflow.

The feeling of having nowhere to vent almost drove her to the brink. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, her nails sinking into his firm muscles, leaving a few shallow, crescent-shaped marks.

He lowered his head, kissing her tightly bitten lower lip, his tongue gently licking the tooth mark she had made herself.

'Don’t be afraid, baby. Relax.' He kissed her earlobe, coaxing her softly, 'I will make you feel very comfortable.'

After saying this, everything was swept away and started over.

At first, it was very slow—slow enough that she could clearly feel every inch of the man’s change.

Pushing in, withdrawing.

The rhythm was torturous, holding back with patience and suppressing his addiction, giving her space to adapt to him.

Wen Yicong was tormented until she was neither here nor there, her waist twisting involuntarily, as if urging him on, yet also as if pleading.

Catching this subtle physiological change, the man seemed to receive a signal, and his speed gradually increased.

One stroke heavier than the last, one deeper than the last.

The tide of passion surged, arriving like a violent storm.

Extreme satisfaction surged and galloped within Mo Shaoshang’s body; his movements became increasingly fierce, increasingly wild, increasingly savage.

Under such thunderous attacks, Wen Yicong’s little face was flushed red, her eyes unfocused, her body almost melting into mud.

She felt as if her entire body, along with her heart, had been pierced through by the man.

She cried with tears streaming down, her soft hair soaked through with sweat, helplessly clinging to her cheeks and neck. With her snow-white skin and black hair, she looked even more pitiful and bewitchingly bone-deep.

More and more waves accumulated, and a string pulled tighter and tighter.

The man gave powerfully and extracted domineeringly—he gave too much and demanded too harshly, already reaching the limit of what she could bear.

Wen Yicong’s mind went blank, and in the end, she could only helplessly unclench her teeth.

Holding him, pressing against him, wrapping herself around him even more tightly with her bewitching body, she let out soft, sweet moans...

*

I don’t know how much time passed, but Wen Yicong felt as if she had been fished out of the water, dizzy and enchanted, her body so soft and limp that she didn’t even have the strength to open her eyes.

In a daze, she felt the man pick her up from the countertop and place her back on the bed in the bedroom.

Then, her body was folded up, her two knees pressed tightly against her chest.

A sudden thrust.

Possession that reached the deepest part of her soul, swelling her mind until she was dazed.

After being in the kitchen for so long, Wen Yicong’s bones had already turned to jelly; with this one move, she instantly collapsed, trembling and sobbing.

Above her, Mo Shaoshang’s blue-black eyes stared straight at the little thing in his arms.

The corners of her eyes were stained with moist red, her lips slightly parted, her small, pink tongue trembling helplessly in her mouth, dainty and shaky.

This bewitching look, tossed about until she was lost and intoxicated, made one feel like they were going crazy.

He knew her body like the back of his hand and naturally knew clearly that this sensitive, alluring little treasure had already reached her physiological limit.

According to past experience, at this time, he didn’t need to move much at all. Even with just a light thrust, she could reach the peak immediately.

But he didn’t.

He stared at her, and at this moment, he stopped everything.

The little pitiful thing in his arms noticed, and her wet eyes looked toward him, carrying a bit of confused bewilderment.

Her voice was so soft it could be squeezed into water, bewitchingly and helplessly begging: 'Rosellini, please move... move a little...'

Witnessing this scene, Mo Shaoshang felt his scalp go numb, and the blood in his body surged, almost breaking through every blood vessel in his body.

She was too alluring.

Beautiful enough to make him obsessed, beautiful enough to make him enchanted, beautiful enough that he wanted to tear her apart and eat her, to merge with her forever.

His addiction was monstrous, driving him to indulge, driving him to wild conquest, to wantonly occupy.

But his thin lips were pressed tight, his chiseled chin lifted slightly, and he took a deep breath, forcing himself to endure.

In the next second, he withdrew directly.

This action made Wen Yicong open her eyes in shock.

Her body felt terribly empty, uncomfortably empty, and the intense discomfort caused more tears to seep from the corners of her eyes, both helpless and aggrieved.

She couldn’t believe that this man would leave her at such a moment.

She had long been spoiled by him.

She had been bewitched and seduced by Satan, stepping into the abyss step by step, falling in love with his body, liking this kind of thing, and becoming obsessed with the pleasure that only he could give her, the pleasure that could destroy her soul.

Now, her body, which hadn’t been nourished for more than two months, had been fiercely loved, aroused, and had tasted the most beautiful flavor; it was at its most intoxicated moment, both body and mind soaked in a honey pot so sweet it was cloying.

Clearly, it was only a tiny bit more, and she could have...

How could he do this?

Above, Mo Shaoshang looked at the little thing in his arms, his gaze bottomless.

In his field of vision, she turned her head away, sobbing, biting her own index finger with her teeth. Her whole body was covered in a pink flush steamed through by the tide of passion; her face was flushed, the corners of her eyes were moist, and her slender, soft waist was still twisting uncomfortably.

It made one’s blood boil, wishing they could immediately fuck her until she cried loudly.

But he had always been a person good at delayed gratification.

His long fingers gently pinched the girl’s chin. Then, he leaned down, close to her, and in an extremely low volume, said softly and gently: 'Baby, as I am now, besides you, I have nothing.'

Upon hearing this, Wen Yicong was slightly stunned, her confused mind clearing a little. She sniffled, turned her head, and looked at the man just inches away.

'You are my everything, the world’s final mercy to me, the only thing more precious than my life,' Mo Shaoshang said, closing his eyes slightly, kissing her small, red, moist nose tip with pity and love, his voice raspy, 'If you leave me again like before. I will die.'

Hearing this, Wen Yicong’s heart shook violently, her entire heart wrapped in dense pity.

In just a few short days, the massive Mo Family business empire had collapsed, the Mo Family that had lasted for a hundred years was destroyed in one fell swoop, and he himself was caught in various baseless scandals, dragged into the center of the most embarrassing public opinion.

She couldn’t imagine what kind of blow Mo Shaoshang had experienced during these days, nor could she imagine how difficult his path ahead would be.

Thinking of this, she couldn’t help but feel a strong sense of heartache, heartache to the point of no return.

Looking at the man’s cold, three-dimensional face, she reached out, gently stroking his deep brows, his high nose bridge, and then said softly: 'I’m sorry, Rosellini. When you needed me most, I wasn’t by your side.'

Mo Shaoshang stared at her deeply, then buried his face in her gentle, fragrant, soft neck, his arms pulling in, holding her tightly.

'Since we parted in Toulouse that night, you haven’t contacted me again,' he said again, his voice so raspy it was almost out of tune. 'I was anxious and fearful, thinking you were preparing to abandon me again.'

As his words fell, the room suddenly went quiet.

Wen Yicong’s throat felt tight and bitter; she reached out and hugged him back hard, saying: '...No. During this time, I was alone in Toulouse, thinking about a lot, and planning a lot.'

She paused, her fingers gently combing through the hair at the back of his head.

'Now, I’ve thought it all through.'

'From now on, I will always stand firmly by your side.' Her voice continued to ring out, like a wind blowing across a wheat field, and like a cloud scattered in people’s hearts, soft beyond belief. 'Regardless of whether the road ahead is a mountain of knives or a sea of fire, I will walk it with you.'

'I like you.'

Having said this, she choked up slightly, yet with a smile, her fingertips gently stroking the man’s chiseled contours. 'I like everything about you. Whether it’s the omnipotent you, or the you who has nothing, I accept it without reservation, and I love it without reservation.'

After hearing these words, Mo Shaoshang’s eyes felt warm. After a long while, he lifted his head, planted a kiss on her lips, and closed his eyes slightly.

'Wen Yicong, thank you.'

*

In the early hours of the morning, the whole city had quieted down. The sound of traffic on the distant overpass gradually thinned, the wind outside the window also stopped, and occasionally birds flapped their wings across the sky, leaving behind dark shadows.

Having experienced several overly intense intimate encounters in a row, Wen Yicong was extremely exhausted.

She was tired and weary, her body covered in hickey marks curled up like a little fish in the man’s broad chest, and she fell into a deep sleep.

Mo Shaoshang lay on his side on the bed, his palms gently stroking Wen Yicong’s smooth, slender back, his eyes drooping to stare straight at the girl’s face in his arms.

She was sleeping very soundly, her eyelashes quietly covering her eyelids. A flush remained on her cheeks, like peach blossoms just beginning to bloom, pink and beautiful, with a shallow tear mark at the corner of her eye that had already half-dried. Her lips were slightly parted, her breathing light, soft, and long, and her warm breath brushed against his collarbone one breath at a time.

He watched her, and a wave of softness surged in his heart.

He had been too fierce tonight.

The little girl had completely melted into a puddle of water by the end, her eyes unfocused, her tongue trembling, so exhausted that even her fingers couldn’t curl up, having completely lost her senses.

He should pay attention and be appropriately restrained in the future.

But he felt it couldn’t be entirely blamed on him.

This pitiful and moving little girl, by the end, had her voice almost raspy from crying, yet her body was still clinging tightly to him, rubbing against him, like a little cat that could never be fed enough.

Perhaps it was because she was served comfortably, her brain dizzy and intoxicated, and her little mouth was also exceptionally cute.

Whatever he asked, she answered; whatever he coaxed, she said. Soft and glutinous, like a piece of candy that was melting.

Listening to those sweet, sticky sobs, his entire tailbone was numb.

When she wakes up and remembers what she said on his bed the night before, what will her reaction be?

Perhaps she will be so embarrassed that her face will turn red, covering her face with a pillow, not daring to see him. Perhaps she will be angry and annoyed, rushing into his arms like a little wolf, biting his Adam’s apple.

Mo Shaoshang pondered, the corners of his mouth curling up involuntarily.

His gaze inadvertently shifted, sweeping over the deep and shallow red marks under her collarbone, and a familiar heat surged up once more, burning Mo Shaoshang until his mouth was dry.

His Adam’s apple rolled ever so slightly.

A natural-born enchantress who kills people.

Just then, the phone on the bedside table vibrated.

Mo Shaoshang swept a glance, carefully lifted Wen Yicong’s head, placed it on the pillow, and then carefully covered her bare body with the quilt.

Only then did he pick up the phone, get up, and walk toward the balcony connected to the master bedroom.

The winter night wind whistled past, blowing on one’s face, hurting like cutting flesh.

In December in Jinghai, the wind carried the unique dryness and chill of the north, pouring in from the open balcony door, sweeping away the heat on Mo Shaoshang’s body.

He was wearing only a thin shirt, yet he didn’t feel cold at all, holding the phone to his ear.

Lin Ke’s voice came from the receiver, low and steady, respectfully saying: 'Sir, the things you ordered have all been done.'

Upon hearing this, Mo Shaoshang’s expression remained without a ripple: 'I know.'

Then, he hung up the phone expressionlessly.

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

Author’s Note: Momo: Working hard to serve in bed, making my wife love my body more and more (*^▽^*)

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Random 100 red packets

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I’ve opened a new draft in the column, 'Wildfire Kisses Me', part of the 'Mountains and Rivers' series, which will open this year. Interested treasures can collect it in advance~

Synopsis:

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

Heyuan, the border line.

Various forces are entrenched, and all kinds of people are mixed together. The boundary between day and darkness is as blurred here as the thick fog of the rainy season.

Late at night, she sneaked into an abandoned factory.

In the backlight, the man had a tall figure, leaning against the wall with his eyes lowered, his long fingers playing with an unlit cigarette in a distracted manner.

Dark light was cast from the side, cutting out sharp, distinct contours on his face. His brow bone was three-dimensional, his nose bridge was straight, and his jawline was as cold and hard as if carved.

Even in his most relaxed posture, he couldn’t hide that extreme sense of oppression, decadent yet sharp.

Like a knife that had been sharpened and had seen plenty of blood.

The moment their eyes met, Shu Jiayu was locked by the man’s gaze, and her breathing tightened.

The other party’s gaze fell on her, cold and waveless, from top to bottom, seemingly examining her without any emotion, as if confirming a serial number that must be absolutely correct.

After a moment, the man spoke: 'Shu Jiayu?'

Almost as a conditioned reflex, she straightened her back: '...Yes.'

'Hello, I am Chen Wenzhou,' the man stepped forward a few steps and said faintly, 'Nice to meet you.'

Shu Jiayu’s heart pounded wildly.

She had heard the name 'Chen Wenzhou'.

Captain of the National Security Special Police Brigade, the anchor of the entire system, the highest commander-in-chief of this operation, her immediate superior.

At the same time...

He was also the husband assigned to her by the organization, her fake marriage partner during her time undercover at the border.

*

First meeting Shu Jiayu, Chen Wenzhou had a bit of a headache.

The mission was arduous, a life-and-death struggle, with a high risk factor. How could the higher-ups have sent him such a quiet and beautiful little girl?

First meeting Chen Wenzhou, Shu Jiayu was exceptionally nervous.

To live day and night with such a man, playing the most intimate couple, she felt her legs go weak just thinking about it.

Later, after living together for several months.

Shu Jiayu often had a flushed face, moist eyes, and her legs were inexplicably even weaker.

And Chen Wenzhou finally knew what it meant to have love in one’s bones, life and death, and to be unable to stop.