Breaking the Taboo (1v2, Blood Uncle and Nephew) - Chapter 17

Xiao Mohan didn’t know how she made it back to the classroom. The rest of the time, unease crawled through her chest like a worm, making her restless and panicked.

Lu Yan’s words echoed in her head: her Xiao-jiujiu was tracking her?

So that night at Lu Yan’s place—he’d arrived so quickly because he already knew. When she got there, he was waiting.

She didn’t dare think further. Whatever the truth was, she couldn’t bear it.

The whole time, Zhao Fei watched her, the way a viper fixes on its prey. Cold sweat kept breaking out along her spine.

She finally endured until the end of the day. Backpack on her shoulders, she ran downstairs—

But before she even left the building, someone grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged her behind the gym.

Where the trash bins were. No one went there.

Her head was slammed hard against the wall.

The world spun. Through the blur she saw Zhao Fei striding toward her and kicking her square in the lower belly.

“Little b1tch. Run fast, don’t you?”

Xiao Mohan wrapped her arms over her head. Teeth clamped down on her lower lip so hard she left a faint crescent of tooth marks.

Zhao Fei yanked her hair back. Forced her to tilt her head up. Her voice was poison in Xiao Mohan’s ear. “What a little whore. Haven’t even graduated and already latched onto a sugar daddy? He’s old enough to be your father. You’re so cheap—open your legs for cash.”

In truth, Zhao Fei hadn’t seen what the man looked like that morning. She’d only recognized the car—some globally limited edition. Even a rich second-gen might not get one. It had to be some high-status old man.

She thought of her own father, of the time she’d seen the mistress climbing out of his car.

Her fury shot straight for a target.

Xiao Mohan’s nose stung. She shut her eyes and kept silent.

Her phone started ringing nonstop in her backpack—urgent, jarring, to the point it rattled everyone’s nerves.

Someone said, “Forget it, stop. If something really happens, we’ll be in trouble.”

Only then did Zhao Fei back off.

She’d gone too far this time. One look at Xiao Mohan left her uneasy. She waved her people away.

Xiao Mohan sat slumped against the wall, looking up at the darkening sky. Dusk pooled; a thin crescent hid and showed itself against the deep blue, lonely as a cut of ice.

Her phone rang again and again. The caller wouldn’t give up unless she answered.

She’d learned her lesson this time. She had another set of clothes in her bag—the ones Han Yezhen had bought.

Staggering to her feet, she braced a hand against the wall and made it to the restroom to change. She washed her face, smoothed her hair. In the mirror, she saw a bruise blooming on her cheekbone.

When she stepped out at last, her phone, quiet for a moment, started up again. She took it out, glanced at the display, and put it back.

She didn’t want to answer.

Sometimes she was stubborn like that.

Head lowered, she walked slowly toward the exit—when a cool voice cut through the air. “Xiao Mohan.”

Her slightly hunched back straightened at once.

She lifted her eyes just a little and saw Han Yezhen coming toward her against the light in long strides.

White shirt, black trousers; the evening sun traced his silhouette in a thin line of gold.

He stopped close—close enough that their toes nearly touched.

He tipped his head slightly, and in that slant of light his features blurred into an unusual softness.

But beneath those lowered lashes, the look he gave her was like a winter moon on snow: cold and sharp.

“Why didn’t you answer my call.”

His tone barely shifted, and yet it carried a weight that was hard to endure.

She didn’t know if he’d seen her take the phone out and put it away. Saying she hadn’t heard would never fly.

Her brain scrambled for a lie.

When she kept her head down, refusing to meet his eyes, he moved suddenly—long fingers reaching to lift her chin.

His hand paused inches from her face. Her heart lurched as if a giant hand had wrung it. Heat touched her cheeks.

The gesture felt far too intimate.

She flinched back, dodging his touch.

These last few days, he’d crossed the line more than once. Whatever this was, it wasn’t the proper distance between an elder and a junior.

But he wouldn’t put it into words, and she had no courage to bring it up.

She was young—and thin-skinned. And what could she possibly say?

His hand hung in the air for a beat, then he drew it back, leaning in instead.

The sun had slipped below the horizon. In the gloom, his face blurred again, and the look in his eyes was darker than the night rising behind him.

His voice came from above, pressed down by two degrees. “Why didn’t you answer my call.”

Her hands at her sides curled into her palms. His tone was calm, but the pressure pressed down like a mountain.

Her hair fell around her face, hiding half of it.

She thought and thought, wringing out a clumsy excuse. Her voice came soft and small. “I thought it was a spam call.”

“Xiao Mohan.”

His eyes—deep and black—fixed on the top of her head. His voice dropped to the bottom.

She gripped her pant leg at once, head bowing so low she could’ve buried herself in her chest. She said nothing.

His eyes narrowed. He, too, fell silent.

In the end, he said nothing at all. He turned and walked toward the school gate.

She followed half a step behind.

He got in the car, and she took the passenger seat.

They said nothing on the drive.

A dull ache throbbed in her belly. She leaned her head lightly against the window.

Before long, her phone rang again—jarringly loud in the quiet car.

There weren’t many people who would call her.

Before Han Yezhen had walked into her life, aside from Wen Hua and Ji Man’s manager, there was only one other person.

She already knew who it was.

“Why aren’t you answering?”

She’d been tied up in dread. His sudden question startled her so badly she flinched.