Breaking the Taboo (1v2, Blood Uncle and Nephew) - Chapter 33

Her illness hadn’t fully subsided, leaving her face pale, now drained of all color, her body looking frail and delicate.

Han Yezhen’s warning hung in the air, and Li Mohan shifted uncomfortably, her voice tinged with unease. “Uncle, I didn’t lie. I just… didn’t put on more ointment later.”

Han Yezhen watched her quietly, her lies piling up in front of him.

Silence stretched between them.

At that moment, the housekeeper emerged from the kitchen, bowing respectfully. “Mr. Han, lunch is ready.”

Han Yezhen glanced away, saying nothing more, and instructed the housekeeper, “Take her inside and help her apply the ointment.”

Perhaps because Han Yezhen had already spoken to her, the housekeeper nodded without question, understanding immediately.

She approached Li Mohan with a kind smile. “Miss, let’s go to your room.”

The housekeeper, in her forties, was slightly plump with a gentle, warm face that radiated kindness.

“I’m… not some ‘miss’…”

Li Mohan felt flustered by the formal address.

Before she could finish, the housekeeper chuckled, gently guiding her by the arm toward the room. With no choice, Li Mohan followed.

When Li Mohan returned, Han Yezhen was already seated at the dining table.

The housekeeper tactfully withdrew.

Li Mohan couldn’t help but think that someone like Han Yezhen, with his exacting standards, wouldn’t hire just anyone. The housekeeper’s poise and professionalism seemed far beyond that of an ordinary maid.

Sitting across from him, her eyes caught on the shirt he wore—one she’d used as a nightgown.

Her lips pressed together, a strange, indescribable feeling swirling in her chest.

She still remembered her first night here, wearing his shirt and a pair of his new underwear, the blanket pressed against the fabric, his shirt clinging to her skin, his boxers encasing her most private places.

Though the shirt was clean and the underwear unused, she could almost feel his cool, commanding presence and searing heat lingering in them.

She couldn’t help but think—this shirt had once been on Han Yezhen’s body.

This was a guest room, yet the air, the bed, everything seemed infused with his distinct scent.

Restrained, sharp, and all-encompassing, it enveloped her with an inescapable intensity, just like the man himself.

And now, he was wearing the shirt she’d worn. It felt too intimate, like sharing clothes with a lover. Though she’d never been in a relationship, she knew this was something couples did.

For a girl her age, sensitive and delicate, such things stirred her heart easily, even if to Han Yezhen, it was likely insignificant.

He didn’t notice the whirlwind of thoughts in her mind, only watching as the girl across from him quietly picked at her food.

Her cracked lips made eating painful, so she took small, careful bites, her full, glossy lips shining faintly.

My handiwork, he thought, a flicker of satisfaction stirring within.

Noticing her brows furrow slightly as she ate the tofu mixed with minced meat and green onions, Han Yezhen raised an eyebrow. “Don’t like onions?”

“No, it’s not that.”

Her response was immediate, almost defensive, followed by a flicker of nervousness.

Back at the Han household, you ate what was served. Onions were often mixed into soups or meat dishes, and refusing meant going hungry.

As if to prove herself, Li Mohan forced down her dislike, deliberately mixing the onions with her rice and shoving it into her mouth.

A cool hand suddenly gripped her slender wrist.

Her eyes followed the prominent knuckles up to the man’s hand.

His skin was fair, the veins on the back of his hand starkly visible.

Tall and long-limbed, he easily intercepted her with a slight lean.

His fingers, cool at first, seemed to radiate heat as they touched her skin, sending a shiver through her.

“If you don’t like it, don’t eat it.”

His voice was calm, almost indifferent.

Before she could respond, Han Yezhen took her bowl, meticulously picking out every piece of onion—not just from her rice but from the dishes in front of her too.

Then, he placed her favorite dishes closer to her.

A fleeting ripple stirred in Li Mohan’s heart. Back at the Han household, her preferences didn’t matter; no one cared.

Yet this man, with just a glance at her subtle reaction, knew what she liked and what she didn’t.

But it wasn’t gratitude she felt—it was fear.

The food in her mouth lost all taste.

Han Yezhen ate quickly, though he’d deliberately slowed down for her. Compared to her pace, he was still far faster.

Yet he showed no trace of impatience.

His eyes lowered, his gaze serious as he watched her. Slowly, he spoke. “After you’re done eating, we need to talk.”

Li Mohan’s fingers tightened around her chopsticks.

Her voice trembled with nerves. “What does Uncle want to talk about?”

Han Yezhen replied unhurriedly, “Eat first.”

With no choice, Li Mohan bowed her head and continued eating, barely registering the flavors, each bite tasteless.

She ate even slower than before.

His gaze, deep and calm, seemed to hide something more. She had a sinking feeling that whatever he wanted to discuss wouldn’t be as serene as his eyes suggested.