Breaking the Taboo (1v2, Blood Uncle and Nephew) - Chapter 9

“Mm, looks like you’ve got a fever.”

The closeness made Li Mohan’s heart stumble. She shrank back a fraction, eyes sliding away.

Han Yezhen settled back and said to Shen Du in front, “Jinxiulan Court.”

She knew from the name it was an apartment complex. Her stomach tightened and she was about to refuse when his lids lowered—shutting off any chance of discussion.

She didn’t dare speak. It’s just one night, she told herself. Make do.

They pulled into the Jinxiulan parking garage, and Shen Du took the hint and left.

Out of the car, head down, she followed obediently behind him, keeping neither too near nor too far.

At the door, he keyed in the code. Two beeps and it swung open. He switched on the lights and stood aside for her to go in.

It was a large single-floor flat. The dim moon, pouring through the full-length windows, spread across the wooden floor.

Everything inside was furnished, with the traces of someone living there—clearly another of Han Yezhen’s homes.

She froze on the threshold.

He turned and, not noticing, walked deeper in, shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the sofa. “Sit. I’m making a call.”

He rang the family doctor. After he hung up, he saw her still stranded by the entryway.

His gaze lowered. With a long stride he closed the distance. “Are you that afraid of me?”

She gripped her backpack straps and dropped her eyes, shaking her head. “No.”

“If not, then come sit.”

Alone with him, the image of him stealing her panties to jerk off flared in her mind. Just thinking it made her face feel scalded.

Blame the fever—her head was dull. How could I be so dumb, getting in the car and coming here?

And with him standing in the role of elder, even if she wanted to refuse, could she?

She perched on the sofa, backpack still on, like she was ready to bolt at any moment.

“You didn’t save my number, did you?”

He sat beside her, a seat of space between them.

Her heart jumped hard. He always seemed to read her mind. Her little evasions felt transparent under his eyes. She fumbled for an excuse. “I… forgot.”

He leaned back, exposing the jut of his Adam’s apple. His long arm draped lazily along the back of the sofa as he stared at the back of her head. “Save it now.”

The tone was flat, but it allowed no refusal.

His gaze was like a red dot from a sniper scope—silent, patient, dogged—locking her in place.

A chill ran down her spine. She saved his number, obedient and precise.

The doorbell rang. He rose to answer it, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

The family doctor came, checked her temperature, stuck on a cooling patch, and wrote three days’ worth of meds.

At the end he reminded her to rest properly.

“Sleep in the back room tonight. Leave your bag.”

She pressed her lips together, got up, found the last room in the hall, dropped her backpack, and came back to the living room.

He had already poured warm water and set the pills ready. “Take your medicine, then shower. Rest well tonight.”

She’d seen him kill. She hadn’t expected he could take care of someone.

An odd feeling welled in her chest.

Since entering the Han family, she’d been left to fend for herself. No one had ever managed her. When she was sick as a child, the housemaids had taken better care of her than anyone.

If her aunt Han Ya showed her a scrap of kindness, it only scared her.

She swallowed the pills and stood there, compliant. “Little Uncle, I’m going to shower.”

Back in the room, she unzipped her bag and realized the clothes she wore most were still at Wenhua’s place.

She’d been rattled by Zhao Fei and the others today.

He heard her go in and stepped out to the balcony for a smoke. Before he’d finished, noise sounded behind him. One hand braced on the railing, he half turned. “What is it?”

When he smoked, his brows drew tight; his chin lifted slightly; lids half-lowered. When he looked at someone, there was a monarch’s tilt to it—effortless, superior.

Especially on a night like this, his gaze went darker, impossible to read.

Under that look she felt prickly all over. Fingers twisting, she hesitated a few seconds. “Little Uncle, I don’t have a change of clothes.”

Her voice was thin.

He glanced at his watch. “At this hour, shops are closed. I’ll buy some for you in the morning.”

It’s just one night, she thought again. She could make do—have Wenhua bring something tomorrow.

He crushed the cigarette out and walked straight toward her. Those long legs ate the distance in a few steps. She held her breath.

But he passed her, went into the bedroom, and came out with a white dress shirt and a pair of men’s boxer briefs.

“The shirt’s clean, and I’ve never worn the briefs. Use them as shorts for now.”

She took them, staring blankly at the pure-black boxers, frozen in place.

It was bad enough he wanted her to wear men’s briefs. Worse, they were her uncle’s.

He said he hadn’t worn them, but still—something so private, how could he say it like it was nothing?

It felt like, Couldn’t buy pork today? Fine, we’ll swap for beef.

It wasn’t that she had to change clothes, but her uniform had brushed the floor today; it was dirtier than usual.

She’d even considered sleeping naked.

But she had to shower—her own rule—and underwear had to be changed.

She hadn’t expected that besides making her wear his shirt, he’d also make her wear his underwear.

Each step hopped back and forth over that red line of taboo.

And she didn’t dare say a word.

Seeing her still, he shifted closer, casting the small girl in the long shadow of his body—a black hole poised to swallow her whole.

“Put the dirty clothes in the washer. There’s a dryer. If you can wait, dry them and wear them again.”

His tone was very calm, even a little detached.

Her cheeks warmed. I’m overthinking.

From start to finish, he’d kept it matter-of-fact—like a meeting, discussing solutions with a subordinate, without a flicker of personal intent.

She swallowed. “Got it.”

Clutching the clothes, she hurried into the bathroom.

Inside, she pressed a hand to her chest. Her heartbeat was out of control.

This wasn’t the flutter of liking someone; it was panic—aftershocks of fear.

That bone-deep dominance in him was like a fine-meshed net, smothering her with a constant suffocation—pressure edged with a whiff of illicit danger.

Under that pressure, it was easy to forget the soul-stealing beauty of his face.

She showered in a rush, hand-washed her clothes, then tossed them into the dryer.

The living room was empty; he’d gone back to his room.

She slipped into the bedroom, locked the door, and—maybe the medicine had kicked in—she meant to wait for the dryer to finish, but sleep crashed down on her. Her lids wouldn’t stay up.

She knew some fever meds had a drowsy component. She didn’t think too much. As soon as she hit the pillow, she was out.

Roughly ten minutes later, someone pushed her door open.