Flirting Recklessly With the White Moonlight Will Get You Marked - Chapter 32
32:
“Come to my room.”
Yan Qingqiu, lying on her bed, received this message. Song Qingre’s voice, soft and gentle, was irresistibly alluring in the quiet of the night.
She replayed the one-second voice message over a dozen times.
Song Qingre’s voice shouldn’t be heard at night, it brought back memories of the night before she transmigrated, when a voice had clouded her mind, leading her to play a game that ended with her crossing into this world.
Yan Qingqiu asked the system: [Why does your game use the female lead’s video to lure people into transmigrating? If it weren’t for the newbie Q&A later, hmph, I’d think I was some shady protagonist.]
The system replied: [Sorry, we didn’t see any spicy videos.]
Yan Qingqiu huffed: [Keep pretending.]
Her finger accidentally replayed the voice message, and she listened again.
Her heart raced. What did Song Qingre want her to come over for in the middle of the night?
Just to drop off the pants?
Yan Qingqiu cleared her throat. “What’s up?”
Song Qingre’s tone was light. “Just… missing you a bit.”
Missing what?
Yan Qingqiu’s heart skipped a beat.
When things weren’t spelled out, her mind ran wild.
I’ve already taken off my clothes! Should I go check it out?
That felt a bit too casual.
No way she was going.
Her cheeks burned. She wasn’t as brave as she thought. Propping her chin, she rolled over, phone in hand, then flipped back. She sent a voice message: “How about tomorrow morning? It’s not convenient now.”
No response from the other side.
Yan Qingqiu squirmed, feeling uneasy all over. Yesterday, skipping Song Qingre’s massage was fine, but now she was starting to miss it. Her body felt warm, and she rolled again, breathing heavily.
She tilted her neck, lying face-down on the bed.
Rolling over once more, she checked Song Qingre’s message again.
Why did those simple words feel so suggestive?
Yan Qingqiu took another bath, soaking in the tub as steam rose, soothing her. She luxuriated in it, then got out, drying off with a towel. Her wet hair dripped, and her damp fingers struggled to unlock the phone screen.
No new messages.
By duty, as a “slave,” she should go, but she didn’t dare. She could sense Song Qingre was genuinely upset. Fake anger, she could coax; real anger was terrifying.
This was the first time she’d seen Song Qingre truly mad.
—
The next day, Yan Qingqiu got up. Autumn had fully set in. Checking her phone, a chill made her sneeze.
Downstairs, she rubbed her nose.
Song Qingre looked up. “Why is your nose so red?”
“Just rubbed it.” Yan Qingqiu sat at the table for breakfast.
Song Qingre sat on the sofa behind her, her voice like an autumn breeze, coolly brushing the back of Yan Qingqiu’s neck.
She asked, “Why didn’t you bring the pants over yesterday?”
Her words landed, followed by a clang as something shattered. Yan Qingqiu’s heart pounded.
Startled, she followed the sound. The butler had dropped a plate, shattering it on the floor.
The usually composed butler had made such a blunder. He deemed it rude, bowing slightly.
A few maids rushed to clean up. The butler removed his stained gloves, saying, “Sorry for the disturbance, Miss. Please continue.”
Yan Qingqiu sighed helplessly. With the butler’s imagination, he’d likely misunderstood. She said, “It’s just some paint on my pants. I already had the maids clean them.” Turning to Song Qingre, “Small matter, no need for your help.”
She spoke deliberately, hoping to avoid misunderstanding.
The butler, now with fresh gloves, asked, “How did you get paint on your pants, Miss?”
As if implying only Miss Song had access to paint, did you spend the night fooling around in her room?
Butler, you’re practically Sherlock Holmes.
If he transmigrated into a spicy game, he’d probably deduce the entire plot in three days!
Yan Qingqiu’s lips parted. Whatever, let him overthink. Maybe he’d imagine some spicy past, write an update, and make it sweet, sparing her from plot abuse.
During breakfast, a maid asked if the pants should go to the dry cleaner, the paint had dried and wouldn’t come off easily.
Song Qingre said, “I have a reagent in my room. I’ll grab it later.”
The maid thanked her profusely.
Her gentle tone didn’t mention last night, forgiving Yan Qingqiu’s rebellion. Yan Qingqiu gripped her spoon tighter.
She’d received Song Qingre’s message that morning.
Trying to start a conversation, Yan Qingqiu said, “I’m heading to Xingxing’s company today. She wants to make me a model. I’m kinda interested. We’re signing the contract today. Not sure if my 170cm height’s enough.”
She was proud of her 170cm, and with her second growth spurt, she was still growing. Her figure was killer, curves in all the right places. Sometimes, she wanted to wreck herself.
Little vixen, look at you. Who will get to enjoy this later? Maybe I’ll enjoy it first.
But she’d never modeled, so she lacked confidence.
“You’re not a professional model, stripping here and there or walking international lingerie shows,” Song Qingre said. “Try it for fun. No need to excel, just shoot what you like.”
The butler chimed in, “Indeed. With your looks, Miss, you could conquer the industry, but I hope you don’t overwork. Stay in your comfort zone.”
Yan Qingqiu was touched. In her old world, especially during her final year of college, she’d been a wreck—orphanage reforms, jobless after graduation, fearing homelessness. Rent was 1,000 yuan a month.
Back then, she’d envied stray dogs digging in trash for a “home.” She’d had to maintain dignity while seeking a decent shelter.
Her lively personality had dulled, gaining 15 pounds from stress, too poor to see a doctor.
“Got it.”
Yan Qingqiu finished eating, sipping coconut milk. “Thanks for the support. A modeling legend is born at this table. The fashion world’s new era begins, I’m the stage’s darling, Hathaway Autumn.”
The other two laughed at her grand ambition.
Song Qingre set down her chopsticks, done eating, waiting patiently for Yan Qingqiu. “Don’t rush to sign the contract. Ask Uncle to have a lawyer review it.”
“Oh.” Yan Qingqiu felt a bit timid. “Does your studio have a lawyer?”
“I can look it over too,” Song Qingre offered. “Send it to me later.”
After breakfast, they “went to work.” As a “slave,” Yan Qingqiu was supposed to drive Song Qingre, but her enthusiasm for driving had fizzled out.
Stepping into the courtyard, she clapped. “Come out, my 18 bodyguards.”
Song Qingre stood beside her, curiously eyeing the 18 bodyguards lined up. “Are you bringing them everywhere now?”
“For now, yeah. I need to talk to Fu Ye later, bodyguards are a must,” she said seriously.
The bodyguards, in black sunglasses, stood in a row, counting off. Yan Qingqiu hadn’t studied their faces yesterday, but now she noticed they were absurdly buff, their clothes straining over bulging muscles, looking like Tarzan when they flexed.
They nodded to her. “Good morning, Miss Yan.”
“Mm, good job.”
A bodyguard opened the car door. Yan Qingqiu got in, with one bodyguard car ahead and another behind, as usual.
A maid at the door asked, “Why does Miss need so many bodyguards?”
“I heard she’s offended too many people. Without them, she’s worried about getting beat up—pretty embarrassing,” another maid replied.
“…”
Made sense.
But why did it feel less like Miss was scared of getting hit and more like she was the one planning to throw punches? Those muscle-bound giants looked ready for action.
Yan Qingqiu directed the bodyguards to drop Song Qingre at her company, then head to ER. As Song Qingre got out, she turned, reaching out.
“Don’t forget what you promised me.”
“What?” Yan Qingqiu drew a blank, totally forgetting. Thinking it was money, she said, “I’ll ask my dad.”
Song Qingre was surprised. “You would show that to your dad? Didn’t the rules make it clear last time?”
“Huh?”
“Show me the stories you write every day.”
Yan Qingqiu had been shopping all day yesterday and forgot. It hit her. “I, uh, haven’t started writing.”
Song Qingre gently urged, “Get to it. I need it today.”
“Got it.”
Yan Qingqiu clutched her bag. She’d written a bunch and tossed them in the trash, didn’t Song Qingre see them? She thought she would. What a shame, she’d racked her brain for those.
As the car started, she told the bodyguard up front not to drive too fast, she needed to brainstorm and write.
Gripping her pen, she scribbled furiously but felt uninspired.
Just then, the butler sent today’s update.
Butler: [Here’s today’s update for your review.]
Yan Qingqiu read it, hatching a plan. [Butler Dong, can I show your writing to someone? I bragged to someone that I can write, but I’m stuck…]
Butler: [May I ask who it’s for?]
Feeling shy, she said, [A good friend.]
Butler: [I’ll polish the writing then.]
Yan Qingqiu: [Thanks, Butler!]
Half an hour later, the butler sent it: [Here you go.]
She forwarded it to Song Qingre, who downloaded it quickly. Yan Qingqiu waited—one minute, two.
The status showed “typing.”
Song Qingre: [It’s good, but why’s it not spicy?]
Yan Qingqiu: [???]
What’s with this bluntness?
Song Qingre: [I’m an adult, I like spicy stuff. Write something back-and-forth, it feels better.]
Yan Qingqiu froze.
Song Qingre: [But you wrote about our childhood, right? That’s tricky to make spicy, easy to mess up. How about our adult years? That’s got more feeling.]
Yan Qingqiu stopped writing, raised her hand, and lightly slapped it. Naughty, naughty, naughty.
“Miss, we’re almost at ER!” the bodyguard called.
“Stop…”
She needed a moment. “We’ll go soon.”
She didn’t want to handle serious business with a head full of nonsense. Why was “Miss Yan” so wild? How was she supposed to write this? Naughty, tempting me to crime.
At a tea West Tulan Ya restaurant, Yan Qingqiu sipped the first autumn tea, waving her hand to inhale the fragrant steam, letting it envelop her.
She picked up her pen and wrote.
Mid-writing, she glanced around. Others in the restaurant were typing on laptops, probably crafting serious literature, while she wrote spicy little stories.
Decided, she’d write a steamy library scene today.
At the climax, messages kept coming.
All from unknown numbers, not Song Qingre.
Fu Ye: [Aren’t we meeting today?]
“Always rushing me! Sicko!” Yan Qingqiu cursed. She wasn’t going. She texted back: [Sorry, it’s based on my mood. If I feel like it, I’ll go. If not, tough luck. Keep pushing, and you’ll never see me again.]
Writing her climax scene, did he understand the vibe?
Just then, soft footsteps disrupted the room’s allure.
“Qiuqiu.”
Fu Ye appeared, eyeing her notebook.
Startled, Yan Qingqiu covered it. “What’s wrong with you?!” She hurriedly packed her things to keep this creep from seeing.
“You’re really like a lingering ghost,” she sneered.
Fu Ye sat across from her, eyes sunken, looking like he’d crawled out of hell after a death sentence. He had lost weight, lacking his former spark. Ordering tea, he said, “I want to talk properly, to see you.”
Yan Qingqiu also planned to talk, set boundaries, and end his pestering. She tucked her notebook into her bag, his eyes following.
“You’re an Omega, right?” Fu Ye asked directly.
“What’s it to you?” Her fingers paused, dodging the question.
“I checked your records.” He placed a file on the table. “We’re fated, a 100% perfect match.”
“What kind of joke is that? When’s a swan ever fated with a toad?”
Fu Ye was speechless, then pulled something from his pocket. “The rabbit you gave me, I kept it.”
Yan Qingqiu glanced at it, a white paper rabbit. Pinching its ears made it puff up. “How did you get that?”
“You gave it to me. Sophomore year, I was fighting in the back alley, outnumbered. You called the police, then made a statement. Seeing me silent, you folded this rabbit for me. I fell for you at first sight. You forgot?”
“Why would I remember some random thing I folded?”
Fu Ye froze, his affectionate expression stiffening.
“So what?” Yan Qingqiu countered. “Anything else?”
Fu Ye stiffened further. “I never forgot you.”
“And Song Qingre?” Yan Qingqiu wanted to splash tea in his face.
Fu Ye choked. “I won’t fall for her anymore.”
“This whole time, I’ve been drinking, thinking of you over and over, numbing myself with alcohol. My mind’s full of you.”
“When I first… when Song Qingre returned, you said she was always the one in your heart. I even twisted your neck. You never learn.” Yan Qingqiu scoffed. “It’s been barely a week since I saw you at the hotel. ‘Drinking every day’? Call Luo Xi to check the dates if you can’t count.”
“You keep flip-flopping, liking me one minute, Song Qingre the next. You just want both. If this world allowed two wives, you’d marry three without hesitation. I came to talk, tell you to stop bothering me and leave my dad’s company alone. Clearly, you can’t do that.”
Fu Ye’s eyes burned with possessiveness. “Qiuqiu, you belong with me. We’re fated, a perfect pair.”
“So what if I’m an Omega? What’s it to you?” Yan Qingqiu sneered. “Even if it’s fate, it’s just data. You liking me makes me sick, no feelings left. I’d rather like anyone else in the world than you.”
She wanted to add: Idiot, you keep saying you love me. Do you know who you’re loving?
The Yan Qingqiu from another world.
Not even an Alpha, Omega, or Beta—just an ordinary human.
You liked me the moment I arrived? Hypocrite!
That’s why I’m disgusted with you!
Cursing him in her mind—lowlife, lowlife!
Done, she propped her hands on the table, head aching.
Sweat beaded on her forehead, lashes trembling. The system zapped her brain, twisting half her face in pain, like a dental nerve being struck, urging her to rip her face off.
“Damn you!”
Gripping the table, she cursed—not at Fu Ye, but the system.
System: [Host, don’t break character too much. I’m stinging you to warn you, breaking character is dangerous. If you’re found out, you might die.]
Could’ve just said it instead of zapping me.
Yan Qingqiu stayed silent, fuming.
“Can’t you talk to me nicely?” Fu Ye asked.
“Can you stop liking me?” Yan Qingqiu shot back.
“No,” Fu Ye said. “I love you.”
Yan Qingqiu bit her lip, annoyed at his awkward persistence.
“Meeting you was a mistake.”
“I’ll stay 18 meters away from you. I’ll tell Song Qingre not to believe your nonsense. If she falls for you, I’ll look down on her forever!”
She stood, leaving the West Tulan Ya restaurant. Fu Ye tried to follow, grabbing for her as before, but she was ready. Clapping her hands, several black-clad men approached. He realized he’d walked into a trap.
Slamming the table, she ordered, “Teach him a lesson.”
With that, she grabbed her bag and left.
Fu Ye wanted to move but didn’t dare.
Surrounded, the restaurant’s patrons scattered. A waiter approached but backed off, intimidated by the bodyguards’ bulging muscles.
Fu Ye could only watch Yan Qingqiu walk away.
Just talking, and she brings a whole crew?
His heart sank. He told his secretary, “Find out who these guys are. What’s their deal?”
The info came quickly. The secretary whispered, “These are bodyguards with criminal records—former enforcers, fiercely loyal to their employer. They’ve been known to rough people up, sometimes crippling them. None of them seem legit.”
Fu Ye swallowed hard.
The secretary asked, “Are they about to attack you?”
Fu Ye hesitated. Running would be too humiliating. “Wait ten minutes.”
As he spoke, a hand clamped his shoulder.
Expecting words, he was caught off guard when it moved to his neck, gripping his gland with crushing force.
As a high-tier Alpha, Fu Ye could’ve fought back, but fresh from surgery, facing 18 men was impossible. His secretary had been knocked away with one hit, unable to get up.
“Tch, pretty wild, huh?”
The bodyguard slapped his face. “Getting excited from a touch, huh? What were you trying to do to our Miss?”
“Come, have a drink with your bros. Don’t act coy, you were all talking with our Miss. Say ‘I love you’ to me.” The bodyguard grabbed a teacup. “What, cat got your tongue?”
“You know who I am?” Fu Ye, enduring stomach pain and sweating, was livid at being mocked.
“Fu Ye,” the bodyguard said coldly, as if daring him to make a point.
“Perfect. Get him!”
Two bodyguards grabbed his hair, restraining his arms and pinning his gland to prevent him from using pheromones or mental strength.
The lead muscle-bound bodyguard snapped photos with his phone. “No matter how rich you are, we serve our boss.”
Taking several shots, he flexed his fist, eyeing Fu Ye’s pale face but holding back—killing him wouldn’t be worth it.
Humiliated, Fu Ye burned with rage, wanting to shut down the bodyguard agency. He knew they only answered to their employer, backed by someone powerful.
—
Yan Qingqiu didn’t know what went down at the restaurant. A beating was fine, Fu Ye deserved it. She headed to ER.
Su Xingjie gave her a contract, which she sent to Song Qingre and Yan Fu. Both confirmed it was solid—top terms, full freedom, best pay.
Feeling she was taking advantage, Yan Qingqiu urged Su Xingjie to revise it. After a long talk, they settled on a fair deal.
As she signed, Su Xingjie’s secretary rushed in. “President Su, Fu Ye got beaten up, pinned to a table at the tea hall, his gland toyed with…”
“!”
Yan Qingqiu was shocked. “No way… serves him right!”
Her phone rang, Fu Ye’s number.
Her fingers trembled, but she answered.
Su Xingjie gaped. Qiu-bao beat up Fu Ye?
It wasn’t Fu Ye—it was a bodyguard, panting. “Miss, don’t worry. He won’t bother you anymore. We roughed him up and took photos. You can use them to keep him in line.”
“…”
Too bold, too bold.
They did what she wouldn’t dare.
Lowering her voice, she asked, “You guys beat him? Not someone else?” I didn’t tell you to mess with his gland!
The bodyguard replied quickly, “Yeah, we did it. Got a video too, wanna see?”
Yan Qingqiu was floored. “Why did you record it? I didn’t ask for that!”
“When we rough someone up, we keep it measured and take evidence. Some employers like it. We meant to check with you, but you left too fast,” the bodyguard said. “Boss pays us well, we do our job with ethics.”
Yan Qingqiu felt her dad’s love was a bit too much. These weren’t bodyguards, they were a hit squad. Good thing she only said “beat,” not “kill,” or they might’ve crippled or killed him.
“Miss?” the bodyguard asked. “Did we mess up? We thought about breaking his arm but figured that would land us in jail. The Fu family’s no joke, so we held back…”
“Enough, enough. Keep coming to work tomorrow. Train hard, but don’t overdo it.”
The bodyguard asked, “Hm? You planning something else?”
“Not that I’m planning anything, but I’m worried Fu Ye might retaliate. If it comes to a fight, you guys take the front, and I’ll run. No need for videos then.”
Bodyguard: “…”
“You got it.”
Hanging up, Yan Qingqiu watched the video the bodyguard sent, then shared it with Su Xingjie.
Su Xingjie: “That sick pervert!”
Yan Qingqiu looked at her. “Who are you cursing?”
Su Xingjie sat upright, legs crossed in her office chair. “Fu Ye, that sick pervert, finally got what’s coming!”
“Sorry, got too excited, didn’t finish.”
“He deserves it. Great job, Qiu-bao!” Su Xingjie praised, almost making Yan Qingqiu blush.
“Last time he messed with us, he got karma.”
Yan Qingqiu stood by her desk, gripping the edge, still shaken. She swore she hadn’t meant for the bodyguards to go that far. But it was done, so what now?
Panicking, she straightened up. “Still too light.
Should’ve added your share and made him kneel.”
Su Xingjie nodded. They rewatched the video, savoring it. Noticing Yan Qingqiu’s tension, she said, “He probably won’t talk—too humiliating.
After this, if he still bothers you, he’s the lowlife.”
Yan Qingqiu: “He bothers me once, I’ll beat him once! Dead lowlife—sister, curse him for me!”
Su Xingjie’s old vibe returned, but now she was cursing Fu Ye instead of Song Qingre.
A qualitative shift in just days.
Rolling up her sleeves slightly, Su Xingjie let loose: “Him chasing you? A toad dreaming of swan meat. If you hadn’t been blind back then, would he think he had a shot? I’m telling you, his entire family line, generations up and down, is not worth a glance.”
“May he be cursed with bad luck forever, go bankrupt, end up destitute, begging on the streets for cold scraps.”
“Bao’er, you’re a goddess—he’s not worthy!”
Yan Qingqiu nodded vigorously. “Sister, keep going!”
Su Xingjie, parched from cursing, poured water for herself and Yan Qingqiu. After a bit, Yan Qingqiu couldn’t sit still, grabbing her bag to leave.
“Going to pick up Song Qingre?” Su Xingjie saw through her.
“Yup.”
Su Xingjie watched her stuff the contract in her bag, hesitating before asking, “Is she still your lover?”
Yan Qingqiu nearly forgot that plotline. “No way! Back then, it was just…”
“Just what?”
She paused, realizing lies pile up and tangle. “Just for fun, to humiliate her.”
“Then why pick her up now? Your dad believes you’re over Fu Ye, right?”
Yan Qingqiu marveled at her friend’s sharpness, leaving her speechless. “Sister, how are you so perceptive? I’m curious, why didn’t you grill me
when I dyed my hair before?”
Su Xingjie went quiet. “Just saying, look how worked up you got.”
Unable to hide both secrets, Yan Qingqiu conceded one. “Fine, I admit, I’m going to Song Qingre because I’m scared… I didn’t expect the bodyguards to actually beat him.”
Su Xingjie stood. “Forget it, I’ll walk you out.”
An hour later, Yan Qingqiu sat in the car, anxious.
Song Qingre, beside her, flipped through the contract. Yan Qingqiu’s phone kept ringing, the sound grating in the tense car.
Song Qingre’s fingers rested on the contract.
“Answer it.”
Yan Qingqiu picked up immediately.
Fu Ye’s voice came through, weak and threadlike.
“Did you do it? Did you really order the bodyguards?”
“So what if I did?” Yan Qingqiu shot back.
“You had them humiliate me?” Fu Ye’s pride was shattered, unable to say how they’d shamed him.
Yan Qingqiu’s imagination ran wild. Surely the 18 bodyguards weren’t as pervy as her, touching his gland and… stripping him?
“What did they do? Just touched your gland, right?”
“Yan Qingqiu.” Fu Ye’s dignity was crushed. “You think it’s just touching?” They nearly crushed his gland.
She laughed. “You deserve it. When you touched mine, you didn’t think it was too much?”
She cursed back, giving him a taste of his own medicine.
Fu Ye’s voice grew heavier. “Are you getting revenge?”
“Can’t I?” she countered.
He fell silent. She sneered, “Yeah, I did it. I’m gonna reward them later for their loyal, obedient service.”
Furious, Fu Ye hung up. He’d held hope, but Yan Qingqiu was getting worse, exploiting his feelings.
Fine, he’d be with Song Qingre to make her regret it.
On his hospital bed, he asked his secretary, “Did I spoil her too much? Is that it?”
The secretary stayed silent, thinking Yan Qingqiu had a point. Fu Ye touched her first. If someone did that to his sister’s girlfriend, he’d want to chop
their hand off.
They touched back, fair game.
You said you’d make up for nearly bankrupting her, but now you’re whining when she fights back fair and square.
The secretary mused, Fu Ye was rich but didn’t deserve either beauty. “Sir, maybe… stop loving her.”
Fu Ye glared, clutching his aching stomach, swallowing the grievance. Love? He was confused now.
Yan Qingqiu, cursing, turned off her phone, ignoring further messages. She glanced at Song Qingre.
Song Qingre, still looking at her phone, seemed unbothered. After a while, she commented, “Weird guy. He can bully you, but you can’t touch him back?”
Yan Qingqiu nodded vigorously. Song Qingre got it.
Relieved, the system spoke: [You really think you’re the one who had Fu Ye beaten?]
The bodyguards admitted it, and she’d owned it.
[You didn’t stop me when I did it. Don’t tell me it’s wrong after the fact.]
System: [Ever think someone might be framing you, pinning it on you?]
Yan Qingqiu paused. [How did you know? My bodyguards said it themselves.]
System: [Just a guess.]
She let out an “oh.” The system had a point. If someone set her up, she’d take the fall for a big mess.
[Got any solid proof?]
The system went quiet. It didn’t.
With video and the bodyguards’ admission, they’d definitely done it. No need to dodge responsibility.
Blaming the female lead? That’s what a villainess would do.
Yan Qingqiu asked: [Are you guys targeting her?]
After a pause, the system said: [No way, we’re impartial. Why would we target her? We just manage spicy plots. I’m warning you because we’ve worked together so long, I don’t want your mission to go wrong.]
Yan Qingqiu: [I didn’t say who.]
Her mind was clear as a mirror. If you’re not targeting the female lead, you’re targeting me,
pushing me into a pit.
Some people don’t want to be villainesses—it’s the system nudging them to ruin.
At night, back home, Song Qingre said nothing.
The butler didn’t mention it either, just serving food.
Song Qingre ate, Yan Qingqiu glancing at her, uneasy, biting her fork. “I didn’t expect the bodyguards to be so brutal.”
Song Qingre hummed. “I told Uncle about it. Said the bodyguards misunderstood and got carried away. It’s Fu Ye’s fault, he came looking for you.”
Yan Qingqiu let out an “oh,” looking at Song Qingre, touched. Every time she messed up, Song Qingre cleaned up the mess. “How’d you know he came to me?”
“You hate him that much, would you seek him out?”
Song Qingre added, “We should cover his medical bills.”
“Why?” Yan Qingqiu bristled.
“I’ll handle it, to avoid any backlash,” Song Qingre said. “If he tries to—”
…
“Looks like Qiuqiu forgot what I said.” Song Qingre’s gentle voice carried a clear reminder of the two messages Yan Qingqiu shouldn’t have ignored.
With her sharp memory and quick wit, Yan Qingqiu recalled the morning’s messages. Biting her lip, she stayed silent. What a sin…
Just endure it.
After dinner, they went to their rooms, one after the other. Song Qingre opened and closed her door, while Yan Qingqiu returned to her room, pausing in a daze.
Lying on her bed, she mulled over Song Qingre’s words, how she’d helped clean up her mess today.
That gentleness—ugh, so lethal.
She clutched her phone, rereading yesterday’s two messages.
[Naughty.]
[Time to punish you.]
Yan Qingqiu realized what was off. Before, Song Qingre always asked if she wanted a massage, but today, she hadn’t.
Was this the punishment?
Song Qingre’s hands were like a valve, tightening her control. Without her touch, Yan Qingqiu felt like her body might collapse… so deadly.
Flat on her back, she exhaled heavily.
Rolling back and forth, torn with hesitation, she sent Song Qingre a message: [You asleep?]
No reply.
Yan Qingqiu tugged at the bedsheet. Why no response, not even a word? She sent another: [Song Qingre, you asleep? Let’s chat.]
[You’re really going to the hospital to pay Fu Ye’s bills?]
Just a wall apart, she desperately wanted to talk with Song Qingre—really, just talk. Look, even tonight’s moonlight was gentle.
Her waist felt tight and bloated.
Scrolling up, she saw that message she’d received but hadn’t answered.
Back then, she’d glanced at it, not taking it seriously. She thought Song Qingre, not exactly a saint, would surely want to touch her. But… she’d actually become proper.
Yan Qingqiu refused to be spineless. If someone didn’t reply, no clinging. She’d been feeling fine lately, should be able to last a few more nights. She pulled out her writing to read.
Seeing “Miss Song” trembling lightly on a desk.
Can’t handle it.
She set the notebook down and grabbed her phone again.
She’d uncovered a little secret.
Song Qingre controlled her body. Without her touch, Yan Qingqiu wanted to cry.
Without a massage, her body seemed to heat up instantly.
In the next room, Song Qingre glanced at the door, her gaze heavy, like a spider lurking in the night, web spun, waiting for prey to stumble in.
She emailed the bodyguards: [See him once, beat him once.]
Despite her hunger, with the prey already ensnared, she remained patient, not rushing, gently luring.
Waiting for the moment of complete possession.
She sent a voice message, her tone soft: “Sleep early.”
Minutes later, a knock sounded at the door.