Naughty Puppy Will Be Eaten by a Bad Woman - Chapter 27

Aren’t you being too harsh with her?

Time flew by. Lu Zhao seized the opportunity during a break before her business trip to quickly complete her third and fourth driving tests.

Originally, she hadn’t planned to rush, but after realizing her insignificant feelings for Gu Xianyue, her desire to get her driver’s license and drive herself became even more urgent.

If she couldn’t drive, she would have to rely on Gu Xianyue’s car for future trips, which meant being alone with her… She could no longer interact with Gu Xianyue normally; every moment would be agonizing.

Thus, Lu Zhao swiftly obtained her C5 driver’s license and even had her car modified before flying to the Capital. Once it passed inspection upon her return, she could finally drive herself.

“You got your license so quickly!” Fang Lin exclaimed, dragging her suitcase as she walked into the airport terminal with Lu Zhao and the others.

Zhou Muting, adjusting her frameless glasses, chuckled, “Xiao Lu is so smart. It’s only natural.”

Lu Zhao smiled faintly. “It wasn’t too bad. The test content was similar to what I’d studied before.” She felt a pang of guilt; no one knew the emotional turmoil she had endured during the exams.

Zou Zi pulled the camera equipment with one hand and her luggage with the other, saying nothing.

Xiao Jia, on the other hand, was bubbling with excitement, chattering incessantly beside Zou Zi, regardless of whether she received a response.

After hearing Lu Zhao’s report, Wei Ning immediately wanted to send reinforcements, but Lu Zhao vehemently opposed the idea, finally persuading Wei Ning to relent.

Wei Ning looked at her with concern. “Are you sure this will work? Won’t it be too dangerous?”

Lu Zhao flashed a sly smile. “How else will we uncover the real story if there’s no risk?”

Wei Ning: “You really don’t need more people to help you?”

Lu Zhao: “More isn’t always better. You know that already, don’t you?”

Wei Ning certainly knew that, but from a personal perspective, she couldn’t help but worry.

With a heavy heart, Wei Ning approved the permits and funding for Lu Zhao’s Special Project Team.

After checking in, the group met up with Gu Xianyue.

Gu Xianyue raised a hand in greeting, her dark alpaca wool coat swaying with the movement to reveal a fitted silk shirt underneath, accentuating her elegant shoulder and neck lines.

Seeing Gu Xianyue again after several days, Lu Zhao’s feelings had completely shifted. Their eyes met briefly before Lu Zhao quickly looked away, as if burned by the contact.

“What’s wrong? Didn’t sleep well last night?” Gu Xianyue noticed her unease and asked with genuine concern.

The familiar scent of cedarwood lingered in the air, but it no longer felt merely pleasant.

Lu Zhao swallowed almost imperceptibly, composed her expression, and forced herself to appear normal. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

She then turned to Lingxi and Gu Yu, nodding in greeting. “President Gu, President Ling, I’m Lu Zhao from the Provincial Television Station’s Special Project Team. We’re here to collaborate with your company on this project. Please bear with us.”

Gu Yu nodded, her eyes subtly assessing Lu Zhao. She harbored no fondness for the reporter after the disastrous press conference incident that had severely damaged the company’s reputation. However, given Lu Zhao’s crucial role in the upcoming project, Gu Yu reluctantly agreed to Gu Xianyue’s arrangements.

Objectively speaking, the young woman had a pleasing demeanor. Who could have imagined she would suddenly turn on them at such a critical moment?

The polished diplomacy honed by years of navigating the cutthroat world of capital came into play. Gu Yu’s eyes curved into a perfectly measured smile as she said with dignified grace, “Reporter Lu, your courage is truly remarkable. Yunqing still has much to learn from you in public relations and publicity.”

As she spoke, Gu Yu grasped Lu Zhao’s outstretched hand. Despite meticulous care, the hand bore the subtle marks of age. Her grip was firm and steady, conveying just enough pressure to make Lu Zhao feel the strength before releasing it.

Even a simple handshake could reveal a wealth of information. Gu Yu noticed Lu Zhao’s rough hands, the calloused texture at the base of her thumb. She couldn’t immediately discern whether it was a callus or something else. Lu Zhao’s handshake was relaxed, showing no nervousness or deference toward her superior.

“President Gu, you flatter me,” Lu Zhao replied with a polite smile, recognizing the veiled criticism in Gu Yu’s words. She chose not to elaborate.

Lingxi, pretending not to know Lu Zhao, suppressed a grin as she shook her hand.

Lingxi had to maintain two facades: acting like she didn’t know Lu Zhao and portraying her relationship with Gu Xianyue as purely transactional. This trip was a masterclass in her acting prowess.

Lu Zhao’s performance was equally convincing, exchanging a few earnest greetings with Lingxi.

As the group lined up for security, it was nearly time for their flight.

When Lu Zhao passed through the metal detector, a sudden, piercing alarm blared.

Several security officers emerged from behind the screens and surrounded her.

Lu Zhao calmly raised her disability certificate and explained, “My right leg is a prosthetic with a titanium alloy joint.”

The security guard squatting down patted Lu Zhao’s leg through her pants, confirming the shape of the prosthetic. He then signaled her to proceed.

Just as Lu Zhao was about to walk through, another guard stopped her. “Wait. You need to remove it for inspection.”

Fang Lin, standing beside her, found this odd. “We’ve already shown the disability certificate. What’s the problem?”

The guard ignored her, repeating stiffly, “You need to remove it for inspection. Please cooperate.”

Fang Lin was about to argue when Lu Zhao stopped her. “Linlin, let it go.”

Fang Lin turned, her voice dripping with undisguised anger. “Let it go? He’s clearly trying to humiliate you!”

The guard continued emotionlessly, “This is necessary for security. Please cooperate with the inspection.”

Lu Zhao nodded, sat down as instructed, and publicly removed her prosthetic leg. Without its support, the empty pant leg drooped limply.

The crowd waiting to go through security stared at Lu Zhao as she removed her prosthetic. Most were curious, and some who had already passed through even stopped and turned back to watch.

Whispers rippled through the crowd as someone recognized Lu Zhao.

“Is that… Lu Zhao? Am I seeing things?”

“It’s her! Filming this would definitely go viral…”

Some people were about to take out their phones to take pictures, but security personnel stopped them.

Xiao Jia, standing nearby, sternly told one of them, “You’re violating her right to privacy. Please delete the photo.”

Though petite in stature, Xiao Jia exuded remarkable authority, her gaze unwavering as she stared down the man. He reluctantly pulled out his phone and deleted the photo.

Lu Zhao remained oblivious to the surrounding commotion. After the security officer thoroughly examined her prosthetic leg, turning it over and over, he finally returned it to her. He then asked her to open her bag and take out the medication.

“Why do you have so many psychiatric drugs?” the officer asked.

As if anticipating the question, Lu Zhao calmly retrieved a neatly organized stack of medical prescriptions from her bag. “Prescription medication,” she stated.

The officer took the prescriptions, his eyes scanning the dense text as he occasionally glanced up at Lu Zhao, his scrutiny undisguised.

Lu Zhao remained composed under his gaze, as if this were a routine occurrence.

Zou Zi, who had already cleared security, sensed something was amiss and whispered to Zhou Muting in the distance.

Gu Xianyue, also through security, turned back and frowned slightly when she saw Lu Zhao being detained.

Lingxi, equally puzzled, murmured to Gu Xianyue, “Has security gotten this strict lately?”

“Alright, everything seems to be in order,” the security officer said, gesturing for Lu Zhao to proceed. After scrutinizing the documents repeatedly as if she couldn’t read, she finally let Lu Zhao pass.

Once on the plane, Lu Zhao was uncharacteristically silent. Unlike her usual self, she didn’t initiate conversation with Gu Xianyue, instead quietly gazing out the window at the monotonous tarmac and the visible portion of the wing.

Gu Xianyue glanced at Lu Zhao beside her for a few seconds, sensing something different about her today. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it felt like an invisible barrier had formed between them.

She disliked this feeling, as if something intangible were separating them.

When she took Lu Zhao’s hand, she noticed the back of her hand was icy cold and clenched tightly. Seeing Lu Zhao’s knuckles turning white, Gu Xianyue quickly pried her fingers open, revealing deep pinch marks crisscrossing her palm. The faint pink scars that already lined her palm were now overlaid with fresh indentations.

Gu Xianyue frowned and gently said, “Don’t pinch yourself.”

She then cupped Lu Zhao’s palm in both of her hands, enveloping it completely.

The plane began its takeoff run down the runway.

Lu Zhao flinched, but Gu Xianyue’s grip remained firm, refusing to let go.

She whispered, “Pinch me instead.”

The plane roared to life, the deafening sound reverberating through the cabin. As it lifted off, the sudden weightlessness made both their hearts lurch.

Lu Zhao turned to look at Gu Xianyue, her expression blank. Only then did Gu Xianyue notice she was wearing headphones.

Lu Zhao mechanically retrieved a pill bottle, swallowed a few tablets, and removed her headphones. “What did you say?”

The rapid ascent caused Gu Xianyue’s ears to lose pressure balance, leaving her temporarily deaf. She struggled to read Lu Zhao’s lips, now drained of color. Her jaw was clenched tight, as if enduring something.

A sudden realization struck Gu Xianyue. Her mind raced as she glanced at the pills in Lu Zhao’s hand—paroxetine.

Once the plane leveled off, Lu Zhao’s complexion gradually improved, regaining its color.

Gu Xianyue glanced toward first class, released Lu Zhao’s hand, and said, “I’m going to the restroom.”

Lu Zhao nodded.

Instead of heading to the restroom, Gu Xianyue turned and walked to the business class refreshment bar.

There, she found Gu Yu leaning against the bar, cradling a non-alcoholic cocktail in one hand and gently swirling it.

“Did you order this?” Gu Xianyue’s face darkened as she cut straight to the chase.

Gu Yu smiled, took a sip of her drink, and replied, “What did I order?”

Gu Xianyue inhaled deeply, her voice like shards of ice. “You deliberately had the security personnel harass her, forcing her to remove her prosthetic leg in public. This isn’t standard procedure, especially since she had already shown her identification.”

Gu Yu turned around, the years having left few traces of aging on her face. Her every gesture radiated effortless elegance.

Setting down her glass, she said to her daughter, “If she can’t withstand such a minor test, how can she continue collaborating with Yunqing?”

The silence hung heavy in the air, almost suffocating.

Gu Yu watched Gu Xianyue’s expression with amusement. “Besides,” she continued, “compared to when armed militants forcibly removed her prosthetic leg before, this was quite mild, don’t you think?”

The suppressed anger in Gu Xianyue’s eyes shifted to shock. “When did that happen? No… you investigated her?”

Gu Yu smiled, her expression surprisingly gentle. “Important business partners must be thoroughly understood, wouldn’t you agree? As for when it happened… I believe you two are quite close. Why not ask her yourself? Oh, she must be having an episode right now, shouldn’t we avoid provoking her further?”

Gu Yu understood her daughter well. After years of navigating social circles and business dealings, she could immediately recognize Gu Xianyue’s special treatment of Lu Zhao.

Why would Gu Xianyue refuse to sit in first class and insist on squeezing into business class with Lu Zhao? Why would she be distracted by her phone during meals, suddenly excusing herself to take calls? And why had she been outwardly compliant but inwardly defiant these past few days, avoiding interactions with Sheng Huaixing, the eldest son of Shengye Group, whenever possible?

Gu Yu had always viewed her daughter’s marriage as a crucial bargaining chip, planning Gu Xianyue’s future from a young age. The eldest son of the Sheng family was the perfect choice for a strategic alliance.

She naturally assumed Gu Xianyue shared her perspective, understanding priorities and knowing which men were suitable for casual amusement and which held genuine value. She had unwavering faith in the results of her years of careful cultivation.

If Gu Xianyue was merely using Lu Zhao as a diversion during moments of boredom, Gu Yu wouldn’t object. But if Gu Xianyue was defying her for Lu Zhao’s sake…

This move served as both a warning to Lu Zhao, a payback for her behavior at the press conference, and a test of Gu Xianyue’s loyalty.

Let’s see just how much this little reporter weighs in Gu Xianyue’s heart.

Gu Xianyue’s gaze was as deep and still as a bottomless pool. As Gu Yu met her daughter’s eyes, she suddenly noticed that the features so similar to her own now held an inscrutable emotion.

Finally, Gu Xianyue’s long eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of amusement flickering within them. She turned, picked up a cocktail, and clinked glasses with her mother.

“Mother, I was hoping she could help me pass the time. Aren’t you being a bit harsh with her?”

Gu Yu studied Gu Xianyue for a moment. Her daughter’s face was breathtakingly beautiful, flawless, and as coldly indifferent as her own.

Reassured, she clinked glasses with Gu Xianyue. “Is that so? Just a little joke. She’s not that fragile.”

A few steps away, behind the door of the business class bar and dining area, Zhou Muting stood with a grave expression. She adjusted her rimless glasses and quietly retreated to her seat.

Neither Gu Xianyue nor Gu Yu noticed Zhou Muting’s presence.

Gu Yu continued, “How about dinner with Sheng Huaixing tonight?” She paused. “Or would you rather spend time with Reporter Lu?”

Gu Xianyue recognized the veiled threat: a superficial request for her opinion that used Lu Zhao as leverage.

She couldn’t help but scoff inwardly. Gu Yuzhen was playing a masterful game of chess, each move interlocking seamlessly, just waiting for her to fall into the trap.

“I’ll go,” she said.

Of course she would go. If she didn’t, tomorrow’s medical summit drama wouldn’t unfold as planned.

Back in her business class seat, Gu Xianyue found Lu Zhao’s composure fully restored.

Gu Yuzhen had been right about at least one thing: Lu Zhao wasn’t as fragile as she seemed.

Seeing her sit down, Lu Zhao said, “The flight attendant came by earlier. She asked what you’d like to drink and said you’re a member of the airline. They brought you champagne based on your past preferences. If you want to change it, just press the service button.”

Gu Xianyue nodded. “Champagne is fine.”

She glanced down at Lu Zhao’s hand, which was gripping a water-ink screen reader. The window shade had been drawn, as if the view from thirty thousand feet held less appeal for Lu Zhao than the densely packed text on the screen.

Lu Zhao sat with her head tilted slightly, eyes lowered, reading in a relaxed posture that betrayed no trace of her earlier episode.

The reading light above the seat cast a soft glow, illuminating the varying depths of scars on Lu Zhao’s hand and making her long lashes shimmer like the translucent wings of a butterfly.

Gu Xianyue watched Lu Zhao for a while. At first, she found Lu Zhao’s quiet stillness beautiful, like a painting she couldn’t bear to disturb. But after a while, the silence became almost oppressive, so quiet it felt almost noisy.

Was it her imagination? She couldn’t shake the feeling that Lu Zhao had grown a little colder toward her.

Gu Xianyue didn’t want to endure the uncertainty any longer, so she asked directly, “What are you reading?”

Lu Zhao put down her e-reader and turned to look at her. “Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being.”

Gu Xianyue remembered the book. She had read it before, but she’d found it boring and stopped halfway through. “Oh, what’s it about?”

Of course, she remembered what it was about—the story of four people displaced by war.

Lu Zhao lowered her gaze and said softly, “It’s about… love.”

Gu Xianyue raised an eyebrow. Love? There was certainly some of that in the book, but she had always focused on the plot and skipped over the author’s long, stream-of-consciousness passages.

Lu Zhao paused thoughtfully, then added, “Or rather… it’s about the author’s views on love? Strictly speaking, it’s a philosophical novel.”

For some reason, even though Gu Xianyue disliked romantic plots, she loved hearing the word “love” spoken by Lu Zhao.

She continued softly, “What viewpoints did it present?”

Lu Zhao paused thoughtfully. “The author didn’t offer a clear answer. The book features a couple: the husband, who dismisses promises and responsibilities, frequently betrays his vows in pursuit of physical freedom—this represents ‘lightness.’ The wife, in contrast, craves profound, genuine love and loyalty, constantly suffering from her husband’s infidelity… Yet, in the end, the husband gradually comes to rely on his wife’s ‘heaviness,’ finding in it a sense of authentic existence.”

As Lu Zhao spoke, Gu Xianyue recalled the couple’s emotional entanglements. To her, it had originally seemed like a typical story of one partner’s infidelity causing pain to the other.

“So,” Gu Xianyue said, “the author did provide an answer, didn’t they? The wife was right.”

Her cold, rational mind stripped away all literary embellishments, reducing the book to a simple narrative.

But Lu Zhao looked at her earnestly. “There’s no answer… because both of them suffered.”

Gu Xianyue met Lu Zhao’s gaze. His peach blossom eyes were veiled in an unfathomable mist, their depths swirling with hidden currents, yet also seeming utterly still.

The plane maintained a steady altitude, even the turbulence was minimal. The cabin was quiet, and some passengers had already begun to doze off.

Gu Xianyue studied Lu Zhao’s face. Though her expression was calm, Gu Xianyue sensed a pain in her eyes that mirrored the suffering of the characters in the book.

Lu Zhao suddenly smiled, a light, carefree smile. “But no matter what, cheating is wrong. That’s a fact.”

The heavy, stagnant atmosphere vanished instantly. Lu Zhao’s tone was light and breezy, as if the earlier tension had been nothing more than Gu Xianyue’s imagination.

Lu Zhao had reverted to her usual gentle demeanor.

But having witnessed her vulnerable, unguarded moment, Gu Xianyue now saw Lu Zhao’s mask as thin as a cicada’s wing, fragile enough to shatter with the slightest touch.

She resented Lu Zhao’s secrecy.

“Were you forcibly stripped of your prosthetic limbs in Sarawi?” Gu Xianyue asked.

Lu Zhao froze, startled. “…How did you find out?”

Logically, her return to Sarawi after the surgery should have remained a secret. But then she realized that if Gu Xianyue had been determined to investigate her, it wasn’t surprising the truth had come to light.

Gu Xianyue had only been probing based on Gu Yu’s words, never expecting her hunch to be correct. This meant Lu Zhao had actually returned to Sarawi after her amputation.

“What did they do to you?” Gu Xianyue asked.

Lu Zhao breathed a sigh of relief. She would rather answer this question than have Gu Xianyue ask her why she had returned. Lying to Gu Xianyue seemed to have become even more difficult now.

“Nothing much,” Lu Zhao replied. “They just hurled insults at me. They spoke so fast I couldn’t even understand what they were saying.”

In truth, she had understood. The militants, for reasons unknown, had unleashed a torrent of vile and illogical abuse at her, a foreign journalist completely unrelated to the conflict. Even as she strained to decipher their words, she couldn’t discern the source of their fury.

Perhaps it was simply displaced anger, or perhaps they needed a scapegoat to vent the pent-up frustration of the protracted war. Lu Zhao, limping and snapping photos, had simply stumbled into their line of sight at the wrong moment.

By the time Camille and the medical team arrived, bl00d was still gushing from Lu Zhao’s right shoulder. The bullet had pierced through her scapula, leaving two ragged holes. The entry wound on her front was small and blackened, while the exit wound on her back had exploded grotesquely, revealing fragments of shattered bone beneath the torn flesh.

Her prosthetic leg had been violently ripped apart, its shattered segments scattered across the ground, barely recognizable as what it once was.

In this land strewn with corpses, killing or being killed was as commonplace as eating and drinking.

To these people, Lu Zhao’s life was as insignificant as a blade of grass. Simply killing her was no longer enough to stimulate their numb nerves.

Far more thrilling than extinguishing a life was watching a person’s dignity slowly crumble.

So they tore off her prosthetic leg, forced her to kneel and beg for mercy in the local language, and made her crawl to retrieve the prosthetic they had thrown far away, threatening to end her life if she refused.

Despite their threats, they seemed to have no intention of killing her immediately. When she didn’t move, they grew even more enraged and began destroying the artificial leg right in front of her, forcing her to watch as it was smashed piece by piece.

Such threats held no sway over Lu Zhao at that moment. She watched as the man with the gun circled behind her, pressed the barrel against her left back, aimed through the bone at her heart, and issued his final ultimatum. Yet she remained unmoved.

This was the death she had long awaited.

Bang!

The bl00d blossomed instead from her right shoulder blade. The men abandoned her and walked away, seemingly having lost all interest in her fate.

The moment the bullet struck her right shoulder, she felt a pang of disappointment that it hadn’t hit her heart.

She had lost another legitimate opportunity to die.

After that incident, she never returned to Sarawi.

Now, the woman who had awakened her body in her dreams stood before her. Lu Zhao had escaped the hopelessness of Sarawi only to sink into the woman’s gentle quagmire. The more she struggled, the deeper she sank.

Gu Xianyue didn’t expose Lu Zhao’s obvious lie. Instead, she placed her palm on Lu Zhao’s injured arm, gently kneading it.

By now, Lu Zhao could no longer, nor would she, avoid Gu Xianyue’s touch. The private space she had once surrendered had become a blunt knife slowly torturing her, both immersing her in the warmth of Gu Xianyue’s palm and filling her with deep dread.

It seemed that as long as she remained conscious, she couldn’t resist succumbing to this indulgence. If that were the case, perhaps it would be better to end it sooner rather than later…

“Can I borrow that book?” Gu Xianyue asked.

Lu Zhao handed her the e-reader.

“I’m going to take a nap,” Lu Zhao said, pulling down her eye mask, plunging her vision into darkness.

“Mm-hmm,” Gu Xianyue replied, holding the e-reader in one hand and continuing to read from Lu Zhao’s last page. Her other hand remained on Lu Zhao’s injured arm, gently kneading it in a rhythmic, absentminded motion.

Driven by an impulse to understand the glimpse of Lu Zhao’s inner world revealed through this book, Gu Xianyue patiently continued reading.

Yet no matter how she scrutinized the text, turning it over in her mind word by word, she could only discern its objective reality: a book written by a male author, its pages filled with excuses for men’s infidelity and cowardice. It portrayed a world where no matter how unfaithful or incompetent a man might be, there would always be a woman who loved him to the point of self-destruction, unable to leave…

Gu Xianyue could neither comprehend nor empathize with either party. She had long recognized the inherent gender privilege men enjoyed: simply by being men, they could be unfaithful with impunity and be readily forgiven, while women who strayed faced societal condemnation and self-reproach…

Why? What justification could there be for this?

Ultimately, this was a book written by a man, reflecting his fantasies and expectations of women. Despite its lofty reputation—a status she found utterly baffling—Gu Xianyue had never felt even a shred of reverence for it.

Yet the world was rife with such books by male authors, revered as classics by the masses.

She remembered now—it wasn’t just the “boredom” that had made her abandon the book back then, but also her deep-seated aversion to this kind of gendered narrative.

This reminded her of her own life as a woman. She was expected to marry a man according to her mother’s wishes, destined to be exploited not only by a man but also by her own mother.

And her mother, in turn, had once been exploited by another man and her own mother… Fate seemed cursed to repeat itself, passed down through generations.

She refused to accept this. She refused to resign herself to repeating such an unjust fate. She wanted to control her own life.

But Lu Zhao, her friend, the indispensable partner she had finally found on this lonely, solitary path, the person who stirred an uncontrollable longing in her heart, was now wearing such a pained expression because of this book—this kind of book.

She felt betrayed, a deep well of anger and sorrow rising within her. This was unforgivable.

Gu Xianyue’s grip on Lu Zhao’s injured limb tightened abruptly, the delicate, pampered skin of her hand revealing starkly defined veins. For a moment, reason snapped under the weight of her rage, and a violent impulse flashed through her mind: to snap that limb off entirely.

Lu Zhao, already asleep, frowned slightly at the sudden pressure, a flicker of pain crossing her delicate features. Instinctively, she leaned closer, nuzzling her shoulder against Gu Xianyue’s, then stilled.

Gu Xianyue’s anger vanished instantly, replaced by a sudden clarity. She loosened her grip, shifting to a gentler, more soothing touch than before.

Lu Zhao’s brow smoothed again, her breathing returning to its even, rhythmic pattern.

Gu Xianyue was shaken by her loss of control, a wave of lingering fear washing over her.

Rational thought reasserted itself. After all, Lu Zhao had never explicitly stated her sexual orientation. It was Gu Xianyue who had unilaterally categorized her as “one of us,” presumptuously holding her to her own standards.

“Ma’am, would you like a blanket?” A flight attendant approached, speaking in a near-whisper, careful not to disturb the sleeping passengers.

Gu Xianyue took two blankets. She draped one over Lu Zhao’s legs and spread the other across their shoulders, enveloping them both. Their hair intertwined, blurring the boundaries between them.

Lu Zhao leaned against her, and Gu Xianyue carefully adjusted her posture to make her more comfortable. Eventually, Lu Zhao’s head settled into the crook of her neck, allowing Gu Xianyue to easily inhale the scent of her hair.

A pure floral-fruity fragrance, likely from a common shampoo, mingled with the warmth radiating from Lu Zhao’s body, transforming the scent into something uniquely hers.

She slowed her breathing, gently inhaling the scent.

The e-reader lay aside as Lu Zhao, unguarded, leaned against her chest. With each breath, Gu Xianyue could inhale Lu Zhao’s unique scent, one that no one else could ever access.

Suddenly, whether Lu Zhao had betrayed her seemed less important.

Gu Xianyue lowered her head and pressed a soft kiss to Lu Zhao’s temple, like sunlight kissing trembling leaves.