Sweet as Honey and Sugar - Chapter 7:

She changed into a light-blue linen dress that cinched at the waist,

the color soft against her pale skin, her figure delicate and slender.
Her long hair, like a spill of ink, hadn’t been brushed;

she simply let it fall over her shoulders in casual waves.

The streetlights in the old neighborhood were rusted and dim,

their yellow glow flickering uncertainly, as if they might die out at any moment.

Leaning against her car, Lin Nai saw her from afar.

Under that soft light, He Qingrou looked calm, elegant—like still water under moonlight.

Being with gentle people usually felt uneventful.

They were too calm, too quiet like a glass of plain water: refreshing for a sip, dull after a while.

Most people crave passion; once life smooths into calm, restlessness comes creeping back.

But Lin Nai was an exception.

She could live with stillness; she liked it.

She was drawn to that kind of quiet grace, that softness that hid quiet strength—like a cat catching

the scent of mint, restless, aching, utterly undone.

Yet beneath her calm, Lin Nai was calculating—composed, deliberate,

a predator waiting for the right moment.

She didn’t want to love; she wanted to own.

She wanted to trap the sweetness, savor it, and then swallow it whole.

Her kindness had a purpose.

Because once you’ve tasted honey, you’ll always want another bite.

When did you get here? He Qingrou asked as she approached.

Not long, Lin Nai said, opening the car door for her. Ten minutes, maybe.

He Qingrou lifted her skirt slightly as she bent to sit.

The motion revealed a pale stretch of calf, a glimpse of her ankle as

she smoothed the fabric back down.

Lin Nai’s gaze darkened; she turned away only after a pause.

The car’s interior light was off.

He Qingrou fumbled for the seat belt, unable to click it in.

I’ll do it, Lin Nai murmured.

Before He Qingrou could respond, a warm hand closed over hers.
Startled, she tried to pull away, but Lin Nai’s grip only tightened.

Let go…

Her voice came small, uncertain, eyes lowered.

We’re not what you think, Lin Nai said softly, her thumb brushing slow,

soothing circles on the back of He Qingrou’s hand.

I wasn’t thinking anything, He Qingrou whispered, her voice barely audible.

Our fathers are business partners, Lin Nai continued. The families meet sometimes,

but she and I there’s nothing between us.

He Qingrou hummed a faint response, withdrew her hand, and sat up straighter,

inching subtly away.

But Lin Nai leaned closer.

Her fingers threaded through He Qingrou’s hair, slid down to her back, gently guiding her closer.

He Qingrou’s spine stiffened; her palms dampened with sweat.

The air thickened.

Their faces drew near so near their breaths tangled, their lips brushing,

warmth blooming in the dark like fire under skin.

The heat rose.
Fingers trailed from her back to her shoulder, along her collarbone,

grazing her slender neck before stopping at the corner of her lips.

The scent of Lin Nai’s perfume filled the narrow space.
Desire, long restrained, unfurled like a flame devouring reason.

He Qingrou’s lashes trembled; her lips parted ever so slightly—

Then, suddenly, light flooded in.

Startled, she pushed Lin Nai away.

Outside, two little boys were playing with flashlights, pretending they were laser swords,

shouting “pew-pew!” as they clashed in the parking lot.

Lin Nai glanced at her and couldn’t help but smile.
She reached over, tugged He Qingrou gently by the waist, fastened her seatbelt,

and started the engine.

He Qingrou flushed, avoiding her gaze.
She stole a glance from the corner of her eye, but the dim light hid Lin Nai’s expression.

Like what you see? Lin Nai teased suddenly.

I wasn’t looking, He Qingrou replied stiffly.

Lin Nai chuckled and said no more.

The tea café sat deep in an old alleyway beside a bustling pedestrian street.

It was easy to miss unless you knew the turns two lefts, one right, and there it was: an old two-story

building, plain from the outside, but the upstairs was warm with the glow of lights and chatter.

Inside, the décor was simple clean, nostalgic, heavy with Hong Kong flavor.
The owner and his wife were both from Hong Kong, their accents thick and melodic.

The place was half full, and service slow.

They ordered a few house specialties and waited nearly forty minutes before their food arrived.

When Lin Nai spoke Cantonese to the owner, his face lit up,

and he gifted them two cups of milk tea for free.

He Qingrou blinked, impressed.

You can speak Cantonese?

I grew up in Guangzhou, Lin Nai explained. “Though I haven’t been back in six or seven years.

With your grandmother?

No, with my mother. My father was always too busy.

It dawned on He Qingrou that Lin Nai’s parents might be separated.

Oh… I’m sorry.

Lin Nai laughed. No need. They get along fine.

My mom’s a businesswoman owns a listed company in Guangdong.

My dad handles the northern branch of our family’s corporation.

After I was born, they just managed their own sides. They meet every month or two.

He Qingrou was taken aback. Your family’s… really wealthy.

She had known Lin Nai was rich anyone driving a Range Rover to work was but not that rich.

Lin Nai arched a brow. That’s your takeaway?

He Qingrou smiled faintly. I’ve just never met anyone that rich before.

For people like her, scraping together a few thousand each month,

wealth like that was unimaginable.
Even after years of saving, she was nowhere near a down payment for a modest apartment.

She and Lin Nai lived in completely different worlds.

Sure, the money’s there, Lin Nai said, but it isn’t mine.

But one day it will be

Technically, yes. I’m an only child.

He Qingrou went quiet, sipping her milk tea.

What about you? Lin Nai asked.

What about me?

Your family.

Ordinary folks, she said with a faint smile. Regular jobs, regular lives eat, work,

maybe travel once in a while.

Nothing special.

Lin Nai paused, her voice turning serious. That’s the same as me, you know.

We work together. There’s no hierarchy in that.

He Qingrou didn’t reply.

By the time they left the café, it was just past midnight.

The pedestrian street was nearly empty.

They walked side by side, slowly, the night air soft against their skin.

When Lin Nai dropped her off, He Qingrou turned and said, “Thanks for driving me.”

Not inviting me up?

It’s late. You should head home.

Tomorrow’s Sunday, Lin Nai said, eyes gleaming with meaning.

He Qingrou wasn’t naïve; she understood perfectly.

But she only smiled politely and deflected, I still owe you dinner, remember?

Next time it’s on me.

I have a report to finish tomorrow,

so I’ll head in.

It was a gentle refusal.

Alright then, Lin Nai said quietly.

See you Monday.

See you Monday.

He Qingrou swiped her card, entered the gate, and disappeared into the dark.

Lin Nai sat in her car for a long while, watching the direction she’d gone.

Only when a light flickered on in the eighth-floor window did she finally drive away.

He Qingrou hadn’t slept this well in ages.

She stayed in bed till noon, then got up, washed, and made herself lunch.

That afternoon, she finally finished her report, took her time getting ready,

and waited for Chi Jiayi to pick her up.

At eight, the phone rang.
He Qingrou came down to find Jiayi already waiting, smiling brightly.

In the backseat sat Chen Mingxing silent, unreadable.

The two women exchanged a polite nod.

Jiayi chattered the whole ride, her voice bubbling with energy,

while Chen Mingxing stared out the window, aloof, quiet, distant.

He Qingrou frowned.

She didn’t like the woman too cold, too detached and though Jiayi had confided her feelings before, He Qingrou couldn’t support it.

Still, Jiayi was an adult. Love wasn’t something you could reason away.

They were heading to a small private hotel on the edge of town half an hour’s drive,

where some friends were already waiting.

When they arrived, Jiayi made a call, hung up before anyone answered, and led them upstairs.

She wanted to take Chen Mingxing’s hand, but didn’t dare.

Chen hated physical contact.

Go ahead, Jiayi said softly, her excitement trembling in her voice.

You first.

Chen Mingxing hesitated, looked at her briefly, as if searching for words.

Jiayi’s throat tightened; her eyes stung.

But she forced a smile. “Just go. I’ve been preparing this for a long time.”

After a moment’s struggle, Chen Mingxing nodded.

They reached the end of the corridor.
Jiayi opened the door. Inside was total darkness.

“Close your eyes,” she said.

Chen obeyed.

A pause—then, softly:

“You can open them now.”

“Happy early birthday.”