Chapter 89 Is it really so hard to let me kiss you, to let me hold you gently for a moment?

The water went still. The man opened the door and stepped out, wrapped only in a white bath towel around his lower body. Linglan then saw his bare upper half, and his figure was unexpectedly fine. Broad-shouldered and long-armed, the very build of a model—no wonder clothes always fit him so well, so elegantly. He must have exercised often; his muscles were taut and powerful, every line well trained, the abdomen solid with strength. To be built to this point could only mean that he possessed extraordinary self-discipline.

Mo Zhicheng held a towel in one hand, rubbing it through his wet hair. At the same time, he glanced at her. Their eyes met, and Linglan felt as if she had been caught, embarrassed. She had merely been admiring his looks, yet a hot blush rose along her cheeks. She quickly drew her gaze away and laid her head back on the pillow. Unexpectedly, the man came nearer, studying every expression on her face. He sat by the bedside, the air filled with the fresh scent of his bath. Reaching out, he wound her hair around his fingers, and in the corner of his eyes he caught the faint flush on her cheeks. Ye Linglan closed her eyes tightly, her trembling lashes betraying the restless beating of her heart.

His hand covered her burning skin. After bathing, there was a slight coolness in his palm, and when it touched her flesh, it was as though a fiercely burning volcano had suddenly cooled, leaving behind a breath of chill.

Mo Zhicheng arched a brow, a faint smile touching the corners of his mouth. "Still pretending to be asleep?"

Linglan stiffened. Slowly she opened her eyes, and there was his powerful body before her. Yet across his abdomen ran a scar about an inch long, rather striking to the eye. Her gaze held a trace of surprise. Mo Zhicheng looked down at her, and none of those subtle changes escaped him. In a low voice he asked, "You saw it?"

She looked up at him, only to find that he was still faintly smiling, as if none of it mattered at all.

He took her hand, spreading her palm open, guiding her to touch the scar left on his abdomen. When her fingertips met that strong grain of muscle, they trembled slightly. He murmured, "Don't be afraid."

Linglan looked at him. With the warmth of her fingers, she gently traced over it. The scar's surface was a little uneven, hard; on closer inspection, it was somewhat shocking to the eye. "Does it hurt?"

Their eyes met as the soft question slipped from her lips.

"Kiss it, and it won't hurt," the man said in a low voice.

Linglan shot him a look. Some nameless tenderness, stirred by his teasing tone, scattered like ash in the wind. But when she met the seriousness in his eyes, she faltered slightly. He was already pinching her chin. "Other women haven't had this chance."

She broke free of his hold, turned her head away, and lay back on the pillow, speaking with her back to him. "Then go find another woman."

It was almost a provocation.

The words were out before Linglan regretted them. She knew she should not have let herself be so quick-tongued, but still—

"Is it really that hard to kiss me once, to show a little care?" Mo Zhicheng asked in a low voice.

Linglan tightened her grip on the bedding, still not fully recovered when she heard him say again, "Forget it." There was disappointment in his tone. Then she felt the bed beneath him shift lightly, and the footsteps grew farther and farther away until they vanished.

She turned her body slightly and saw that the man had already changed into a set of ash-gray casual clothes before the standing mirror. Unlike his usual suits and leather shoes, this homewear made him look younger, with a few damp strands among his black hair and a fresher, sharper handsomeness to his features.

Mo Zhicheng did not speak to her further. He simply opened the door and left. With the sound of it closing, Ye Linglan's heart sank. She looked out at the sky through the floor-to-ceiling window: the scenery was like a painting, and the sound of the rolling waves rose one after another, just like the beating of her heart.

She closed her eyes and let out a long sigh.

She did not know how long she had slept before a sound outside the door woke her. Her eyes opened a little, and Housekeeper Zhang came in.

"Miss Ye—"

Linglan rubbed her eyes. Housekeeper Zhang was the woman Mo Zhicheng had hired to look after the household. When he was away, Zhang took care of all three meals a day. Seeing that she carried a tray, Linglan turned over, preparing to get up, but Zhang immediately stopped her. "Miss Ye, take it slow. Don't pull at the wound. You're weak to begin with—you can't afford to strain yourself." She hurriedly set the tray on the bedside table and came over to support Linglan.

Linglan smiled. "I'm fine."

"I'll bring you some water so you can wash up," Zhang said.

"It's all right, Housekeeper Zhang. Really, I can get out of bed and do it myself."

"Please be careful. Mr. Mo instructed us to take good care of you."

At the mention of Mr. Mo, Linglan paused slightly. "Where is Mr. Mo?"

"On the first floor reading the paper," Zhang said casually.

"Oh." Linglan answered softly. She had thought he had left. But Zhang added at just the right moment, "I just made your breakfast."

As soon as those words fell, a faint shock appeared in the woman's eyes. She turned her gaze to the tray. On the delicate porcelain plate sat a tender steamed egg custard, sprinkled with a little minced meat, fragrant and juicy. In a clear glass cup was a rich milkshake, smooth and translucent.

Linglan asked in a hushed voice, "He made it?"

Housekeeper Zhang smiled and nodded. "Yes. Miss Ye, you're very fortunate."

Linglan lowered her eyes. She did not know what she felt, only that there was a faint warmth somewhere in her chest, too indistinct to name.

She used her spoon to scoop up the bright yellow custard. It was as soft and lustrous as freshly ground tofu, and its sweet, tender flavor filled her tongue. Linglan sighed. For some reason, her heart had gone soft. Suddenly she longed greedily for this sort of life, this ordinary union of husband and wife, mutual respect, the daily trifles of home, the firewood and rice and oil and salt that, before one knew it, became a whole lifetime.

But how long was her lifetime, really? When she smiled, there were moments of daze, and then the smile would freeze on her face like some kind of marker, commemorating something gone.

Seeing the slight stillness in her expression, Zhang could not help asking, "Miss Ye, what's wrong?"

Linglan came back to herself. "—"

"Does it not suit your taste? Should I..."

"No need, Housekeeper Zhang." Linglan called out, fearing that if it was too delicious, she would only feel worse for it. She smiled and pulled a jacket on over her shoulders. "I've been sleeping for several days. I want to go downstairs for a walk."

"But Mr. Mo instructed—"

"It's fine," Linglan interrupted. "I was just about to look for Mr. Mo."

Carefully supporting herself along the wooden handrail, she stepped down the stairs in silence. At the turn of the staircase, she caught sight of the spacious living room at once: an exquisite and luxurious crystal chandelier, noble sofas trimmed with gilded copper ornamentation, lines both elegant and artistic, every detail of the decoration exuding classic European style and the owner's exceptional taste.

She could faintly make out the man's back as he leaned into the sofa, apparently on the phone. Linglan hid herself quietly and listened with caution. Mo Zhicheng was explaining something, and it first concerned Young Master Qin. Could it be that Mo Zhicheng was punishing Qin for drugging and framing the two of them? Yet it seemed Mo Zhicheng had set his sights on Qin's father instead. Linglan's brow furrowed slightly. Qin's father was an official in South River; shaking such a backing was no simple matter. But why would Mo Zhicheng do this? And would it be worth it?

Yet this man was one who could command the situation from above, who saw far and wide, possessing both the cunning to penetrate all things and the tempered wisdom of steel.

Her heart gave a faint start, emotions tangled. When Mo Zhicheng mentioned a certain project, Linglan grew alert. Young Master Ye was currently fighting him for control of it. She immediately caught the information he was relaying: "Look into what that obscure little company you mentioned actually is."

Linglan's heart tightened. Just then, Mo Zhicheng paused. "Tang Pei, wait a moment. Another call is coming in."

Linglan felt curious. Whose call could make Mo Zhicheng suddenly end his conversation? Yet she did not expect that the man's previously cold tone would soften all at once as he said, "Tingyu, what's wrong? Calling me at this hour!"

There was warmth in his voice. With that one name, Tingyu, it was clear that the caller was a woman. And from that woman's gentle, beautiful name, one could faintly imagine a clear-eyed lady of talent and grace, elegant and tender, as though she had walked out of a painting, the sort of woman who could make Mo Zhicheng speak so low and softly.

Ye Linglan froze, her palm tightening around the handrail.

"When are you coming back to the country?" Mo Zhicheng asked. "Do you want me to pick you up then?" After a stretch of silence came a bright laugh from the man. "Of course. I'll go to the airport myself to meet you. Since Miss Leng is returning, we certainly can't be careless." He chuckled softly. "All right, let's leave it at that for now. Remember to keep in touch with me, and take care of yourself."

After a few polite words, he hung up.

"Miss Ye, what's wrong?" Housekeeper Zhang had finished tidying the room and asked at the proper moment.

Linglan drew her thoughts back and turned to look at Zhang.

"Mr. Mo—"

Only then did she realize that Mo Zhicheng had already turned around and was standing not far away, looking back at her. Linglan averted her eyes, feeling somewhat ashamed, and held onto the handrail as she slowly descended the stairs.

"What are you doing out of bed?" the man's displeased voice reached her.

"Coming down for a walk."

As soon as she spoke, Housekeeper Zhang hurried down the stairs in a few quick steps. Mo Zhicheng glanced at the bowl of custard, only touched twice, and Zhang, seeing Mr. Mo's expression sink, instinctively took a step back. "Mr. Mo—"

Mo Zhicheng turned toward Ye Linglan. "And you still won't eat breakfast?"

Linglan let out a low sigh. At this moment, she did not want to speak with him. What had she just heard? Nothing more than a smooth operator who had wandered through a sea of women. But even a true villain was better than a hypocrite.

Linglan drew her gaze away. "Mm," she answered softly, then looked toward the view outside the floor-to-ceiling window. "This place is surrounded by the sea, and the scenery is beautiful. It really is suitable for cultivating body and mind. Tell me, do you often bring women here to spend the night?"

She spoke lightly, even smiling as she did so.

Mo Zhicheng looked at her. He motioned for Zhang to step back, then walked closer. "Don't say such nonsense to me. Your injury hasn't healed, so don't go running about."

To avoid touching her wound, he simply lifted her onto his shoulder.

"Put me down—" she struggled.

"If you don't want your wound to heal quickly so you can leave here, then keep moving."

At last the man, irritated beyond patience, gave a low rebuke.

Unexpectedly, he carried her up to the third-floor terrace. Glass walls enclosed it on all sides, and on the spacious platform golden sunlight poured down in abundance, falling over the rattan swing.

Only after Mo Zhicheng set her down did she realize that from here one could see an even broader view of the sea. There was excitement in her eyes. Bathed in the warmth of the sun, she stood by the window, while the man remained behind her, both hands braced against the glass, enclosing her within his reach.