Chapter 91: Hearts Draw Near

"So, Sister Zhang, tell me truly—do you really think Mr. Mo cares for me?" she sighed softly, her words layered with meaning, some things too heavy to express.

Sister Zhang gave no reply. In the warmth of the room, only her gentle voice lingered. She kept her eyes closed, letting the soothing water caress her face, its comforting touch easing her weariness. There was so much she wished to say, but she could not—no matter how close she was to Sister Zhang, she never forgot her place. She knew all too well how easily words could bring disaster.

After a moment’s silence, she seemed to recall something and reminded her, "Sister Zhang, from now on, please keep dinner in the rice cooker. Mr. Mo often comes home late, and by then the food is cold, especially now in winter." Linglan paused, then added to herself, "Never mind, I’ll do it. You already have enough to take care of." Perhaps she merely wished to repay him for his care these days. Yet between him and her stood an unbridgeable chasm. She could not forget why she had come.

Another hush descended.

‘Sister Zhang’ dried her hair with a towel, gently rubbing until her locks were just barely damp, then tied her hair up. Linglan struggled to sit upright, and as she nodded, she was startled to meet the deep eyes of a man. She saw his face clearly—not Sister Zhang, but Mo Zhicheng!

At that moment, she was completely unclothed, exposed before him, his gaze as though it could pierce her soul. His eyes traveled slowly down, lingering on her rapid breath, the elegant lines of her collarbone, the fair and supple curves, proud and full, and the slender waist that fit perfectly in a man’s hand.

Realizing his gaze, Linglan hurried to cover herself, turning her back to him. With a troubled frown, she asked in a low, plaintive voice, "Why is it you?"

"Who else would it be?" Mo Zhicheng replied quietly.

"Where is Sister Zhang?" she pressed, feeling his burning eyes fixed on her back.

Her bare shoulders were as pale as peeled lychee, her slim figure curled in on itself, outlining her delicate beauty. A strand of soft, black hair fell just right against her neck, elegant and enticing. "Is it because you fear being seen by me—that’s why you always wait until daylight to bathe?" he asked, seeing through her at once.

Linglan froze, a chill creeping across her back. She tucked her chin to her knees, curling up tightly. "Where is Sister Zhang?" she asked again. "Could you ask her to bring me some clean clothes, please?"

"I sent her home," Mo Zhicheng replied offhandedly.

"Where did she go?"

"It’s rare that I come home early, so I let her leave sooner," he said, pausing. The brief silence made the misty bathroom all the more enigmatic. "I simply wanted more time alone with you. Don’t you wish for that too?"

He soaked a towel and gently wiped her snow-white back, careful to avoid her wounds. She shuddered, whispering, "Please, don’t." Her brows knit, her body trembling ever so slightly. Ignoring her plea, he leaned in and kissed the jarring scar, his lips brushing lightly, tender and delicate.

Is it really so difficult to let you kiss me, to let you care for me, just this once?

His voice seemed to echo by her ear, and only then did she understand what it felt like—to be cherished as a priceless treasure, held with such tenderness and pity. "If a scar remains here," he murmured, his breath warm and enveloping, "shall I have a lily-of-the-valley tattooed over it for you?"