Chapter Ninety-Two: The Pieces of Fate Were Quietly Shifting

"If there were a scar here, what if I had a lily-of-the-valley tattooed over it?"

Mo Zhi Cheng kissed her, and the skin beneath his lips bloomed with a soft flush.

"Why?"

He curved his mouth in a smile. "No reason. I just want to leave something of mine on you."

His gaze fell on the loose strand of hair that had slipped down. "Grow your hair out. I like long hair."

Lily-of-the-valley turned her head and looked into his eyes. "Too much trouble," she said softly, as if resisting him and unwilling to change herself for a single word from him.

Unexpectedly, the man leaned close to her ear and laughed in a low voice. "It’s fine. I’ll wash it for you."

He felt her give a faint shiver, as though something had struck her deep within.

"And those things you said to Mrs. Zhang..."

"I just said them casually. Don’t misunderstand." She hurried to explain.

He smiled and wrung out the towel as he spoke, wiping away the drops of water from her skin. "What do you think I’d misunderstand?" He took up the robe and placed it in her hands, his tone tinged with teasing. Looking at her gentle profile, his expression softened. After a moment, he draped the warm robe over her shoulders and said in a low voice, "Actually, hearing those words did warm my heart a little." He turned and kissed her hair.

At that very moment, the simple ring of a phone sounded. Mo Zhi Cheng picked it up, his eyes growing colder. "I’ll take this call," he murmured.

Following the sound, Lily-of-the-valley looked over and saw his figure quietly closing the door. Carefully, Ye Ling Lan rose, tied the robe securely, and drew the glass door partly shut. Through the narrow gap, she peered out cautiously.

Mo Zhi Cheng stood with his back to her before the floor-to-ceiling window. The dim light draped him like a veil, and mottled shadows fell across the white wall.

Ling Lan stepped softly out of the bathroom. Pretending to approach the tea table nearby, she bent down, picked up the kettle, and poured two cups of warm water. As she drew closer, her whole attention remained on Mo Zhi Cheng’s call.

The man idly adjusted the gauze curtains and smiled faintly. "At this hour, isn’t it still the middle of the night where you are? Why are you still awake, Ting Yu?"

Ling Lan froze, her steps involuntarily coming to a halt.

Ting Yu?

That name slipped again from his lips. It seemed to carry great weight in his heart. It had nothing to do with business. Ling Lan silently reminded herself not to listen to what she ought not hear.

But when Mo Zhi Cheng turned around, she saw the faint smile on his lips. She still remembered how, before others, he was usually polite, with just a trace of practiced social grace; rarely had she seen such genuine warmth in his expression. Yet when he called out that "Ting Yu," she saw, for a fleeting instant, tenderness in his eyes.

A small smile touched Ling Lan’s lips. She did not hand him the cup of water. Instead, she turned and set it on the tea table, then walked into the dressing room. The moment the door closed, she leaned against it and looked sideways toward the window.

Her wound was nearly healed. It was also nearly time for her to leave.

The only pity was that, during all these days, she had never had the chance to step into Mo Zhi Cheng’s forbidden ground.

Ling Lan gazed thoughtfully at the sky beyond the window. After she was injured, she had contacted Ye Shao, but had avoided telling him that she had been hurt for Mo Zhi Cheng. She only briefly said she would be away on a business trip for a while, and that they could meet again when she returned to Nanjiang.

At the other end of the line, Ye Shao had remained silent. She did not know whether it was suspicion or something else.

Ling Lan sighed and gently closed her eyes, unaware that the pieces of fate were already shifting in silence.