Approaching noon, the master bedroom.
The heavy blackout curtains remained tightly drawn, leaving the room dimly lit with only an ambient lamp glowing softly.
On the bed, Su Qianqian was wrapped in a plush blanket, her wavy, seaweed-like hair cascading across the pillow.
Her long lashes fluttered several times before she slowly opened her eyes.
Her almond-shaped eyes, still hazy with sleep, shimmered with lingering drowsiness.
She tried to shift slightly, only to immediately suck in a sharp breath.
"Aah…"
A deep ache pulsed from the small of her back, and her slender legs felt weak and boneless.
Though the nourishment from the "Chosen One" was miraculous—allowing her frail constitution to recover quickly—it clearly couldn’t keep up with last night’s… exertion.
She needed more time to recuperate.
But her stomach betrayed her with an undignified growl.
Hungry.
Su Qianqian frowned delicately, her willow-leaf brows knitting with the faintest pout of someone unfairly woken by hunger.
She stretched out a slender, porcelain arm, groping blindly for her phone on the nightstand. With a few taps, she dialed the house line.
Her voice, still husky and soft from sleep, carried an effortless command: "Auntie Zhang? I’m awake. Please bring me mouthwash and prepare some light snacks—something mild. Bring it to the bedside."
A younger, slightly nervous voice answered respectfully, "Of course, Miss. Auntie Zhang had an emergency today, so I’m Little Chen, filling in. I’ll bring everything right away!"
Su Qianqian hummed in acknowledgment, indifferent to who attended her.
Whether it was Auntie Zhang or Little Chen, they were both caretakers—no difference to her.
Having grown up in a hospital bed, she was long accustomed to being meticulously waited on. The initial poverty and unease of this new world had faded, and after a month of being pampered by her man, she now took such luxuries for granted.
Lazily, she rolled onto her side, burying her face into the fluffy pillow like a spoiled kitten, content to be served.
Before long, a soft knock sounded at the door. Only after hearing a drowsy "Come in" did Little Chen cautiously push in a polished serving cart.
The top tier held mouthwash and an empty glass, while the lower tier displayed a plate of translucent shrimp dumplings and a small bowl of steaming bird’s nest custard.
Not daring to look directly at the woman in bed, Little Chen kept her gaze lowered as she deftly wheeled the cart to the massive bedside and pressed a button. A small table silently rose, locking into place at the perfect height for Su Qianqian.
"Miss, here’s what you asked for," Little Chen murmured, eyes respectfully downcast.
"Mmm, thanks." Su Qianqian finally lifted her face from the pillow.
In that instant, despite her best efforts, Little Chen’s peripheral vision was ensnared, her heart skipping a beat.
The young mistress sat up, silk sheets pooling around her, her disheveled hair tumbling over her shoulders—framing a face no larger than a palm.
Her skin was astonishingly flawless, like the finest mutton-fat jade, glowing as if lit from within.
Makeup-free, yet her features were naturally alluring: delicate brows, a refined nose, and lips that needed no tint to bloom a natural rose-pink.
What made Little Chen’s pulse stutter, though, was the innate sensuality in her gaze. She looked like a flower thoroughly cherished by a man—her very bones exuding a dewy, irresistible allure.
Those almond eyes, still glistening and faintly red at the corners, held a drowsy magnetism when they flicked up, utterly unaware of their own spellbinding effect.
No wonder the bed was such a mess… The master of this house was none other than Young Master Gu, the famed heir of the Gu conglomerate. The rich really did feast well.
Even as a woman, Little Chen fought the urge to reach out and test just how petal-soft that cheek might be.
Holding her breath, she quickly averted her eyes.
Once Su Qianqian finished rinsing her mouth, Little Chen efficiently cleared the glass and shifted the lower tray up, arranging the shrimp dumplings and bird’s nest custard within easy reach.
"Miss, your snacks are here. Please enjoy."
"Alright." Su Qianqian’s reply was a velvety murmur as she picked up a spoon, daintily sipping the glistening bird’s nest.
Little Chen stood by, hands clasped, eyes fixed on the floor—but inside, her heart raced like a startled rabbit.
Now she understood why her aunt had stressed that this young mistress was like a porcelain doll, requiring the most meticulous care.
Auntie had even said that Mr. Gu, the master of the house—already impossibly fastidious—doted on this little doll, catering to her every whim. How much more, then, should the staff tread carefully?
But to Little Chen, this was no fragile doll. She was more like a flower sprite steeped in moonlight, her delicate radiance so potent it was almost blinding.
Stealing another glance at the faint pink marks along Su Qianqian’s collarbone, Little Chen hastily looked away, chanting inwardly: See no evil, see no evil, see no evil.
