The receiver pressed to her ear, Lu Sheng was asking Sang Lu a few questions about the media industry in the capital.
Specifically about post-production companies in the film and television sector.
Sang Lu answered in a measured tone.
Not too loud, not too soft.
Just enough to carry over to the freezer section, where a certain cold-faced man stood listening.
Feng Yan stood with his back to the light, his face shadowed.
Since the person on the other end of the call genuinely needed help, Sang Lu couldn’t hang up abruptly like she had earlier with Xie Sinan.
She held her phone, listening quietly, occasionally responding.
“Mm…”
“That’s right… seems like it…”
“The company you mentioned has a good reputation in the industry, but our TV station hasn’t worked with them before, so I’m not entirely sure…”
Just as she finished one of her replies, a voice drifted over from behind her—
“Is this the one you bought for me last time?”
Sang Lu turned her head slightly, meeting Feng Yan’s indifferent gaze.
He had somehow appeared beside her, his brow slightly raised, his expression casual as if merely asking a passing question.
Sang Lu blinked, then glanced down at the drink in his hand.
Peach-flavored sparkling tea.
It took her less than a second to remember—this was the same drink she’d bought him from the vending machine at Qilan last time.
She pulled the phone slightly away from her ear and nodded.
“That’s the one~”
At her answer, the sharp edges of the handsome man’s face softened faintly. He tossed the drink into the shopping cart without another thought.
When Sang Lu brought the phone back to her ear, Lu Sheng’s apologetic voice came through:
“Oh, you’re with family? Sorry for disturbing you… I’ll figure it out myself. You go ahead…”
Sang Lu hummed in acknowledgment. “You could ask Xiaomei—she knows a lot of people in production companies.”
Lu Sheng: “Got it, got it. Thanks so much…”
Sang Lu smiled. “No need, I didn’t really help much.”
The call ended.
Feng Yan, who had been absently shutting the freezer door, glanced at her and asked offhandedly,
“Want to go look at the fruit?”
Sang Lu’s eyes lit up, and she gripped the shopping cart. “Go~”
She loved the fruit section most—the fresh, sweet, lively scents, the bright yellows and greens that lifted her mood instantly.
Half an hour later,
the two stepped out of the supermarket.
They pushed the cart all the way to the outdoor parking lot.
The driver jogged over, taking the bags from Feng Yan and loading them into the trunk.
Feng Yan stood to the side, the night thick as spilled ink around him. The warm yellow glow of the streetlights filtered through the leaves, casting fragmented shadows over his dark hair.
Tall, broad-shouldered, exuding an icy aura.
His gaze lingered, silent and unreadable, fixed on Sang Lu.
Even after thirty minutes, a stifling emotion still churned in his chest.
Seeing Sang Lu take another man’s call.
The sense of loss gnawed at his rationality.
This feeling had rarely surfaced in his twenty-seven years.
Yet he knew full well how absurd, how laughable it was to feel this way over something so trivial.
Reason and emotion warred within him,
tightening his brow.
Only when the trunk clicked shut did he snap out of it,
dragging his gaze away.
…
Back at Qinghe Bay,
Feng Yan headed straight for the home gym.
Sang Lu went to the bedroom to shower.
On a weekday night, there was nothing more relaxing than washing up, then curling up with her tablet—reading a novel, scrolling through trending topics on Weibo, indulging in idle gossip.
When Feng Yan pushed open the bedroom door after his shower,
this was the scene that greeted him—
Sang Lu lounged on the sofa, tablet propped in her lap, her bare feet swaying slightly to the music playing from the device.
She wore a peach-colored nightdress that ended just below her knees, her ankles pale and delicate.
Absorbed in the latest online drama, she barely glanced up when Feng Yan entered, her eyes quickly returning to the screen, crinkling with amusement at the witty comments.
After a while, she reached for the cup beside her.
A tumbler with a pop-up straw.
She took a few sips, her lips glistening faintly.
Feng Yan strode further into the room, watching, suddenly aware of his own dry throat.
The vague sense of loss that had clung to him all evening sharpened into clarity.
Loss stemmed from uncertainty.
And he despised uncertainty.
He sat on the edge of the bed, the damp heat from his shower still clinging to him.
The collar of his robe fell slightly open with the movement.
His brow furrowed,
lost in thought.
Then, abruptly,
his lowered eyes lifted, a decisive glint flashing within.
Sang Lu had just set her tablet aside and straightened when she turned—
only to meet his inscrutable stare.
Her brows arched slightly in silent question: ?
Strange.
Normally, he was all efficiency—either working in the study, exercising, or going straight to bed.
Why was he sitting there, lost in thought?
Before she could voice her confusion, his voice drifted over, quiet but firm.
“Sang Lu, come here.”
The tone was light, low.
Not an order, more like a request.
It sent a flicker of déjà vu through her.
This was how he’d spoken the first time he’d ever addressed her.
The same words.
Nearly the same inflection.
But his expression was worlds apart.
That night on the banquet hall terrace, his dark eyes had been edged with lazy amusement.
Now, Feng Yan’s gaze was bottomless, unreadable.
Sang Lu hesitated, puzzled,
but her feet carried her forward anyway until she stood before him.
She was upright; he was seated.
An unusual angle—she rarely got to look down at his face.
His head was tilted back slightly, his usually stubborn hair still damp and pushed back, revealing the clean, striking lines of his features.
So handsome it made her chest tighten.
She reined in her thoughts, blinking.
“What’s up? Why’d you call me over?”
The words had barely left her mouth when his hand closed around her wrist.
A tug, and she tumbled onto the bed, catching herself on her palms, staring up as Feng Yan rose to his feet, looking down at her.
His tall frame blocked the light, his shadow enveloping her completely.
His dark eyes were intense, unyielding, flecked with something indefinable.
A man accustomed to control, to certainty in all things.
He tolerated no ambiguity.
If that kiss in the car had been
something passive, something that happened before she could process it—
Now, he wanted her fully aware.
Both of them sober.
Both of them deliberate.
His gaze dropped to her lips,
then lifted back to her eyes.
“I’m going to kiss you.”
