In the past, Feng Yan would be haunted by nightmares for several days after each therapy session.
But this night was a rare exception.
He didn’t dream of those blood-red, suffocating scenes.
As the morning light faintly broke,
he had a brief dream.
By the time he woke, he could no longer recall its details.
Only a lingering trace of a sweet, soothing scent remained in his memory, enveloping him throughout the dream.
Both his body and mind felt unusually relaxed and light.
The tall man stood at the foot of the bed, glancing down at the woman still sound asleep.
Perhaps her bowl of calming herbal tea had worked.
That was what he thought.
Silently fastening his wristwatch and cufflinks,
he strode out of the room.
The moment the door clicked shut,
a pair of eyes snapped open in the darkness.
Sang Lu blinked in confusion,
her mind still foggy.
Truthfully, she had been awake for a while—
half an hour earlier,
when Feng Yan, half-asleep, had shifted closer, draping an arm over her waist through the blanket…
…
Sang Lu had strictly followed Doctor Ji’s advice.
For several days in a row, she prepared the calming tea in advance,
making sure Feng Yan drank it before bed, watching as he tipped his head back with a cold expression.
But by the fourth day, she decided it was time to stop.
First, as the saying goes, all medicine is somewhat toxic—overconsumption wouldn’t do any good.
Doctor Ji had also mentioned that the extra care was only necessary for the few days following therapy.
Second…
Feng Yan’s reaction to the tea seemed different from others’.
Lately, she had been waking up to the weight of his arm pressing down on her waist.
Whether his sleep had improved, she couldn’t say.
But her own sleep quality had plummeted.
And it was getting worse by the day!
This morning, in her drowsy state, she felt the man behind her unconsciously tighten his grip, pulling her closer. His warm breath brushed against the nape of her neck.
Sang Lu wasn’t short by any means, but compared to a man nearing six-foot-three, the difference was stark.
Even lying down, his broad frame exuded an overwhelming presence.
His shoulders were wide, his arm around her waist firm and unyielding—she couldn’t move an inch.
Sang Lu was stunned.
Sure, she had hoped to get along better with Feng Yan, to bridge the distance between them.
But… not in such a literal way…
By 5:30 a.m., she was wide awake.
The worst part? The culprit behind all this seemed utterly oblivious.
Every morning, with that same indifferent expression, he acted as if nothing had happened—calmly washing up, dressing, and leaving for work in high spirits.
As if he hadn’t nearly crushed her waist in his sleep.
"Xiao Sang, eating takeout again?"
The sudden voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
Sang Lu looked up, dark circles faintly visible under her eyes, and forced a smile. "Ah, yeah."
The person calling her was the venue coordinator.
For the new variety show, she had been busy securing locations, spending most of her days on-site instead of returning to the studio.
The venue was on the outskirts of the capital, with hardly any restaurants nearby.
Only one place delivered, and she had been eating the same boxed meals for three days straight.
Each bite required a solid five minutes of mental preparation.
The taste? Like chewing on a shoe sole left out in the sun for three years…
But skipping it wasn’t an option—she needed the energy for the afternoon workload.
Grimacing, she forced herself to finish, then posted a complaint on her social media.
She felt utterly miserable—
sleep-deprived, eating poorly, yet her workload never lightened.
…
Feng Corporation.
Top-floor executive office.
Assistant Fang brought in a cup of coffee and, as usual, briefed Feng Yan on next week’s schedule.
Leaning back in his chair, Feng Yan looked more relaxed than usual, his usual sternness softened by the restful sleep he’d been getting.
Half-listening to the report, he scrolled through his phone.
"President Feng, tomorrow at 9 a.m., there’s a video conference with Chongjing Group. At 11, regional executives will report on their Q1 performance…"
Assistant Fang spoke steadily, but the man behind the mahogany desk seemed distracted.
His gaze lingered on Sang Lu’s latest post—
Caption: This takeout is disgusting. Officially added to my ‘Enemy Tribute List’! Someone save this poor foodie’s soul [tears]
Below it, a photo of several messy takeout boxes.
Despite her frustration, she had carefully avoided showing the restaurant’s name.
Used to his boss’s divided attention, Assistant Fang continued:
"Lucas, the APAC president of French MK Group, has sent another invitation for his French cuisine dinner party…"
Feng Yan listened absently, a thought flickering in his mind.
His fingers scrolled up slightly, landing on another of Sang Lu’s posts from days ago—
Waited in line at the trendy milk tea shop for an hour, only to find they were out of everything but black tea. Felt like eagerly attending a long-awaited French dinner, only for the grand finale to be… plain rice.
So she liked French food?
A faint lift of his brow was all it took for Assistant Fang to pick up on the subtle cue.
Without missing a beat, he elaborated:
"President Feng, Lucas’s dinner is set for 6 p.m. the day after tomorrow. A Michelin three-star chef will be handling the menu. Most attendees are MK Group’s APAC partners. Will you be attending?"
Feng Yan considered it briefly.
Then gave a slight nod.
Assistant Fang’s pen trembled imperceptibly as he marked the schedule.
Internally, his mind raced.
MK Group was a global luxury conglomerate that had been courting Feng Corporation for years, hoping to leverage its prime real estate in top-tier shopping districts to establish flagship stores in the domestic market.
The Frenchman loved hosting these lavish dinners, and over a dozen invitations had been sent Feng Yan’s way.
Not once had he accepted.
President Feng disliked banquets and social gatherings.
Why the sudden change?
Stealing a glance, Assistant Fang tried to read his boss’s expression.
But Feng Yan had already turned his chair away,
his attention now fixed on his phone—likely texting someone.
…
Buzz—
Sang Lu’s phone vibrated as she worked late at the venue.
Between tasks, she was slurping instant noodles, her phone propped up as she indulged in a drama.
A new notification popped up at the top of the screen—
[Feng: Free the evening after tomorrow? Join me for a French dinner.]
