Sang Lu’s eyes widened.
Her face still puffed up in irritation.
Before her, Feng Yan’s deep-set eyes glimmered with amusement as he gazed at her.
As if he found her outburst rather entertaining.
After a long pause, his long lashes lowered slightly, and he tilted his head away just a fraction, letting out a soft chuckle from his chest.
The banquet hall’s lights filtered through the glass, casting a glow on the striking contours of his profile.
His usual untouchable aura faded abruptly, replaced by something far more vivid.
While Sang Lu stood frozen in confusion, Feng Yan typed on his phone and handed it to her—
"Don’t waste your time on people like that. It’s not worth it. I’ll handle it."
Sang Lu glanced at the phone, then back at him.
Wait—what?
Hold on!
“Is this really the time for that? You just spoke! Why are you typing again?” she blurted out, flustered.
Was Feng Yan not in his right mind, or was she the one losing it?
Had the voice she’d heard been an illusion?
Why wasn’t he the least bit surprised? His expression was utterly calm.
Sang Lu stared at him for a solid thirty seconds.
Utterly baffled.
It couldn’t have been her imagination—she’d definitely heard him!
Then, Feng Yan leisurely typed another message.
His slender fingers curled slightly as he turned the screen toward her.
"I choose not to speak. That doesn’t mean I can’t."
Sang Lu looked up, “???”
Even more confused now.
She knew about his selective mutism—psychological, right?
But still…
“So… all this time, you were just messing around? You can talk whenever you feel like it?” Her bewilderment only grew.
"It’s not that simple," he replied.
Feng Yan’s brow furrowed faintly.
Over the years, silence had become his instinct.
No matter what happened, he never felt compelled to respond with words.
He could speak—but it took tremendous effort.
Not physical effort, but psychological.
Forming longer sentences made his throat tremble slightly, dredging up unpleasant memories that made casual conversation impossible.
So, eventually, he stopped speaking altogether.
Feng Yan condensed this explanation into a few brief lines for her.
Sang Lu studied the screen, still only half-understanding.
She lifted her head, silent for a few seconds, then slowly asked:
“Then why… did you suddenly decide to speak just now?”
Was this what Doctor Ji had called an “emotional trigger”?
Had hearing those people gossip about him stirred something inside him?
If that was the case, then the solution was simple!
Just hire some people to badmouth him behind his back, then arrange for him to overhear it unexpectedly—create a sudden emotional jolt!
Sang Lu’s mind began spiraling into absurd schemes again.
She didn’t notice the way Feng Yan’s gaze lingered on her face, his dark eyes tracing her features with an intensity that was hard to decipher.
Night had fallen, the evening breeze brushing past them.
Feng Yan leaned against the balcony railing, his bangs swaying lightly in the wind.
He was wondering the same thing.
Why?
The moment he’d seen Sang Lu’s indignant expression—how she’d wanted to defend him—he’d instinctively reached out to stop her.
Calling her name had been an almost reflexive reaction.
None of the usual discomfort he associated with speaking had surfaced in that moment.
Sang Lu muttered under her breath, “This doesn’t make sense.”
Hiring people to gossip about Feng Yan probably wasn’t the best idea.
Feng Yan’s gaze deepened.
No, it didn’t make sense.
He agreed.
After a pause, Sang Lu’s expression softened, her eyes crinkling with amusement as she changed the subject:
“But I have to say, your voice is ridiculously magnetic. So deep and smooth—just like a CEO’s should be. Those romance novels weren’t lying.”
Praise was key.
Positive reinforcement therapy.
She had to hype him up.
Him speaking even once was a breakthrough.
If he could push past his mental barriers today, maybe tomorrow they’d be performing stand-up comedy together.
When it came to compliments, Sang Lu was in her element.
Her eyes widened dramatically as she gushed:
“I was totally shocked! I thought, ‘Did a voice actor just crawl into my ear?’ It was so smooth, my brain short-circuited for a second—just bzzzt—”
Feng Yan: “…”
Noticing his slight pause, Sang Lu doubled down:
“I’m dead serious! Out of all the men I’ve met in my life, you have the best voice. Hands down.”
She rambled on, gesturing animatedly.
Feng Yan watched, slightly dazed, as her lips moved nonstop.
Several seconds passed.
Then he tilted his head away, a quiet laugh escaping him.
The sound made Sang Lu immediately start clapping.
Clap clap clap—
“There you go! That’s the spirit—smile more! Glowering is overrated. Smiling suits you.”
The breeze swept past Sang Lu’s face, tousling her wavy hair. Her eyes, bright with laughter, curved into crescents, shimmering under the light.
Feng Yan remained silent: “…”
All this coddling—was she treating him like a toddler?
And yet, for some reason, his mind flashed back to that day, to the word “LOSER” glaring on the digital screen.
The wind carried her faint, sweet fragrance toward him.
Maybe it was her words, or maybe it was the way she was enthusiastically clapping like a seal—
But that buried sense of inadequacy, so subtle even he hadn’t fully acknowledged it, dissolved into the night air.
The balcony was quiet.
A gentle rustling passed through the trees, accompanied by the faint chirping of insects.
Light from the hall spilled through the glass, casting slanted patterns on the wooden floor.
The glow traced the sharp angles of Feng Yan’s face—his high nose bridge, the clean lines of his jaw.
Sang Lu watched as his flawless features relaxed, his gaze shifting away as he smiled again.
Her eyes lit up in delight.
She didn’t look away, studying him openly.
Their eyes met briefly in the warm spring air.
Then she noticed something surprising.
When Feng Yan smiled, he always averted his eyes slightly, tilting his head down instead of meeting the other person’s gaze.
In the dim, flickering light, it gave off an effortless, careless kind of charm.
She stared at him, mesmerized.
After a long moment, she shook her head slightly.
She must’ve had too much champagne. Or maybe the French food had gone to her head—carb overload.
That had to be why her brain was malfunctioning, making her think the man leaning lazily against the railing looked unfairly handsome under the moonlight.
The insects hummed, the trees swayed.
It was strange.
She couldn’t see or touch it.
But Sang Lu could’ve sworn there was something intangible flowing between them, blurring the clear lines that had once kept her and Feng Yan firmly apart.
