Feng Yi never expected to run into his sister-in-law while having barbecue with friends.
His elder brother had gotten married without a wedding ceremony, and he only had a vague impression of this sister-in-law from their single brief encounter.
When he learned that his brother had married a complete stranger from a mismatched social background, he couldn’t help feeling it was a raw deal for his brother.
How ridiculous was that?
What era was this? Who still honored arranged childhood marriages?
His brother was outstanding—how could he agree to marry such a woman?
He was convinced that Sang Lu must be a gold-digger, leveraging the arranged marriage to force her way into a wealthy family.
Feng Yi was indignant.
If not for…
If his brother hadn’t suddenly developed selective mutism…
He would never have resigned himself to their grandfather’s arrangements and married a stranger he had no feelings for!
That was a past Feng Yi only vaguely learned about as he grew older.
After that incident, his brother became even more reserved, refusing to communicate with others.
Gradually, he reached a state where he "couldn’t speak."
Indifferent to everything, including his own marriage—he accepted the arrangement without protest.
Just thinking about it filled Feng Yi with an inexplicable disgust toward Sang Lu. Not an ounce of goodwill remained.
He had overheard a few lines from their table’s conversation earlier.
It made him want to roll his eyes so hard.
If it weren’t for the hassle, he would’ve loved to snap at them: Cut the crap. One of my brother’s watches is worth ten years of your salary, dumbass.
God, he hated pretentious people.
What annoyed Feng Yi even more was how Sang Lu acted like a doormat.
Just sitting there listening to others brag, saying nothing, stuffing her face?
Silence was the same as encouragement.
Pathetic!
Feng Yi was at that age where he despised everything, still unable to grasp how adults’ polite hypocrisy could save them a world of trouble.
He pulled out his phone, intending to message his brother about what he’d seen.
But after a moment’s thought, he put it away again.
Better not.
As far as he knew, his brother and that woman had no real connection.
With the conglomerate keeping him busy, his brother probably had no interest in trivial gossip about her.
Besides, Feng Yi had just bought a new motorcycle this month—custom parts alone cost 160,000. His allowance was already overdrawn. If he annoyed his brother and got blamed for it, that’d be trouble.
Their parents were long gone, and he feared none of the elders in the family.
Except his brother.
---
The night was quiet.
A black Rolls-Royce glided down the road.
Feng Yan sat in the back seat, massaging the bridge of his nose after a grueling meeting.
Neon signs flashed past the window, their glow flickering across his sharp, indifferent face.
Then, a WeChat notification chimed in the silent car.
[Sang Lu: Done with the barbecue! Gonna grab a coconut water before heading back.]
[Sang Lu: Want me to get you one too?]
Feng Yan glanced down.
Replied: [No need.]
He leaned back against the seat.
A strange, unplaceable feeling settled over him.
Sang Lu was acting… off.
She’d been texting him far too frequently.
The thought summoned an image of her—laughing, bright-eyed.
His expression darkened.
He banished the mental picture and turned back to the window.
Yet after a long pause, his fingers moved on their own.
Hovering over the WeChat contact list, he hesitated for a few seconds before tapping on the cartoonish avatar of a green Powerpuff Girl.
She was, after all, the woman sharing his home.
A little observation wouldn’t hurt.
Mostly, he wanted to figure out why she’d suddenly become so chatty and eager with him.
This was the first time Feng Yan had ever checked Sang Lu’s Moments.
He scrolled.
Mostly photos of her eating and drinking with friends.
The most recent was from that afternoon—a half-finished bubble tea with the caption:
[This deserves the title of Best Tea of the Yearദ്ദി˶ｰ̀֊ｰ́)✧]
A few posts down, two nearly identical ones.
Same caption: [Best Tea of the Year.]
Feng Yan frowned.
Three "Best of the Year" claims in one week.
He couldn’t comprehend how someone could flip-flop so shamelessly—and proudly broadcast it.
Further down, a midnight post:
[Hnnngh—HUSBAND IS TOO HOT. MY MOUTH IS WATERING.]
Feng Yan’s grip on the phone tightened.
His pupils constricted.
Then he saw it was just a picture of some anime character.
He exhaled, though something unreadable flickered in his gaze.
His thumb moved faster, skimming past more nonsense until a video autoplayed.
Probably filmed during some idle work break—she’d dubbed voices onto two trash cans, then laughed hysterically when she messed up, giggling until the clip ended.
Feng Yan exited her Moments and turned off his phone.
The world felt instantly quieter.
Not a single post made sense to him.
Just like his impression of her:
Loud. Relentless. Overbearingly cheerful.
They were from different worlds.
He was still water, undisturbed.
She was a rushing river, never silent.
Keeping up appearances as a married couple—each staying in their lane—was the best distance for them.
---
The clock struck 8:30 PM when Sang Lu returned to Qinghe Bay, coconut in hand.
Passing the study, she spotted Feng Yan working at his computer.
The room was separated by a glass wall, leaving the spacious living room fully visible.
As she glanced in, he happened to look up.
Their eyes met.
Sang Lu waved, grinning, then raised both hands above her head in a scrubbing motion.
Mouthing:
"Going to wash my hair."
After barbecue, she always washed her hair immediately—couldn’t stand the greasy smell lingering for even a second.
Once she disappeared, Feng Yan’s fingers stilled on the keyboard.
Something unreadable darkened his gaze.
First, she invited him to meals. Then, the barrage of messages.
Now, even mundane things like washing her hair warranted a report.
What was she playing at?
