The black Rolls-Royce glided down the road.
Compared to the breakneck speed of their earlier journey, this could be considered leisurely.
Passing through a commercial district, they stopped for a simple dinner.
By the time they arrived at the repair shop, the clock had struck nine in the evening.
Staring at the luxury car brand logo in front of her, Sang Lu stiffly turned her head to look at the man beside her.
"You call this… a repair shop?"
Feng Yan met her gaze calmly, his brow lifting slightly in confusion: "?"
"Ok, fine…" Sang Lu choked back her words.
Technically, it was a repair shop.
She was overreacting.
But still…
Damn, Cheng Zai, you’ve really made it big!
Getting your tires changed at a high-end brand dealership!
Soon, several managers appeared before them, guiding them respectfully and enthusiastically to where Cheng Zai was parked.
Surrounding the little scooter were several of the brand’s latest motorcycles—jet-black, with sharp lines and an undeniably cool design.
Cheng Zai, nestled among them, looked like a toy car in comparison.
The dealership manager wheeled Cheng Zai out.
Sang Lu swung her leg over the seat with practiced ease, intending to take a quick test ride around the dealership’s track, when she suddenly noticed the tall, indifferent man standing nearby.
On impulse, she blurted out, "Want a ride?"
Feng Yan paused briefly.
Then, with a slight nod of his chin, he agreed.
When Feng Yan climbed onto the scooter, Sang Lu immediately felt Cheng Zai sink under his weight.
Adjusting the rearview mirror, she caught sight of his long legs bent at the knees, his thighs just inches from hers. His arms stretched back to grip the rear rack—the sight of such a large man perched on the tiny scooter was absurdly comical.
Sang Lu chuckled.
The engine hummed to life.
Feng Yan’s gaze settled on the pale nape of Sang Lu’s neck, her hair fluttering in the evening breeze, brushing faintly against his throat.
After one lap around the track, Sang Lu wasn’t ready to stop.
Tilting her head slightly, she asked, "Want to go for a spin outside?"
Worried he might not hear her, she raised her voice just a touch.
No sooner had she spoken than she felt him lean forward, closing the distance between them. His deep voice rumbled near her ear: "Sure."
Sang Lu shivered.
Damn it.
His voice had caught her off guard again—that low, magnetic tone sending a jolt through her.
She’d heard him speak plenty of times before.
Why did it still affect her like this?
Was she just seeing him through some kind of filter?
Lost in thought, Cheng Zai curved out of the dealership’s perimeter, and the view opened up before them.
The bike lane, shaded by rows of camphor trees, was sparsely populated—just a few bicycles and scooters passing by.
The wind rustled through the leaves, a soft, scattered sound.
Sang Lu slowed the scooter to a leisurely pace, savoring the gentle evening air.
A bright yellow e-bike, initially trailing behind them at a normal speed, gradually overtook them.
The delivery rider, clad in a "Meituan" uniform, kept glancing back at them, his expression brimming with curiosity. Even as he rode ahead, he couldn’t resist turning for another look.
"He seems to think you’re going too slow," Feng Yan remarked from behind her, his voice relaxed, his hands resting loosely on the rear rack as he tilted his head back slightly.
Sang Lu’s brows instantly furrowed.
She took his lazy, offhand tone as a slight against her riding skills.
Seriously?
She’d been zipping around on scooters for years.
Navigating streets and alleys with ease, holding her own against the city’s sea of orange and blue rental bikes.
Being judged by a delivery rider for riding too slow? That was a first.
"It’s your fault," Sang Lu called over her shoulder, raising her voice. "You’re too big—that’s why people are staring."
Silence from the back seat.
Realizing her wording might have been unclear, she added, "Don’t get the wrong idea. I mean your size. For Cheng Zai, you’re just too large. That’s why it looks weird and draws attention."
The silence behind her deepened.
Several seconds passed before Feng Yan finally replied, "Wrong idea about what?"
Sang Lu froze.
Wrong idea?
What else could she have meant besides his size?
An inappropriate word flashed through her mind, and her lips twitched.
Suddenly, she remembered that day—the glimpse she’d caught when she’d tugged at his belt.
A wave of guilt washed over her, and her hands trembled slightly.
Her grip tightened reflexively on the brakes, causing Cheng Zai to lurch.
Clearing her throat to mask her fluster, she forced a casual tone and blurted the first excuse that came to mind:
"I didn’t want you to think I was calling you old."
Feng Yan: "…"
After circling the dealership, they returned to the shop.
Still recovering from her earlier mental detour, Sang Lu’s ears burned pink. Her gaze darted around, avoiding Feng Yan’s eyes.
Instead, she turned her attention to the sleek black motorcycles on display.
A voice sounded beside her.
"Want to try?" Feng Yan followed her line of sight to the heavy bikes.
"I don’t dare," Sang Lu admitted wistfully. "I’ve never ridden one of these before…"
"I’ll take you," he said simply.
Before she could respond, the dealership manager, ever perceptive, had already handed Feng Yan the keys.
A helmet was pressed into Sang Lu’s hands next.
Surprised, she said, "I’ve only ever seen Feng Yi ride motorcycles. I didn’t think you liked these noisy things."
Feng Yan chuckled lowly, swinging a leg over the bike. He turned to look at her, his gaze steady and intense.
"Get on."
Sang Lu didn’t refuse.
She was curious about how a heavy bike would feel.
Securing the helmet, she climbed on behind him, equal parts nervous and excited.
The moment she settled in, the difference between the massive motorcycle and her little scooter was undeniable.
It was huge.
Feng Yan twisted the throttle, and the engine roared to life.
The vibrations rattled through her, and instinctively, she reached for something to hold onto—only to realize there was no rear rack like Cheng Zai’s.
Her eyes landed on Feng Yan’s back, the muscles of his arms and shoulders sharply defined beneath his clothes.
His broad frame looked like the perfect anchor.
Just as she was about to grip his shoulders, the bike surged forward.
Though the speed was moderate, the momentum still made her sway backward.
In that instant, Feng Yan’s arm shot back.
Without turning, his hand found her wrist unerringly.
His palm slid over hers, guiding it firmly to his waist.
He pressed her hand in place.
His voice, muffled slightly by the helmet, was deep and decisive:
"Hold on."
