Cen Yuan rubbed his nose, his fingers brushing over the tip twice, his mouth opening and closing again.
Song Hanzheng ignored him completely, taking Jiang Liuyue’s hand and turning to leave without looking back. His steps were steady and firm, their fingers interlaced tightly.
From behind came Cen Yuan’s unwilling roar.
“Hey! Song Hanzheng, are we bros or what? Are you even human? Using me and then tossing me aside like this?”
“You two are seriously treating me like your personal driver? Stop right there!!!”
Jiang Liuyue couldn’t help glancing back. Cen Yuan stood there, fuming with indignation, the picture of childish fury—a stark contrast to his usual smug demeanor, and somehow, a little endearing.
But Song Hanzheng didn’t even turn his head. He just kept holding her hand as they walked toward the airport parking garage.
The whole way, Song Hanzheng held Jiang Liuyue’s hand tightly, his thumb softly stroking her knuckles, as if confirming she was still with him.
Even during the tens of seconds waiting for the elevator, he refused to let go.
When they finally reached the car, Jiang Liuyue pointed at the hand gripping hers, her tone carrying a hint of helplessness and amusement.
“Let go. I’m not going to run. I’ll get into the passenger seat first.”
Song Hanzheng’s face was tense, his jaw clenched, his brows furrowed.
He seemed caught in some unspoken anxiety, his words short and stubborn.
“I’ll see you in.”
With that, he followed her to the passenger side, pulled open the door, and watched her bend down to sit like a devoted bodyguard. He even leaned in to smooth the hem of her dress so it wouldn’t get caught in the door, then gently closed it.
He walked around to the other side, opened the driver’s door, and sat down.
Jiang Liuyue had just fastened her seatbelt when she realized her hand was being held again.
Song Hanzheng’s right hand had somehow crossed the center console and settled steadily over her own. His fingers curled, enveloping her hand in his palm.
Oh, she thought to herself in quiet surprise. Song Hanzheng was being so clingy today.
As if sensing her gaze, he gently squeezed her hand.
Then he spoke, his voice low and soft.
“I’m scared, Liuyue.”
Jiang Liuyue lifted her other hand, pressed her palm to the top of his head, and ran her fingers through his soft hair, stroking gently.
The gesture was tender, like comforting a proud, clever Border Collie. Her tone was firm.
“Don’t be scared, don’t be scared. I’m right here with you.”
Song Hanzheng was silent for a few seconds before taking a deep breath.
When he spoke again, his voice carried a restrained guilt and anger.
“That project of yours—I arranged it. But I never expected Lin Yizhou to bypass me and contact the producer directly to land the male lead.”
At this, his brow furrowed even deeper.
He gritted his teeth audibly, as if chewing the name into pieces and swallowing it.
“Lin Yizhou just got back to the country—what connections could he have? That old man at home must have helped him!”
When he referred to Song Tianqi, he still couldn’t bring himself to say “father,” using “old man” instead.
Jiang Liuyue sighed quietly to herself.
From Lin Yizhou’s perspective, their father valued Song Hanzheng more, pouring all resources and attention into the eldest son, leaving Lin Yizhou to scrape by on pretend obedience and pity.
But from Song Hanzheng’s angle, their father actually favored Lin Yizhou, even helping him in such blatantly unreasonable matters, while Song Hanzheng himself had only ever received endless expectations and demands since childhood.
…
By the time they got home, Song Hanzheng’s brow was still tightly furrowed.
Jiang Liuyue comforted him. “It’s fine. Worst case, I’ll just drop out of that show, Falling Star.”
Song Hanzheng, sitting on the sofa, froze.
His back stiffened slightly. After a few seconds of silence, a complex emotion flickered in his deep eyes.
His tone carried a hint of surprise.
“That’s a lead role—your first time as the female lead in a drama.”
He said it softly, as if reminding her of a fact she might have overlooked, or as if confirming whether she truly meant it.
Jiang Liuyue’s beautiful, almond-shaped eyes fixed on him, her gaze clear and resolute.
There was no hesitation, no evasion.
Her tone was certain.
“Song Han, making you happy matters more.”
“I don’t want you to be sad,” she said outright.
If Sister Li were here to hear Jiang Liuyue say that, she’d probably pound the table and call her a lovesick fool, throwing around phrases like “career-climbing phase,” “barely landed the lead role,” and “have you lost your mind?”
But Jiang Liuyue had already planned it out.
Ambition was one thing, but once she’d completely won over Song Hanzheng, resources wouldn’t be a problem, would they?
Song Hanzheng stared at her without speaking.
Something in his eyes, always carrying a hint of coldness, seemed to be slowly melting.
On the surface, no cracks showed, but inside, an irreversible collapse had begun.
Then a tender kiss fell slowly. At first, it was tentative—he kissed her carefully.
The touch of their lips was soft and warm, but his arm around her waist was tight, his fingers gripping with a force that suggested he was holding onto someone who might disappear at any moment.
In the pauses between kisses, their foreheads rested together, noses touching, breaths intertwining until neither could tell whose was warmer.
His voice was hoarse, carrying a tremor of long-suppressed emotion finally breaking free.
“Liuyue, I want to make you happy too.”
“So go ahead and keep filming. Leave Lin Yizhou to me.”
“I…” Jiang Liuyue started to say something, her lips parting, but before the words could escape, his kiss fell again.
It precisely sealed off the rest of her words, as if to say, “No need to explain. I understand.”
Naturally, she sank back onto the sofa, her back pressing into the soft cushions, her raven-black hair spreading across the cream-colored fabric.
Song Hanzheng braced one hand on the armrest, while the fingertips of his other hand rested on the zipper of her dress—then paused.
As if hesitating.
Jiang Liuyue, sounding wronged and a little retaliatory, bit lightly at his collarbone.
She nipped at the hollow of his collarbone, leaving a faint teeth mark.
A small, muffled whimper escaped her lips, her voice soft and sweet.
Like a kitten neglected, throwing a tantrum.
“I know. Wait until you like me.”
Song Hanzheng let out a faint chuckle from his throat.
The laugh was soft but carried a bewitching charm.
His fingers touched the cool metal zipper. He lowered his voice, leaning close to her ear, and said with solemnity,
“Baby, I like you too.”
The next second.
The metallic sound of the zipper slid open.
Cool skin met the warmth of his fingertips.
In her ear, the system’s notification tones kept climbing.
System: “Congratulations, host. Li Song Hanzheng’s favorability is now 60%!”
System: “Congratulations, host. Li Song Hanzheng’s favorability is now 70%!”
…
The number kept rising, faster than ever before.
System: “Congratulations, host. Li Song Hanzheng’s favorability is now 100%!”
Jiang Liuyue closed her eyes, her lashes trembling slightly. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief inwardly.
So it wasn’t that he didn’t like her—he had just been suppressing it all along.
This time.
He stopped pretending.
