The extravagance of the Bai family's main residence exceeded what any ordinary person in the apocalypse could comprehend.
A spiral staircase draped in thick wool carpet wound upward from the ground-floor lobby. Light from the crystal chandelier overhead illuminated the carved patterns along the walls.
Bai Siyuan had been held up by something unexpected and had not accompanied them. The house steward stood on the second-floor landing, right hand raised in a gesturing "please."
"Mr. Ye, Mr. Shen, Mr. Song, rooms have been prepared for the three of you on the east side of the second floor."
Then he turned to Jiang Nuan and gave a slight bow.
"Miss Jiang, your room on the third floor has been arranged. The young master gave specific instructions—he wants to ensure you stay comfortably."
Second floor. Third floor.
Jiang Nuan heard her back teeth grind together.
So this was what Bai Siyuan had meant earlier by "set up two more rooms right next to A Nuan's"?
She swept her gaze to the end of the line, where Song Huaicheng stood.
This Federation observer kept his hands clasped behind his back, gaze fixed on some decorative painting, wearing an air of "I'm just here to go through the motions."
He wouldn't help.
Jiang Nuan rapidly calculated her options. Accommodation arrangements fell under discretionary territory not covered by the agreement—the Federation wouldn't intervene in something like this.
And her refusal couldn't be too blunt either. Song Huaicheng was standing right there; no one could afford to cause an open rift in front of a Federation observer.
The steward had clearly counted on that too.
He stood there, maintaining that respectful posture, waiting for her to obediently walk upstairs.
Can't be left alone. The thought screamed in her head like an alarm.
She hesitated for only two seconds, then turned.
Ye Que was wearing a black combat uniform today, the tactical leg wraps outlining long, powerful lines. He stood at the boundary between light and shadow—posture sharp, exuding a biting chill.
Jiang Nuan steeled herself and stepped forward.
She rose onto her tiptoes and wrapped both arms around Ye Que's neck.
Her arms tightened, her soft, warm body pressing against his without reservation.
"Ye Que~"
Her voice carried a deliberate, coquettish whine, the last syllable dripping with sugar.
"Boyfriends have to share a room with me, of course."
She buried her face in the crook of his neck, adding in a petulant nasal tone, "We can't bear to be apart for even a moment. Don't you think so?"
Ye Que's body stiffened in that instant.
She was too close.
Close enough that he could feel the rapid pounding of her heart through the fabric between them, close enough that the warmth of her neck burned against his own, close enough that every breath he took was filled with the faint, clean scent of her post-shower skin.
Clean. Soft.
His Adam's apple rolled slowly.
His hands hung at his sides—fingers curling tight, then releasing.
Then he wrapped his arm around Jiang Nuan's waist in return.
His palm settled firmly on the narrowest curve of her side, fingers slightly contracting, fingertips pressing through the fabric into her soft waist, locking her securely against him.
His breath dropped a beat above her head.
Then he raised his eyes, gaze passing over Jiang Nuan's shoulder to the steward.
"No need to trouble yourself."
His voice was half a note lower than usual.
"One room is enough."
A pause.
"She can't be apart from me."
...This guy can act pretty well too.
Jiang Nuan buried herself in the hollow of his neck, silently exhaling in relief.
But for some reason, the strength of the hand gripping her waist was considerably heavier than what a performance called for.
"This..." The steward looked at Jiang Nuan with some reluctance. "Miss Jiang, the third-floor master bedroom was specially prepared for you by the young master—"
"Young people run hot."
A cold, leisurely voice drifted over from the side.
Shen Wu leaned against the stair railing, expressionless, as he spoke.
"Steward, don't play the villain who breaks up a pair of lovebirds."—He paused, the corner of his mouth curling into a faint, ambiguous smile. "After all, the agreement doesn't say anything against bringing family to stay together."
He bit the word "family" with extra clarity.
Song Huaicheng finally withdrew his gaze from the decorative painting, gave the embracing pair an amused look, then turned to the steward with a warm, considerate tone.
"The agreement indeed has no such restriction. Since Miss Jiang is willing, the Bai family need not force the issue."
The steward's smile remained impeccably professional.
He bowed.
"In that case... of course we shall defer to Miss Jiang's wishes. The two of you, please follow me to the third floor."
Jiang Nuan kept her eyes lowered, the corner of her mouth twitching.
One round won.
As she released her arms from around Ye Que's neck, her fingertips brushed past the back of his nape—she felt an unnatural warmth on that patch of skin.
Slightly feverish.
...
Meanwhile.
Bai Siyuan sat inside a glass flower conservatory, legs crossed, thin sunlight filtering through the glass and spilling freely around him.
He wore an immaculate white shirt, collar buttoned all the way to the top, making him look clean and remote.
A semi-transparent holographic screen floated before him.
At the center of the image, Jiang Nuan rose on her tiptoes, looping her arms around that man's neck, her body pressing against him in a soft, unreserved curve.
Her voice came through the surveillance feed—sweet, syrupy, trailing upward in a coquettish lilt.
"Boyfriend."
He repeated the word slowly to himself.
In the image, the man in black combat gear wrapped his arm around her waist in response. His palm gripped tight, firmly planted on the narrowest point of her side.
Bai Siyuan smiled slowly.
Then he reached out, the pad of his finger brushing Jiang Nuan's face through the cold, glowing screen.
"A Nuan."
His voice was still gentle, like coaxing a child throwing a tantrum.
"You're being willful again."
He closed his eyes, and unbidden, older memories surfaced. Back then, when she was sick with fever and could only cling tightly to him, curled in his arms, even her sleep-talking called out his name.
Only his name.
Only him.
She was his. She had been from the start.
[What does that man even count for.]
[What does Zero Squad even count for.]
[Those people who appeared later beside her—what right do they have to stand next to her?]
"It's fine."
Bai Siyuan opened his eyes.
The surging emotion beneath was forced down, re-covered with mildness.
He murmured low, as if comforting himself, or as if making some unbreakable vow.
"He's only temporary."
A soft click.
The screen before him went dark without a sound.
He rubbed his fingers, still carrying the cold touch of the screen, and slowly rose to his feet.
Sunlight poured through the glass dome, casting translucent patches of light at his feet.
The conservatory was filled with red roses.
Every single one bloomed at the perfect moment, tended to without a single withered leaf.
It was a sight utterly unique in this apocalypse.
Beautiful. And flawless.
When the door to the third-floor master bedroom swung open, Jiang Nuan froze for a moment.
She'd braced herself for some kind of exaggerated luxury—gold wallpaper, massive crystal chandeliers, ornate carvings.
It was the Bai family, after all.
A family that could keep a koi pond alive in the apocalypse would absolutely make a gilded suite their baseline.
But this bedroom wasn't that at all.
The room was large by pre-apocalypse standards, but the style was unexpectedly... cozy.
Natural wood flooring. Soft beige walls. Sunlight from the floor-to-ceiling windows filtered through a thin layer of gauze curtains into a warm, gentle glow.
The bed was placed against the wall, dressed in light-colored pure cotton linens, with a thick cream-colored plush throw blanket draped loosely across the foot.
There was a scent in the air.
The kind of smell left behind when cotton fabric has been soaked through by sunlight—clean, warmly comforting, the kind that makes every taut string in your body go slack.
This room felt as if it had been transported whole from another era.
Like from before she crossed over.
That little room back home, the one she'd put so much thought and effort into decorating.
The moment the thought surfaced, Jiang Nuan's feet carried her to the bed before she could stop herself.
She spread her arms wide and face-planted straight onto it.
The fleece blanket caught her body, soft as a cloud.
The mattress's rebound was just right—not too firm, not too soft—holding her steadily, as if her entire body were being cradled gently in someone's palms.
"..."
She buried her face into the pillow and let out a muffled sigh.
So comfortable.
This bed was this world owing her one.
The beds at Zero Squad's base were already top-tier for the apocalypse, but they were still standard investigation-squad issue, on the firm side.
And this place.
This place was...
Wait.
Jiang Nuan's movements froze.
Her face was still buried in the pillow, but ice water was already pouring through her from the inside out.
She slowly pushed herself upright and swept her gaze across the room again.
Natural wood flooring. Her pre-crossing bedroom had natural wood flooring too.
Pale cream walls.
Before she crossed over, she'd specifically selected off-white paint for her walls, because pure white felt too cold.
Pure cotton four-piece bedding set.
She'd always used pure cotton, never silk, because she felt silk was too slippery, lacking a sense of security.
And this smell.
The scent of a comforter dried in the sun.
The one she'd always loved—whether in the dorms or at home, every weekend she'd haul her quilt out to the balcony for an afternoon of sun.
None of these things. After she'd crossed over, she'd never told a single soul.
Not one.
There was no reason to. Who would talk about "Hey, hi, I actually crossed over from another world" in the apocalypse? Or "This is what my bedroom looked like before I came here"?
But Bai Siyuan knew.
How did Bai Siyuan know she liked all these things?
A chill crept up her spine.
This place was like a cage woven with meticulous care, every inch tailored to her exact measurements.
Comfortable, because this cage was built for her and her alone.
"Ye Que."
She kept her voice steady, controlled.
"Does this room have surveillance?"
