He Siyu lazily lifted his gaze, noticing her standing there stiffly before she snapped out of her daze, her eyes flitting around as if unsure where to land.
She turned her head away, forcing composure. "Why is Mr. He here?"
This era didn’t enforce strict boundaries between men and women, so she wasn’t entirely sure where the line should be drawn.
But being alone in a room with a half-naked man—this distance was a bit too stimulating for her.
Last time, when Ji Yan dragged her to Shi Mu’s concert, the stage had been intense, but at least it was a crowd of thousands. She could convince herself it was just a performance.
But a man and a woman alone, barely clothed in the same room? That was a whole different matter!
"This is my house."
His voice was casual, his eyes tracing her flustered, darting gaze as the porcelain fairness of her face slowly tinged with pink.
She could actually blush?
He’d assumed she was perfectly at ease.
Sang Ning’s mind buzzed at his indifferent reply.
Of course she knew it was his house! But Grandma He had said he only came back once every two weeks!
More importantly, hadn’t he claimed he was too busy?!
Anger clouded her judgment, and she whipped her head around to glare at him. "Didn’t you say you were busy?!"
He Siyu remained unruffled, as composed as ever. "I am busy. I came back to shower and change before an important meeting this afternoon."
Sang Ning: "..."
Fine. He always had an answer for everything.
Her gaze involuntarily dipped, skimming over his toned chest and abdomen before she jerked her eyes away as if burned. "Where’s Grandma He?"
He Siyu stretched lazily, his long legs carrying him into the room opposite. He picked up a gray loungewear shirt and pulled it over his head.
Sang Ning stood at the doorway, catching a glimpse of his bare, sculpted back—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. As the fabric settled, the movement of his muscles made her cheeks burn.
By the time he’d fully dressed, his voice was still unhurried. "Grandma’s taking a nap."
Sang Ning: "..."
For some reason, she felt played.
She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Then I’ll just leave the sheet music here. I have classes this afternoon."
She reached into her bag and pulled out a notebook, handing it to He Siyu.
He took it, flipped through a few pages, then closed it—clearly not understanding a thing.
"Have you eaten?"
"Not yet." It was half past twelve. If she hurried back to campus by one, she could still grab lunch.
"Stay and eat. Nanny Zhao just finished cooking."
"No need. A classmate is bringing me food." Sang Ning refused without hesitation.
He Siyu’s tone was light. "You went out of your way to deliver the sheet music at noon. If Grandma wakes up and finds out you left without even eating, she’ll blame me for being a poor host."
Sang Ning kept her expression blank. As if you’re being a good host now?
Just then, Nanny Zhao came upstairs to call He Siyu for lunch. "Third Young Master, lunch is ready."
She turned to Sang Ning. "Miss Sang, why don’t you stay as well? I’ve made four dishes and a soup."
Old Madam He usually ate at eleven before her nap. Today, Nanny Zhao had hastily prepared another meal when He Siyu unexpectedly returned.
Nanny Zhao’s warmth made it hard to refuse without seeming petty—as if she had some grievance over delivering sheet music.
Even if she did, a little.
He Siyu strode downstairs to the dining room, taking his seat.
Sang Ning followed, sitting across from him.
Nanny Zhao had already set the table, bringing out bowls and chopsticks. "Just home-cooked dishes, Miss Sang. Don’t stand on ceremony. Next time, let me know what you’d like, and I’ll make it specially for you."
Nanny Zhao had worked in the He household for years and knew Old Madam He’s fondness for Sang Ning, so she treated her with extra care.
Sang Ning smiled. "Thank you, Nanny Zhao."
As Nanny Zhao left, Sang Ning turned—only to meet He Siyu’s dark, unreadable eyes.
His hair was still damp, a few strands clinging to his forehead. Maybe it was the loungewear, but he seemed softer than usual—like a big, well-behaved dog.
Her gaze flickered away. Now, every time she looked at him, her mind unhelpfully replayed the image of his half-naked torso. Damn her excellent memory.
He Siyu’s cool voice cut through the air. "You’re polite to everyone else."
The words shattered whatever awkward tension had lingered.
Sang Ning smiled sweetly. "I’m polite to Mr. He too."
Who’s the impolite one here? He knew damn well!
He Siyu mused, "Who was it that cursed at me last time?"
Sang Ning narrowed her eyes. So he was still holding a grudge.
This man had a terrible temper and a petty streak. She’d have to tread carefully.
"I meant no offense, Mr. He. Just a friendly reminder."
Her expression was earnest, as if she were the most sincere person alive.
He Siyu scoffed.
The meal passed in silence, yet the atmosphere was oddly harmonious.
Once finished, He Siyu set down his chopsticks and stood. "I’m leaving. I’ll drop you off."
Sang Ning hurriedly declined, "No need to trouble—"
"There are no taxis here. If you’d rather walk five kilometers to hail one, be my guest."
Sang Ning: "..."
"How did you know I took a taxi?" she asked suddenly.
"You think the guards outside are just for show?"
She stiffened, recalling the guard’s words: "Mr. He has been informed."
So it was him.
He Siyu was already heading out. Sang Ning scrambled after him—no way was she walking five kilometers.
This time, he drove the Bentley again. He took the wheel, and Sang Ning wordlessly slid into the passenger seat.
The car glided smoothly out of the courtyard.
Old Madam He had just woken from her nap. Nanny Zhao, hearing the stir, hurried upstairs.
"Madam, you’re awake?" she said cheerfully. "Third Young Master and Miss Sang just left."
"Sang Ning was here?"
"Yes. She brought the sheet music. And Third Young Master’s becoming more considerate—he even invited her to stay for lunch and drove her back to campus afterward."
In the past, no one would’ve dared expect such courtesy from him.
If he didn’t make someone cry, it was a good day.
He Siyu had been the troublemaker of Ziteng Lane since childhood, unruly to the core—even girls weren’t spared his sharp tongue.
Commander He, a man of rigid discipline, had never imagined his youngest son would turn out like this. But neither scolding nor beating worked—He Siyu only grew more defiant, refusing to bow to any of the He family’s rules.
His elder brothers had been obedient, following Commander He’s plans without a fuss. But this youngest son’s rebellious phase seemed longer than his lifespan, driving the commander to frustration.
And with Old Madam He doting on her grandson, shielding him at every turn, Commander He was powerless.
Old Madam He narrowed her eyes, skeptical. "Has he really changed?"
I've never heard of anyone's child suddenly outgrowing their rebellious phase after twenty-eight years.
