Chapter Forty-Two: The Storm Approaches 10

Both of their minds were clouded by excessive alcohol; whatever rationality or judgment remained had been utterly dismantled by the onslaught of liquor molecules. What happened next was no longer within the realm of control for Zhao Qingwu or He Yurou.

The first ray of morning sunlight slipped through the narrow gap in the window and fell upon the floor, flickering gently with the swaying curtain in the morning breeze, lively as a playful sprite—utterly endearing.

He Zheyu was the first to awaken, his eyes filled with tenderness for the woman sleeping in his embrace.

Mo Qinghan lay on her side, her head resting on He Zheyu’s arm. Strands of her dark hair lay scattered across her fair face, which still bore the faint imprint of two or three fingers. A sweet smile played at the corner of her lips, and from time to time she nuzzled lazily against He Zheyu’s chest like a kitten. Had her eyes not been closed, He Zheyu would have believed she was doing it on purpose.

Perhaps, after being watched for so long, her mind switched from sleep to alertness as a kind of self-defense. Mo Qinghan slowly lifted her heavy eyelids and glanced at He Zheyu, who was gazing at her. After a gentle sigh, she burrowed deeper into his arms, eyes shut, her voice drifting softly between her lips: “Aren’t you going to the office today?”

With a unique masculine tenderness, he replied nonchalantly, “With a beauty in my arms, why would I be thinking about anything else…”

Before he could finish, a low laugh escaped from Mo Qinghan in his embrace. Puzzled, He Zheyu looked down at her and asked, “What’s so funny?”

Mo Qinghan laughed for a while before replying, “You’re just too amusing. You’re simply afraid your business partners will see the marks on your face. If they ask about it, you can’t exactly say you were beaten up by a love rival. But if they don’t ask, it seems they don’t respect you enough. So you have to come up with some grand excuse, just like a child.”

He Zheyu raised his thick eyebrows and teased, “I didn’t realize my girl could read minds now.”

Mo Qinghan gazed at the man so close to her and said, “I can’t see through anyone else’s thoughts, nor do I want to. I’m only interested in seeing through you.”

“You’re so devoted to me—shouldn’t I give you a little reward?” And with that, he leaned in closer.

On the other bed, however, the scene between the two was far less harmonious than He Zheyu and Mo Qinghan.

Zhao Qingwu threw back the covers and saw himself completely naked. He glanced at He Yurou, who clutched the blanket to her chest, her face streaked with tears as she looked at him. He tried to piece together fragments of the previous night, but no matter how he tried, it was impossible to reconstruct the events. His mind was in turmoil.

His voice was low as he asked, “Last night… did we really do it?”

He Yurou wiped the tears from her face and replied, “Didn’t you feel anything? Don’t you know whether we did or not?”

Zhao Qingwu ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Wasn’t I drunk last night? If I remembered, would I be asking you?”

He Yurou shifted her body, still keeping the blanket wrapped tightly around herself. She pointed to the glaring stain of blood on the white sheets. “That alone is proof enough of what happened last night.”

Zhao Qingwu stared at the spot of blood for a long moment, then said nothing more. He grabbed a pair of trousers, pulled them on, got out of bed, and left the bedroom without a backward glance.

It was only then that He Yurou silently gazed at her finger, which she had cut herself. Her face was indifferent as she whispered to herself, “Even if you end up hating me, this is the only way I can keep you.”