Blossom through the Cloud - Extra Chapter 9
Extra Chapter 9
It took Yan An a full several seconds, paired with the immediate context, to finally comprehend what Zheng You'an meant.
Silence—a long, heavy silence.
Silence was followed immediately by an explosion.
Just as Yan An rolled over and pinned her beneath him, Zheng You'an turned pale with fright and threw up her hands to block him, only for her wrists to be captured and pinned firmly above her head.
"Zheng You'an!"
He ground out every single word through clenched teeth, his overflowing rage having nowhere to vent, leaving him to leak a fraction of it entirely through his tone.
"Do you have any idea that saying something like that is practically asking for..."
That final word ultimately remained trapped in his throat; he simply couldn't bring himself to say it directly to Zheng You'an.
Yet Zheng You'an wasn't entirely incapable of reading between the lines.
"Let go of me!" Zheng You'an struggled a couple of times, failing to yank her hands free. "What on earth are you trying to do?! If you... if you try to force yourself, this constitutes marital rape!"
"So you actually realize what kind of relationship we share?"
Yan An's grip remained locked tightly around her wrists.
The quiet night carried nothing save the sound of their uneven breathing.
Once a precedent has been set for certain things, whatever happens next unfolds with a natural inevitability.
Not to mention the fact that the two of them were legally wedded husband and wife—fully licensed, certified, and as legitimate as legitimacy could possibly get.
Furthermore, Zheng You'an was well aware that within this marriage, she was the one who had "married upward" into a higher tier.
She tilted her head slightly and said, "Go ahead then. Though I'm sick, so my voice might not sound all that pleasant."
Yan An: "......"
"Zheng You'an, did you accidentally leave your brain behind in Africa and forget to bring it back?"
With a harsh jerk, Yan An tossed her hands aside, rolled back onto his other side, and let out a long, shuddering exhale.
"I'm a human being, not a beast heartless enough to prey on someone who's sick."
Wrapping herself tightly in the duvet like a cocoon, Zheng You'an turned her back to him and remained silent for a long moment before letting out a soft, "Oh."
A few seconds ticked by, punctuated by absolute quiet.
Yet just as Zheng You'an began pondering whether she should migrate to another room to sleep, she felt the temperature beside her edge closer once more. Then, Yan An grasped her wrist again, gently rubbing her skin for a brief moment before his fingers suddenly drifted up to her collarbone... and traced upward along her neck...
Though shivers began racing across Zheng You'an's entire body, she didn't move or put up a fight; she simply spoke in a calm, quiet tone: "Have you officially decided to abandon your humanity?"
The movement screeched to a halt. Letting out a heavy sigh as if struggling desperately to suppress a rising wave of fury, Yan An squeezed his eyes shut.
"Zheng You'an—" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Get up. We're going to the hospital. You have a fever."
Only after lying back down to calm his nerves for a moment had Yan An recalled that when he had grabbed Zheng You'an's wrist earlier, her skin had felt abnormally hot.
So he had reached out once more to check—and sure enough, she was burning up.
Her collarbone, her neck... every inch of her skin radiated an improper, scorching heat.
By the time they emerged from the hospital, it was already three in the morning. An ambulance shrieked past, sirens wailing and lights flashing, as vehicles rushed back and forth to wrestle time away from the grim reaper.
After finishing a single cigarette, Yan An rolled up the car window, shutting out the oppressive urgency of the night.
He cast an indifferent glance toward Zheng You'an in the passenger seat.
"You had a fever and didn't even realize it?"
Lowering her head to fiddle with her fingernails, Zheng You'an feigned effortless nonchalance and replied, "I didn't really pay attention."
Back at home, Yan An flipped on the lights and instructed, "Get some rest early."
Zheng You'an trudged upstairs with her head bowed, with Yan An trailing right behind her.
When they reached the doorway of her room, she turned around, locking gazes with him.
Though no words were exchanged, Yan An understood her meaning instantly.
"You—"
Forget it. He refused to lower himself to arguing with a sick person.
"I'm taking the guest room."
Once Yan An turned on his heel and walked away, Zheng You'an leaned against the doorframe and whispered softly, "Big Brother Yan, thanks for all your hard work tonight."
Without even bothering to look back, Yan An tossed a dry "Don't mention it" over his shoulder and vanished into the guest room.
Yet stretched out across the mattress of the guest room, he found himself far from calm.
The mere memory of the wary, guarded look Zheng You'an had shot him before shooing him out of the master bedroom left his skin crawling with irritation.
Fine. He was well aware that he and Zheng You'an lacked any foundational affection, having shared no true marital intimacy during the year leading up to her departure abroad.
Though that night had been an accident, he certainly hadn't forced her against her will.
So why was she suddenly guarding against him as if he were a common criminal?
[Yan An]: An'an, are you asleep?
Zheng You'an had been tossing and turning in bed, utterly unable to find sleep. Hearing her phone vibrate, she thought gratefully that at least she had a friend awake somewhere who could listen to her vent.
Imagine her shock when she picked up the phone.
Honestly, she would've preferred the phone not to vibrate at all.
Naturally, Zheng You'an chose to ignore the message and play dead.
In the dead of night, amid a hazy, half-asleep daze, she felt a cool sensation brush against her forehead.
It felt remarkably like that night when Yan An's kiss had pressed against her brow—cool and devoid of excess warmth, yet intensely lingering.
As if acting on some instinctive premonition, Zheng You'an snapped her eyes wide open, and sure enough, Yan An's face hovered right before her.
Struck with terror, she stammered, "You—"
"Don't speak."
Having zero desire to hear her voice at the moment, Yan An reached out and yanked the damp towel off her forehead. "Your fever hasn't broken yet."
Zheng You'an stared blankly in a daze until Yan An returned with a freshly rinsed towel to lay back across her brow.
"Why aren't you sleeping?"
"If I went to sleep, you'd probably burn to death right here by morning, leaving me a widower."
"Isn't that... rather wonderful?"
"Zheng You'an?" Bending downward, Yan An knitted his brows. "Did your fever fry your brain?"
Zheng You'an privately suspected her brain might indeed have been fried.
"Ah, right, you're probably right."
Pressing his lips into a tight, silent line, Yan An listened as she murmured, "I really shouldn't curse myself like that."
Yan An: "......"
At that moment, Yan An finally understood: all faults, past and present, traced straight back to the blunder of that single night.
In Zheng You'an's eyes, he was currently classified as a total beast.
Zheng You'an had no recollection of when she finally drifted off to sleep. When she woke around noon, Yan An was nowhere to be seen, yet the towel resting on her forehead still retained a gentle warmth.
Propping herself up by her elbows, she glanced around the room, slipped into a bathrobe, and crept out the bedroom door like a stealthy thief.
As luck would have it, Yan An happened to be standing right outside in the hallway holding a cup of coffee.
"Awake?" Yan An flicked his eyelids upward. "This is your home, you don't need to skulk around like that."
Clearing her throat, Zheng You'an asked, "Aren't you heading to work today?"
Shoving one hand casually into his pocket, Yan An strolled at a leisurely pace down toward the lower floor.
"I am."
Poking her head out, Zheng You'an asked, "Then...?"
Leaning his back against the banister, Yan An glanced back up at her. "I'm working from home."
"Isn't that a bit inappropriate?"
Yan An tilted his head. "What's inappropriate about it?"
Taking in Yan An's unbothered, open expression, Zheng You'an realized that she, the minor princess sent on a diplomatic marriage alliance, had overstepped her bounds. "Nothing inappropriate at all."
For the next three straight days, Zheng You'an recuperated at home while Yan An continued working remotely from the house.
Though he called it working, Zheng You'an felt as though Yan An had been specially dispatched on a mission to monitor her every move.
One evening while she was watching television in the living room, she accidentally stubbed her toe hard against the edge of the coffee table as she stood up.
And this was solid marble, mind you—the impact sent a searing jolt of agony through her foot, leaving her crying out in muffled whimpers as tears welled in her eyes.
Hearing the commotion, Yan An rushed down from the upstairs study and materialized right before her.
"What happened?"
Zheng You'an pointed directly at her throbbing toe. "I'm ruined, absolutely ruined."
Yan An scooped her up into his arms and deposited her back onto the sofa.
"You're not ruined, the skin isn't even broken."
"My skin is exceptionally delicate!"
The moment the words left her mouth, both of them fell dead silent.
Zheng You'an felt as though she had uttered that exact line before—not in a casual setting like this, but back on that fateful night.
Averting her gaze, Zheng You'an stopped crying and abruptly swallowed her complaints of pain.
Yan An seated himself beside her, silently fixing his gaze on the television screen.
Let's just let the silence stretch on forever, Zheng You'an thought. Silence is the finest antidote to awkwardness.
"It is quite delicate."
"......"
Following that day, Zheng You'an's illness vanished with the velocity of an accelerated video feed.
She could no longer sit still inside the house, gripped by an urgent, restless desire to break free from this bizarre cage.
Girls? Anyone up for a party?
I'm losing my mind cooped up at home.
—You're back in the country?
—When did you return?
That's not important. He's hovering around me keeping watch every single day, I'm about to grow mold.
He's literally sitting right next to me reviewing documents while the TV's on. Is there some law saying work can't be handled at the office instead?
—Captive love?
?
—Come on over, it's A-Chen's birthday tonight, let's hit up MIX.
Count me in.
Laying down her phone, Zheng You'an cast a stealthy sideways peek at Yan An.
Yan An's phone had been buzzing intermittently as well.
"Someone looking for you?"
Zheng You'an asked.
"Friends." Yan An kept his eyes lowered, flipping through the documents in his hands. "Pay it no mind."
"That's no fun. I noticed you haven't really stepped out these past few days either—why not go out and blow off some steam?"
Yan An swept a glance her way, carrying a distinct hint of probing curiosity. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason, it just so happens I have a few things to take care of today anyway."
Zheng You'an smoothed down her hair. "A friend of mine is running a charity project, I'm going to check it out."
An hour later, Zheng You'an stood by the car door, waving a bright farewell to Yan An.
"I'm heading off then?"
"Are you sure you don't want me to drive you?" Yan An offered. "I need to head out too."
"No need, my driver's already here."
Inside the vehicle, Zheng You'an whipped out her cosmetics pouch, applying a vivid coat of striking lipstick alongside a shimmering sweep of blush.
Unbuttoning her heavy overcoat, she revealed a sleek, alluring little party dress underneath.
Upon arriving at MIX, Zheng You'an concluded she had made the absolute right choice coming out tonight.
Her girlfriends were each more stunning and ravishing than the last, and the handsome young men they had summoned hailed straight from the film academy—each one better-looking than the next, shaking dice with the fluidity of professional dancers. Watching them made even someone with her meager alcohol tolerance itch to step in and learn a trick or two.
A world of intoxicating luxury, flashing lights, and vibrant nightlife—it was simply divine.
—Except for the minor detail that she was the only married woman present.
Repeatedly extending her eager, restless little hands toward the fun, only to have them yanked back by the phantom weight of the marriage certificate resting at home, Zheng You'an felt profoundly depressed.
Watching her girlfriends exchange flirtatious glances with the handsome young men, Zheng You'an simmered with quiet frustration.
Meanwhile, up in a second-floor booth.
Yan An sat quietly in the corner of the sofa, gently twirling the glass in his hand without taking a single sip.
A friend leaned in beside him with a chuckle. "What's got you out of sorts? Haven't seen you around these past few days—where have you been hiding?"
Yan An: "Staying home with my wife."
"Huh?" His friend blinked in sheer astonishment. "Pardon?"
"She just got back to China, fell ill for a few days."
His friend wasn't surprised by that part at all—he was simply floored that Yan An was actually spending his time at home playing house with his plastic wife.
Throughout the entire evening, Yan An remained thoroughly distracted.
Before long, the surrounding crowd swelled as several unfamiliar faces filtered into the booth.
The moment the clock struck eleven, he let out a yawn, once again triggering a wave of bewilderment among the people around him.
"Young President Yan, feeling sleepy?"
Yan An nodded. "A little."
His internal clock had been running with terrifying precision at home over the past few days, forcing him to shepherd his "patient" to bed right at eleven. With nothing better to do, he had naturally picked up the habit himself.
With that, he pulled out his phone and fired off a text to Zheng You'an.
[Yan An]: Head home yet?
[Zheng You'an]: Not yet, still chatting. A few people from the film circle just showed up.
[Yan An]: Oh.
Stowing his phone away, he glanced idly down toward the main floor. Through the shifting lights, a female figure near the DJ booth caught his eye with a sudden flash of familiarity.
Unable to resist, he lingered on her for a few extra looks.
Seconds later, he drifted over toward the railing.
Young President Yan, what's on your mind?
A man trailed behind him, following his line of sight downward until his gaze locked onto the female DJ on stage.
"Nothing much."
With the venue packed shoulder-to-shoulder with a sea of revelers swaying back and forth, Yan An found the visual clutter headache-inducing and turned right back around.
However, the man standing beside him had caught his lingering look and decided to play the role of the exceptionally thoughtful matchmaker.
A few minutes later, an enchantingly curvy woman sauntered up to them.
"This is Young President Yan,"
the man introduced, gesturing toward Yan An. "The crown prince of Beihang."
The female DJ arched a brow and extended a hand toward Yan An. "Hello there, I've heard a great deal about you."
Lifting his gaze from his phone, Yan An swept a casual glance over her before slowly extending his hand.
They shook hands briefly. He offered no remarks, cast a disinterested look at the half-full glass sitting on the table, and let it sit untouched.
Yet that passing glance registered quite differently to the man standing nearby, who chose to interpret it through a very specific lens.
He nudged the female DJ beside him. "Go pour a drink for Young President Yan."
Sensing that Yan An looked equally devoid of interest, the female DJ felt somewhat reluctant, but as a shareholder of this establishment, keeping patrons happy was part of her job description—especially high-profile figures who shouldn't be offended. Putting on a bright smile, she picked up the decanter and glided over.
"Young President Yan, I'll toast to you."
Yan An lifted his glass to tap hers in a perfunctory gesture, but catching the sharp scent of alcohol, he lost whatever fleeting interest he had and set the glass aside.
Simultaneously, the man leaned close to him and whispered, "Our Miss Baker happens to be single, you know."
Yan An lifted his eyes, shot the man a sidelong glance, and said with a dry, ambiguous smile, "Did you forget that I'm a married man?"
Assuming Yan An was merely playing coy with a smile, the man turned to signal the DJ standing nearby puffing on a cigarette. "Come keep Young President Yan company with a drink."
Everyone in their circle knew how sudden Yan An's marriage had been, and with the couple practically invisible together for over a year, everyone treated their dynamic with crystal-clear understanding.
Casting a quick glance back at them, the female DJ walked over holding her glass.
Before she could even utter a word, however, Yan An abruptly surged to his feet, shooting the man a freezing, glacial glare.
"I've never had any intention of slapping my own wife across the face in public."
With that, he snatched up his jacket and strode straight out of the booth.
It took the man a full two seconds to process what had happened, his face flushing alternately red and white before he scrambled in frantic pursuit.
"Young President Yan! Young President Yan! Wait a second! That's not what I meant, I just thought you looked bored! Hey! Hey! Young President Yan! Oof—"
Catching him off guard, the man slammed squarely into Yan An's back, nearly fracturing his own nose on impact.
Rubbing his nose through a haze of alcohol-induced dizziness and flashing stars, he stammered, "Boss Yan... what's wrong, should we—"
His voice cut off dead in his throat the moment he spotted a familiar figure stationed right in the dead center of the dance floor.
Meanwhile, Yan An's rigid back radiated an aura of absolute terror.
Blinking rapidly, the man wisely shut his mouth and retreated into the shadows.
As the song drew to a close, Zheng You'an pressed a hand against her chest, her forehead slick with a light sheen of sweat, as a young man eagerly handed her a glass of freshly squeezed juice.
The flashing overhead lights made her dizzy, and without bothering to check who was handing it to her, she reached out and snatched the glass directly.
Just as her fingers brushed the rim, the juice glass was cleanly snatched away from her grip.
"What gives?"
Zheng You'an spun around, her lingering flirtatious gaze still softening her features before the smile froze solid on her lips.
"Yan, Yan..."
"Shouldn't you address me as your husband?"
The muddy waters of the Chengjiang River flowed right past the rear of the club. With the night wind whipping fiercely outside, Zheng You'an sneezed.
"C-close the car window."
Taking a deep breath, Yan An slammed the car windows shut and cranked up the heater.
"A charity event?" He tilted his head with a raised brow. "Whose charity are you running?"
Zheng You'an lowered her head to obsessively inspect her fingernails.
"And a film circle gathering, no less." Yan An glanced back toward the club's neon signboard. "Those handsome young men just happened to be from the film academy, right?"
"I wouldn't know, didn't ask, don't know them."
"Then you looked like you were having a marvelous time?"
Silence settled over the interior of the car for a stretch, until Zheng You'an's phone buzzed with an incoming text from her friend.
—An'an, you okay?
—Your husband's expression looked terrifying just now, you better go explain things to him.
—Come on, it's just grabbing a drink, you didn't do anything wrong. If your husband didn't hang around bars, how would he have run into you anyway?
—Besides, didn't you say you two mutually agreed to stay out of each other's private lives?
Right. Exactly.
Zheng You'an snapped her head up, suddenly wondering why on earth she was acting like a guilty thief.
She hadn't stolen a thing.
"So what if I was having a good time?" Zheng You'an widened her eyes defensively. "Weren't you out here at a club looking for a good time yourself?"
"Me—looking for a good time?"
Yan An was completely choked up by her accusation.
What kind of good time was he looking for?
Ever since his engagement to Zheng You'an, not even a female pigeon had flown within a three-mile radius of him.
It wasn't that he had been desperately in love with Zheng You'an from day one; rather, she was a younger sister figure he had watched grow up. Since she had married him, even if their romance lacked depth, he refused to let her become a laughingstock.
This social circle was small enough that any fling he picked up would be plastered across the trending topics by morning, let alone allowing people to gawk at Zheng You'an's humiliation.
"Isn't that right?" Zheng You'an waved a hand dismissively. "Actually, it's fine. Do whatever you want, as long as you don't drag it out into the open. I personally couldn't care less, but you at least need to maintain some basic face for my parents."
Yan An: "......"
His hands clamped tightly around the steering wheel, fighting the urge to slam on the brakes multiple times.
The pent-up frustration boiling in his chest was practically uncontainable.
What had been the point of him acting like a glorified maternity nurse running home to care for her over the past few days?
What had been the point of waking up in the middle of the night to manage her fevers?
Dark-faced, Yan An demanded, "You genuinely want me to do whatever I want?"
"That's right." Zheng You'an turned to gaze out the window. "Like I said before, I won't police your private life. Look at all the camera lenses you've bought me this past year, not to mention letting me max out your supplementary cards—of course I'm not going to rock the boat."
"Fine."
Dropping that single syllable, Yan An slammed his foot on the gas, and the car rocketed forward.
"Why are you driving so fast?!"
Zheng You'an clutched her seatbelt, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Are you moonlighting for the Formula One racing division?"
Yan An replied flatly, "Formula One is not a domestic product of our country, I lack official authorization."
Zheng You'an: "......"
In under thirty minutes, with a sharp sweep of the rear, Yan An backed the vehicle straight into the ground-floor garage.
When Zheng You'an stepped out of the car, whether due to the excessive driving speed or the lingering alcohol, her footing wobbled as she stumbled unsteadily toward the elevator banks.
"Are you drunk driving? I'm reporting you!"
"Be my guest. If I'm locked up in a cell, you'll have free rein to club-hop every single night, won't you?"
Noticing how unsteadily she was standing, Yan An grabbed her hand. "Get upstairs."
Grumbling curses under her breath, Zheng You'an was hauled upstairs by him, shoved straight into the bathroom, and locked inside to take a shower.
"This is crossing the line! You're allowed to hit the clubs, but I'm not?!"
She muttered to herself, "Besides, I didn't even do anything! I didn't even touch those boys' hands, unlike you—I still remember seeing you swap out three different girlfriends during the years I was in middle school."
A voice drifted unceremoniously through the door from outside.
"Little An'an, don't assume I didn't know you were dating in middle school either."
"...Why are you standing right outside my bathroom door?"
Clutching the edge of the bathtub in a defensive stance, Zheng You'an sneered, "Are you... a creep?"
Losing what little patience he had left, Yan An shoved the door straight open.
The bathroom was blazing with light. Zheng You'an sat in the oversized tub where the bathwater, spiked with bath salts, had turned murky and cloudy, drifting with a scattering of rose petals that offered tantalizing, veiled glimpses of her silhouette.
Thanks to the alcohol, her face was flushed a brilliant red.
Startled by the splash of water, Zheng You'an scuttled backward into the corner. "What are you doing?"
"Can you stop alternating between treating me like a thief and treating me like a pervert?" Folding his arms across his chest, Yan An stared down at Zheng You'an without a shred of wicked intent. "Regardless of how you slice it, you and I are certified by the state as husband and wife."
"Then go check around..." Zheng You'an retorted, "What normal person lurks outside a bathroom door to spy on someone showering?"
"I was merely—" Yan An's eyes bulged. "I wasn't spying!"
"Then you were just casually passing by?"
"......"
"See, you can't even explain it." Zheng You'an crossed her arms over her chest. "Big Brother Yan, you aren't Emperor Cheng of Han, and I am certainly not Zhao Hede. Sneaking around to watch your own wife shower is profoundly humiliating—let's not make a habit of this in the future."
God almighty...
Yan An genuinely wanted to unleash a torrent of profanity.
He had merely been worried that Zheng You'an would slip and fall in the tub like last time, only to be branded a certified pervert for his trouble.
"What?" Yan An spoke in a cold, measured tone. "You finally remember you're my wife?"
He advanced slowly toward the tub, glancing downward. Through the rippling water, a breathtaking expanse of alluring scenery flickered into view.
"What if I choose to watch my own wife shower in broad daylight?"
Slowly pulling her knees up to her chest, Zheng You'an looked up at Yan An with mounting trepidation.
"Is this... an order?"
Five minutes later, throwing caution to the wind, Yan An pinned Zheng You'an against the edge of the tub.
"Zheng You'an! You are forbidden from throwing a drunken tantrum in my bathroom!"
Yan An had walked in looking like a proper, respectable gentleman; by this point, he not only looked like a drowned rat, but he also had several rose petals clinging to his hair.
"Weren't you the one who wanted to watch me shower?" She splashed water wildly with both hands. "This is how I bathe! Look at me! Look your fill!"
The delayed kick of the alcohol was truly formidable. Zheng You'an seemed to have completely forgotten that she was wearing precisely zero clothes as she thrashed her arms about and wreaked havoc in the bathroom.
One second she was splashing bathwater everywhere, the next she was wielding the showerhead like a frontline firefighter.
Flesh can only take so much abuse; forbearance has its limits.
"Zheng You'an, settle down right now!"
Not catching a word, Zheng You'an stirred up the water and demanded, "What did you say? Divide what? Pre-marital assets?!"
Discarding any further attempt at conversation, Yan An took matters into his own hands.
Yet having just bathed, Zheng You'an's skin was slick, and unwilling to grip her too tightly, Yan An found that this slippery woman possessed the strength of an ox, slipping right out of his grasp time and time again.
Back and forth, round after round, a chaotic blur of colors and utter disorder...
Hours later, Zheng You'an lay resting in Yan An's arms, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling as her intoxication evaporated completely.
History had a startling habit of repeating itself, and destiny proved endlessly cyclical.
She had apparently managed to succumb to alcohol-fueled impulse once again.
And tonight, she felt even more despairing than last time.
Because she vividly recalled blurting out several deeply mortifying phrases in rapid succession.
Staring unblinkingly at the ceiling, Zheng You'an found her inner turmoil impossible to settle.
What did this make them?
Legitimate bedfellows?
Well, they were certainly as legitimate as legality allowed—the entire world could stand up and applaud their paperwork.
The room remained dead silent. Zheng You'an didn't even dare tilt her neck an inch, given that the other person's breathing was right beside her ear.
She inched away by a millimeter... then another... and one more...
Suddenly, the arm resting across her waist tightened abruptly.
"Looking for another excuse today?"
Yan An slowly cracked his eyes open, launching a soul-searching interrogation down at Zheng You'an.
That previous excuse was definitely off-limits now, seeing as she had already debunked it herself.
Deciding that retreat was the ultimate form of advance, Zheng You'an shrank her neck down and buried her face straight against Yan An's chest.
"I'm going to sleep, Big Brother Yan."
Yan An let out a soft, low "Mmm."
"Goodnight."
With that, he suddenly felt that Zheng You'an was acting rather peculiar.
Since when was she this docile?
Come to think of it, Yan An found his own behavior rather peculiar as well.
Ever since their engagement, the frequency of their face-to-face meetings lagged well behind the times he hung out with his friends.
Precisely because of that, plenty of onlookers had taken to speculating about the true state of their marriage.
Amidst it all, temptations of various scales had rolled in, with certain individuals even brazenly discarding any pretense of respect for Zheng You'an by shoving women straight into his path.
Every single time, Yan An had told himself that he couldn't let Zheng You'an look bad; she was a younger sister he had watched grow up, and he couldn't bear to wrong her.
—I can't slap my own wife's face like that.
After repeating that mental conditioning enough times, it had eventually solidified into an established fact.
Yet his complete psychological pivot ultimately traced back to that unexpected night three months ago.
Since actual marital relations had been established, they might as well settle down and live a proper life together instead of maintaining this external facade of a plastic marriage.
He hadn't harbored any thoughts of divorce to begin with, after all.
Yet on that specific night, he had experienced an entirely different sensation.
To borrow a classic line from the corporate executive handbook: This woman is dangerously sweet.
Yet this little sister of his was something else—she sleeps with her own husband, only to bolt faster than a startled hare the following morning.
The mere recollection left Yan An's teeth itching with irritation.
Fortunately, his performance over the past few days had paid off, and Zheng You'an had finally learned to behave.
Growing much more settled at heart, Yan An drifted off to sleep with ease.
The following morning, as sunlight streamed into the bedroom, Yan An slowly stirred awake.
He turned his head, expecting to catch sight of the person resting beside him, only to encounter nothing but pristine white sheets.
Huh?
Slowly extending a hand, Yan An felt the temperature of the sheets.
Damn it.
Ice cold.
He had been ghosted again.
Leaping straight out of bed, he scoured every corner of the villa without managing to track down a single trace of Zheng You'an.
Finally returning to the bedroom to retrieve his phone, he discovered a WeChat message sent by Zheng You'an three hours ago.
[Zheng You'an]: Big Brother Yan, I think I accidentally ruined your shirt last night, I'm flying off to Europe right now to buy you an exact replacement!
Yan An: "......"
At last, the truth dawned on him.
It wasn't that his performance was mediocre.
His luck simply sucked.