Lin Aiyun lifted her lashes and spoke slowly: “I just studied for a few years in the county.”
Her implication was clear—she hadn’t studied under any particular teacher.
Xiao Cheng nodded, gave her a thoughtful look, and rubbed his thumb lightly over the slightly rough paper. Then he abruptly changed the subject: “Are you seeing anyone?”
At that, Lin Aiyun’s brush, which had been steady as a mountain, finally wavered. The corner of her lips twitched. Though she’d long known he was a scoundrel, she hadn’t expected Xiao Cheng to be so direct—and so shameless.
Who asks a girl if she’s seeing someone right off the bat? This was pure, unadulterated rascal behavior.
But despite her thoughts, she answered honestly: “No.”
Xiao Cheng’s face lit up. A smile tugged at his lips—bright and unmistakable, tinged with mischief. A low, magnetic chuckle rumbled from his throat. He leaned over the desk, his long arms encircling her as if about to pull her into an embrace.
“Neither am I.”
Of course he wasn’t. At this time, Xiao Cheng was busy building his career—he had no leisure for romance.
Lin Aiyun knew this well.
She feigned surprise and looked up to meet his burning gaze, tilting her head with a light smile: “Mr. Xiao looks…”
She let the pause hang, successfully piquing his curiosity. He raised an eyebrow, prompting her to continue, but she pressed her lips together and said no more.
“What do I look like?” He pressed. But she was clearly determined not to give him satisfaction—she just shook her head and said, “Nothing.”
He was about to press further when Liu Chengzhang approached. Seeing the two of them standing so close, he paused briefly before reminding him: “Mr. Xiao, your herbal bath is ready.”
“Mm.” Xiao Cheng straightened up, his lips curled in a meaningful smile. “Miss Lin is an interesting person.”
With that, he followed Liu Chengzhang toward the bath chamber.
Lin Aiyun watched their retreating figures, resting her chin on her hand as she murmured: “Interesting person?”
—
To the north of Lanxi County, several mountains were planted entirely with loquat trees. Every spring and summer, there was an abundance of sweet, delicious fruit. Loquats were sweet and moist, good for the lungs and for relieving coughs. After washing the mud and twigs off with well water, you peeled each one to reveal the smooth, tender, creamy-yellow flesh.
The texture was delicate, the juice abundant, the flavor sweet with a hint of tartness—perfect for whetting the appetite.
Lin Aiyun sat in the courtyard, chatting idly with Liu Hui. In the bowl beside her, she had already peeled most of the loquats—plump and inviting.
Listening to the occasional splashing sounds from the bath chamber, she kept her fingers moving and spoke calmly: “Is the herbal powder for Mr. Xiao’s bath the same one I grind?”
“Mm, yes.” Liu Hui nodded, her speech slightly garbled from the loquat in her mouth.
At that, Lin Aiyun mentally reviewed the herbs used. She frowned slightly. Though the ingredients were diverse, they all shared a similar purpose—tonifying qi, calming the mind, nourishing the heart, and improving sleep.
Xiao Cheng couldn’t sleep? But what kind of insomnia was severe enough to make him travel all the way here for treatment?
“Aiyun? Aiyun!”
“Huh?” Liu Hui’s voice pulled her back to the present. Only then did she notice a figure had appeared beside her. His expression was cool, his stance commanding, as if he were standing in his own backyard.
He stood before her, head slightly bowed. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting a gentle warmth over his long, deep-set eyes, softening some of their sharpness and edge.
His black shirt clung to his skin, outlining a perfect physique—broad shoulders and a narrow waist, impossible to ignore.
Damp strands of hair clung to his forehead, and there was a hint of weariness at the corners of his eyes, blurring his innate aggression. Only then did she notice the heavy dark circles beneath his eyes.
Lin Aiyun tightened her grip on the loquat branch in her hand. She’d said over and over that in this life she would repay Xiao Cheng’s kindness—yet she’d been so careless she hadn’t even noticed he had health issues. It was so obvious…
“What are you thinking about?” Xiao Cheng bent down, rescued the nearly crushed loquat from her hand, and popped it into his mouth. His cheek bulged as he chewed, giving him an unexpectedly human warmth.
“I was wondering if these loquats are good.” Lin Aiyun held up the branch.
Xiao Cheng didn’t hesitate: “Good. Very sweet.”
With that, he turned and dragged a lounging chair out from the corridor, setting it down right next to her. He sprawled out on it, occasionally reaching over to grab a loquat from her bowl and toss it into his mouth, behaving as if he owned the place.
“I’m going to help my father clean up the bath chamber.” Liu Hui lowered her voice, glanced at Xiao Cheng lying on the bamboo chair with his eyes closed, and said to Lin Aiyun: “If Mr. Xiao wants anything, just give it to him directly—no need to ask me.”
“Alright.” Lin Aiyun nodded, watching Liu Hui leave. She then turned her gaze back to Xiao Cheng and pursed her lips: “Would Mr. Xiao like some water?”
“No thanks—these are just fine.” Even as he spoke, more than half of the loquats she’d painstakingly peeled were already gone. She smiled helplessly. Just as she was about to sit down and peel more, a plump loquat appeared before her.
Long, straight fingers with slightly curved tips that formed a crescent shape. His neatly trimmed nails gleamed with a transparent luster. Her gaze traveled up his strong, vein-lined arm to meet a pair of dark eyes that had been watching her for a long while.
“Have one yourself.”
“…”
When she didn’t say anything and didn’t take it, Xiao Cheng raised an eyebrow, assuming she was afraid of being scolded by the Liu family for eating their food. He explained: “I paid for these. Eat as much as you want—no one’s going to blame you.”
Hearing this, Lin Aiyun couldn’t help but laugh. A ripple of joy spread across her face, like a pebble dropped into still water. Her clear, melodic laughter chimed like silver bells carried on the wind, its echoes lingering in the air.
Seeing this, Xiao Cheng’s long lashes trembled slightly. He felt his heart pounding wildly—what the hell was wrong with him?
“What are you laughing at? Just eat it.” His patience wore thin. He reached out and shoved the loquat straight into her mouth, his fingertip brushing against her soft lips, leaving behind a faint fragrance.
The loquat was large, and caught off guard, she nearly choked. Lin Aiyun covered her mouth with her hand, barely managing to swallow it down. Her eyes reddened reflexively, a thin layer of rouge blooming on her fair, jade-like skin. A few tears clung to her lashes, giving her a pitiable, indescribably tender look.
Xiao Cheng’s breath hitched. Inappropriate images flashed through his mind, stirring an inexplicable restlessness in his chest.
“It is very sweet. Thank you, Mr. Xiao.” Her soft, honeyed call of “Mr. Xiao” drifted into his ears, making him clear his throat involuntarily. “If it’s good, eat more.”
Lin Aiyun’s eyes were sharp—she caught the faint flush at the tips of his ears. A smile tugged at her lips as she deliberately sweetened her voice: “Mm, all thanks to you for giving us such delicious loquats.”
The words made even her want to gag, but clearly Xiao Cheng enjoyed them. He lounged back on the bamboo chair, crossing his long legs, his half-lidded eyes gleaming with a flirtatious, unmistakable warmth.
“Use this.” He tossed a small box her way. It arced beautifully through the air and landed precisely in her lap.
Perhaps sensing her confusion, Xiao Cheng touched his own chest. She understood instantly.
It was just a tiny scratch—when she’d changed this morning, she’d checked and could barely see the mark without looking closely. There was no need for ointment at all. But surprisingly, Xiao Cheng had remembered and even brought her medicine.
The little glass bottle looked expensive.
Lin Aiyun didn’t thank him. After all, the burn was his fault—he’d grabbed her suddenly. And as for apologies? With his temperament—ha, don’t even think about it. At least not when they’d just met.
Bringing her the medicine was already his version of an apology.
She didn’t stand on ceremony. She put the bottle straight into her pocket and went back to peeling loquats.
A gentle breeze blew. Before long, a deep, steady breathing came from beside her. Xiao Cheng had fallen asleep on the bamboo chair, his face half-hidden in the shade of the trees, his brows relaxed in rare peace.
Afraid to disturb his long-overdue rest, she stopped what she was doing.
—
“Xiao Cheng, Xiao Cheng, Xiao Cheng…”
A vast, dim black space. An ethereal voice gradually took on solid form. In the familiar ancestral home, he lounged on a stone bench in the back courtyard, peeling lychees in his hands—but his gaze wasn’t on his fingers. He was staring, unblinking, at the figure not far away.
A woman in an elegant long gown stood there, brush in hand, writing. She looked serious, but the occasional pauses in her movements and her wandering eyes made it clear her mind wasn’t on it.
“How many characters have you written today?”
“I’m writing.”
Her expression gave no indication of whether she’d heard him—she seemed to take it in, yet looked determined to pay him lip service and do the opposite.
Seeing this, he rose with a resigned sigh, wiped his hands on a handkerchief, and carried a full bowl of lychees toward her. When he reached her, he deliberately placed it far out of her reach—too far for her to grab without getting up.
“How many times have I told you—write from the wrist.” He spread a large sheet of paper on the table, weighed it down with a paperweight, rolled up his right sleeve, and picked up a brush. He dipped it into the inkstone.
Flowing like a dragon, splashing freely across the page—in no time, a line of elegant, spirited calligraphy appeared, both graceful and bold.
Watching him produce such beautiful handwriting so effortlessly, she seemed deflated. Her gaze drifted away from the tempting, soft lychees, and she began to pout: “I can’t learn this. It’s impossible.”
“Then don’t.” He agreed readily.
“…” Instead, his easy acceptance only stoked her competitive spirit. She gritted her teeth: “No! I paid so much money—I can’t just quit.”
He raised an eyebrow, silently asking: So what do you want?
“Teach me. Will you?”
“Alright.”
Perhaps he’d been waiting for this all along. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into his embrace, his strong arms holding her steady. His burning breath ghosted across her skin, sending shivers through her.
His large hand covered hers and guided the brush onto the blank paper. At first, her strokes were shaky and uneven, but gradually, as she steadied her mind, they began to take form.
His handwriting mirrored his personality—bold, unrestrained, untamed.
But with a beauty in his arms, he couldn’t keep his focus for long before his thoughts wandered.
“Want a lychee?”
“Mm?”
“I’ll feed you one.”
Later, the sweet and tart juice of lychees stained the blank sheet of paper from end to end.
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