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Chapter 4

When she was five, Song Jinhe had taken the initiative to approach Sheng Congyuan, holding his hand and telling him that from then on, they would be friends.

At ten, she had once again caught Sheng Congyuan lingering outside the Song residence and magnanimously told him that she forgave him.

Now, for the first time, it was Sheng Congyuan who took the initiative to stop Song Jinhe.

In a moment of impulse, his mind went blank.

Song Jinhe was startled, eyes wide as she took several steps back. “W-what are you doing?!”

Sheng Congyuan’s fingers stiffened, a trace of awkwardness flashing across his usually composed face as he realized he had frightened her.

Yet, he couldn’t think of what to do next after stopping her.

What was the point of stopping her?

Inside the room, only Song Jinhe’s unabashed breathing filled the silence.

For a fleeting instant, she thought he might lift her up.

Because that was exactly how the dream from last night had played out.

In the dream, she had fled to the door, half resistant, half teasing, humming, “I won’t let you succeed today!”

The next moment, Sheng Congyuan had swiftly closed the distance, giving her no chance to react. She was hoisted onto his shoulders and then tossed onto the couch.

Then came...

“Move aside!” Song Jinhe abruptly cut off her thoughts, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she scolded, irritated by the dream’s aftermath.

Sheng Congyuan lowered his gaze briefly, as if feeling wronged, yet he did not move.

He hesitated to speak, lips moving silently before finally saying, “You came to discuss that painting, didn’t you?”

Song Jinhe was taken aback, suddenly remembering the reason for her visit.

She had never expected that the person bidding against her earlier was Sheng Congyuan himself.

A surge of frustration welled up inside her—resentment at their tangled fate and embarrassment at her earlier loss of composure.

After steadying herself, she said awkwardly, “Yes, I was rude earlier. If you, Young Master Sheng, are willing to part with the painting, I have come to offer a higher price.”

They stood facing each other—one blocking the door, the other a few steps away in a defensive stance.

The scene felt charged, almost tense.

After a moment, Sheng Congyuan spoke, “Miss Song, sit down. Let’s talk.”

The tension gradually dissipated.

Song Jinhe was invited to sit at the tea table.

This was the very image she had envisioned before coming—the rational negotiation over a painting.

Yet, sitting opposite Sheng Congyuan, she found it impossible to treat him as a stranger in a business deal.

Even seated, his tall frame towered over her, an inexplicable pressure emanating from him.

He did not hasten to discuss the matter but leisurely arranged the tea set, politely preparing tea for his guest.

The boiling water bubbled softly.

The fragrance of tea filled the room again.

In the silence, Song Jinhe stole glances at the man opposite her.

Closer than the brief glimpse she had the other day and clearer than the hurried glimpse at the banquet.

Those dreams, which embarrassed her as much as they piqued her curiosity, were strange and incomprehensible to others but vividly real to her.

They felt as tangible as if they had truly happened, difficult to dismiss as mere illusions born from nothing.

She could not fathom why, among countless faces, it had to be him.

Her bold gaze traveled down from his impeccably handsome face, sliding over his long neck and the prominent Adam’s apple.

She remembered how, when uneasy, he would swallow heavily, his Adam’s apple rolling, tracing the sensual lines of his neck.

Beneath his dark green outer robe, the white inner collar just concealed the collarbone that had appeared so clearly in her dreams.

His sweat would collect in the hollow just beneath the collarbone, glistening on the well-defined shoulder.

In previous dreams, she had noticed a mole on his collarbone, as if deliberately placed to draw attention.

In moments of passion, the dream-self had been unable to resist and had leaned in to kiss, even biting gently to leave a small circle of teeth marks.

Lower still, his chest was covered by clothing but only hardened when tense; when relaxed and lying down, it was soft.

Afterwards, she often rested her head on that chest, finding comfort.

Though his broad shoulders and strong back were hidden beneath clothing, his waist narrowed sharply.

His abdomen was sculpted, with firm muscles and a unique texture.

The abdomen seemed a sensitive spot for both people and animals.

A slight touch would reveal a flushed reaction, muscles contracting and relaxing as if overwhelmed.

At such times, even more intense than the abdomen’s response was...

Song Jinhe snapped back to reality, her gaze trembling as she dared not look further.

She raised her eyes shyly, only to find the man opposite still focused on brewing tea, though his ears were flushed bright red.

Damn it!

He had noticed!

Angrily, Song Jinhe turned her head away, trying to hide her previously unrestrained gaze, but only making herself more conspicuous.

She had only stolen two glances, yet his ears were red—wasn’t he a man? Had no one ever looked at him before?

The atmosphere in the private room grew mysteriously awkward.

No one spoke; the boiling tea was taken off the heat, leaving only the uneven breaths to disturb the mood.

Song Jinhe silently scolded herself—beset by endless dreams and unable to restrain her eyes, tonight would surely be restless again.

She pushed aside her jumble of thoughts and looked up, breaking the silence bluntly. “Young Master Sheng, please make an offer.”

Sheng Congyuan paused in pouring tea; ignoring his still-flushed ears, his expression was cold and indifferent, as if he had no intention of selling.

Then suddenly, he placed the full cup before Song Jinhe, meeting her eyes and abruptly saying, “It’s yours.”

“...Ah?”

Song Jinhe looked down at the teacup; it was odd, but normally one would think he meant only the tea, not the painting.

Yet he repeated, “The painting is yours.”

Song Jinhe frowned slightly, displeased. “Young Master Sheng, I did not come here to joke. Please don’t beat around the bush. If you truly intend to sell it, state a sincere price.”

She looked up again, finding him still staring straight at her.

His eyes were beautiful—round and bright, shaped like Madam Sheng’s but without any hint of femininity or softness.

Those dark eyes were deep and compelling, easily drawing one in.

Startled, Song Jinhe hesitated, and Sheng Congyuan repeated, “I’m not joking. I said the painting is yours.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer but countered, “Miss Song, why do you like this painting?”

Song Jinhe was momentarily speechless.

She couldn’t say it was because she wanted to bid for it as a gift for his father.

She realized belatedly that Sheng Congyuan might have purchased it for the same reason—to present to his father.

If so, it would be difficult to buy it from him.

But it seemed he only asked superficially, not genuinely curious about her reasons.

His eyes flickered briefly, then he changed his tone: “How about I resell it to you at the price I paid? Would you accept, Miss Song?”

Song Jinhe found this even stranger.

He was unpredictable—one moment offering it as a gift, the next retracting and making a price.

She could afford it and wasn’t interested in a man’s unsolicited gift.

It just made his earlier words seem like a tease.

She couldn’t tell if he truly wanted to sell or was merely playing with her.

She opened her mouth to speak when a voice came from outside the room.

“Master Zhu, Miss is still inside discussing the painting; they haven’t finished.”

Song Jinhe turned her head and didn’t see the sudden darkening of Sheng Congyuan’s expression.

Zhu Mingxuan’s voice came through the door, “Very well, I shall wait here for her.”

Song Jinhe withdrew her gaze, unwilling to look at Sheng Congyuan, and quickly said, “If you’re willing to sell, Young Master Sheng, I am grateful and accept your price. May I take the painting now?”

He had said it himself. She couldn’t accept it as a gift, and he wouldn’t bat an eye at selling it for the original price.

Sheng Congyuan tightened his lips, and after a long moment, he gave a low ‘hmm.’

He ought to say something more—anything—otherwise, she would leave.

Perhaps to explain that he had thought she liked the painting and wanted to gift it to her.

Or that he guessed she wanted it as a birthday present for his father next month, so he didn’t want her good intentions to seem like a borrowed gift, hence the price.

But he said nothing, stiff-backed, watching her bow politely and say, “Thank you, Young Master Sheng. I shall take my leave.”

Song Jinhe turned to leave, not wanting to linger with him, and because Zhu Mingxuan had unexpectedly come to the door.

The door opened, and a clear voice announced, “Miss, Master Zhu is here to escort you.”

Zhu Mingxuan stepped forward kindly, asking, “Jinhe, how did it go? Has the gentleman agreed to sell the painting?”

Before the door could close, the image of the man and woman standing side by side outside flashed into Sheng Congyuan’s peripheral vision.

His fingers unconsciously clenched, gripping the teacup tightly, causing the tea to slosh.

Song Jinhe’s voice was soft, entirely different from the businesslike tone she had used inside.

Zhu Mingxuan laughed warmly, “Good then. Let’s go. Give me a chance to make it up to you—dinner at Drunken Immortal Pavilion?”

Their footsteps and voices gradually faded until the door closed.

A sharp crack—the sound of splashing water.

Sheng Congyuan snapped back to reality, looking down to see his palm bleeding, stained with broken tea cup fragments.

He had crushed the teacup in his hand, the scene before him in disarray—a stark contrast to the harmonious image of the two departing.

* * *

Thanks to Zhu Mingxuan repeatedly explaining the earlier mishap at Glazed Pavilion during dinner, Song Jinhe returned home at nightfall.

Entering the courtyard, she startled the small dog in the exquisite wooden kennel.

An’an sprang up, wagging its tail joyfully to greet her.

Song Jinhe paused briefly, then knelt to gently scoop her beloved dog into her arms.

An’an was a birthday gift from Song Ning when she came of age.

Back then, she was still far away in Yuxiang City, where Song Ning was stationed.

Initially, Song Jinhe had followed Song Ning out of curiosity about life beyond the capital.

But being stationed far away was no leisure trip; it was a duty, not a whim.

After arriving in Yuxiang City, Song Jinhe soon grew bored and lonely.

An’an became her only companion.

Why the name An’an was a secret she had never revealed.

It stemmed from a childhood playmate who had gotten lost.

She remembered little about him except his name—An’an—a silly, chubby little boy.

He was timid and shy but, in moments of danger, would throw himself between her and attackers, protecting her single-handedly.

She vaguely recalled a long, years-long quarrel with An’an.

He had wanted her to like only him and be his sole friend.

At that time, Song Jinhe was adored by all, a darling wherever she went.

She had naturally refused without hesitation.

An’an’s eyes filled with grievance as he said plaintively, “But I only have you as a friend.”

Later, in Yuxiang City, she often held her dog An’an, laughing, “An’an, now you’re the only friend I have, too.”

The once excitable An’an now lay quietly in her arms, content as she stroked his thick fur.

After a long day’s journey, Song Jinhe was weary but delayed going inside to rest.

Playing with An’an kept them both awake—afraid that tonight she would dream of Sheng Congyuan again.

Though she often dreamed of him, today they had met again.

Not only met, but she had thoroughly studied him from head to toe.

From his flawless handsome face to the body she felt she could see beneath his clothes.

Song Jinhe was not afraid of the strange dreams she could not avoid.

She was afraid because she was truly dreaming.

And what one fears most often comes true.

She held out until late into the night before succumbing to fatigue, entering her room to bathe and rest.

She closed her eyes and soon drifted into sleep.

The hazy images were what ordinary dreams should be like.

No smell, no warmth.

Even amid a noisy banquet, she heard no sound from around her.

Others in the dream were blurred except for a distant tall figure sharply in focus.

Sheng Congyuan stood among the crowd—noble, cold, radiant.

Like the moon surrounded by stars, he approached from afar, impossible to ignore.

This was the scene when Song Jinhe first saw him, spotting the extraordinary man through the crowd.

But this time, unlike before when she quietly looked away, she rose from her seat and strode toward him.

Sheng Congyuan seemed to notice, turning to look at her.

He paused, neither advancing nor retreating, standing firm until she reached him.

Quickly recovering, he smiled gently. “Miss Song, do you still like the painting I gave you?”

Song Jinhe blushed slightly, nodding softly. “Thank you. I like it very much.”

“Good. I chose it especially for you.”

Her lovely face reddened more as she spoke earnestly, “Then could you continue giving me gifts?”

Sheng Congyuan was surprised by her frankness but nodded without hesitation. “Of course. What do you want?”

“I want...” Song Jinhe looked at him intently, cheeks flushed deeper, speaking seriously, “Could you take off your clothes for me to see?”

The surroundings fell into sudden silence.

The dream seemed to be unraveling.

Subconsciously, Song Jinhe panicked, struggling to break free.

But the next moment, her hand was suddenly covered by a large, warm palm, pulling her toward his chest. “If you want to see, then take them off yourself.”

“Ah!!!”

A scream pierced the dawn as Song Jinhe jolted awake.

The waiting maid outside was startled and called out, “Miss, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t come in!”

Song Jinhe sat on the bed, panting heavily, her cheeks flushed as if still carrying the dream’s warmth, yet her face was full of anger.

It was a dream.

Those scenes had to be a dream!

Not one of those disturbingly real dreams.

But a vivid fantasy born of daytime thoughts.

What nonsense!

His body was alluring?

Why would she want to undress him?

Her thoughts faltered as she hastily rejected the embarrassing notion, turning instead to resent the man’s words in the dream.

He never gave her the painting as a gift.

He had taken every coin she paid—how could he shamelessly claim it in her dream?

But the greater shamelessness was herself.

Taking advantage, even suggesting it.

Song Jinhe buried her face in her hands, overwhelmed by shame and anger, letting out a soft sob.

After a long while, her voice came through clenched teeth.

“Prepare the carriage. I’m going to Yuntai Mountain today.”