Volume One, Chapter Six: Taking Initiative

The drug took effect rapidly. Nie Xingyan’s eyelashes fluttered as she gasped for air, her face flushed and glistening with sweat. She squinted, whimpering in a dazed, delicate voice, and coiled around Ling Dongyan like a supple snake, rubbing against him incessantly, her actions unconsciously captivating.

Ling Dongyan felt his throat go dry. If things continued like this, he wasn’t sure if she was suffering, but he was on the verge of madness.

"Then start quickly."

Liu Hong had already prepared the injection. She instructed Ling Dongyan to hold Nie Xingyan’s left arm, then sanitized the skin with an alcohol swab, located the vein, and prepared to insert the needle.

The moment the tip touched her skin, Nie Xingyan began to struggle violently.

Unlike the illusory effects of the sedative, the sting of the needle was real. Nie Xingyan had been terrified of needles since childhood; even in her delirious state, she could feel the pain. She let out a whimper, tears of physical pain welling in her eyes, and curled herself tightly into Ling Dongyan’s arms like a kitten.

Ling Dongyan tightened his grip, his voice filled with a tenderness he didn't even realize he possessed as he coaxed her, "Don’t be afraid, Yanyan, it will be over soon."

With one arm, Ling Dongyan pulled her closer, while his other hand gently pressed against her arm. His dry, cool fingers against her feverish skin eased her discomfort.

The sensation of their skin pressed together was real. Nie Xingyan seemed to hear him, and after a few sniffles, she stopped whimpering.

Ling Dongyan gave Liu Hong a look, signaling her to continue.

The antidote worked swiftly. Less than five minutes after the injection, Nie Xingyan, who had been flushed only moments ago, quieted down significantly. The abnormal sweat on her forehead began to fade, and her breathing steadied.

"Mr. Ling, do you need me to tend to the wound on your arm?"

If Liu Hong remembered correctly, Mr. Ling had a severe case of mysophobia. He kept everything—tables, sofas, even chairs—spotless at all times, to a near-pathological degree. Yet, looking at the scene before her, she had to wonder if the rumors were wrong.

Mr. Ling’s high-end bespoke suit was discarded carelessly on the sofa, even bearing a few faint footprints. His black shirt was wrinkled and stained with foundation—likely from the person in his arms—but he didn't seem to care. Furthermore, the woman in his arms was disheveled and stained with traces of blood, yet he cradled her as if she were a precious treasure.

Earlier, while teaching that scum a lesson, his arm had been grazed by a sharp blade. A thin, long wound was bleeding, the blood soaking his sleeve. Ling Dongyan shook his head, carefully maneuvering around Nie Xingyan to wipe the area with a tissue. His voice was soft, "It’s a minor wound, it doesn't matter. When will she wake up?"

"In half an hour."

After Liu Hong left, the two were alone in the room.

The room was bathed in a dim, hazy light from two amber bedside lamps. Ling Dongyan’s jaw was set tight. He stared at Nie Xingyan with heavy, dark eyes for a long while before slowly raising a hand to caress her cheek.

She had lost weight. Her face still looked rounded, but there was hardly any flesh on her frame; her waist was so thin he could encircle it with one hand. How had she let herself become so gaunt over these years?

There was a faint red palm print on her fair, flawless skin. Thinking of how she had almost been violated, the murderous intent in Ling Dongyan's eyes grew fiercer; he felt he had gone too easy on that scum, that he should have beaten him to death.

His thoughts shifted, and he felt a wave of frustration—the woman in his arms really hadn't grown at all over the years, trusting others so easily and putting herself in harm’s way. He happened to arrive in time today, but what if he hadn't been there?

Ling Dongyan was both angry and bitter. He rubbed her cheek with a bit more force. As if sensing his anger, Nie Xingyan began to moan, her delicate brows furrowing as she mumbled something incoherent. When he leaned in to listen, all he could hear was her steady breathing.

Seeing she was no longer in such distress, Ling Dongyan moved to get off the bed, but to his surprise, Nie Xingyan moved with him.

Feeling the sudden emptiness where he had been, she instinctively reached out to reclaim that soothing warmth, her hands wrapping firmly around his neck as she pulled herself toward him.

Her arms exerted a slight force, pulling him down. Ling Dongyan, having no weight on her, was caught off guard, and their lips met by chance, pressed firmly together.

Ling Dongyan’s breath hitched. If it weren't for her closed eyes and deep slumber, he would have thought she did it on purpose.

Her lips were even hotter. The fiery, soft sensation was more supple and springy than a steaming soufflé.

To Nie Xingyan, however, the soft thing against her lips felt more irresistible than a cold drink on a summer day. The pleasant scent of snow-frosted pine filled her senses, soaking into her very being, and she craved more.

She parted her red lips slightly, a tiny tip of her tongue emerging to taste him like a cat lapping up water.

Cold and sweet—she liked it.

With a muffled roar, Ling Dongyan felt his limbs go weak. The fire he had barely managed to suppress began to rage again. Watching her arching blindly with her eyes closed, he resisted and resisted, his lips brushing against hers. He forced himself to turn his head away, his breathing deepening.

Like a fish nibbling at bait, the creature in the pool could not help but taste again and again. Having finally caught a hint of sweetness, how could Nie Xingyan stop? Seeking that alluring fragrance, she leaned her neck forward, her soft lips pressing against his lower lip once more.

She gave a gentle nip.

"Mmm..." The soft groan that escaped her lips after succeeding was the spark that ignited the inferno.

In the next second, her slightly parted lips were forcefully invaded. The sweetness within was plundered, and the air in her lungs began to vanish; she was suffocating.

"No... no..." The light tasting turned into a full-scale conquest. How could Nie Xingyan withstand such fierce plundering? Her slender, fragile waist was gripped tightly and pressed into his chest, as if he meant to swallow her whole and melt her into his very marrow.

It hurt a little. She couldn't take it and began to struggle.

The sound of his ragged breathing roared in her ears like a crashing tide. In her chaotic consciousness, she seemed to return to the distress of being trapped by Qin Che earlier.

"Qin Che... let me go..."

Ling Dongyan, who had been lost in the pleasure, stopped abruptly.

His ink-black eyes slowly opened. Their breaths were still mingled, but the look in his eyes became unfathomable.

Ling Dongyan stared at Nie Xingyan unblinkingly, trying to discern if she was merely delirious or if this was her true heart speaking. But after a long wait, Nie Xingyan made no further sound.

"Are you still unable to let him go?" Ling Dongyan looked at her, his gaze deep and his voice hoarse, desperately suppressing the sudden surge of violence in his heart.

They were incredibly close. As their breaths tangled, fine tears slipped from the corners of Nie Xingyan’s eyes. Her arms pushed against him, her brow tightly furrowed—even in her dreams, she loathed his touch.

"Do you hate me that much?"

At that moment, Nie Xingyan was struggling to breathe because of his embrace. Reality and dreams blurred once more; subconsciously resisting Qin Che, she kept calling out, "Let go..."

The raging fire of desire in his eyes vanished instantly at those words, as if doused by a torrential downpour. His heart sank, piece by piece, to the very bottom.

His chest was still heaving from the ambiguous, self-forgetful intimacy. The woman in his arms had lips still glistening from their passion, and she lay in a deep, oblivious sleep, entirely unaware of what had just transpired.

"Is he really that good? Are you really that unable to forget him? Even in your dreams?" Ling Dongyan actually harbored a foolish hope that she would answer. Time seemed to stand still. He gave a bitter laugh, his slender fingers slowly caressing her smooth, delicate neck, though his palm did not dare to apply any force. His face was etched with total defeat.