Chapter 24

Chapter 24

As dusk deepened, the crystal chandeliers in the estate lit up one by one, casting a warm glow.

When Wen Yinong and Pei Xizhou walked side by side into the villa’s dining room, the nanny was just trying to settle Ari into his high chair—the nanny panting, while Ari squirmed nonstop.

For some reason, the little boy was restless and crying, refusing to sit in the chair no matter what.

Uncle Heng, Sister Tang, and the others couldn’t figure out why and could only do their best to hold Ari steady, stopping him from running around and falling down.

Seeing this, Wen Yinong furrowed her brows slightly and quickly scanned the dining room. It was then that she noticed a small alloy car lying in the left corner.

Her eyes flickered. She quickly ran over, picked up the car, and handed it to Ari, speaking softly, “Don’t cry, Ari. You saw this and wanted it, didn’t you?”

Sure enough.

Ari took the car from Wen Yinong’s hand and instantly calmed down.

Wen Yinong asked gently again, “Ari, now that you have the car, let’s eat, okay?”

This time, Ari paused for a moment, his eyelashes fluttering as if processing the slightly more complex sentence. A few seconds later, he nodded lightly.

The nanny and Uncle Heng both let out a long sigh of relief.

“It’s a good thing you’re here, Teacher Wen,” Sister Tang said with a sigh. “We were thinking the young master might be unwell and were about to call a doctor.”

“It takes a little more patience and observation to get along with little Ari. Over time, a bond will naturally form.”

Wen Yinong replied. A smile curved at the corners of her mouth, her eyes full of encouragement and affection. She took Ari’s little hand and led him back to the table. Then she bent down, wrapped her arms around his small body, and with a heave, tried to lift him into the high chair.

Because of his Western heritage, Ari had a larger frame; he looked small but was surprisingly heavy.

Wen Yinong misjudged the weight and didn’t exert enough strength, losing her balance and stumbling backward.

Just then, a large hand reached out from behind, steadying her firmly. The force was just right—providing support without being intrusive.

Still shaken, Wen Yinong turned around. Pei Xizhou’s clear, jade-like face came into view.

Embarrassed and flustered, she lowered her voice, “Thank you.”

Pei Xizhou gave a slight smile without speaking, reaching out to take Ari from Wen Yinong’s arms. Wen Yinong didn’t dare let go completely; her hands hovered protectively on either side of Ari’s body, and together they settled the little one back into his high chair.

When Mo Shaoshang walked into the dining room, he caught that exact scene.

From his perspective, the young rehabilitation therapist’s slender, petite figure was almost completely blocked by the man. They were standing very close, tending to the child with a natural, intimate coordination, like a family.

That image struck Mo Shaoshang like a thorn dipped in poison.

His blue-black eyes turned icy cold, his face expressionless as he approached slowly.

“Sir.”

“Mr. Mo.”

Uncle Heng and Sister Tang bowed their heads, greeting him respectfully.

Hearing their voices, Wen Yinong paused and instinctively looked up.

Her gaze met Mo Shaoshang’s directly.

He was staring at her, his eyes dark and heavy, like the overcast sky before a storm or a predator locking onto its prey—blatant, greedy, and unabashed, as if he wanted to devour her whole.

Her heart jolted. For no reason, a wave of panic washed over her, like a child caught doing something wrong.

The weight of his gaze was overwhelming. She couldn’t bear it for long and dropped her eyes, looking away, murmuring softly, “Good evening, Mr. Mo.”

Mo Shaoshang replied coolly, “Good evening, Teacher Wen. Please, have a seat.”

Wen Yinong gave a slight nod and obediently sat down beside Ari.

It took a while before Mo Shaoshang finally shifted his gaze from Wen Yinong. Then he tilted his head slightly, glancing at the refined man standing by the high chair.

Pei Xizhou’s gentle, jade-like face held its usual warmth. He gave a faint smile and said in a half-joking tone, “I showed up uninvited today. Hope I’m not annoying you.”

Mo Shaoshang ignored Pei Xizhou, taking his seat at the head of the table. A servant handed him a hot, disinfected towel. He took it, lowered his eyes, and began wiping his hands unhurriedly, with deliberate composure.

Time ticked by. The dining room fell into a dead silence, broken only by the faint sound of Ari spinning the car’s wheels.

Sensing the master of the estate’s sharp, chilling aura, everyone’s nerves unconsciously tightened, hardly daring to breathe.

Wen Yinong was puzzled. She frowned slightly and cast a covert glance at Pei Xizhou.

He stood by the table, his expression unchanged from earlier, still carrying that faint, breeze-like smile, radiating warmth as if it could melt even ice.

After looking at Pei Xizhou, she couldn’t help but turn her gaze back to the head of the table.

Mo Shaoshang was still wiping his hands slowly. Behind his gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes stayed naturally lowered, his long lashes occasionally fluttering like two black feathers. Just sitting there in that relaxed, casual posture, he formed a flowing picture.

Wen Yinong couldn’t help but wonder: Pei Xizhou was a guest. By all logic, without the host’s permission, a guest wouldn’t presume to sit himself down. But the master of this house…

Had he forgotten there was still a real, living person standing here?

Could it possibly be intentional?

As these thoughts churned in her mind, her frown deepened.

Pei Xizhou, left standing aside, maintained his composure gracefully.

She looked at him, then recalled Uncle Heng’s earlier, hesitant expression when mentioning the current relationship between Pei Xizhou and Mo Shaoshang. A vague understanding dawned on her.

After a few more seconds—only after all ten clearly defined fingers were wiped clean—Mo Shaoshang spoke flatly, “Please, sit.”

Pei Xizhou’s expression remained unchanged. Without a word, he sat down on the opposite side of the table.

Since the death of the Mo family patriarch, Mo Cunxun, Pei Xizhou had rarely set foot in the Mo Estate. His last visit was three months ago, when Ari had just returned to Jinghai. Pei Xizhou, then on an exchange program in the United States, had heard the news, put aside his work, and flown thousands of miles back to see the little nephew with whom he shared a special bond.

Though the relationship between Mo Shaoshang and Pei Xizhou was not close—in fact, somewhat delicate—Pei Xizhou had grown up in the Mo Estate under the old master’s meticulous guidance. Out of respect for old ties, Uncle Heng had still made special arrangements for his arrival.

Dinner was a Chinese meal.

Staff in uniform, well-trained, brought all kinds of exquisite dishes to the table one by one.

Wen Yinong’s eyes flickered.

During her time as a rehabilitation therapist at the Mo Estate, she had noticed that the daily menu at the Mo family table tended to be light: besides Western dishes, the Chinese food focused on the natural flavors of ingredients, mainly Jiangzhe cuisine and Cantonese cuisine.

She had inferred from this that Mo Shaoshang’s taste probably leaned toward the mild side.

But tonight’s dishes featured several heavily seasoned, brightly colored plates: Mapo tofu bubbling with red oil, the numbing sensation of Sichuan peppercorns and the fragrance of chili mingling in the air; boiled beef slicked with a tempting layer of chili oil; and the aromatic Yu Xiang shredded pork, redolent with fish-fragrant flavor… These bold dishes stood out in stark contrast to the milder ones on the table, their aroma enticing and whetting the appetite.

Obviously, the change in dishes for tonight's dinner was entirely due to the special guest, Pei Xizhou.

Wen Yinong thought to herself: these richly flavored dishes must be to Pei Xizhou's taste.

Judging by Mo Shaoshang’s attitude toward Pei Xizhou, it’s not hard to guess that this was Uncle Heng's arrangement.

Lost in thought, Wen Yinong’s gaze lingered on the bright red dishes, and she became somewhat distracted.

Noticing her fixed gaze, Mo Shaoshang spoke softly, breaking the silence at the table: “These dishes don’t suit Teacher Wen’s appetite?”

Snapping out of it, Wen Yinong smiled and explained, “No, that’s not it. My grandmother was from Tongcheng. When I was little, she often made mapo tofu and boiled sliced beef for me. Seeing these dishes reminded me of her, so I got a bit lost in thought.”

“Teacher Wen’s grandmother was from Tongcheng?” Pei Xizhou, sitting across the table, said in surprise.

Wen Yinong nodded, “Mm.”

The corners of Pei Xizhou's mouth curled into a deeper smile as he said, “What a coincidence. My mother was also from Tongcheng. When I was very young, she often cooked Tongcheng dishes for me herself.” As he spoke, the warmth in his eyes faded almost imperceptibly, revealing a hint of nostalgia and melancholy. He then shook his head with a wry smile and added regretfully, “It's just a shame my mother passed away too soon.”

A flicker of sorrow flashed across Pei Xizhou's eyes.

Connecting it to his background of losing his father at a young age, Wen Yinong felt a twinge of sympathy.

Not knowing how to respond, she thought for a moment before saying politely with a smile, “I do know a few Tongcheng restaurants in Jinghai that are quite good. If there's ever a chance, I can take Dr. Pei to try them. They have a great reputation.”

Pei Xizhou smiled warmly in response, “If a Tongcheng dish has Teacher Wen's praise, it must be something special.” He paused briefly, then added playfully, “Then I'll wait for Teacher Wen to have time and take me on a food hunt.”

This suggestion was purely a polite formality, and Wen Yinong didn’t think much of it. She smiled offhandedly and replied, “Sure.”

And so, as she carefully attended to little Ari, guiding him in using utensils, Wen Yinong chatted back and forth with Pei Xizhou, who was sitting across the table.

Just then, with a “clatter,” little Ari’s small spoon fell to the floor.

Wen Yinong was about to bend down to pick it up, but Pei Xizhou, who was sitting on the outside, was quicker. He leaned down first and picked up the spoon.

A nearby servant immediately took the spoon, hurried to the kitchen to wash it, and returned a moment later with the spoon spotlessly clean, handing it back to Pei Xizhou.

Smiling, Pei Xizhou held the spoon up in front of little Ari, raising his arm slightly to avoid the little one’s direct grab, and then, mimicking Wen Yinong, gently guided him, “Spoon. I want, spoon.”

Little Ari lifted his face, his lips moving a few times as he struggled to say, “Spoon… I want spoon-spoon…”

Pei Xizhou's eyes showed approval as he handed over the spoon.

Wen Yinong was also delighted by little Ari's effort this time. She smiled and exchanged a glance with Pei Xizhou.

Quite a moment of unspoken understanding.

Mo Shaoshang’s face was as cold as ice. He didn't utter a word the entire time, eating in silence.

Not long after, little Ari was full and started banging the table impatiently. Seeing this, Sister Tang instinctively stepped forward to pick the child up, but Wen Yinong shook her head in refusal.

Wen Yinong beamed, silently watching little Ari, her eyes full of expectation and encouragement.

The little one patted the table for a while, saw no one paying him any attention, he seemed confused and anxious, and then opened his mouth, struggling to force out a few syllables, “I want, I want to get down, get down… I want to get down…”

“Great job, Ari!” Wen Yinong beamed with joy. “Thumbs up!”

The child seemed to pick up on her joy and waved his little hand to touch his thumb to hers.

Sister Tang also smiled and reached out to lift the tray from the high chair. Wen Yinong got up and extended her hand to take Ari out.

Suddenly, a cool breeze brushed past her cheek, carrying a faint, clean, unique scent of cedar—unfamiliar yet strangely familiar—that filled her senses without warning.

Her fingertips trembled. Turning her gaze, she saw Mo Shaoshang standing beside her, having appeared there at some point.

He leaned down, bent over, and scooped Ari into his arms in one smooth, nimble motion.

Wen Yinong was taken aback, not quite understanding, and blurted out, “Mr. Mo, what are you…”

“I’m taking Ari to rest,” Mo Shaoshang said, his tone unreadable. “Excuse me.”

With that, he turned and walked out, holding Ari.

Wen Yinong glanced at the head of the table. The rice was barely touched, and several dishes looked like they'd only been sampled for form's sake. She couldn't help blurting out, “Are you done eating already?”

Mo Shaoshang didn’t stop, casually leaving a “Mm” behind, and his tall, stiff back soon disappeared toward the elevator.

Wen Yinong sat back down, chopsticks in hand, but the meal had lost its flavor.

She recalled all the looks and expressions Mo Shaoshang had shown during dinner.

His icy gaze, his deliberate ignoring of Pei Xizhou, the barely touched dinner, and his abrupt departure… She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

Just then, a subdued conversation drifted from the direction of the pantry, faintly reaching Wen Yinong’s ears.

It was Uncle Heng’s voice: “Mr. Mo has a headache. Prepare some ginger tea later.”

The chef responded, “Yes, Uncle Heng, I understand.”

A thread of concern quietly sprouted in Wen Yinong's heart, like a small vine winding upward, gently clinging to her thoughts.

A headache? Is he sick? Or just overworked?

Sitting across from her, Pei Xizhou noticed the fleeting change in her expression. He set down his spoon and asked gently, “Teacher Wen, what’s wrong?”

Collecting herself, Wen Yinong gave Pei Xizhou a composed smile and shook her head. “Nothing.”

Pei Xizhou’s lips curled slightly, and then he spoke again, half-teasingly, “Living with Mr. Mo isn’t easy, is it?”

Wen Yinong was caught off guard. Afraid of being overheard, she certainly didn't dare tell the truth. Instead, she forced a smile and said, with a strong sense of self-preservation, “How could that be? Mr. Mo is handsome, elegant, and charming, and he’s also very kind.”

Pei Xizhou was amused by her lively expression. “Mr. Mo grew up abroad, receiving the most orthodox Western elitist education.”

After a brief pause, he leaned slightly closer, looked into her eyes, and said softly, “Someone raised as nobility like that will always be a bit different from us normal people.”

His words seemed to carry a hidden meaning.

Wen Yinong didn’t catch the implication and looked confused. “Huh?”

Pei Xizhou smiled. “Nothing.”

Hearing that, Wen Yinong didn’t press further. She lowered her head and took a bite of greens, chewing slowly, a thoughtful look on her face.

*

After dinner, the autumn rain outside had not let up; instead, it fell even harder. Slanting raindrops tapped against the manor's lush vegetation and clean window glass, producing a constant, lingering patter that added an extra layer of chilly stillness.

Pei Xizhou didn’t stay long.

After the meal, he said goodbye to Wen Yinong, and Uncle Heng personally saw him off at the entrance.

Standing under the porch, Wen Yinong watched Pei Xizhou’s car light up its taillights, drive into the curtain of rain, and finally disappear at the end of the manor’s driveway.

After that, she pulled her knitted cardigan around her, turned around, and went up the stairs to give Ari his evening rehabilitation session.

After a period of systematic, high-intensity cognitive training, Ari could identify and name many common objects in daily life, such as "cup," "ball," "car"—a truly encouraging milestone on the road to recovery.

Tonight, Wen Yinong had specially prepared a set of color recognition cards, to start teaching Ari basic colors.

The lesson started off smoothly.

Ari showed interest in bright red and warm yellow, managing to briefly focus under Wen Yinong's guidance.

However, when Wen Yinong brought out a blue card, Ari's reaction was completely different. He immediately looked away, his brows furrowing, and even waved his hands in agitation, trying to push the card away.

He showed signs of rejection and resistance.

At nearly nine o'clock, the lesson ended.

The nanny took Ari to the bedroom for a bath. Wen Yinong stayed in the playroom to put the scattered cards and teaching aids back in place.

She picked up the neglected blue card, her fingertips gently rubbing the smooth surface. With a furrowed brow, she became lost in thought. After a moment, she flipped open her notebook and wrote a note: "Ari shows obvious signs of rejection and resistance toward blue. Cause unknown, requiring further observation and exploration."

This discovery made Wen Yinong uneasy.

Color preferences are common, but such a clear and intense negative reaction in children on the autism spectrum is sometimes not coincidental—it might be linked to certain unpleasant sensory experiences or memories.

After much deliberation, she decided to inform the child's sole guardian of this finding.

Having made up her mind, she gathered her things and first headed to the study on the third floor.

She knocked, but there was silence inside, no one answered.

She then moved to the master bedroom and knocked again, but still, there was no sound from within.

Mo Shaoshang was neither in the study nor the bedroom... Could he be out?

Confused, Wen Yinong went downstairs and ran into Aunt Zhang.

Aunt Zhang was walking over from the kitchen, holding a steaming bowl of reddish-brown broth.

Wen Yinong smiled and greeted, "Aunt Zhang, still busy so late?" Then, her gaze fell on the small white porcelain bowl, curious and concerned. "Is this traditional Chinese medicine? Is someone sick?"

Aunt Zhang paused and smiled kindly. "It's ginger tea, prepared for Mr. Mo."

Wen Yinong was taken aback, instantly recalling Uncle Heng's instructions to the cook at dinner.

She couldn't help but lower her voice and ask, "Does Mr. Mo often have headaches?"

Aunt Zhang sighed softly, lowering her voice a little more. "Mr. Mo has trouble sleeping year-round. Sometimes, when work is stressful or he hasn't rested well the night before, he gets a headache the next day. Ginger tea warms him up and can help a bit."

"I see." Wen Yinong nodded.

Aunt Zhang continued, "Teacher Wen, were you looking for Mr. Mo?"

"Yes."

Hearing this, Aunt Zhang's eyes swept across the young woman's delicate face. A thought crossed her mind, and she handed the ginger tea to Wen Yinong. "Uncle Heng just said he had something urgent to attend to. Would you mind helping me out and delivering this ginger tea to Mr. Mo?"

Wen Yinong, kind by nature, saw no reason to refuse when an elder asked for help.

Without a hint of suspicion, she nodded earnestly, took the ginger tea, and asked, "Where is Mr. Mo now?"

"He's in the studio in the wine cellar." Aunt Zhang smiled. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

*

Outside, the rain had suddenly intensified.

What had been fine drizzle turned into a downpour, heavy raindrops pounding against the windows and roof, as if trying to swallow the entire estate. The pitch-black night was torn apart by streaks of lightning, tree shadows swayed violently in the howling wind, and thunder rumbled low and oppressive, like the mournful roar of a giant beast behind the clouds.

Wen Yinong carefully took the tray with the ginger tea from Aunt Zhang, the warmth seeping through the porcelain bowl.

Following the path she remembered, she walked toward the spiral staircase leading to the underground wine cellar.

Pushing open the heavy soundproof door, a rich aroma of aged wine and oak, mixed with a woody scent, enveloped her.

The wine cellar was dimly lit, with only a few wall-mounted sconces casting faint shadows.

A moment later, crossing through the vast, empty forest of wine racks, she finally reached the closed door of the studio.

She stopped.

Her heart inexplicably raced. Wen Yinong took a deep breath, steadied herself, and then gave a light knock.

"Knock, knock."

The sound echoed in the silent cellar.

After a few seconds, or perhaps longer, a male voice came from inside. Though somewhat muffled by the door, his tone was cold and flat. "Who is it?"

Wen Yinong's heart tensed for no reason. She bit her lip lightly, cleared her throat, and replied, "It's me, Wen Yinong." She paused, adding, "Mr. Mo, the kitchen has prepared ginger tea for you. I have it here."

There was a brief pause inside, and then he said, "Come in."

At his invitation, Wen Yinong tentatively reached out and pushed the door open.

The studio was nearly pitch-black. A few faint rays from the wall sconces crept through the door crack, barely outlining the rough shapes inside: a massive easel, scattered paints, stacks of canvas—everything was vague. The air was thick with a mix of paint and wine, feeling stuffy and close.

Wen Yinong squinted, trying to adjust to the dimness, and placed the tray on a table near the door.

"Mr. Mo?" she called softly, turning her head to look around.

But aside from the vague shadows of furniture and art supplies, she saw nothing—not even a sign of Mo Shaoshang's presence or movement.

The entire studio was eerily silent, punctuated only by her own breathing and the increasingly violent rain outside.

She was puzzled, muttering to herself, "Where did he go?" when suddenly, a hot breath brushed her ear, instantly sending a shiver down her spine.

Startled, Wen Yinong instinctively tried to pull away.

But it was too late.

In the darkness, a hand grabbed her wrist and pinned her against the wall, making the nearby giant easel tremble.

The sudden movement made Wen Yinong gasp. Her eyes widened in shock as she found herself staring into a pair of blue-black eyes just inches away.

It was Mo Shaoshang.

His signature gold-rimmed glasses that usually gave him a rational look were gone, and his cold, fierce face was completely exposed in the shadows.

With nothing between them, he stared straight at her, his eyes deep and unfathomable, filled with a darkness she had never seen before.

Like a spiderweb, as if tangible, it enveloped her—threads upon threads, seeping into her bones.

Or like the deep sea under a storm, churning with thick, ink-black madness and an almost desperate longing.

Chaotic, restless, feverish, dangerous.

"Mr. Mo…" She was terrified to the core, her lips almost trembling as she struggled to steady the quiver in her voice. Feeling the scorching heat of his palm and breath, a thread of worry coiled around her panicked heart, and she asked softly, "You're burning up. Are you sick?"

Mo Shaoshang didn't speak.

He just stared at her fixedly, lips pressed together, his Adam's apple bobbing.

He looked so frightening that Wen Yinong instinctively thought he wasn't fully coherent—not the right moment to discuss Ari's situation—so she hurriedly added:

"The ginger tea is on the table. I'll be going now. Sorry to disturb you…" With that, she twisted her wrist and struggled to pull free from his grip.

But that large hand was like a mountain, immovable—no matter how she twisted, it wouldn't budge.

Wen Yinong grew even more afraid.

The rich, heady aroma of wine permeated every inch of the air, mingling with the man's intense pheromones, leaving her mind reeling.

Almost involuntarily, she reached out and pushed him directly.

Little did Wen Yinong know, the spark had already ignited, held back only by Mo Shaoshang's last shred of reason and self-control. Her touch now—the soft, smooth tips of her fingers—became the final breeze that set the prairie ablaze.

In the blink of an eye, the cord of reason in Mo Shaoshang's mind snapped completely.

His face calm, silent, his fingers tightened, knuckles shifting, and he took hold of her chin.

"…" Wen Yinong's long lashes fluttered.

She watched helplessly as he lowered his head and leaned in. His thin, shapely lips parted.

He kissed her fiercely.