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Song Luo looked at the man standing behind Song Zhi, a head and a half taller than her, and fell silent.
Song Zhi was worried that He Hanyang would catch a worse cold from wearing wet clothes for too long. She impatiently pushed Song Luo: “What are you standing around for? Go get some clothes.”
Song Luo frowned: “What clothes?”
“Yours, of course. Are you expecting him to wear mine?”
She was still holding a bottle of vinegar, preparing to take it to the kitchen. She had just walked into the living room when she didn’t hear any movement behind her and looked back.
He Hanyang was still standing outside the door, motionless.
Song Zhi wondered: “Why aren’t you coming in?”
He looked at his hoodie, which was still dripping water, and subconsciously stepped back: “It’ll get dirty.”
His voice, made hoarser by his cold, sounded somewhat faint in the silent night.
It was the first time Song Zhi had seen him like this, acting like a meek little wife.
She tugged at his wet sleeve: “It’s fine if it gets dirty. Anyway, someone will mop it.”
As she spoke, she shot Song Luo a look of course.
The latter’s brow furrowed deeper: “You’re quite good at giving orders.”
Song Zhi cooed and acted spoiled with him: “Brother’s the best, brother’s the greatest.”
Song Luo disdainfully averted his gaze: “Get lost.”
He grumbled as he went back to his room, then grumbled as he randomly pulled out a set of clothes.
“One Jiang Yanzhou, and now this kid. Your peach blossoms are really blooming recently.”
Hearing his words, He Hanyang’s eyes subtly moved, and the hand holding the clothes gradually tightened.
Song Zhi pushed him: “What nonsense are you talking about?”
She led He Hanyang to the bathroom, opened a drawer, and took out a new toothbrush and towel for him: “There are no new mouthwash cups for now, so you can use mine, the pink one.”
Jiang Yanzhou and Qin He had stayed at the house before, and she hadn’t prepared any more.
He Hanyang nodded, softly saying: “Thank you.”
“Call me if you need anything. I’ll be in the living room; I can hear you.”
“Mm.”
Song Zhi closed the bathroom door and walked to the living room.
Song Luo came out of the kitchen, having taken off his apron, and asked her: “What’s going on? Didn’t you say it was just for the show? How did you end up bringing him home?”
Song Zhi wasn’t entirely sure what was happening: “I saw him downstairs when I went to buy vinegar. He was squatting there, looking dejected and getting rained on.”
She suddenly remembered the hot search she saw during the day. Could it be that the news of him leaving the team had hit him too hard?
It made sense; after being with a team for so many years, for them to suddenly not want him, and then to be relentlessly attacked online, anyone would feel uncomfortable.
As someone who had also been cyberbullied, Song Zhi empathized.
He Hanyang took half an hour to wash up, and came out of the bathroom, drying his hair.
The clothes were bought by Song Zhi, chosen according to her taste.
Song Luo found them too youthful and bright, so he never wore them, they were still brand new.
A white letter T-shirt, and light-colored, distressed ripped jeans.
He Hanyang had broad shoulders and long legs, lean and muscular, with the strength of a young man.
The clothes fit perfectly.
At this moment, he was unusually quiet. A light grey towel covered his slightly damp short hair, and strands fell across his forehead, obscuring part of his vision.
He lowered his arms, revealing prominent veins and muscles.
Song Zhi walked over, shaking the thermometer in her hand, and told him to put it in his mouth: “Open your mouth.”
He obediently opened his mouth, letting her put the thermometer in.
Song Zhi looked down at the time on her watch: “Just keep it in for ten minutes.”
Cold medicine and hot water were on the table, seemingly prepared in advance.
Song Zhi sat on the sofa. After a moment of hesitation, she carefully asked, “Did something upset you today?”
He looked at her, saying nothing.
Song Zhi gave a dry laugh: “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”
He Hanyang hesitated for a moment, then pointed to the thermometer in his mouth.
Only then did Song Zhi belatedly realize he couldn’t speak with that in his mouth.
She had been staying up too late recently, and her brain seemed to be getting duller.
Song Luo served the rice, carefully arranging the bowls and chopsticks, his gaze shifting between the two.
Then he asked Song Zhi, “How old is he?”
Song Zhi sat up straight: “Twenty.”
“So young, and you’re already making a move.”
Song Zhi warned him sternly: “Please retract your slander. Do you believe I’ll send you a lawyer’s letter?”
Song Luo nodded: “Qin He would probably be happy to help you with that.”
Speaking of Qin He, Song Zhi realized she hadn’t seen him in quite a while.
“Is Lawyer Qin very busy lately? I haven’t seen him in almost a month.”
“There’s a case involving child molestation. That family is very poor, and both parents have some intellectual disabilities, so they can’t afford legal fees. Your Lawyer Qin took on the case and has been busy handling the investigation these past few days.”
After cursing out that scumbag, Qin He’s image in her heart grew even grander: “Lawyer Qin is so handsome! No wonder he was the person I most wanted to marry when I was little.”
He Hanyang paused slightly while drying his hair.
Song Zhi checked the time, then moved a little closer. She pinched the end of the thermometer: “That’s enough.”
He Hanyang lowered his eyelashes, his deep eyes calmly watching her.
He slowly opened his mouth.
Song Zhi took out the thermometer, examined it carefully, and her delicate brows furrowed slightly: “Thirty-eight point six.”
She put the thermometer away, turned to him, and asked, “I remember your home is quite far away, isn’t it?”
He Hanyang nodded.
It was in the next district.
She sat down again: “It’s getting late. You should stay here tonight and go back tomorrow.”
His cold was severe, and his mental state didn’t seem very good. Song Zhi was a bit worried.
There weren’t enough rooms at home, so Song Zhi could only temporarily clear out the empty room where her clothes were piled up.
Originally, this was the guest bedroom, but her walk-in closet hadn’t been built yet, so all her things were stored inside.
She spread out the bedding for him, then roughly scanned the several rows of clothing racks in the room, all filled with her clothes.
Since they were all her exclusive items, the room was also filled with her unique faint scent.
Song Zhi felt a bit embarrassed: “It’s too messy here, and I haven’t had time to tidy up. Just make do for a night.”
He Hanyang shook his head: “Thank you.”
She was about to leave, wanting him to rest well for a while. After hesitating for a moment, she stopped.
She turned around and walked back to him: “Are you so sad today because of those online topics?”
No, it wasn’t.
He never cared about what others said.
Rather than not caring, it was more like he simply didn’t take those people seriously.
But when Song Zhi asked, he suddenly didn’t dare to tell her the truth.
Matters of the heart are indeed selfish.
He felt his expression must be ugly at this moment, lying out of jealousy.
“Mm.”
Song Zhi sighed and comforted him: “If someone likes you, someone will naturally dislike you. These things are normal. The comments of a few people don’t represent you, and they don’t mean you’re not good.”
He Hanyang gathered his courage and softly asked her: “Then what about you? Do you think I’m good?”
“Good, of course you are.”
“Both kind and filial, and you’ve reached the peak in your field of expertise. You’re already much better than most people.”
He Hanyang’s fingertips moved slightly.
He wanted to hug her.
But he still held back, saying a faint: “Mm.”
Song Zhi saw that his mood seemed to have recovered a bit, so she confidently stood up: “Get some rest early.”
Before leaving, she considerately turned off the room light for him.
Song Luo was smoking on the balcony. Seeing her come out, he waved, signaling her to come over.
“What’s up?”
Song Luo flicked ash, glanced towards He Hanyang’s room: “What’s the situation?”
“What situation?”
“You, Jiang Yanzhou, and him, a love triangle?”
Song Zhi was choked by his words: “I’m single right now, okay?”
Song Luo nonchalantly pointed out the key point: “That kid likes you, doesn’t he?”
Song Zhi’s pupils widened: “Huh?”
Song Luo disdainfully put out his cigarette butt, poking her forehead with his index finger: “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”
She had indeed suspected at times that He Hanyang might have feelings for her, but it was just an occasional thought.
After all, the little brother was young, and it was normal for him to be momentarily attracted by her beauty.
Plus, she heard he was her fan, so it might just be an idol filter.
Liking her was probably true, but not necessarily that kind of liking.
“He’s my fan.”
Song Luo scoffed: “The way he looked at you just now...”
Song Zhi looked up: “What look?”
“...Never mind, you’re too dense. Even if I told you, you wouldn’t understand.” He patted her shoulder. “Figure it out yourself.”
Song Zhi had no time to ponder; she was too sleepy.
So sleepy that she crashed as soon as her head hit the pillow.
The next day was a rare day off, no work.
She had forgotten to close the curtains last night, and the glaring sunlight woke her from her sleep.
With blurry, sleepy eyes, she fumbled for her phone on the nightstand, unlocked it, and checked the time.
It was only 8:30 AM, and the sun was already so strong.
She had mild myopia and occasionally wore glasses at home, black-framed ones.
With her glasses on, most of her face was covered. Her hair was a bit messy from sleeping. She yawned and pushed open her bedroom door, complaining to Song Luo: “Tomorrow I’m sleeping in your room. It’s too sunny here; all my sun protection will be for nothing...”
He Hanyang was holding his hoodie, his upper body still bare, revealing his strong, toned, tanned abs.
Song Zhi had just pulled open the refrigerator door, still holding a carton of milk, and froze.
She belatedly remembered that she had seemingly “picked up a stray dog” by the roadside yesterday.
“Um...” She averted her gaze, awkwardly clearing her throat, “Why aren’t you wearing clothes this early in the morning?”
“My clothes are dry, so I wanted to change back.”
Song Zhi saw the clothes that had just been taken off on the sofa; they were indeed the ones she had given him yesterday.
“These clothes are all new. My brother never wore them once.”
He turned his back and zipped up his pants: “I know.”
Breakfast was on the dining table, along with a note.
Song Luo had gone to the company at 7:30 AM.
[Heat the milk before drinking; don’t drink it cold.]
Looking at the milk she had just taken from the fridge, Song Zhi mumbled: “Is he clairvoyant?”
The doorbell rang. She paused for a moment, put down the milk, and went to open the door.
Jiang Yanzhou, uncharacteristically, had shed his formal, dignified attire and was dressed casually.
Light filtered through the window at the end of the corridor, and the warm sun fell on him, making him appear warm and refined.
He was carrying a thermos food container and said with a faint smile: “Aunt Wu made porridge. I took the highway specifically because I was afraid it would get cold.”
Song Zhi was significantly shorter than him. His gaze swept over the top of her head, landing on a spot inside the house.
A man had his back to the door, pulling a hoodie over his head.
A bare upper body, and it wasn’t Song Luo.
The smile on his face instantly froze.
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