Chapter 8

Song Zhi fell asleep midway, her throat nearly hoarse from shouting.

She wasn’t sure how long she slept, only that her consciousness was hazy. When she opened her eyes, the half-drawn curtains revealed a faint glow of dawn in the sky.

Glancing at her phone, she realized she’d only slept for less than half an hour—no wonder she felt so exhausted.

Jiang Yanzhou sat on the couch in his pajamas, smoking a cigarette after their intense encounter. His thoughts seemed distant as his deep eyes gazed out at the lightening sky. His pale, slender neck was now covered in glaring red scratch marks.

While Jiang Yanzhou had unleashed his desires on her, Song Zhi had also vented her frustrations on him.

She rubbed her sore arms and sat up, the blanket sliding off her body, revealing most of her snow-white shoulders.

Her jet-black hair cascaded down like algae or a waterfall, exuding a quiet and enchanting beauty reminiscent of a 19th-century oil painting.

The “oil painting” coughed lightly due to her dry, aching throat and called out to him sweetly: “Zhouzhou, could you get me a glass of water?”

Jiang Yanzhou snapped slightly out of his thoughts, frowning slightly at the nickname but saying nothing. He glanced at her, stubbed out his cigarette, and rose to head to the living room.

The scent of eucalyptus from the incense in the room mingled with the lingering traces of passion, creating a faintly intoxicating atmosphere.

Jiang Yanzhou took a long time to return. Just as Song Zhi began to suspect he might have collapsed in the living room from overexertion, the door opened.

In addition to a glass of water, he carried a bowl of noodles—light, without a trace of oil, topped with a few strands of green vegetables and a soft-boiled egg.

So he had gone to cook noodles for her.

Song Zhi was completely naked, wearing nothing. She stretched out her delicate arm and pointed to the wardrobe: “There’s a nude pink nightgown on the left side of the wardrobe. Could you hand it to me?”

Most of Song Zhi’s clothes were stored in the walk-in closet, while the bedroom wardrobe primarily held sleepwear.

An entire wall of the wardrobe was filled with her collection of nightgowns—she likely owned close to a hundred, if not more.

Jiang Yanzhou’s handful of garments were squeezed into a corner, looking somewhat lonely and pitiful.

He retrieved one and handed it to her.

Song Zhi frowned, dissatisfied. “This is red.”

Jiang Yanzhou: “...”

Silently, he hung the gown back and picked out another.

Song Zhi: “This one’s cherry blossom pink.”

“...”

Jiang Yanzhou’s rare patience and good temper were usually reserved for moments after he had satisfied his desires.

He exchanged it again.

Song Zhi: “This one’s magenta.”

Frowning, he simply lifted her from the bed and carried her to the wardrobe. “Pick whichever one you want.”

Suddenly pulled from the warmth of the blankets, a chill swept over her. She nestled closer to Jiang Yanzhou’s chest, pouting softly. “Why are you being so mean?”

Then, carefully extending her little hand, she retrieved the first red nightgown he had picked.

Jiang Yanzhou: “….”

It must be said, Jiang Yanzhou’s cooking skills were quite commendable.

He had been independent since childhood and moved out after graduating high school, living alone in a 500-square-meter villa with a garden and private pool.

He was capable of handling basic household chores.

For example, cooking.

Song Zhi, mindful of maintaining her figure, ate sparingly, picking at the noodles one strand at a time as though they were poison.

Occasionally, she deliberately nitpicked: “The greens are overcooked—they’re not tender at all. And this soft-boiled egg? Too runny.”

Jiang Yanzhou decided it was better not to look and shifted his gaze away. “Come home with me tomorrow.”

Song Zhi looked up. “Which home?”

“The Jiang family estate.”

“Oh.”

Song Zhi considered her relationship with Jiang Yanzhou akin to friends-with-benefits—focused on physical pleasure rather than emotional connection. But upon closer examination, they could also pass as something resembling a semi-couple.

After eating a third of the bowl, Song Zhi pushed it toward him. “I’m done. You can finish it.”

Jiang Yanzhou cast a silent glance at her before rising to dump the remaining noodles.

That old bastard lacked romance—even the decency to eat his girlfriend’s leftovers.

They had stayed up late last night, leaving Song Zhi both tired and drowsy.

Sleepiness washed over her like an overwhelming tide. She yawned and drifted back to sleep.

With little work scheduled these days, Xia Wanyue had given her a few days off to adjust her routine.

For once, she wasn’t woken by the alarm clock. Song Zhi woke naturally after a deep, restful sleep.

As expected, no one was beside her when she opened her eyes.

Xu envied the wealthy lifestyle, believing that having money meant never having to wake up early for work.

Little did he know, some people, despite possessing wealth spanning generations, remained relentless workaholics.

Breakfast that day consisted of egg toast and smoked salmon. Aunt He had disappeared early; Xiao Lian from the kitchen informed Song Zhi: “Aunt He picked up some herbal medicine prescribed by the neighboring TCM doctor a few days ago. Since your mother-in-law isn’t feeling well, she thought you could bring it over when you visit the old house today.”

The “mother-in-law” referred to Jiang Yanzhou’s mother, whom Song Zhi had met once, long ago.

Back then, she was still a student, and Cao Suyue was still young.

A true lady, elegant and refined, even dressed in a simple qipao, her noble air was undeniable.

Marriages among the upper class were often alliances of equals.

Her background spoke for itself—powerful and prestigious.

But even the highest birth couldn’t withstand the restless heart of a scoundrel.

Dinner wasn’t until later, leaving plenty of time.

Song Zhi made plans with Tang Xiaoyan to get her nails done. Coincidentally, Xu Lanlan was there too.

She sat in the backseat of Tang Xiaoyan’s flashy convertible, arms crossed, casting a challenging glance at Song Zhi. “What, don’t need to accompany your man? Has Jiang Yanzhou already grown tired of you after just returning to the country?”

Song Zhi smiled, opening the front passenger door to sit down. “Why the change of seats? Did you abandon your beloved yacht already?”

Her light, seemingly harmless tone always managed to strike a nerve.

At the mention of this, Xu Lanlan grew agitated. After returning home from the bar that night, she threw a tantrum, blaming her father for giving her a second-hand yacht and transferring the land plot to her older sister.

To make matters worse, her father scolded her for being immature.

Because of this, she had run away from home for three days, staying at Tang Xiaoyan’s place.

Upon hearing that Song Zhi had made plans with Tang Xiaoyan for a manicure, she insisted on tagging along.

Unable to outwit Song Zhi verbally, she sulked alone in the backseat.

The car stopped at a red light. Tang Xiaoyan asked Song Zhi, “Did Jiang Yanzhou get angry when he returned home that day?”

Song Zhi’s tone was bold: “Why would he be angry? If he dared to be angry, I’d twist his head off.”

Tang Xiaoyan knew them both all too well—one was dramatic and spoiled, the other aloof and unapproachable.

Such polar opposites—it intrigued her how they ended up together.

“You cursed him like that, and he didn’t get mad?”

Clearly skeptical.

Song Zhi shrugged. “After a good night’s sleep, everything was fine.”

Tang Xiaoyan had seen firsthand how Song Zhi could soothe even a lion, taming it completely.

Whenever she encountered Jiang Yanzhou herself, she instinctively hid in corners, avoiding eye contact.

Some people wore cruelty on their faces because they harbored insecurities, attempting to project an image of invincibility.

But those who were truly ruthless didn’t bother with pretenses.

Jiang Yanzhou was the latter.

For this reason, Tang Xiaoyan couldn’t help but admire her sincerely: “Seems like you’ve got impressive skills in bed.”

On this point, Song Zhi believed honesty was best: “The one with impressive skills in bed is Jiang Yanzhou.”

From the backseat, Xu Lanlan sneered, seizing the opportunity. “Looks like you’re really good for nothing. I can’t imagine why Jiang Yanzhou would even be with you.”

Her words dripped with bitterness.

Song Zhi turned her head, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Because he craves my body.”