Shen Qianzhan didn’t take the airport incident to heart.

She was just surprised reporters could be so diligent, waiting at the airport like hunters for her appearance. The “Time” incident’s influence might be far greater than she’d estimated.

She wondered whether, someday when the truth reversed, these justice warriors could still pick up their spears as they did today and point their arrows at the side they once defended.

——

3 PM, Time Hall.

Meng Wanzhou had been looking left and right at the entrance, waiting nearly an hour before Bu Zhong Sui’s business car finally arrived.

He courteously took the suitcase from the driver and led Shen Qianzhan to the adjacent courtyard.

Though they hadn’t met in ages, Meng Wanzhou’s enthusiasm remained unchanged—the awkward scenes Shen Qianzhan imagined didn’t occur.

Meng Wanzhou placed Shen Qianzhan’s luggage in Ji Qinghe’s room and led her on a tour of the courtyard’s residential area.

Last time Shen Qianzhan visited, she’d only stayed in the main hall and kitchen. She was visiting Old Master Ji—part work, part social obligation—so how could she presume to request a tour of their living quarters?

This time, Meng Wanzhou clearly categorized her as family, explaining everything in detail: “Look at this roof ridge—it was the same hundreds of years ago as now. We tried to preserve everything during restoration. Tearing this down wouldn’t leave anything valuable.”

“And this well—Time Hall’s courtyard has one too, but not as ancient. Qinghe says it still chills watermelon in summer, but once there are children at home, the well opening is too shallow and will need sealing.”

Shen Qianzhan had been listening with a smile until she heard “children at home,” then grew slightly serious: “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Where would I?” Meng Wanzhou scratched his head, saying quietly: “Aren’t I still hoping to get assigned one? You and Qinghe will definitely be faster than this lonely bachelor.” After speaking, he felt he’d misspoken, fidgeting: “Not pressuring for grandchildren—that’s not pressure.”

He wasn’t sure if this topic was appropriate, but thinking Shen Qianzhan and Ji Qinghe were sharing a room, it should be okay?

——

The courtyard covered considerable ground.

After Meng Wanzhou’s tour, Shen Qianzhan could only admire Old Master Ji’s consistent taste.

The Xi’an mansion went without saying.

Beijing was where every inch cost gold. This courtyard appeared an ordinary residence on the surface, but inside had winding paths, towers, carved railings, and painted buildings—all hidden luxury. Saying it was built on gold wouldn’t be excessive.

After touring, Meng Wanzhou escorted her back to rest: “Beijing nightlife hasn’t started—Qinghe won’t return yet. Is there anything you want for dinner? I’ll make it.”

“Don’t trouble yourself.” Shen Qianzhan tapped her wrist: “I want to sleep. I’m unsure when I’ll wake, so don’t wait for me for dinner.”

Never having coaxed girls, Meng Wanzhou couldn’t distinguish whether she truly wanted rest or was making excuses. But thinking of recent news, he mentally constructed scenarios of Shen Qianzhan feigning strength, hurriedly agreeing: “Fine, call if you need anything. I’m idle anyway—just order me around.”

Without waiting for her reply, he closed the door and returned to Time Hall.

——

Shen Qianzhan slept peacefully.

Though this room wasn’t familiar, it bore his traces everywhere.

Lying in bed, watching gauze curtains lift in the breeze, scattered sunlight streamed from the windowsill with twinkling shadows. Outside his bedroom stood an old tree, two stories tall with dense foliage, making the courtyard’s white walls and black tiles appear as poetic as water towns—breathtakingly beautiful.

Apparently, without skyscrapers or river night views, just one small room, one old tree, one ray of sunlight could be so lovely.

She slightly turned, pillowing her head, sleeping from dusk until lights lit up.

Waking, the plain gauze curtains had been swept outside by wind, trailing like skirt hems.

Meng Wanzhou’s booming voice carried from Time Hall’s front hall to the alley’s end, faintly accompanied by children’s laughter—full of life’s warmth.

She sat up and checked her phone first.

A video notification from Qiao Xin’s repost appeared on screen.

Opening it, she found Bu Zhong Sui’s new product launch.

The video’s first half introduced the new watch series’ design concepts and highlights, from detailed hands to overall design sense. Though lengthy discussions, the presenter’s humor and trendy jokes made the entire launch unusually relaxed and witty.

Cameras frequently swept over Ji Qinghe, though briefly each time. Whenever he appeared, the comments went wild.

“This is Bu Zhong Sui’s old trick—knowing everyone loves watching, giving handsome brother screen time when sisters need refreshing.”

“So he’s the Executive President! Saw him at previous launches—was amazed then, searched the entire internet fruitlessly.”

“Ahhhhh brother’s looking at the camera again! Look at his gaze behind those lenses—so killing!”

The host was currently flipping pages with a brief pause.

The camera knowingly focused on Ji Qinghe in the front VIP row. He seemed distracted, head lowered, playing with his phone.

After getting off the plane, time was tight—his suit and equipment were all brought to the scene by Ming Jue for changing.

This dark-patterned black suit looked familiar to Shen Qianzhan—she’d seen similar ones. Due to its waist-hugging, hip-showing cut, she’d touched and pinched it, forbidding Ji Qinghe from removing it.

Now he sat there, waist straight, posture upright, effortlessly attracting everyone’s attention without doing anything.

Yet he seemed unaware, slightly lowering his head, chin tucked, lashes drooping, focused on his phone screen.

Just then, Shen Qianzhan’s phone vibrated. As if time and space crossed, a new WeChat message suddenly dropped in the screen’s notification bar.

—Ji Qinghe: Awake?

Her heart felt suddenly gripped by him, suspended at her throat, then slowly dropping.

Though knowing this video was from the launch two hours ago, Shen Qianzhan still felt guilty about flirting while he was distracted at meetings.

She bit her lip, replying: “Just woke up, are you done?”

After sending, she returned to the video.

On-screen Ji Qinghe still had his head lowered, one-handedly operating his phone, typing quickly.

His profile was refined and elegant with smooth lines—no flaws from any angle.

Amid screens full of “ahhhhh,” everyone was saying “Brother, please look up at me!”

The venue’s microphone made soft crackling sounds from current changes. He came back to attention, raising his eyes—those eyes like wandering midnight spirits, so dark they seemed bottomless.

He finally noticed cameras secretly filming him, accurately turning slightly to catch them perfectly.

Instantly, the comment screens went crazy.

Shen Qianzhan suddenly realized she’d worried unnecessarily for Bu Zhong Sui these days.

Ji Qinghe’s face could compete in entertainment circles. With just this appearance, even during apocalyptic crises he could easily escape, let alone a small “investment mistake.”

While she was internally complaining, WeChat bounced with Ji Qinghe’s reply: “Mm, just finished. Call?”

Shen Qianzhan had just sent “okay” when he seemed to be waiting and immediately called.

“What are you doing?” Ji Qinghe asked.

“Just woke up?” Shen Qianzhan cleared her throat, dropping the questioning tone to answer seriously: “Watching replays.”

“Mine?” he asked.

Shen Qianzhan nodded, then realized he was waiting for an answer and hummed agreement.

“Good-looking?” His voice was deep, seemingly casual.

Shen Qianzhan heard discussion sounds from his end. Though unsure of his environment, obviously he wasn’t alone.

She was more nervous than this negligent party himself, considering her words carefully before replying: “Pretty good-looking.”

Ji Qinghe suited these deep-toned, solid formal wear—both reserved and low-key. Best not too formal—overly formal occasions made his suits not just abstinent but indulgent…

Instead, like today’s style had little schemes.

Slightly cinched waist, creating a narrow waist.

Then opening two bright slits at the hem, revealing his near-perfect curved hips. Every movement, though unintentional, constantly attracted focused attention.

Ji Qinghe pressed: “Which part looked best?”

Shen Qianzhan seriously recalled.

Seemingly every shot she liked wasn’t deliberately focused on him—his straight, upright posture when rising; his cold, disdainful glance toward cameras; even when sitting, his suit pants folding into small fan-like patterns at his leg bends, slightly revealing ankles and… the slightly tight crotch area outlined by pants one size too small due to no time for fitting adjustments.

The more Shen Qianzhan thought, the more perverted she felt…

Of all things to stare at, she specifically stared at crotches.

Unable to answer, she deflected: “Everything looked good, just felt the clothes might be a bit tight?”

Ji Qinghe lightly hummed, the “mm” with rising intonation, seemingly puzzled: “I asked about the watch.”

Shen Qianzhan: “…”

Ji Qinghe succeeded, chuckling twice, no longer teasing: “I’m almost there, want to eat something?”

“Almost there?” Shen Qianzhan was surprised.

Ji Qinghe knocked his knuckles against his watch face. In the crisp tapping sound, he announced the time: “Ten thirty-two.”

“If I didn’t call, would you not know to check up?”

Past ten already?

She hadn’t noticed the time when waking, then spent over an hour watching the launch—no wonder it was late.

Her silence was the most direct answer.

Ji Qinghe stepped out of the car, switching phone hands: “I’ll come back first, then decide what you eat.”

Shen Qianzhan felt this sentence had implications, but before she could analyze further, he quietly said “hanging up” and decisively did so.

Immediately, she heard Meng Wanzhou’s booming voice greeting the late-returning Ji Qinghe from the courtyard below: “Back?”

“Mm.” Ji Qinghe’s response was cold. Passing the courtyard, he looked up at the room with lights still off, unaware Shen Qianzhan had already descended the stairs and waited behind the door.

Seeing Ji Qinghe walking straight toward the main house without looking sideways, Meng Wanzhou enthusiastically asked: “Producer Shen hasn’t woken yet—want me to passionately chat with her?”

Ji Qinghe ignored him completely as he passed.

Meng Wanzhou persisted: “No chatting? I can cook instead.”

Ji Qinghe finally glanced back at him: “No trouble, I’ll take her out to eat.”

Meng Wanzhou: “What, my cooking isn’t as good as outside food? Stop right there—if we don’t clarify this tonight…” you’re not entering your room.

But before he finished, Ji Qinghe stepped inside, closing the door behind him, shutting out the chattering noise.

He hadn’t yet adjusted to the darkness when someone waiting behind the door embraced him, tightly encircling his waist.

Ji Qinghe startled, then silently curved his lips, embracing Shen Qianzhan back.

The debauched rogue discreetly pinched the narrow waist she’d wanted to touch many times in the video, then slightly leaned back, looking up: “My takeout has arrived.”

Ji Qinghe raised an eyebrow slightly, immediately understanding: “Now?”

Shen Qianzhan tiptoed, nuzzling forcefully at his neck: “It’s gotten a bit cold.”

Ji Qinghe was very cooperative: “Then reheat it?”

He casually threw his phone into the entryway storage box, freeing his hands to press her against the door, one hand supporting the door beside her neck, the other around her waist, lowering his head to kiss.

In Wuxi, incidents occurred continuously.

When one’s luck was poor, even the environment became oppressive.

The hotel’s cramped room seemed filled with invisible pressure everywhere, suffocating. Naturally, there was no mood for passionate entanglements.

Back in Beijing.

Everything seemed to return to normal tracks.

He lingered, nibbled, as if demanding back everything owed during the dry spell—fierce and urgent.

Outside, Meng Wanzhou continued his endless scolding: “What kind of person is this? Forgetting friendship for lust, burning bridges after crossing.”

“Ji Qinghe, just wait—on your wedding day, I’ll bring a truck of wine jars and won’t consider myself Meng Wanzhou unless I get you drunk! Let’s see how you enter the bridal chamber, all monkey-anxious.”

“No need for his concern.” He still had leisure, while sucking her lips, to say quietly: “I’m already entering the bridal chamber.”

The latter half, he bit out light and heavy, hoarse, like a feather sweeping across her heart.

Shen Qianzhan felt him pressing against her, vigorous, as if to destroy everything before them.

Only then did she feel somewhat afraid, breathlessly, softly reminding: “He’s still downstairs.”

“He doesn’t dare come in.”

But you will come in…

Shen Qianzhan was on the verge of tears, tugging his suit while still refusing: “No, no.”

Ji Qinghe didn’t listen.

He guided Shen Qianzhan’s hand to undo the belt at his waist, then along the waistline downward, exploring bit by bit: “The clothes fit well, just this part is a bit tight.”

Shen Qianzhan touched the place he mentioned, hummed softly, wanting to withdraw.

He gripped her wrist, leaning to bite her ear: “Speak.”

“How long were you staring at it?”