Chapter 24: A Sudden Longing

On Sunday evening, Zhao Qiyan was drinking with a few friends visiting from out of town. He had always been disciplined with alcohol—measured, controlled. But that night, something in him was unsettled. When glasses were raised, he did not refuse. Each toast was met without hesitation, the liquor burning down his throat as if he welcomed the sting.

Midway through the night, someone called in a hostess. A glamorous woman slid into the seat beside him, her bright red fingernails gliding along his firm forearm. "Are you drunk?"

"I'm fine, don't touch me." Qi Yan gently but decisively removed her hand.

"It turns out he was someone who disliked sensual occasions."

Qi Yan’s lips curved faintly. "I just don't want other women to touch me."

After leaving the bar, he declined the invitation to continue elsewhere. He took a taxi back to his apartment, showered under scalding water, then lay on his bed with his arm draped across his eyes. Ten minutes passed. He did not move.

Then he sat up abruptly, dressed again, and drove out into the night.

Ruan Jing’s schedule was irregular. Weekends were often her busiest time. So when Zhao Qiyan arrived at the gallery at ten, it did not surprise him to see the first-floor office lights still on.

The slightly ajar door creaked open. Ruan Jing, bent over her drawing, looked up. A small smile formed when she saw him. "What brings you here?"

"Come—to see you." He stepped closer. "Busy?"

She leaned back and rubbed her neck. "It's alright, I'm almost done with everything."

Qi Yan moved behind her. His hands settled warmly on her shoulders, thumbs pressing lightly at the base of her neck. Ruan Jing stiffened in surprise. "Qi Yan—"

"I just want to make you feel comfortable." His voice was low, steady. His fingers found the right points with surprising precision, kneading in slow rhythm.

The tension gradually melted from her muscles. A quiet sigh escaped her lips.

The next moment, his mouth brushed hers.

Her lashes trembled. Their eyes met—his dark, unreadable, heavy with something deeper than simple desire. He lifted a hand to cover her eyes.

Darkness fell.

The sensation of his lips lingering against hers became sharper, more consuming. She turned slightly away, but he followed, deepening the kiss. The scent of him—clean, distinctly masculine—wrapped around her senses until her resistance weakened.

After a long while, he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against her waist, arms circling her gently. The tenderness of the gesture felt almost dangerous.

"Speak?"

"Um?"

His voice carried a faint, chilling undertone.

She let out a small laugh. "What have I done to offend you?"

He blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

"I'm going to my dad's hometown tomorrow. Do you want to come with me? I'll stay for a week."

In that instant, something in his expression shifted completely. The habitual darkness and sharpness in his gaze vanished, replaced by something startlingly soft—almost boyish, almost fragile.

Every December, she returned to her father’s hometown for a week. It was a ritual she never broke.

On Monday morning, Ruan Minghui drove her to the train station. Midway, Zhao Qiyan called.

"Is there anything I can bring you? I happen to be at the supermarket."

"Thank you for the drink."

"You're welcome."

Ruan Minghui glanced sideways at his daughter. "Finally in a relationship."

"What?"

"All smiles and friendly demeanor." He chuckled. "Who is this person?"

"Just an ordinary person, nothing special."

"Ha, how does it compare to Jiang Yan?"

"Different types are not comparable."

Ruan Minghui nodded thoughtfully. "Ordinary is best. Don't look for someone who's rich and good-looking; they're unreliable, understand?"

"Know."

They boarded the ten o’clock train together. By chance, their seats were side by side.

Qi Yan opened her drink and handed it over with a smile. "This is my first time riding a train."

"How are you feeling?"

"I think I'll never forget this."

The faint smile he wore carried layers she did not fully decipher.

She turned toward the window, watching travelers drag heavy suitcases along the platform. Compared to them, she and Zhao Qiyan carried almost nothing—just one simple bag each.

Two young women sat across from them, chatting animatedly without pause. Ruan Jing had hoped to nap but eventually gave up. Leaning closer to Qi Yan, she whispered, "Qi Yan, use your charm to make them stop talking."

He looked up from his magazine. "What?"

She studied his face and sighed theatrically. "I didn't expect you to be so attractive."

He lowered his head with a quiet smile. "You only found out today?"

"Zhao Qiyan, you're getting more and more arrogant."

"No, I have never been arrogant towards you."

His tone was deliberate, each word chosen.

Silence settled between them—not awkward, but charged. Every glance seemed to carry something unspoken. Gradually, Ruan Jing began to understand what he was offering, and she found herself responding in kind.

The train arrived at one in the afternoon.

"Cousin!" A girl of seventeen or eighteen waved excitedly at the exit.

Ruan Jing smiled at Qi Yan. "I forgot to tell you, young master, we're quite simple and honest here, we don't have any private cars to pick us up."

Mo Huihui ran forward and hugged her. "Second cousin, I've missed you so much!"

"I miss you too."

The girl peeked at Zhao Qiyan, eyes bright. "Who is he?"

Ruan Jing hesitated. Qi Yan leaned close and murmured, "Is it difficult to answer?"

She sighed lightly, smiling. Huihui’s flushed face already betrayed her understanding.

That evening, Ruan Jing introduced Zhao Qiyan to her grandparents. After dinner, he played Chinese chess with the family patriarch while she retreated to her room with her grandmother for a private chat.

At nine, she returned to find him sitting on her small sofa, watching television.

"Qiyan?"

"Excuse me—where am I supposed to sleep?" He stood, smiling.

Realization dawned. There were no guest rooms here. "Sorry, uh, you can sleep here if you don't mind."

He narrowed his eyes slightly before smiling. "Okay."

He would later admit to himself that this arrangement bordered on self-inflicted torment.

She lay beside him, breathing soft and even. He remained wide awake.

When her hand drifted unconsciously against his arm, he opened his eyes.

Her sleeping face looked younger, unguarded. Her dark hair spilled loosely across the pillow. Desire stirred slowly, dangerously.

He shut his eyes tightly. Indulgence would have consequences. He knew this.

The night dragged on. His temples throbbed. He considered reaching for sleeping pills but did not dare disturb her.

Near dawn, just as exhaustion finally claimed him, she shifted again—rolling closer, her legs brushing his. The sheet slipped lower. The outline of her body beneath the thin fabric was impossible to ignore.

Her scent drifted over him.

He kissed her.

It began softly—but restraint, stretched thin all night, snapped. The hunger he had buried surged forward in a single, overwhelming wave.

She woke, startled, face flushing, pushing at him—but his kiss deepened, urgent, almost desperate.

He felt himself crossing boundaries he had sworn to protect. He needed her—had needed her for longer than he dared admit. A kiss was no longer enough. His hands trembled as he drew her closer, desire blurring the edges of reason.

In the dim gray light of early morning, on the narrow bed in the quiet rural house, they tangled together, breath uneven, hearts racing.

When he guided her hand, seeking warmth, seeking reassurance, she stiffened—but did not fully pull away. Hesitation flickered through her, yet she allowed herself to be carried by the current he created.

He buried his face at her neck, breathing hard. The friction of bodies, the fragile wooden door sealing them into their own world, the sense of crossing into something irreversible—

And in that suspended moment, neither of them could turn back.