A Fleeting Moment of Tenderness (Dedicated to Green Hill Diamond)

"The living must go on; live well!"

Linglan sighed, yet she had so much she could not bring herself to tell him. With a dazed, lingering motion, she pulled her hand back and dampened a towel to wipe his palms. It was rare to see a man’s hands look so clean, yet his palms were broader than hers; in his presence, she always felt so petite.

Linglan removed his wristwatch and set it on the nightstand. She did not open his phone again, nor did she pry into anything. She simply felt exhausted by this battle, yet in six days, a storm would descend.

With her eyes cast down, Linglan wiped his hands in silence. The life line and wisdom line on his palms were deeply etched, clear and distinct—a testament to this man’s extreme rationality and sharp intellect. But his heart line was less defined; it was not chaotic, however. The man was not fickle, but because he knew exactly what he wanted, he was prone to being overly pragmatic and ruthless.

Linglan knew only a little about palmistry. As she finished cleaning his hands, Mo Zhicheng suddenly grabbed hers. Even in his sleep, he gripped her palm tightly, as if clutching at a final straw. Linglan looked up and saw his brow furrowed in deep distress. She recalled the days leading up to New Year's Eve, when he had tossed and turned, lost in a haze of misery.

Only now did she understand why. If this brought him any relief, she would let him be. Regardless of how heavy his grip was—to the point where her bones clicked—she caught her breath, stifled a gasp, and sat quietly by his side.

***

Mo Zhicheng remained feverish, his hand still clamped tightly around hers. Linglan tried to pry his fingers loose, but at the slightest movement, his grip only tightened. She leaned in closer and whispered, "Zhicheng, I’m here... I’m right by your side."

She tried to soothe him. In his slumber, he seemed to hear her words. The tension on Linglan’s face softened, and she continued to murmur, "It’s okay... it will pass. Everything will pass."

Mo Zhicheng’s eyelashes fluttered, but cold, fine sweat continued to bead on his forehead. Seeing him so formidable in his daily life, she was struck by how fragile he appeared now that his defenses had crumbled.

She fetched fresh water and placed a cool towel on his brow to help lower his temperature. The man seemed to sense the relief, and the harsh, icy lines of his face slowly softened.

Linglan studied him closely. As she unbuttoned his shirt to change him into pajamas, she realized this was the first time she had seen him so clearly. His skin was a warm, wheat-toned hue, and the curvature from his shoulders to his elbows was impossibly perfect. His arms were beautifully defined, every muscle taut and powerful; she could easily imagine the sense of peace and security she felt every night when she lay in his embrace.

Previously, she had never dared to care for his strong, rugged body so openly, fearing her own trepidation. Now, looking at him, she discovered a raw, unbridled masculinity. There was no denying that Mo Zhicheng was a perfect man, so perfect he felt almost surreal.

When her fingers brushed over a deep scar on his abdomen, she paused. Linglan’s thumb traced it gently.

*If I let you kiss it, would it be so hard to admit that it hurts?*

Linglan lowered her eyes. As she leaned down, her lips brushed against the hardened texture of the scar. She closed her eyes, her long, delicate lashes trembling. She planted soft, dense kisses over the mark, her warm breath washing over him. She had never done anything so shy, yet in that moment, she felt no fear, no hesitation. She pecked at his skin, kissing every inch of his scars, as if she could smooth away the unresolved knots in his heart.

She opened her eyes and was about to pull away when the fever-stricken man suddenly reached out and pulled her waist toward him with surprising agility. He murmured in his sleep, "Don't go! I'm afraid... I'm afraid that I..."

His words were disjointed, trailing off into silence.

Linglan froze. *He was afraid?*

If he were awake, such words would never cross Mo Zhicheng’s lips. What kind of man was he? A man accustomed to ruling the world, a man who built empires from the ground up, whose every word was as powerful as a tremor—how could there be anything for him to fear?

Linglan sighed and held him, soothingly. "Don't be afraid... don't be afraid... I’m here. I’ll get you some medicine for the fever, and you need to drink more warm water. Be good, and wait for me to come back, okay?"

After the illness, he was truly like a child, incoherent and vulnerable. It was no wonder that, given the cutthroat schemes he dealt with daily, it was rare for him to truly let his guard down.

Linglan rubbed his neck, combed through the messy bangs on his forehead with her fingers, and left a light kiss on his brow. "Be good, hmm?"

Mo Zhicheng finally loosened his grip. Linglan changed his clothes, fed him the medicine, and tucked him in before leaving the master bedroom. She went to a nearby market to buy some fresh vegetables.

***

The slanted evening sun cast a warm, orange glow into the spacious room.

Mo Zhicheng slowly opened his eyes, gazing into the sunset. The quilt over him was light and warm, the fabric soft. Thinking he was still in a dream, he looked around and realized he was deep in the center of a king-sized bed.

He sat up and looked down to see he was wearing silk pajamas. On the balcony, his black shirt swayed in the evening breeze.

*She must have washed them.*

Taking the towel from his forehead, Mo Zhicheng got out of bed and headed to the first floor. He heard a rhythmic chopping sound coming from nearby and walked toward it.

The evening sky was ablaze with the fire of the setting sun. He leaned against the kitchen door, watching her busy silhouette. Mo Zhicheng smiled faintly. The air was thick with the sweet, rich scent of rice porridge. He felt a weakness in his bones and a sense of daze, as if he had been transported back to a warm fragment of his childhood.

Waking up to his mother’s busy shadow, the fragrance of preserved egg and lean meat porridge, the fresh and succulent shrimp—the fiery light fell upon the dark, polished rosewood table.

He watched, and it felt as if the tenderness of time had settled into a deep, quiet pool. Everything most precious in his life had been buried deep in the recesses of his memory. He had thought himself resolute enough, yet on this quiet evening, he was caught off guard, awakening a sense of helplessness.

He watched her graceful figure. Her dark, lustrous hair was tied up with a bamboo chopstick, with a few stray strands hanging against her neck. She opened the soup pot, scooped it with a ladle, and blew on it; thin wisps of steam curled upward. Perhaps satisfied with the aroma, she closed the lid and turned off the stove.

Linglan sighed, only to be pulled around by a force from behind. A gentle kiss met her face. She opened her eyes in astonishment and saw the man clearly; his eyes were closed as he kissed her lips.

She stared, lost, as the sunset light merged him with the evening glow. The kiss was lingering and tender. When they slowly opened their eyes, they saw the passion reflected in each other’s gaze.

"You're awake?" Linglan murmured. Her voice was slightly hoarse, yet melodious.

Mo Zhicheng didn't speak; he just stared at her deeply, his fingers brushing the stray hair from her forehead.

Linglan instinctively reached out and touched his brow. "The fever is gone."

He continued to stare at her, watching the blush spread across her cheeks.

Linglan shyly looked away. "You’ve just recovered; you should go to the dining room and wait for me. I made you some porridge with pickled mustard greens." In truth, this was the first time she had ever cooked for him.

"Will you feed me?" Mo Zhicheng finally asked.

Linglan fed him the porridge with a silver-white stainless steel spoon, the long handle tipped with white porcelain painted with red flowers. The rice was thick, smooth, and sweet, flavored with the mustard greens.

She had been independent since she was a child. During the dozen years she had harbored a secret crush on Ye Shao, she had learned to cook. She remembered the old saying that to win a man’s heart, one must first win his stomach. Over the years, her skills had only improved.

Seeing that Mo Zhicheng had finished the bowl quickly, Linglan served him another. She scooped a small spoonful, tapped it against the edge of the bowl, and blew it cool before feeding him. "How does your body feel now?" she asked.

"Better," he replied softly.

"Tomorrow... do you have any plans?"

"And you?"

Both seemed to be deliberately avoiding the events of the previous night.

Linglan thought for a moment. "It’s been a while since I visited the child I adopted. If we don’t have any plans tomorrow, would you like to go with me?" she probed, waiting for his answer.

To her surprise, he did not hesitate. "Alright."

Linglan nodded. He then asked, "Why did you come back last night?"

Finally, the conversation had turned to that.

Linglan was evasive. "I left something behind, so I came to get it."

The excuse was flimsy; she knew he wouldn't believe it. But Mo Zhicheng did not press her. He simply asked, "Did you find it?"

She nodded. "You were sick last night so I didn't leave, but please let me have tonight as well. There are some things I need to go back and sort out." She didn't know if he would agree, but she truly needed to organize her thoughts.

Mo Zhicheng looked at her serene face and sighed softly. "Go on, but remember to come back tomorrow. We agreed to go see the child you adopted together."

Linglan replied with a faint smile, though she knew clearly that tomorrow marked the end of their one-month agreement.

"Okay, wait for me!"

***

Not long after leaving the villa, Linglan called Bai Yuchen and invited him to meet at a coffee shop. The shop was secluded, making it more suitable for a private meeting.

Linglan quickly hailed a taxi. Although the young Master Bai looked to be in good spirits, Linglan could tell he had something on his mind.

She ordered a cappuccino for him and pushed it across the table. "I haven't seen you for a while. What's wrong?"

Bai Yuchen looked around and realized Linglan had only asked for him. Slightly puzzled, he asked, "Didn't Shenghan come?"

"No, I wanted to meet with you alone."

Bai Yuchen was even more confused. "What is it?" His expression suddenly grew tense. "Are you not feeling well?"

Linglan shook her head. "I'm fine."

"Then?"

"There are some things I want to ask you, Brother Yuchen."

"What is it?"