Chapter 40: What If I Said It Was Between a Man and a Woman?

Now that she had decided to stay, she couldn’t leave empty-handed. She was curious about his intentions. Ye Linglan slipped off her high heels, gently closed the door behind her, and walked into the room. Mo Zhicheng watched her, lowering the dark porcelain cup in his hand. That lingering utterance, "Very beautiful," seemed to still drift in the air.

“Sit,” the man spoke softly, yet his words carried a hint of command, accustomed as he was to issuing orders. But tonight, Linglan complied, sitting elegantly across from him, her posture graceful as she bent her knees. After a moment’s thought, she nodded, meeting his gaze, her mind filled with questions. For instance, he could easily have sought her out at Night City, so why choose the teahouse instead? And why go to such lengths to give her this qipao? Yet she remained silent; he looked at her, and she looked at him. Neither spoke, as if both were used to the quiet.

Mo Zhicheng picked up a clean porcelain cup and placed it before her. “Do you know the tea ceremony?”

Ye Linglan shook her head gently and replied, “I only understand the basics.”

“Is that so?” The man raised an eyebrow, his voice low and tinged with amusement. “I thought you’d be adept at everything. Having graduated from South River’s top academy, you must be more talented than most.”

“You flatter me, Mr. Mo. No one is perfect. You’ve seen far more of the world than I have—what little I know is hardly worth mentioning.” Linglan responded promptly. The man simply lowered his head, moving with practiced ease. He lifted a fine porcelain teapot, poured half a cup of tea, and, using a tea tong, gently swirled and cleaned it—a step to wash the tea. After cleansing, as he prepared to pour her tea, Linglan stopped him with a cold hand on his wrist. Mo Zhicheng glanced up at her.

“Mr. Mo, let me do it,” Linglan took the teapot from his hand. “The tea ceremony is a form of etiquette. Officially, you are my superior; privately, you are nine years my senior, which makes you my elder. Pouring tea should be my task.” Her words were flawless, each point logical.

Mo Zhicheng paused, pondering for a moment, then murmured, “Nine years older? I am your elder?”

Linglan didn’t notice the nuance in his tone. She lowered her head, poured the tea, and placed it gently before Mo Zhicheng. Her movements were smooth and familiar, like water flowing. “Yes, so I want to ask—tonight, is this a conversation between superior and subordinate, or...”

“If I say it’s between a man and a woman?” Before Linglan could finish, the man interrupted her immediately.

Between a man and a woman? Linglan froze, startled, as the fortress she’d built in her heart collapsed in an instant. A flash crossed her mind—the memory of his forceful kiss. Surprise flickered in her eyes as she turned away, but unexpectedly, the man reached across the table and pulled her close.

“Ah—” Her cry mixed with shock. By the time she regained her senses, she was already in his arms. Linglan stared, instinctively struggling, but he held her firmly. She blurted out, “Mr. Mo, please have some self-respect!”

“Hush,” he pressed his finger to her lips, forbidding her to speak. “Such beautiful lips aren’t meant for retorts.”

Their eyes met, reflecting each other’s shadows. She was nearly reclining in his arms, his grip strong and unyielding, holding her tightly. Under the dim lamp, Mo Zhicheng studied her intently. After a long moment, his finger slipped away, and the back of his hand brushed lightly across her left cheek, as soft as a feather. She frowned. “Mr. Mo, don’t do this!”

He simply examined her face, disregarding her protest, and asked, “Does your cheek still hurt?”