Chapter Thirty-Three: The Storm Approaches

After returning to the apartment, Mo Qinghan washed up briefly and changed into the loungewear He Zheyu had prepared for her. She didn’t go into the bedroom, but instead wandered into the study, picked up a book at random, and settled into the hanging chair. She leafed through a few pages, but her mind kept drifting back to what Zhao Qingwu had said: “I’m going to steal you away from He Zheyu.” Her once calm heart was again stirred into turmoil, and she could no longer find peace. Letting out a long sigh, she tossed the book aside. Thinking about herself, He Yuru, and Zhao Qingwu, the tangled relationships among the three of them left her mind in chaos, thoughts swarming uncontrollably until her head throbbed with pain. She leaned her head against the edge of the hanging chair, closed her eyes, and massaged her aching temples, one bare foot resting on the floor. The gentle friction with the ground set the chair swaying. As she rubbed her temples, she drifted off to sleep in the swinging chair.

The sound of the door opening startled her awake. She jolted upright from the hanging chair, standing barefoot on the wooden floor, her face pale with fear as she stared at He Zheyu entering from outside. Noticing her expression, He Zheyu asked with concern, “What’s wrong? Did something scare you?” Mo Qinghan had just dreamed that He Yuru had told everyone about her being He Zheyu’s secret lover—and then... After a moment to compose herself, she consoled herself that it was only a dream.

While she was still lost in thought, He Zheyu approached, carrying a guzheng in his arms.

“What’s this for?” she asked.

“I remembered how beautiful you looked playing the guzheng last time, so I had Han Mo find you one made from the finest rosewood. Why don’t you try it out and see how it sounds?” As he spoke, he set the guzheng down for her to hold, surveyed the balcony, then found a suitable spot and set up the stand. He gestured for Mo Qinghan to bring the instrument over to him. Once everything was in place, he beckoned her to come closer.

Mo Qinghan fetched a stool from the living room, placed it beside the guzheng, and sat down slowly. Lacking the finger picks for playing, she gently tried out a few notes—the tone was clear and resonant, rich with flavor.

“This is a fine instrument,” she said.

At that moment, a dark cloud seemed to settle over her, and He Zheyu’s presence enveloped her. His breath brushed her cheek, turning her entire face a rosy pink. The warmth danced across her pale skin. When He Zheyu’s fingers touched hers, an electric tingle made her heart race. His lips drew close to her ear, his deep, magnetic voice slipping into her heart: “Show me how you played those notes just now.”

His breath made the tips of her ears flush with heat. She shifted her head slightly, creating a little more distance between them, then placed her hand over his, guiding his fingers so they would pluck each string with less clumsiness.

They laughed together for a while, and then He Zheyu pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. “Go to sleep,” he said softly. “It’s late. I’m going to wash up first.”

Before she could say a word, he had already disappeared into the bathroom. She wanted to tell him everything that had happened at school today...

By the time He Zheyu finished and returned to the bedroom, he heard the steady rhythm of Mo Qinghan’s breathing from the bed. Seeing her already asleep, he lay down beside her, pulled her gently into his arms. As Mo Qinghan mumbled something in her sleep, he brushed her nose with his finger, smiled, and soon drifted off himself.