Chapter Five: The Temptation Succeeds

He Zheyu looked at Mo Qinghan, who was already quite drunk, cleared his throat, and said, "Han Mo received a package from his ex-girlfriend, whom he broke up with years ago. Inside, there were only three leaves. What do you think it means?"

Mo Qinghan listened, curled up in the hanging chair, giggled foolishly for a while, then downed the rest of her wine in a single gulp. She pointed at He Zheyu and said, "Pour me another drink, and I'll tell you."

He Zheyu poured her just a little, enough for courtesy—any more and she’d truly be drunk.

Mo Qinghan climbed out of the hanging chair, staggered a few steps, and murmured:

Fallen leaves sent as longing,
Three leaves, words unspoken.
The parasol tree knows mutual cherishing,
Maple and silver, of the same season.
Three bundles to you I give,
Three seasons I vow to wait.
A season, three colors,
Leaves fall through three autumns.
Spring green, summer red, autumn gold.
All my life, you owe me a winter of white hair.

After finishing, she pointed at He Zheyu with a proud, silly smile.

Mo Qinghan may have gone a bit overboard with the drinks. She stared at He Zheyu, about to say something, but was silenced by his sudden kiss. With the wine’s strength taking hold, Mo Qinghan’s mind lost all ability to resist. Whatever He Zheyu did, she followed suit. Once he received her response, all of He Zheyu’s rationality was utterly shattered.

With the alcohol flooding their veins, the two young people clung tightly together, inseparable. What happened next unfolded as naturally as water flowing downhill.

In the early morning, Mo Qinghan slowly got up, rubbing her aching head from drinking too much. After glancing around the room's furnishings, she immediately sobered up. Her first instinct was to pull back the covers—she was still wearing the pajamas from last night, and she let out a relieved breath. Yet, when she got out of bed, her legs felt weak and sore, her waist strangely numb. She checked the sheets over and over but found nothing she was searching for.

After washing up, Mo Qinghan went to the living room, where He Zheyu had already prepared breakfast.

She ate a few bites, glanced at He Zheyu—who was reading the newspaper as he ate—her expression wavering between wanting to ask and not daring to. He Zheyu caught every nuance through the corner of his eye, but he acted as if nothing had happened. Unable to contain herself, Mo Qinghan finally spoke up, "Mr. He, last night… did I do anything inappropriate?"

He Zheyu answered with a blank expression, "What scope do you mean by inappropriate?"

The question stumped Mo Qinghan. She bit her fork, embarrassed. "I can’t remember why I ended up sleeping in your room last night, and did I do any exercise or something? My waist and legs are so sore!"

Hearing this, He Zheyu choked on his milk—cough, cough.

Mo Qinghan quickly handed him a tissue. Still unconvinced, she added, "Did I climb out the window and fall, hurting my waist?" She looked at He Zheyu with utmost seriousness.

He Zheyu said nothing, just smiled.

Mo Qinghan wanted to ask more, but was interrupted by the sudden ringing of the doorbell.

Mo Qinghan opened the door to see Han Mo standing there. She greeted him politely, "Good morning, Secretary Han! Come in and wait."

"No need, the Boss will leave soon."

"Oh, Secretary Han, meeting the right person in life is rare—cherish it while you can."

Han Mo was baffled by Mo Qinghan's words and muttered to himself, "Boss, did you set me up again?"

After exchanging a few pleasantries, He Zheyu came over and said, "Secretary Han, why not stay and chat a bit?" He walked past Mo Qinghan.

Han Mo hurried after him.

Mo Qinghan was left standing there, utterly confused.