Chapter Twenty-One: Breaking into Your World

Lying on Jiang Chen’s bed, Ye Mian was finally sheltered from the cold wind outside. It took a long while before she felt she could move at all. Her eyes were still red from crying, her hand limp at her side. She dared not make any big movements, curling up under the quilt, half-opening her eyes to observe her surroundings.

In the dim light, the polished wooden floor gleamed with a cold sheen. A warm yellow desk lamp stood tall on the table. There was a small aromatherapy diffuser on the solid wood chair, exuding a scent quite different from Jiang Chen’s own, yet equally pleasant.

There weren’t many things out in the open; everything was minimalist, daily necessities probably tucked away. The person who lived here, it seemed, was exceptionally clean. This small world, though lacking in luxury, still had an enveloping sense of chilly solitude.

Ye Mian couldn’t quite describe it; the feeling was uncomfortable, as if she’d intruded into someone else’s world—desolate, quiet, perfectly clean yet intensely private. Even the black bed linens radiated a strong sense of being someone else’s.

Holding her breath, Ye Mian felt her heart suddenly pound erratically. Caught off guard, a warm flow surged beneath her, seeping wetly through her pants.

In that moment, Ye Mian thought, Just endure it. Life will pass soon enough.

Jiang Chen was clearly a bit of a neat freak. She’d dirtied his quilt, and his hands too…

She felt utterly mortified, until a voice pulled her back to reality.

There was a gentle knock at the door, and a cool, restrained voice reached her ear. “Ye Mian, is this a good time?”

Ye Mian’s curled-up body stiffened slightly. “Yes,” she replied softly.

Her voice was still weak, thin and barely more than a breath, like a dispirited kitten.

The bedroom door was pushed open from the outside, and Jiang Chen appeared in her line of sight.

Having just come in from outside, he carried a faint chill. Yet even stronger was the warm, vibrant feeling he brought with him—a breeze reminiscent of summer winds passing through treetops, making one blush and heart race.

Ye Mian watched as he silently set a plastic bag on the table, then took a stack of towels and a pack of painkillers from the large wardrobe. Warm water was already poured in a cup.

Then, as if consulting her, he asked, “Is there anything else? Anything else I should prepare?”

Ye Mian’s mind went blank for a few seconds.

Anything else to prepare?

No, she thought. So she shook her head mechanically.

Jiang Chen’s gaze lingered on her face for a few seconds, his brow barely perceptibly raised. “Alright, then I’ll leave you be.”

As though to spare her embarrassment, he gave Ye Mian all the space she needed.

With a sigh of relief, she quickly took the painkillers, forced herself to endure the pain, grabbed the plastic bag, and went into the bathroom.

There, seeing the disposable underwear and various brands of sanitary pads inside the bag, she could no longer hold back.

She felt as if she were sinking—how could this boy be so thoughtful? Uncontrollably, her cheeks flushed red again.

After freshening up, Ye Mian felt much better. She wrapped her soiled underwear in a plastic bag and tossed it into the trash.

The medicine began to take effect, the sharp pain dulling to a slow ache—bearable, at least.

The bedroom was still quiet.

Ye Mian noticed a gray blanket draped over the chair; perhaps he’d anticipated her pants would be dirty and left it for her to cover her legs.

Suppressing her embarrassment, she bent down and shuffled to the bed, lifting the quilt.

As expected, both the quilt and the sheets had been stained, the marks glaring and conspicuous.

Taking a deep breath, Ye Mian resolved that since she’d made the mess, she should clean it up herself.

Just then, she heard steady footsteps coming up the stairs. The door was knocked twice, as before.

In her panic, Ye Mian grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around her waist, sat down on the bed, and flipped the quilt over to cover the bloodstain.

“You can come in.”

At her words, Jiang Chen entered, carrying a coffee cup from which floated the sweet, rich scent of brown sugar and two red dates.

Ye Mian was once again touched by his thoughtfulness. Embarrassed to take his care for granted, she murmured, “Jiang Chen, thank you. I’ve caused you trouble.”

“It’s not particularly troublesome,” he replied, his chin lifting almost imperceptibly, his gaze calm and unruffled as ever.

He bent down and handed her a pair of slippers. “It’s raining outside. Wait until it stops to go home.”

He was so tall that even bent over, he exuded a powerful sense of presence.

Ye Mian clutched the quilt, trying to steady her restless heart.

She glanced toward the window. The curtains blocked her view, but she could faintly hear the pitter-patter of rain.

She nodded, then asked, “Do you have any laundry detergent I could borrow?”

She wanted to take this time to clean her clothes. She’d seen a hairdryer in the bathroom; with a little effort, she could make the clothes wearable to go home, at least without any sign of what had happened.

Jiang Chen listened to her, pulled out the chair before the desk, and tapped the backrest. “Sit here first.”

“Oh, alright.” Ye Mian wasn’t sure what he intended, but she knew she was a guest and should be well-mannered.

Wearing the slippers, she sat in the chair.

Then, to her surprise, she watched as Jiang Chen lifted the stained sheet and laid down another soft mattress pad.

He carried away the quilt and tossed it into the bathroom’s laundry basket, then fetched another quilt from the wardrobe and placed it at the foot of the bed. After a pause, he said, “This is my old one. If you don’t want to use it, you can just use the blanket.”

Ye Mian felt acutely uncomfortable.

This sudden, meticulous care reminded her only of her mother when she was a child.

She twisted her hands uneasily, unable to stop herself from murmuring, “Thank you. I’m really sorry for the trouble.”

He raised his brows, glanced at her, and said, “Alright, I understand. It’s not a big deal.”

Though they hadn’t interacted much, Ye Mian could guess his way of doing things; he was polite and tolerant toward her, which gave her some courage.

She watched him stand there, looking at his phone.

Ye Mian got up to head to the bathroom, wanting to make up for the trouble she’d caused. “I dirtied your quilt, so let me wash it for you. Just tell me where the detergent is.”

Her hand had just touched the doorknob.

A gust of wind brushed her ear, and a pale, slender hand appeared before her.

Ye Mian’s heart stopped for a moment.

Then, the bathroom door was pulled shut by that hand, Jiang Chen’s voice so close it was almost a whisper, “No need. Just rest. There’s no hot water in my house.”

—Everything fell silent.

Ye Mian stood frozen, watching as Jiang Chen casually set his phone on the table. As he passed by her, his long lashes, straight nose, and sharply defined jawline were all clearly visible.

The bathroom door, opened and then closed, seemed to echo slightly in the confined space.

Inside, she heard the sound of a cabinet opening, followed by the soft trickle of running water.