Wen Yin met only a pair of smiling black eyes, and in that instant the man before her felt oddly familiar.
He wore a long black coat that traced the length of him, making him look impossibly tall. Stray bangs fell across his forehead, shadowing his gaze. Those eyes were fixed on her—soft, sincere, not the practiced charm of a performer—and Wen Yin found, without understanding why, that she didn’t want to pull away.
Familiarity hovered at the edges of her mind, but she couldn’t quite place him.
She answered slowly, voice cool and low, the tone almost gentle. “It’s fine.”
The live chat on the feed went wild.
“Is this staged by the production?”
“He’s kinda handsome.”
“I’m calling it—hi, husband!”
“Whose bitter tea is this? It splashed on me!”
“Bitter tea sale—five cents a cup!”
“Girl here, no smoking, no drinking—why’s everyone accusing me of being pervy?”
Before the man could speak, Jiang Shihuai and Lu Ziqiu behind Wen Yin tightened their grip and pulled her back, hands moving with the reflexive protectiveness of people who believed they’d just witnessed a threat. They kept her at what they judged a safe distance.
The man gave a rueful smile, looked at Wen Yin once more, and then turned away.
The chat rolled with laughter and mockery.
“Who knew those two would be so slow to sense danger!”
“They were barely getting along a moment ago; now they’re united?”
“Is this Wen Yin’s harem defending her?”
“LOL what harem?”
“This is perfect—if Shao Yinan and the others are her concubines, then Shao’s the empress.”
“Shao Empress! HAHAHA.”
Wen Yin’s voice cut through, flat and cool. “You can let go now.”
There was nothing in it—no bitterness, no plea—only a chill so quiet it made the air feel thinner. Her gaze flicked over Jiang and Lu’s hands, still wrapped around hers. Their warmth pressed into her skin like a current, and both men felt it as heat running along their palms, almost burning.
Both of them flushed. Even usually composed Jiang’s ears pinked.
Wen Yin lifted the corner of her eyes in a small, knowing arc—an almost-hook of an eyelash. Her look was silk-soft and dangerous; her black pupils glittered like a brush sweeping right across their chests. It made them squirm.
A voice—calm, surprisingly near—broke the spell. Startled, both men released her at once.
Wen Yin’s skin was porcelain pale; a firm tug left red marks on soft flesh. Jiang and Lu’s hurried grip had already left several welts around her wrists. She paid them no mind. Once they were out of sight of the cameras, she slipped a disinfectant wipe from her bag and rubbed at the reddened skin until the faint sting subsided.
The three of them drifted without thinking toward the fountain in the center of the park. Water arced and glittered into the basin, unhurried and steady.
Jiang’s voice softened. “It’s a nice day. Want to picnic out here?”
Wen Yin gave him a sidelong look and asked, “What did you bring for a picnic, Teacher Jiang?”
He faltered. The idea had been a spontaneous thought, nothing more—he hadn’t even thought to bring food, let alone a blanket. He was speechless, red-faced.
Lu took the opportunity to jab his elbow in Jiang’s ribs, nodding exaggeratedly. He was practically sniffing at him with smugness. Finally, unmasked, he relished watching Jiang squirm—old fox caught with his pants down.
Jiang’s lips moved, then stilled. He couldn’t find a response.
Wen Yin snorted softly. “It’s fine. Teacher Jiang’s used to being waited on—he wouldn’t think of packing anything.”
The words landed harder than she intended. Jiang’s mind scrolled back to all the times Wen Yin had fussed over the smallest things for him—tucking his coat, preparing his food, making sure every little need was thought of in advance. Back then he’d accepted it without thanks, often thinking her overly officious. Now the memory pricked like a splinter. Guilty color crept over him; for the first time, he felt childlike and ashamed, fumbling for what to do next.
When he looked at her, Wen Yin’s eyes were lowered and still—emotionless on the surface—but the pressure she exuded was cold and immense. It felt as if she were someone he’d never really known.
A shock of frost ran through Jiang. Pain and complexity crossed his face. Things were shifting, and he had no hand on the wheel.
Wen Yin said nothing. Lu forced a laugh, scrambling to fill the silence, trying to smooth the tension between them—though he didn’t know the origin of it, he suspected Wen Zhi was involved. He remembered Jiang’s earlier attentions to Wen Zhi and wondered what had brought such a sudden reversal.
Not far away, Wen Zhi saw Wen Yin’s sullen expression and couldn’t hide her schadenfreude. Wen Yin upset made Wen Zhi’s day. She imagined Jiang and Lu stumbling—no doubt they were beside themselves—and the pleasure made her bristle with satisfaction.
But before Wen Zhi could revel any longer, Wen Yin walked over to a group of street musicians and took the guitar from one of them.