Dr. Fu's warning echoed in Xingchen's mind. Falling for Bai Yeqing would be dangerously effortless. If she didn't put space between them, she'd be consumed by emotions she couldn't control.
Xingchen was no moth drawn to a flame. Self-preservation kicked in.
From that day forward, she consciously erected walls. A careful buffer zone existed between her and the President. Kisses as pain relief? That dangerous tactic was firmly off the table.
Fate intervened. As Bai Yeqing began to mend, the demands of his office exploded back into his life. Leng Fei arrived daily, filling the bedroom with urgent updates. Four consecutive days without public appearances had ignited speculation both domestically and abroad. Contingency plans were essential.
On the fifth day, after Leng Fei and his team departed, Xingchen headed to the kitchen to prepare water for his medication.
Her phone buzzed abruptly. The screen flashed: Zenan. It took a bewildered moment to place the name – the man from her single, awkward blind date shortly after returning home. Weeks of silence had convinced her it was a dead end.
"Hello?"
"At the Foreign Ministry? I'm outside your office. Lunch. Now." Yu Zenan's voice was breezy, familiar, as if countless lunches punctuated their non-existent history.
The mention twisted something inside her. "I... didn't pass the exam. I'm out."
"You were prepping hardcore. What happened?"
"Long story." Her voice dipped. She forced brightness. "Doesn't matter. Job hunting elsewhere now."
"You're brilliant. Just wait, the Ministry will come crawling back."
"Stop trying to cheer me up," she deflected lightly.
"Exactly the plan," he countered smoothly. "Phone cheer is cheap. Where are you? I'll pick you up. Proper mood-lifter required."
"In the Aston Martin again?"
"Name your chariot. I'll swap it."
"It's not the car. Just... swamped today. Can't get away." She didn't dislike him, but husband-hunting wasn't her current priority.
"Tomorrow?"
"Probably not. Need at least ten days free."
"Ten days it is. Locked in!" Zenan declared instantly.
Ten days. Bai Yeqing would be mobile then, even if not fully healed. A short absence should be manageable. "Okay. Ten days it— Wait!" Her sentence fractured as she turned. "What are you doing out here?"
The sight rooted her to the spot.
"Huh?" Zenan sounded baffled on the other end.
"Nothing. Sorry, chaos here. Talk in ten days." She ended the call abruptly, heart pounding.
Bai Yeqing stood braced against the archway leading into the living room. Every step was a visible conquest over agony. The short walk from his room had cost him; a fresh sheen of sweat glistened on his brow, his posture rigid with the effort of containing the pain radiating through his wounds.
Fear of him collapsing spurred her into action. Rushing towards him, frantic focus made her clumsy – her side cracked sharply against the unforgiving corner of the sofa armrest. A gasp escaped her. She winced, pressing a hand to the blossoming ache, but didn't slow down.
Reaching him, she slid an arm under his, supporting his weight. Worry laced her voice. "What are you doing? Dr. Fu insisted on bed rest!"
"Appearance tomorrow. Public scrutiny." His voice was tight. "Need to function through this."
"Tomorrow? But you can barely stand! How long do you need to be visible? The wounds aren't closed, the weather's damp, crowds... infection risk—" Her fears tumbled out, escalating.
He watched her, the genuine anxiety etched on her face unexpectedly dulling the sharpest edges of his pain. A ripple of warmth pushed through the discomfort.
His gaze dipped. "The side. How bad?" he asked quietly.
"Side?" Confusion flickered across her face.
Without preamble, his uninjured arm snaked around her waist. A firm tug pulled her flush against him, barely a breath separating them. Her hands flew instinctively to brace against his shoulders, terrified of jostling his injuries.
"Ah—!" Her body stiffened, rigidly maintaining the sliver of space. "What are you—?"
He seemed oblivious to his own fragility. His large hand slid deliberately along her waist, finding the exact tender spot where the sofa had struck. His thumb pressed gently.
"Ouch..."
"Clumsy," he murmured, a low admonishment devoid of real censure. His palm settled firmly over the ache, the pad of his thumb beginning a slow, deliberate massage, circling the tender spot with surprising patience.
Her breath hitched.
Understanding dawned, flooding her with a confusing rush – gratitude tangling with something far more unsettling. His palm radiated heat, seeping through her clothes, sinking deep into her skin and muscle. Astonishingly, the sharp pain dissolved almost instantly.
What remained…
Was a frantic drumming against her ribs. And a treacherous heat pooling low in her belly, both terrifying and intoxicating.
Four days of carefully constructed distance evaporated in this proximity. He was so close. Every impossible angle of his face was starkly visible. Her gaze involuntarily dipped lower – the sharp line of his jaw, the strong column of his throat, the hint of collarbone…
She wrenched her eyes away, fixing them on the floor tiles. Incubus. The word surfaced unbidden. He had to be. Every atom impossibly, unfairly perfect.
"It's... fine now. Doesn't hurt," she managed, the words fragmented, breathless.
He didn't stop the rhythmic motion of his hand, his eyes flicking down to hers. "The job. What happened?"
"Huh?" Proximity scrambled coherent thought.
"Overheard your call. Foreign Ministry rejected you?"
"Oh. That..." The question grounded her slightly. "The day you were injured... was the exam day. Leng Fei's men arrived before I could even begin."