Volume One, Chapter 73: What Reason Does She Have to Feel Guilty?

Ding dong!

The doorbell rang.

Thinking Lu Jin Nian had returned, Sang Wan opened the door with a barely suppressed anger still lingering on her face.

She was met by Lou Ye, who lazily lifted his gaze.

Their eyes met, both paused in surprise.

"You—"

"Sister—"

Their voices overlapped. Lou Ye's smile faded, his brows darkened, "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing..." Sang Wan breathed a sigh of relief and stepped aside, "Are you finished with your work?"

"Yes." Lou Ye replied, his gaze suspicious as he entered.

Almost immediately, he caught a faint, unusual scent.

A trace of tobacco.

It vanished as quickly as it appeared.

He sniffed again—nothing.

Sang Wan didn’t smoke.

The driver who had dropped off the cat wouldn’t have left a smell behind in such a brief visit.

So then...

"Did you have a visitor?"

"No..." Sang Wan handed him a glass of water. Lou Ye turned, his gaze pausing.

In the corner of the carpet lay a pink crayon.

A sliver of red peeking from the edge of the sofa blanket.

Lou Ye’s eyes flickered. He stepped forward and pulled out the red booklet.

His brows arched, "Lu Jin Nian has been here?"

???

Sang Wan, adjusting the cat climbing frame in the corner, looked back. "How did you know?"

Lou Ye waved the red booklet in his hand.

Sang Wan stepped forward to take it.

The property deed for the apartment in East City.

Her name now graced its cover.

From entry to departure, it had been barely ten minutes, and Lu Jin Nian hadn’t mentioned a word about it.

He’d left it furtively, in secret.

Looking up, she saw Lou Ye wearing an expression of “Sister, you actually lied to me” in silent accusation.

Sang Wan couldn’t help but laugh, "I didn’t lie. Because they aren’t really guests."

Them.

"The former little one came too?"

In his mind, the image of Lu Xiao Mu clinging to Sang Wan's leg, sobbing and crying, "Mom, I miss you so much, please come home with me," played vividly.

Lou Ye squinted, his gaze dangerous, "What were they doing here?"

"Parent-child homework from kindergarten."

As Sang Wan spoke, she filled the cat’s bowl with food and water, and opened a can of cat food.

The cat’s favorite treat held no allure today.

2S lifted its tail, pacing from the master bedroom to the guest room, peeking into the empty study.

Then, with a graceful leap, it landed on the sofa, striking a sultry pose and licking its fur.

Stress reaction?

Impossible!

Look at the vibrant, lived-in home.

Look at the cat, lounging in utter contentment.

Lou Ye stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, feeling as if nothing in the place was quite right.

Today, they’d used the excuse of parent-child homework.

What about tomorrow?

Would they start coming around regularly, stretching the boundaries even further?

"How’s the packing going?"

Dialing his phone, Lou Ye’s tone was downright fierce.

The housekeeper on the other end sounded worried to the point of despair, "Almost done… But, young master, this apartment is so small, can you really get used to living here?"

"Not used to it? Then figure out how to get used to it!"

Lou Ye hung up in a huff.

Turning back, he was met by Sang Wan’s smiling face peeking from behind the refrigerator door, "A Ye, what would you like for dinner?"

Lou Ye’s brows twitched.

Was it from that teasing “A Ye, time to eat”?

Or from the first time he called her “sister”?

She seemed freer now, more relaxed.

No longer awkward, no longer apologizing for inconveniencing him.

Lou Ye stepped forward.

The annoyance in his chest dissipated, step by step, as he crossed the room.

One step, two, three, four…

Gone, just like that.

"What do we have?" he asked, standing behind Sang Wan, peering into the fridge, then turning to her, "Are you willing to cook? If not, we can eat out."

"It’s just cooking, why wouldn’t I?" Sang Wan didn’t know why she felt so nervous.

But her heart raced inexplicably.

In front of her was the refrigerator; behind, she could sense the brush of his suit’s edge.

One small move—if she leaned back, she’d be in his arms.

Sang Wan dared not move, leaning forward slightly, her hands fumbling through the vegetables, "Should I make stir-fried dishes with rice, or cold dishes with soup noodles?"

"Cold dishes and soup noodles," Lou Ye decided, turning away at a leisurely pace.

His gaze landed on the cans in the fridge door’s rack, "This is… something you drink?"

"…Last week, Yi Yi came over. We drank them with hot pot."

Sang Wan answered quickly, shutting the fridge with a snap.

Looking back, Lou Ye had already strolled out of the kitchen.

Amid the rush of running water, Sang Wan washed vegetables, muttering to herself.

She was an adult.

Never mind just a beer—red, white, foreign spirits, she had every right.

Especially in her own home.

Why should she feel guilty?

Looking back, she saw Lou Ye absorbed in her professional book, left on the sofa.

The fading dusk outside cast a deep, handsome silhouette as he lounged lazily.

Sang Wan exhaled and focused on cooking.

Dinner was simple.

Cold tossed cucumber.

Spicy shredded chicken.

And a big bowl of chicken soup with noodles.

Sang Wan loved this kind of soupy noodle dish; after one bowl, her whole body felt comforted.

But as she carried the bowl to the table and saw Lou Ye sauntering over, anxiety suddenly gripped her.

A high-end apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows.

Lou Ye, handsome in suit and tie.

Even the cat climbing frame in the corner looked upscale.

The bowl of soup noodles in her hands seemed as out of place as scallions tossed with tofu in a five-star restaurant.

Simple, even abrupt.

"What’s wrong?"

Lou Ye took the bowl from Sang Wan, setting it on the table, and glanced at her hand.

Seeing it wasn’t burned, he looked puzzled, "Who made you freeze up here?"

"Oh, nothing…"

Sang Wan snapped back, handed him the chopsticks, and took her seat.

Her eyes wandered, intentionally or not, to Lou Ye’s face.

He looked intrigued, as if tasting this kind of soup noodles for the first time.

He sipped the broth, raising his brows in mild surprise.

Then he lifted the noodles, took a bite, another.

He didn’t seem averse or unwilling.

Sang Wan’s anxiety eased, but just then Lou Ye’s phone rang.

"Hello?"

Lou Ye’s expression grew severe, "What about the chef?... Okay, I understand."

He hung up, set down his chopsticks, and glanced at the darkness outside, frowning.

"What happened?" Sang Wan asked carefully.

Lou Ye shook his head, "It’s nothing. The chef at the villa is allergic to cat hair and was hospitalized."

"Ah?"

In her mind, she pictured the villa, cat hair floating everywhere, the chef sneezing and streaming with tears in misery.

Sang Wan was anxious, "Is it serious?"

"It’s manageable. But… the consequences are quite serious," Lou Ye replied.

Consequences?

What consequences?

Seeing Sang Wan’s confusion, Lou Ye sighed softly, "I only get used to eating his cooking."

He thought of those four bowls of endlessly creative century egg and pork congee.

He thought of Jiang Huai’s helpless sighs urging the chef.

Sang Wan’s sympathy deepened, already imagining Lou Ye unable to stomach anything.

The lively golden retriever who had been happily slurping soup and noodles was now a sad Shiba Inu with drooping eyes.

Sang Wan hesitated, "Maybe… you could have dinner at my place from now on?"

???

"Is that okay?"

Lou Ye paused, and before Sang Wan could hesitate, his gloomy eyes suddenly lit up, "Sister, you’re so kind!"

Something felt off.

But exactly what, Sang Wan couldn’t figure out, even after dinner.

Her phone rang just as she sent Lou Ye out the door.

A message from Jiang Huai: [Sis, didn’t you say you’d cook a feast for me one of these days? You haven’t forgotten, have you?]

Sang Wan froze, neglecting to reply, and ran out the door.

The elevator had just closed when it opened again.

Lou Ye looked up.

Sang Wan appeared outside, "I promised to cook for Young Master Jiang. How about tomorrow? Are you free?"

"Sure," Lou Ye nodded.

Sang Wan let go of the door, "Drive safely, then."

She could hear her own footsteps as she ran back inside.

She could hear the door closing, the password lock buzzing.

Lou Ye closed the elevator door and pressed the button for the twentieth floor.

The elevator ascended, steadily, higher and higher.