It was both a refusal and a display of shy affection.

"Don't worry, I can handle it." After a brief exchange, Mu Qingcheng hung up the phone and turned to face the two men before her.

Having gone through that unexpected ordeal, meeting again now brought a subtle shift in her heart.

Si Nan and Si Bei looked at Mu Qingcheng with newfound respect in their eyes, tinged with a hint of awe for the “future lady of the house.”

“What brings you here?” she asked.

But Mu Qingcheng was as composed as ever. She slipped her phone back into her pocket and walked calmly to Mu Qing’s side. Without haste, she refilled his bowl of chicken soup, her movements steady and serene.

Si Nan and Si Bei exchanged a glance, as if her composure surprised them not at all.

Then Si Bei stepped forward, bowed his head slightly, and said, “Miss Mu, I suppose you’ve already heard about the situation online. Our boss was worried you might be hurt, so he sent us to bring you home.”

“The reporters—are they crowding the entrance?”

“Yes.”

“What if... I refuse to go with you?”

Before Si Bei could respond, a sudden gasp of astonishment came from the doorway, followed by fragments of suppressed, excited whispers that grew closer, accompanied by calm, steady footsteps.

Everyone turned their eyes toward the door, where a man appeared, draped in a deep black trench coat, his aura forbidding and cold.

He was tall and strong, his upright figure exuding an air that warned strangers away—aloof and severe.

“Qingcheng, why won’t you listen?” His voice, however, was nothing like his appearance; the tall, handsome man spoke with extraordinary gentleness.

He gazed at the young woman not far away, his eyes brimming with affection.

Mu Qing, sitting up in bed, smiled knowingly as he looked at Si Qingchen—who had lately been a frequent presence near their home—and greeted him first. “Hello, Mr. Si.”

Si Qingchen returned the greeting politely, stepping inside as he exchanged a few pleasantries. “Sorry for disturbing you, Mr. Mu.”

“No need for apologies. You’re here to pick up my sister?”

“Yes.”

“Then... I’ll leave her in your care.”

The words fell, and everyone in the room, including Mu Qingcheng, looked at Mu Qing in astonishment—clearly, no one had expected such a response from him.

“Second Brother, what are you saying?” Mu Qingcheng frowned, studying the pale face of her brother. She bit her lip, her entire demeanor uneasy.

Mu Qing smiled, squeezed her hand, and whispered, “Qingcheng, your face is all red.”

By now, Si Qingchen had come to stand beside Mu Qingcheng. He didn’t rush her but quietly took the bowl from her hands, tidying up the small table for her.

Mu Qingcheng stared at his large hands as he twisted the lid onto her thermos. Stunned, she finally looked up, her tone a little stifled. “What are you doing?”

“No rush. Let’s tidy up before we leave.”

“Si Qingchen, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Be good. You’re still recovering. Listen, all right?”

Si Qingchen’s tone was neither harsh nor urgent, but it left Mu Qingcheng with no outlet for her simmering frustration. In the end, she could only obey, finding no chance at all to resist.

Watching the little one purse her lips in silent protest, Si Qingchen’s usually cold lips curved just slightly, drawing out a line of pure indulgence.

Mu Qing, watching his sister’s protest on her lips and shyness on her face, felt a wave of happiness rise within him. Yet as he watched their interaction, a slender, solitary figure unexpectedly flickered through his mind. The memory, recalled at this moment, left a faint ache in his heart.