The Taste of Blood and a President’s Fury

She might be allergic to milk for the rest of her life, metaphorically speaking. But one couldn’t avoid walking at night just because they feared ghosts, much less forgo earning money for fear of perverts.

After breakfast, with a look of grim resignation, she entered the bedroom and retrieved the outlandish outfit—a true marvel in the history of human attire. It featured black silk satin, layers upon layers of lace, a skirt so scandalously short it bordered on offensive, and a collar adorned with a tiny bell.

Xiang Qing donned it with a blank expression. As she fastened the fluffy cat tail behind her, she felt her soul sag, helplessly drooping alongside it. ‘Never mind,’ she decided. ‘I’ll just treat it as work attire, a safety uniform. What working stiff hasn’t had an ugly work uniform?’

Stepping out of the bedroom, she found Shen Lanzhi seated on the living room sofa, idly flipping through a picture album. Hearing the commotion, Shen Lanzhi looked up.

Her gaze drifted from Xiang Qing’s face, down to the bell on her neck, then to the exposed legs beneath the short skirt, finally settling on the cat tail. Xiang Qing felt as though she were a commodity being appraised, scrutinized from head to toe.

“This outfit…” Shen Lanzhi closed the album, rose, and walked towards her. “It suits you perfectly.”

‘Suits me, my foot!’ Xiang Qing thought, her internal voice screaming. ‘Have you ever seen a respectable housekeeper dressed like this while cleaning a home?! Is this cleaning, or is it… soliciting?’

Xiang Qing offered a professional, albeit strained, smile. “It’s CEO Gu’s request. A work requirement.”

She grabbed a feather duster from the corner, determined to drown her social mortification in diligent sweat, starting with the high-up shelves.

“I’ll help you,” Shen Lanzhi’s voice followed close behind.

“No, no, Lanzhi-jie, please rest. I can finish this in minutes!”

No sooner had Xiang Qing spoken than Shen Lanzhi was behind her, reaching out to steady the arm she was using to reach for the shelf.

“Be careful, don’t fall.”

Her fingertips were warm, and through the thin silk, the heat seemed to brand itself directly onto Xiang Qing’s skin. Xiang Qing’s body stiffened. She shifted a step to the left, and Shen Lanzhi followed. She rose onto her tiptoes, and Shen Lanzhi naturally supported her waist.

“Lanzhi-jie, I truly can do it myself,” Xiang Qing pleaded, almost on the verge of tears.

“Two people make it faster,” Shen Lanzhi replied, her reasoning impeccable.

Throughout the entire morning, Xiang Qing felt as though she had grown a Shen Lanzhi-shaped appendage on her back. When she wiped the tables, Shen Lanzhi would busy herself with a cloth opposite her, her fingertips brushing Xiang Qing’s arm with casual ease. When she used the vacuum cleaner, Shen Lanzhi would help untangle the cord, her body pressing precisely against Xiang Qing’s back.

This wasn’t help; it was blatant, intimate encroachment! Xiang Qing finally understood. Ever since that little devil, An Qi, had appeared, Shen Lanzhi’s strategy had shifted. What was once a gentle, passive vigil—’if the enemy doesn’t move, I don’t move’—had now evolved into a forceful declaration, staking a claim and enjoying it. Every action Shen Lanzhi took was a declaration of sovereignty, aimed at some unseen enemy—or rather, at Gu Wei, on the other side of the surveillance monitors. And Xiang Qing herself was merely the unfortunate territory, a flag planted firmly upon her.

As noon approached, Xiang Qing fled, practically diving into the kitchen. ‘Surely, this would be her safe zone,’ she thought.

“What would you like for lunch? I’ll cook for you,” Shen Lanzhi’s voice drifted in from the doorway.

‘Safe zone? No such thing,’ Xiang Qing lamented internally.

“I can just whip something up. Lanzhi-jie, please sit and wait to eat,” Xiang Qing said, picking up a cucumber, intending to make a cold dish.

“I’ll help you,” Shen Lanzhi replied with a smile, stepping inside and casually closing the kitchen door behind her.

The kitchen space instantly felt cramped. Xiang Qing felt enveloped by Shen Lanzhi’s presence, particularly the familiar scent of traditional Chinese medicine mingling with her unique fragrance. Her heart began to pound uncontrollably, her mind racing with memories of last night’s nightmare and the puddle of milk from that morning. ‘Don’t get distracted, Xiang Qing! It’s just chopping a vegetable. Channel your professional broadcaster’s composure and stay steady!’

She raised the kitchen knife, aiming for the cucumber on the cutting board—

“Xiao Qing.”

Shen Lanzhi whispered her name, barely audible, right next to her ear. Xiang Qing’s hand twitched, and the knife blade instantly sliced across the index finger of her left hand, which held the cucumber.

“Hiss—”

A gash immediately appeared, and beads of blood welled up, eager to escape.

“See? I told you to be careful.”

Shen Lanzhi’s tone carried a hint of reproach, yet her movements were incredibly swift. Before Xiang Qing could even retract her hand to rush it under the faucet, Shen Lanzhi seized her left hand. Then, as Xiang Qing watched in utter stupefaction, Shen Lanzhi lowered her head and took Xiang Qing’s still-bleeding fingertip into her mouth.

A warm, moist sensation enveloped her finger. Xiang Qing’s brain seized up. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. She could distinctly feel the tip of Shen Lanzhi’s tongue gently lapping at her wound, sweeping away the metallic tang of blood. ‘What kind of operation was this?’ she wondered. ‘A new hemostatic therapy? Or some bizarre awakening ritual for a strange fetish?’

“You… what are you doing!”

Xiang Qing yanked her hand back abruptly, as if she had touched a hot iron. Shen Lanzhi lifted her head, her lips a shade more vibrant than usual. She extended the tip of her tongue, licking away the last trace of blood from the corner of her mouth. The gesture carried a lingering sense of satisfaction, like one savoring a gourmet meal.

“Disinfecting,” she said, looking at Xiang Qing with an expression of natural concern. “The lysozymes in saliva can kill bacteria. It’s an old method, very effective.”

‘I’ll believe you when pigs fly!’ Xiang Qing thought, incredulous. ‘Is your method of disinfection a tasting ritual?! That expression you just made was clearly one of savoring a Michelin three-star dessert!’

Xiang Qing gazed at the small wound on her fingertip, feeling as though it wasn’t blood flowing out, but her very life force.

“Does it still hurt?” Shen Lanzhi took a step forward, attempting to examine her hand again.

“No, it doesn’t hurt! It’s fine! It’s completely healed!” Xiang Qing exclaimed, clasping her hands tightly behind her back and retreating three steps, her waist bumping against the glass counter.

****

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, in the top-floor office of the Gu Group at Star Convergence International. On a massive LCD screen, real-time surveillance footage from every corner of Gu Wei’s home played in split-screen. Gu Wei sat with one leg crossed over the other, leisurely tearing open a pack of spicy strips and munching on them with relish, all while watching Xiang Qing’s busy figure in her cat-eared maid outfit on screen.

When Shen Lanzhi followed Xiang Qing into the kitchen, Gu Wei let out a cold laugh.

“That old green tea, stirring up trouble again!”

When she saw Xiang Qing cut her hand, her brow furrowed, and she was about to call and unleash a tirade. The next second, on the screen, Shen Lanzhi bent down and took Xiang Qing’s finger into her mouth. Gu Wei’s movements froze. She watched the close-up of Shen Lanzhi licking the wound, her eyes widening progressively.

“Snap!” The spicy strip in her hand burst, splattering red oil all over her hand.

“Damn it!”

A furious roar echoed through the office. Gu Wei sprang from her executive chair, which slid backward, just as her foot landed squarely on the half-eaten spicy strip she had dropped on the floor. Her foot slipped.

“Thud!”

President Gu, worth hundreds of millions, landed squarely on her backside in an utterly undignified sprawl.

“CEO Gu!” The secretary outside heard the commotion and frantically pushed the door open. “Are you alright?”

Gu Wei sat on the floor, one hand supporting herself, the other rubbing her coccyx, her face green with fury. She glared intently at Shen Lanzhi’s smiling face on the screen.

“Get the car ready!” she growled through gritted teeth. “I’m going back right now!”

In the kitchen, Xiang Qing was frantically scrubbing her humiliated finger under the faucet, wishing she could scrub off a layer of skin. Shen Lanzhi stood silently behind her, watching.

“Xiao Qing, you’ve lost so much blood; your face is quite pale.”

Her voice was so gentle it could melt butter. “You should drink more soup at noon to replenish yourself properly.”

Xiang Qing’s scrubbing motion paused. ‘Replenish? Replenish the tiny bit of blood you just licked off?!’

At the entrance, the digital lock emitted a series of mechanical beeps, and the door swung open. Gu Wei burst in like a tornado laced with hail. Without even bothering to change her shoes, she stormed through the living room, her path clear—the kitchen. Xiang Qing, still exerting her entire life’s strength to scrub the skin off her finger, heard the commotion, turned around, and nearly ripped off the faucet. ‘Gu Wei?!’ she thought, stunned. ‘Why is she back?! Isn’t it work hours? Coming back at this time… did the company go bankrupt?’

Shen Lanzhi also turned, her previously confident, gentle smile instantly freezing, replaced by the wary alertness of someone whose territory had been invaded. She subtly positioned herself in front of Xiang Qing, like a mother hen protecting her chick. ‘Even though this “hen” had just secretly tasted a bit of her “chick’s” blood.’

“You… why are you back?” Shen Lanzhi’s tone was calm, yet carried a clear undertone of expulsion.