Baby, you’re talking more and more.

“Liu Tingsong.”

Her voice, low and hoarse, carried a gritted-teeth edge, words barely clear.

“You did this on purpose.”

Still leaning into her, Liu Tingsong turned, her cheek brushing past, lips curling like a sly fox who’d won. “Wasn’t it obvious?”

“Stop it,” Xu Fengluan warned, her final attempt.

She added, “We haven’t eaten yet.”

Liu Tingsong blinked, her eyes shimmering with allure in the fading light, her voice soft. “But I’m hungry.”

Not for food—both knew it.

Since that night, they hadn’t been close. Despite sharing a roof, they slept in separate rooms. Xu Fengluan kept her distance, and Liu Tingsong stayed outside the line, even further apart than in the hospital.

Xu Fengluan swallowed, emphasizing, “No messing around. We’ll talk after dinner.”

“After dinner, then?” Liu Tingsong climbed the pole again, her smile inviting. “Baby, dinner first or me?”

Their breaths tangled, white hair mingling with dark, oddly fitting.

“Liu Tingsong,” Xu Fengluan scolded.

“Me first?” Liu Tingsong blinked, her lashes grazing Xu Fengluan’s cheek, stirring waves of itchiness.

Xu Fengluan fell silent, her eyes dark with restrained emotion, as if wrestling.

Her hand lingered where it was. Now exposed, retreating would be defeat. The shirt’s fabric, once unremarkable, now felt nonexistent, every sensation vivid.

“You really think I won’t do anything to you?” The puppy bared its teeth.

Outside, the sunset sank between buildings, leaving faint glows. Night crept from corners, climbing the walls.

From their angle, the window showed the same view—ships cutting through the river’s ripples, buildings stark and cold.

Liu Tingsong laughed, a teasing edge to it. “How could I think that? Don’t I know what you’re capable of?”

She would—those intimate days and nights had taught her well.

Xu Fengluan knew she was being provoked but fell for it, as always, biting the bait, stepping cautiously into trap after trap.

Her fingers curled unconsciously, tightening around the soft curve.

Even a ripe July peach wouldn’t yield easily. Softer yet tougher than imagined, it swelled against her rough palm, resisting confinement.

“Don’t regret this.”

“Baby, you’re talking too much.”

Her retort was swift, almost urging. Xu Fengluan laughed, exasperated, tightening her grip, finally using that familiar title. “Since when did our Teacher Tingsong get so impatient?”

She leaned closer, her striking features aggressive up close.

“Hm?” Her hoarse tone and half-smiling jade eyes taunted.

Those blessed with beauty know their power, like a tycoon flaunting wealth. Amid endless praise, they wield their charm expertly.

The glass window split light into patches, one landing in Xu Fengluan’s eyes, like a strange mask, revealing the intricate patterns within—like a summer pool, clear to the bottom yet tempting fools to dive.

The breeze lifted white hair, hooking dark strands.

She chuckled, ignoring Liu Tingsong’s daze, pressing, “Impatient for what?”

“Hm?”

She bit each word, emphasizing the old title. “Teacher Tingsong?”

Liu Tingsong’s breath hitched, memories flooding back. @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

Xu Fengluan was no saint. Early on, clueless, she relied on Liu Tingsong to teach her. Later, she’d play dumb, batting her puppy eyes, asking endlessly.

“Teacher Tingsong, like this?”

“Teacher, is this okay?”

“I can’t find it, Teacher. Teach me again?”

She’d exploit her looks to feign innocence, all bad intentions, making Liu Tingsong guide her hand, learning again and again.

“Like this? I’m so dumb, big sister.”

“Is this right? Why’d you stop teaching, Teacher Tingsong?”

“Should it be harder, hm?”

At those times, with sweat on her nose, she’d toss out respectful titles. When Liu Tingsong got mad, she’d kick her, silencing her chatter.

But it only bought moments of quiet, soon leaving Liu Tingsong too drained to lift a hand.

“What’re you thinking?” Xu Fengluan’s husky voice snapped her back.

Her playful laugh echoed, biting Liu Tingsong’s earlobe lightly, leaving it glossy with each word.

Liu Tingsong tried to dodge but was pinned against the marble counter. Her earlier teasing now trapped her.

“Hungry for lemon chicken wings,” Xu Fengluan said, her tone flipping.

“Make it quick, big sister,” she ordered, sounding like a spoiled brat whining to her sister.

But Liu Tingsong glimpsed their reflection in the glass, growing clearer as daylight faded.

Xu Fengluan, tall and broad-shouldered, enveloped her. Her left hand lingered, the right toying with a shirt button, teasing without unfastening. @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

“The soup’s ready,” Xu Fengluan urged again.

Liu Tingsong reached to turn off the stove, but Xu Fengluan grabbed her wrist, pinning it to the cutting board, repeating, “Lemon chicken wings.”

Xu Fengluan casually lowered the flame, quieting the pot’s gurgle, though its rich aroma filled the air, making the cat outside yowl hungrily.

Liu Tingsong inhaled, knowing her tormentor wouldn’t let up.

She’d started this mess; she’d bear it.

She gripped the knife, trying to resume cutting the chicken wings.

“Slow down, don’t cut yourself,” Xu Fengluan instructed, her teeth grazing Liu Tingsong’s earlobe. “I’d feel bad.”

Liu Tingsong’s breath caught, thankful for the counter’s support to keep her upright.

“Careful,” Xu Fengluan added, as if unaware she was the culprit.

Liu Tingsong wanted to speak but stopped, grateful she’d chosen a small santoku knife, or she couldn’t have lifted it.

The blade sliced through the wings, exposing pale meat.

The hand at her collar toyed with an agate button.

Xu Fengluan was in no rush, her heavy breath stirring Liu Tingsong’s hair, grazing her neck. @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

Liu Tingsong tensed, the cold marble ahead, Xu Fengluan’s oppressive presence behind. Her trembling hand continued, knowing a slip could be costly. She focused, but Xu Fengluan’s nibbling grew clearer, like a child with a new toy, experimenting endlessly.

Thankfully, few wings remained—two-thirds were already cut.

Liu Tingsong’s mind was full of “thankfully.”

But Xu Fengluan wouldn’t stop here; a dish doesn’t end at the start.

Soap suds foamed in Liu Tingsong’s palm, rubbed between her fingers.

Xu Fengluan supervised, murmuring, “Wash thoroughly, big sister.”

“You know I hate greasy feelings,” she complained, her tongue grazing Liu Tingsong’s ear.

Her fingers, too forceful, left red marks on Liu Tingsong’s hand. The button, toyed with for ages, finally popped open, but the apron hid most, revealing only a glimpse through the lowered collar.

Water rinsed the foam away.

A soaked lemon was placed on the wooden board.

Liu Tingsong reached for the knife, but Xu Fengluan pinned the lemon.

“I’m afraid you can’t hold it steady,” she explained kindly.

But for Liu Tingsong, this was the real test. Simple slicing became cautious with Xu Fengluan’s involvement.

Her hand lingered, no longer restrained, calloused fingertips brushing repeatedly.

Liu Tingsong’s grip on the knife shook, hesitating to cut.

“What’s wrong?” Xu Fengluan asked, knowing full well.

Liu Tingsong’s breath scattered, her clear eyes misty, no longer sharp, now flushed with seductive haze.

Xu Fengluan chuckled low, her left hand calming but worse than before. The buttons, painstakingly undone, now fell one by one.

Both heard the faint sound—agate against fabric, down to the trousers’ button.

None left.

Not too far, technically—the apron, tied tight as Liu Tingsong claimed, held firm. Pinned against the counter, her trousers didn’t fall, just slipped slightly, still proper unless closely inspected. No one would guess nothing lay beneath.

“Why’d you stop, big sister?” Xu Fengluan teased wickedly.

The hand on the knife tightened, loosened, tightened again, finally slicing the lemon’s edge, two fingers from Xu Fengluan’s grip, revealing its flesh.

“Is Teacher Tingsong making lemon slices for my wings?” she asked, biting Liu Tingsong’s neck as punishment.

The knife dropped, thudding against the board.

Liu Tingsong, overwhelmed, leaned back against Xu Fengluan’s shoulder, her breath chaotic.

Outside, twilight settled, the last sunset glow gone, leaving deep blue.

Distant buildings lit up, stars dotting the sky.

Their reflection in the glass sharpened, every detail clear.

Tomatoes bobbed in the sink, ignored, bumping grapes in protest.

Liu Tingsong tasted lemon—not the sliced one, but from Xu Fengluan’s fingers, now prying her lips, probing gently.

Her other hand, having undone buttons, sought its reward.

Liu Tingsong trembled, catching the glass’s reflection. The apron was disheveled, the shirt pulled loose, fabric rising and falling, unstoppable. The lemon scent faded, a silver thread snapped, her tongue pinched.

How to describe this decadent, unrestrained scene?

Liu Tingsong closed her eyes, unable to look.

But Xu Fengluan stopped, stepping back slowly.

Unsupported, Liu Tingsong’s legs buckled, barely steadied by Xu Fengluan’s quick catch.

Misty-eyed, she looked at Xu Fengluan, confused.

Xu Fengluan grinned, drawling, “Too late. Let’s cook.”

Utterly wicked.

Refusing to let Liu Tingsong win, pushing this far but holding back.

Liu Tingsong bit her lip, tears nearly falling, caught in a torturous limbo—stirred but unfulfilled, maddening.