Chapter 41

Chapter 41: You Can’t Touch Him

Outside the window, the night was hazy. A silver moon hung in the sky, stars scattered like shards.

Moonlight spilled into the room, catching the faint outlines of bodies on the wide bed.

The woman straddled him, her touch teasingly light and unbearably warm. Her fingertips traced the line of his skin as if she were writing her name there.

Kisses—soft, scattered, and deliberate—traveled from his Adam’s apple up to his lips. It felt less like hunger and more like a slow, elegant performance, intimate and cruel in the way it made him want.

At a certain moment, the man let out a low, muffled sound. His breath broke at the end.

“So you like this.”

Her pale fingertips brushed his ear. In the moonlight she looked translucent, unreal—seductive without effort.

The murmur of her voice burned through what little restraint he had left. Red bled faintly into the corners of his eyes, possession and desire crowding in until there was no room for anything else.

He reached for her with a long arm and pulled her down harder, tighter, as if he could keep her from slipping away.

The room’s heat thickened, sweet and suffocating—

Ding-dong.

The phone rang again, shattering the tenderness like glass.

The woman lifted her head slowly. Her clear, ethereal eyes were glazed with moisture—just a moment ago she’d been lost in the haze.

Then, in a blink, her gaze sharpened. Bright. Calm. Crystal-clear.

As if what had just happened was nothing more than a man’s illusion.

He held her waist, refusing to let her go. The emotion in his eyes was too intense, too raw. It made her feel scorched.

“Be good.” Her voice was gentle, almost coaxing. “Let me check my phone.”

She rubbed her fingertips over his smooth earlobe, a casual intimacy that made him ache, and then—without hesitation—she rose and climbed off the bed.

Watching her sway away, the red at the corners of his eyes faded bit by bit.

He lifted a hand to cover his brows, his eyes, as if that would keep the frustration from spilling out.

Fu Yan Shi had already forgotten how he’d ended up leaving with her, how he’d been led here as if by a thread in her hand.

Just now, he had almost lost himself completely.

But the way she walked away—so decisive, so clean—made one thing painfully clear.

This couldn’t continue.

He sat up and straightened his half-open shirt. Several buttons had been torn clean off, but it still barely covered him.

He went to the bathroom and splashed cold water onto his face. The blood-red at the corner of his eye looked even more vivid against damp skin.

Fu Yan Shi stared at his reflection—the flush on his face, the heat in his eyes—and couldn’t quite believe it was him.

On the other side, the moment Qiao Qing Yan stepped out of the room, the transparent Little Tabby Cat popped into existence like it had been holding its breath all night.

“Master… Master, you can’t touch that man.”

Qiao Qing Yan didn’t even look at it.

“He’s the Child of Fortune.”

Little Tabby Cat nearly panicked itself into static. It was terrified Master would flick it away and toss it back into the little black room.

With Master looking like this, it was obvious—

The system had barely finished speaking when Qiao Qing Yan’s hand twitched, ready to do exactly that. She only paused because the phone screen lit in her palm.

That last sentence—Child of Fortune—made her still.

Moonlight and phone glow washed over her face. Her cheeks still carried a faint blush, a sheen of heat that hadn’t fully faded.

Qiao Qing Yan unconsciously licked the corner of her lips. Her voice, when she spoke, was restrained and icy, aloof in a way that made the warmth on her skin seem like a lie.

“The Child of Fortune.”

“An international Best Actor.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Emperor Yan.”

Little Tabby Cat nodded so fast it was almost comical. “Yes! Master, didn’t you say you wanted to laze around? But once you get involved with the Child of Fortune, you know what you’ll have to face later. It’ll never be peaceful.”