Chapter 81

Chapter 81: Fu Yan Shi, Aren’t You Afraid of Death?

The breeze brushed through the leaves, making them whisper against each other. Moonlight draped itself over the earth in soft silver, slipping through the large window and landing across the living room sofa like a quiet hand.

The room was unlit. Only the moonlight remained, thin and pale—but it was enough.

Qiao Qing Yan braced both hands against the tea table behind her and lowered her head to look at the man stretched across the sofa.

A white dress shirt, crisp and restrained, clung to him with a temptation he probably hadn’t intended. Suit pants outlined long legs built with quiet power. From head to toe, he looked composed and meticulous—as if he’d stepped out of some perfect magazine spread—

If not for his slightly disheveled hair and the faint creases in his clothing.

If not for the way he lay too still, too heavy with exhaustion.

His eyes were closed, hiding those deep, silent phoenix eyes. But even asleep, his face pleased Qiao Qing Yan far more than she would ever admit out loud.

She’d always been honest about her love for beauty. Pretty things—people or objects—were hard to resist.

Even though she knew better than anyone that pretty things were often poisonous.

Her slender fingers traced the air above his cheek, hovering less than a centimeter from his skin. She followed the line of his brow, the clean slope of his nose, the thin press of his lips.

She never touched him. Not once.

And yet the moment felt unbearably intimate—like a slow tease, like the promise of a hand that refused to land.

Her finger paused above the corner of his mouth.

Then she spoke, soft enough for the moonlight to hear.

“I already let you go.”

Her gaze sharpened.

“So why did you crash back into me?”

She leaned closer, the curve of her lips unreadable.

“Fu Yan Shi… aren’t you afraid of death?”

—

Down in the garden beneath the apartment building, several subordinates stood frozen in the shadows.

They had watched their Young Lord get taken upstairs by a strange woman. Watched him—of all people—allow it to happen.

If they hadn’t seen it with their own eyes, they wouldn’t have believed it.

“The Young Lord’s order,” a cold voice cut through the night.

The two young men at the front exchanged a look, jaws tight.

They could barely hold themselves back.

Beside them, a young man in a long white robe flicked open a folding fan with a lazy snap, half-smiling as he fanned himself.

“Ling Feng,” he drawled, voice full of amusement, “why do I feel like your master is trying to scam that beauty?”

He lifted his brows. “Using your words, that’s called… staging an accident scam, right?”

Ling Feng and the man beside him both turned, their eyes sharp enough to cut.

“Young Master Qi,” Ling Feng said flatly, “you must really miss your hometown. How about—”

“Stop.” Young Master Qi lifted his folding fan like a shield, his expression turning instantly polite. “I didn’t say anything.”

He spun on his heel and disappeared into the night with a speed that didn’t match his relaxed tone.

Ling Feng and his brother glared after him for half a heartbeat before turning their eyes back to the apartment building in the distance.

Frustration crawled in their chests, hot and helpless.

Even Yi Nian didn’t dare follow. If they followed, they wouldn’t be protecting anyone.

They’d be looking for death.

And none of them wanted to get packed up and sent into outer space.

—

As if she’d sensed something, Qiao Qing Yan glanced toward the window.

A slow smile curved at the corner of her lips.

Fu Yan Shi… who exactly are you?

The Ji family treated him like a guest of honor. And outside, he had shadow guards, subordinates—people who moved like trained blades, not ordinary assistants.

Qiao Qing Yan had never doubted that if Fu Yan Shi had been chosen as the Child of Fate, his status would be extraordinary. His background couldn’t possibly be simple.

But this small world felt different from the ones she’d encountered before.

More layered. More mysterious.

Fu Yan Shi lay curled slightly on the sofa, eyes still closed. Yet his aura was chaotic—several different energies crashing and grinding inside his body like waves colliding against rock.

It was hard to imagine how he endured those violent surges and still kept such terrifying composure.

Even asleep, he didn’t make a sound.