Chapter 53

*Crush: A Glimpse of Dawnlight*
Maybe it was because they’d gone too wild the night before, and because of everything they’d said, that Qin Sang ended up having a very long dream—one that truly went back into the past. But this dream wasn’t quite the same as reality; what happened in it was different.
In the dream, everything was perfect. So when she woke, there was a faint smile at the corners of her eyes and brows. She heard voices in the courtyard, roused by the noise. Only then did she, with some effort, lift her eyelids. The sunlight outside the window was harsh. It pierced the glass and spilled into the room in shards of silver.
Covering her mouth, she yawned. Vaguely, she heard voices coming from the yard. The voice was old, but still strong and clear.
That voice said, “I don’t really understand you young people’s world. But since that young lady is willing to be with you, then you treat her well. Don’t let her down. Pick a time and tell Grandpa—I’ll go ask for her hand on your behalf.”
“I won’t let her down. It’s just not the right time yet. At least not until she’s willing—until she nods of her own free will.”
The man’s voice was cool and clear, tinged with a slight huskiness.
Propose? How had things developed to that stage already?
Qin Sang snapped fully awake, finally coming back to herself. But as soon as she moved, her whole body felt uncomfortable. Her lips were numb too, as if they didn’t belong to her.
She buried her face in the pillow. Time to go on a “cleanse,” Qin Sang—how embarrassing. Being caught red-handed like that.
She played ostrich with her head under the covers. She didn’t know how long she stayed that way before she heard the soft click of the lock on the door. When Xie Yuncheng came in, what he saw was her perfectly desolate posture. He paused, his gaze gentle. “What’s wrong?”
Qin Sang spoke with her voice muffled. “Did your grandpa… find out?”
Had he heard the noise from last night too? They had already been very careful—she, especially, had been on edge, terrified of disturbing the old man’s rest. Being overheard by an elder would be mortifying.
“If you mean you staying here, yes, he knows.”
Xie Yuncheng didn’t lie to her. Grandpa Xie was too sharp to fool, and from start to finish, Xie Yuncheng had never thought about hiding it.
He just didn’t want others to overthink things, and he worried she wouldn’t want people to know. So when Grandpa Xie asked, he’d held some things back. He’d only said that because it was too late, Qin Sang had stayed one night here, and he brushed the rest aside without adding details.
“Stayed?”
Qin Sang pressed her lips together and turned her face toward him quietly. Her clothes were all wrinkled; the sweater would pill easily, so she’d changed out of it the night before. Now she only wore a black hoodie he’d left behind here in his youth. It was loose, hanging on her like a hoodie dress, just barely covering the tops of her thighs. Her long, straight legs were tucked under the lead-gray quilt. The duvet and sheets had been changed last night too—after they’d gotten wet, they’d had no choice.
Xie Yuncheng had also changed clothes. The shirt he’d worn the night before hadn’t fared much better than hers—wrinkled beyond recognition, hopelessly abused. Most importantly, there had been those suspicious damp spots on his pants; wearing them again without changing would have been uncomfortable.
Now he was dressed casually: a white ribbed wool sweater and cream work pants in a relaxed Japanese style. The pants were very loose—you’d never imagine what was coiled with energy beneath.
Overall, he looked like a university student who hadn’t yet graduated. Warm sunlight spilled over him; his soft black hair seemed dusted with gold. Clean, warm, and as clear as a breeze over bright moonlight.
When he noticed her looking over, those usually cool,淡 eyes curved faintly, revealing a drowsy, gentle smile.
Qin Sang’s cheeks flushed. Her eyes were watery as she watched him. She couldn’t help swallowing. How was she supposed to “cleanse herself” like this? It was already good enough if she didn’t end up assaulting him.
And last night—her gaze had fallen, by accident, on his long fingers. She couldn’t help recalling those heart-stirring moments, biting her lip for fear of letting out some shameful little sound.
If she could, she wanted to text Liu Chengcheng right now and admit Liu had been right: a pair of piano-player’s hands really did have an advantage. He “played” very well indeed—his sense of rhythm exact; the force when pressing each “key” was just right. He knew precisely how to handle the tempo to make the “music” more melodious.
In the heat of the moment, she had thought about giving in. But he had only kissed her earlobe and whispered, “Let me help you.”
And then he truly helped her. A man so high above would actually lower himself like a devout believer. She had felt shy and stiff, unable to fully let go and not really wanting to—but he hadn’t pushed. Only when she was rubbing her thighs together, feeling uncomfortable, did he slowly, carefully move forward.
She could feel the warmth of his lips and tongue there. It was a strange new sensation, but not one she resisted; in fact, there was a faint heat in it. Late autumn was already bitterly cold—almost winter—yet she felt as if she were lying on a summer beach, the sun so fierce it scorched her skin. Half-dazed, she’d seen halos shimmering in front of her eyes—a shadow, tall and dark, gathering her in, shielding her from the burning light, wrapping her wholly with no gaps.
She had whispered that it was “dirty,” her voice as thin as a mosquito. But the hand that had been blocking him slowly dropped away.
In the end, all she remembered was the man’s low, magnetic voice asking, “Have I improved?”
What kind of person kept asking if he’d improved in the middle of such chaos? She was both mortified and feverish, her whole body flushed red. Next time, she definitely couldn’t casually say things like that, or he’d keep chasing her for an answer—as if he really cared about her comment that his kissing “wasn’t that good.”
One moment he’d say, “Relax, Sang-sang. You’re biting a little too hard,” and the next he’d chuckle and say, “Listen, Sang-sang. Doesn’t it sound like it’s raining?”
Qin Sang had wanted to curse, but her body simply wasn’t cooperating—she didn’t have the strength. All she could do was cling obediently to the pillow, bury her face, and listen carefully.
Because it really did sound like rain—the soft pattering on leaves outside, as if they were rustling and falling; as if the house was leaking and the sheets were being soaked.
He really talked too much. She had never realized he could be so nitpicky. He’d said he wasn’t good at this, and that if she felt uncomfortable she should tell him.
But watching him so nonchalantly cross the “stream,” prying open the clam shell, teeth and lips gently biting the pearl—this scene alone was shocking enough to her. It seemed he really didn’t care much about his own feelings. What he cared about was what she thought.
Later, she was drenched by that “rain”—and he wasn’t much better off. He had to change out of his wet shirt, finding a clean one in the wardrobe. Supposedly, it was something he’d left here back in high school, when he’d come to Ningjiang for fieldwork and stayed at the house. The hoodie was so loose that when she pulled it on, it just covered her thighs.
She sat on the table, her long legs swinging lightly in the air. Propping herself on the surface, she watched him in the dim light. It was just bright enough for her to make out the thin layer of muscle on his body.
Only then did Qin Sang realize that, despite looking slim, his body was all tight muscle, with deep, sculpted lines. The muscles at his sides were beautifully cut—it must have taken time and effort to train them.
He found a fresh set of bedding in the cabinet and changed it out. Qin Sang couldn’t help glancing at the wrinkled sheets. The patch that had been “soaked by the rain” was clearly darker. Her cheeks burned; she hurriedly moved her gaze away, not daring to look straight.
But the moment her focus slipped, out of the corner of her eye she happened to catch sight of the obvious tension beneath the dark fabric—like something silently roaring in the night, though no one paid it any mind.
Qin Sang paused. Her slender fingers picked at the edge of the table. She pressed her dry lips together, and when he took the dirty clothes and the damp bedding in his arms to leave the room, she spoke softly.
“Um…”
Her voice dropped very low. “Do you… want me to help?”
Xie Yuncheng paused. She hung her head, the ends of her hair falling over her chest. Only the jut of bone at the back of her neck showed clearly. She really was thin—a thin layer of skin and flesh over bone, a waist so slender it seemed he could encircle it with one hand and still have room to spare.
“No need.” Xie Yuncheng didn’t want to trouble her. In his mind, she ought to stay clean—always keeping that innocence and naivety. He was the one who was dirty. He didn’t want to stain that purity. Forcing down the restless heat in him, he rasped, “Just rest.”
What happened after that was fuzzy in Qin Sang’s memory. She only remembered that she waited a long time. When she got sleepy, she lay back down. His bed was warm, free of any unpleasant smell. It carried that faint, minty scent of his—a very clean smell.
She didn’t know when Xie Yuncheng came back. Half-asleep, she thought she heard a sound, then felt a cool draft brush over her. She shivered and instinctively curled away. He must have noticed, because he didn’t push it—just lay stiffly beside her. Only when her body warmed again did he tentatively pull her into his arms.
Now that she was awake, the memories of the previous night slowly returned. Her face alternated between blush and annoyance. She dawdled and dragged her feet, not really wanting to face him.
There was a smile in the depths of Xie Yuncheng’s eyes. He stroked her thin back and asked gently, “Hungry?”
Qin Sang, shamefully, nudged his chest with her head. After a night like that—body and mind both exhausted—how could she not be hungry?
“Want to go out for something to eat?” Xie Yuncheng was asking her.
Reluctantly, she showed her face bit by bit and looked at him, still thinking about his grandpa and feeling uneasy. “Did you really tell your grandpa I stayed here? Then doesn’t he already know about… us?”
“Mm.” Xie Yuncheng smiled helplessly. “It’s hard to hide the marks on my neck. I could only be honest and say we’re together. But I told him we’re living separately—you slept in my room, and I took the guest room.”
“Sang-sang, I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want, and I won’t ruin your reputation.”
She knew that. Just as he’d clearly had the chance last night—and even his own reactions were beyond his control—he had still held himself back. After making sure she felt good, he’d left. She didn’t know how he’d solved his “problem” afterward. She only knew that she’d waited until she was sleepy and he still hadn’t come back.
She lowered her lashes and crooked a finger. “Bow your head.”
“Hm?” His expression was mild, and he did as she asked.
She kissed his cheek. But when he moved to kiss her back, she raised a hand to block his mouth and mumbled, “I haven’t brushed my teeth. It’s gross.”
Last night, caught up in the moment, she’d wanted to kiss him too. Back then he’d blocked her the same way, not letting her. Holding her by the waist, he’d said hoarsely, “I haven’t rinsed. My breath will smell.”
But now he didn’t care at all. He pinched her chin lightly and kissed her. His kiss was especially deep, especially ardent. When their mouths and teeth met, he chuckled low against her lips.
“Not gross. There’s nowhere on you that isn’t clean, Sang-sang.”