Chapter 11

Take eleven bites.
Ying Tao shot him a sideways glare. “In your dreams.”
Then she narrowed her eyes, suspiciously sizing him up. “Don’t tell me you got dumped, so you’re picking a fight with me on purpose. Messing with me for fun.”
He Mingye lifted a brow—yet didn’t deny it.
Ying Tao’s eyes widened like she’d discovered a whole new continent. “No way. You really got dumped?”
“What?” He Mingye lowered his gaze to her. “You happy?”
More than happy. She practically wanted to set off fireworks and bang a gong.
“Who was it?” Ying Tao blurted out, unable to hide the excitement. “Do I know her?”
Before she turned eighteen, she’d never been apart from He Mingye. She’d never even heard of him having someone he liked.
Girls who chased him, though? Endless.
She’d personally run into more confessions than she could count.
But He Mingye was a dog, through and through. Sharp tongue, nasty temper. Forget “gentlemanly”—he didn’t even know what “pity” meant. It was already a miracle if he didn’t stab someone straight in the heart with his words.
Every girl he rejected either went away crying from the cold indifference… or got her soft, fragile teenage heart shredded by the brutality of his refusal.
He was basically a nightmare of girlhood.
Ying Tao truly didn’t understand why so many people still rushed toward him like moths and worshipped him like a god.
In her opinion, they just had terrible eyesight. Of all the people in the world to like, they had to fall for He Mingye the dog.
He Mingye gave her a cool glance and let out a meaninglessly low huff.
“Pig.”
“?”
Ying Tao’s brows snapped up. “Are you cursing me?”
This bastard was definitely cursing her, wasn’t he?
She puffed up in anger, cheeks tightening as she ground her teeth.
But her lashes were still wet, tears clinging there; the tip of her nose was red. She had no real intimidation at all—more like a kitten whose tail had been stepped on, fur exploding as she bared tiny claws, arched her back, and prepared to pounce and scratch him.
A faint smile flickered at the bottom of the man’s eyes, there and not there. His face showed nothing.
He raised a hand and suppressed her without effort, palm pressing down on her fluffy head.
Her dark hair was soft and obedient like warm velvet, the fine little flyaways tickling his palm.
Ying Tao bared her teeth, wriggling—yet she couldn’t reach him no matter what.
So angry she could spit, she snapped, “You coward. If you’ve got guts, let go! I’ll duel you!”
He Mingye clicked his tongue and actually let go.
But the moment his force withdrew—
Ying Tao, unprepared, leaned forward too hard. She tried to pull back, but couldn’t react in time, and slammed straight into him.
“Mm—”
Her forehead hit his chest. The perky bridge of her nose scraped against his zipper. Her nose bone smacked into his sternum.
Sharp pain burst outward instantly.
So painful.
“…”
Ying Tao covered her nose and glared up at him, furious.
He Mingye’s brows knotted hard. “Did it hurt? Let me see.”
“…Why don’t you try crashing into it yourself?”
She was definitely in a streak of bad luck lately—otherwise how could she be this unlucky?
“Ah…”
Ying Tao tried to lower her hand—
And her nose immediately started bleeding.
He Mingye’s frown deepened. He pinched her nose wings lightly and forced her to tilt her neck forward a little. “Don’t move.”
She’d never been this miserable in her entire life.
With him holding her by the bridge of her nose, she got dragged into the lounge.
When he brought medicine, she still wasn’t over it. She turned her head away stubbornly, refusing to speak.
He Mingye asked the staff for a first-aid kit. Seeing her keep twisting away, lips locked tight, he frowned.
“What, you just hit your nose and now you want to twist your neck too?”
“You’ve got the nerve to—ah, that hurts, hurts…”
She turned to curse him in embarrassment, only to have an ice pack pressed right onto the bridge of her nose.
Ying Tao frowned and complained, “It hurts. Can’t you be gentler?”
He Mingye gave her a flat look. “Hold it yourself.”
Her fire immediately died by half. She muttered, “...Fine. I’ll hold it. Why are you yelling?”
He Mingye ignored her. He took tweezers from the kit, clamped a clean cotton ball, and braced a knuckle at the edge of her chin, forcing her to tilt her head back slightly.
Ying Tao held the ice pack and leaned her head back, gaze unfocused.
The ceiling light in the lounge blurred into soft halos. Warm yellow fell over the broken fringe at the man’s brow, softening even the hard line of his brow bone.
The cool cotton got tucked into her nostril. The damp, medicinal scent drifted with her breath.
Ying Tao hissed. With the cold cotton plugging her nostril, she could barely breathe.
He Mingye’s brows drew tight. Even the hand holding the tweezers paused. “Does it hurt?”
Ying Tao answered with a dazed “Mm,” her mind elsewhere.
When did she never notice… that He Little Dog’s eyelashes were this long?
Thick lashes cast a shadow. His eyes were deep, like a lonely night.
Maybe it was her imagination, but right now, He Mingye seemed to carry an unnameable kind of gentleness.
She thought: if only this person could stay this quiet forever.
Too bad his mouth was poisonous and his temper awful.
She remembered when she’d first been brought back to the compound.
Her brother didn’t really like her. Wen Yalan was always lukewarm toward her. Ying Zhaohui was busy—busy enough that she rarely saw him.
Most of the time, she stayed alone.
She was young and didn’t understand much. No one wanted to take her along to play.
People always called her baggage, a tagalong, so they didn’t want her.
The place she spent the most time was under the big banyan tree in the courtyard.
She liked picking up stones—pretty stones of every kind.
But Wen Yalan hated her collecting that “mess.”
Her little treasures were worthless in Wen Yalan’s eyes, so every stone she picked got tossed out—completely cleaned away.
Wen Yalan scolded her.
“Stop bringing dirty junk back to make more trouble. Are you trying to make me even more annoyed?”
“There’s already enough housework. Are you doing this on purpose just to give me more to do?”
“Can’t you learn from other people’s kids and behave? You run around like a little mud monkey all day.”
“I take care of the whole family, and now I have to clean up after you too. What sin did I commit?”
“I gave up a good future to rot in a place like this!”
She scolded and cried at the same time.
Ying Tao didn’t understand why Wen Yalan was so heartbroken. She only knew: if Wen Yalan was upset, she must have done something wrong.
She sobbed helplessly, inching closer, voice sticky-soft as she apologized.
“Mom… I’m sorry. I won’t pick up stones anymore.”
“Get away—!”
Wen Yalan’s eyes were red. She shoved her. “It’s all because of you, you jinx! If it weren’t for you, I would’ve left this place a long time ago!”
Ying Tao burst into loud sobs.
But Wen Yalan seemed sick of the sound. She grabbed Ying Tao by the arm and dragged her out the front door, shoving her outside.
“Waaah, Mom, I’m wrong—!”
Summer night cicadas screamed. The wind brushed past.
Layered shadows from the trees looked like snarling monsters, baring teeth and claws like they wanted to swallow her whole. The rustling only made her more afraid.
“Hey—”
Ying Tao rubbed her eyes frantically, then forced herself to look up, swallowing fear.
A teenage boy stood there—his figure like a curved sickle, sharp but not oppressive.
He leaned lazily against the tree. Interlaced shadows swept across his face. He lowered his eyes to her, emotionless.
“Little runt, what are you crying for?”
She knew him. He was the older brother from Uncle He’s family.
But he was fierce, with a bad temper. Every time she saw him, he was fighting someone.
Ying Tao pouted in fear and didn’t answer.
The boy clicked his tongue, impatience rising. “Little runt, I’m talking to you. Did you hear me?”
His cold face and harsh tone scared her into crying even harder.
She wailed, face flushed, coughing as she choked on sobs, trembling so pitifully it hurt to watch.
“Waaah, big brother, don’t hit me…”
The boy stepped out of the overlapping shadows.
Seeing her cry so hard she could barely breathe—yet still peeking at him like a scared little animal forcing itself to stand its ground—he found it absurdly funny.
He squatted down and asked, amused, “Did I say I was going to hit you?”
“R-Really?” The little girl’s voice was soft and sticky. Her big black-and-white eyes were clean as if freshly washed by rain, long lashes holding droplets. Her face was streaked with tears, like a little calico cat.
“Big brother, you really won’t hit me?”
The moon was bright, the stars sparse.
When the boy looked down at her, dense shadows brushed across his brow bone. His eyes were dark as ink—clearer than the night sky.
He gave a low “Mm.” “I won’t. So can you tell me now—why are you hiding here crying?”
She lowered her head in disappointment, tears still clinging to her lashes.
“I made Mom angry… big brother, I want to go home. I’m scared…”
The boy stared at her for a long time before straightening.
“Let’s go.”
She sniffled. “W-Where…?”
“I’ll take you home.”
He was tall, bones lean, moonlight falling over his short hair. Only then did the scar at the tail of his brow show itself.
Ying Tao looked at the hand he held out and cautiously took it.
Her hand was too small. She could only grip his long index finger.
She followed beside him, step by step, and asked in a tiny voice, “Big brother… did you fight again?”
“Hm? Why?”
Maybe because she was less scared now, her courage grew.
Like a little “why” machine, she chattered on.
“Big brother, why do you fight?”
“Teacher says kids who love fighting are bad kids.”
He seemed annoyed by the questions. He clicked his tongue and lowered his eyes to her.
“Did your teacher not tell you that talkative kids get snatched up and eaten?”
“Look—”
He pinched her tiny hand and curled his lips lazily, voice wicked.
“Aren’t you already caught now?”
“…”
Ying Tao was young. She got fooled completely.
She’d just barely stopped crying—
And then she got scared into bursting into tears again.
In the deep night, the boy seemed to sigh.
He crouched and picked her up, fingers brushing her cheek to wipe away tears.
“Why do you cry so much? Are you a little crybaby?”
Ying Tao clutched his neck in panic, afraid of falling. Her small body kept shaking, sobs refusing to stop.
The boy sighed again. “Fine. My fault, okay?”
“Our Tao-tao is the prettiest little princess in the world. If you keep crying, you’ll turn into a little kitty with a flower face.”
“R-Really…?”
The little girl did care about looking pretty. The moment she heard that, her crying stopped immediately.
“Mm.”
He looked thin, but his arms were strong. Holding her didn’t seem to tire him at all.
Under the moon, the two small silhouettes almost merged into one.
With a candy he’d pulled out in her mouth, the little girl finally calmed down.
She stared at the scar on his brow bone and asked softly, “Big brother, why do you fight?”
His voice was lazy. “Because I don’t like what I see. Isn’t that allowed?”
“Oh…”
She hesitated for a long time, then leaned forward and blew.
He lowered his eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Hoo, hoo—”
The little girl smiled, innocent and bright. “Grandma said if you get hurt, if you blow on it, it won’t hurt.”
“I’ll blow for big brother. Then it won’t hurt.”
Moonlight was clear.
The boy’s eyes shifted suddenly. Without a word, he tightened his arms around her slightly—yet his mouth stayed hard as he scoffed.
“Little dummy.”
“Big brother, what’s a dummy?”
She didn’t understand. Her black eyes were bright and clear as glass as she stared at him, curious.
“Is it sweet? Grandma used to grow lots of melons. There was one kind that tasted sweet-sweet. Is that called a dummy melon?”
“Mm.” His eyes were brighter than the moon. His voice was distant, yet unusually gentle. “It’s sweet. Very sweet.”
…
Pulling herself out of the memory, Ying Tao looked at him with a complicated expression, then suddenly spoke.
“Hey, He Little Dog.”
He Mingye lifted his eyes. His gaze fell on her face—slightly ridiculous at the moment. His eyes were dark, but he didn’t respond.
But in the next second—
The girl’s scent rushed at him, sweet like a peach—lush, juicy.
When their bodies brushed close in that instant, heat and contact sparked something tiny and electric along bare skin, so slight it was almost an illusion.