Chapter Twenty-Nine: Acknowledging the Relationship

Her fingers had yet to touch the bottle of mineral water when Xin Gan, eyes tinged with wariness, said, “Not yet.”

Cheng Jiu was not one to be easily deceived. His slightly upturned phoenix eyes gave her a sidelong glance, the corners of his lips lifting—not in a smile, but out of habit. His features were reserved, never easily betraying true emotion, yet forbidden desires flickered unmistakably in his gaze, making him a contradiction in himself.

“Xin Gan, do you perhaps misunderstand me?” he asked.

Xin Gan, for reasons unknown even to herself, dared not meet his eyes. She abruptly looked away, bowed her head, and took up her chopsticks again to stir the mass of half-eaten noodles in her bowl. Her thoughts ran wild, tendrils of confusion unfurling deep within her, as if something long dormant wished to bloom.

Distracted, she asked, “What misunderstanding?”

“Forget it. It’s nothing,” Cheng Jiu replied.

Watching her absent-mindedly stir her noodles, he could no longer bear it. His long arm reached out and took her bowl. “If you’re not feeling well, don’t force yourself to eat,” he said.

Xin Gan looked up at him, about to speak, but met Cheng Jiu’s gaze and quickly looked away again. She murmured an assent and made no move to continue eating.

She truly did feel unwell. Since arriving in Beiyu, there had hardly been a moment of peace.

Cheng Jiu went to pay the bill. He was intimately familiar with the local environment, having come on assignments several times before, and knew the place far better than Xin Gan.

Clutching her bottle of water, Xin Gan followed him out of the restaurant. It was midday, the sun blazing mercilessly, the earth scorching and eyes barely able to open against the glare. Cheng Jiu said, “Let’s rest somewhere shady.”

They stood together in the shadow cast by the restaurant eaves. Cheng Jiu placed an unlit cigarette between his lips. “Are you badly carsick?” he asked.

Out of the sun, the heat was bearable. It was just too dazzlingly bright.

Xin Gan squinted perpetually. The restaurant was crowded at lunchtime, with people waiting outside for tables as they ate, so it felt inappropriate to linger once they’d finished.

Xin Gan didn’t nod but said, “Not really.”

“Then what is it?” Cheng Jiu asked. “There’s nothing shameful about admitting you feel unwell.”

Xin Gan lowered her gaze and said nothing.

Cheng Jiu glanced around, then suddenly walked a few steps away. He crossed to a stall across the street and bought a hat—a distinctly local, folkloric one, the fabric a deep indigo tie-dye, with a wide brim for shade.

Without giving her a chance to refuse, he set the hat directly on her head.

“Wear it—it’s better than nothing,” he said.

Xin Gan glanced up at the vivid blue sky, eyes narrowed, and said, “Thank you.”

“The engagement isn’t broken off yet. We’re still betrothed, so there’s no need for such courtesy,” he replied.

She was taken aback, standing there frozen for several seconds. “Then may I ask you something?”

“What do you want to ask?”

“What is your relationship with Jiang Tang?”

Xin Gan had never seen a sky so blue—pure, untainted. The sun was fierce, but the wind was cool, unlike any city she’d ever visited.

This land brimmed with primitive wildness and a rugged, straightforward spirit, starkly contrasted by its unique and enchanting scenery.

Its purity was intoxicating.

Cheng Jiu turned away from her, showing his back. His hair was cropped close to his skull, nothing like the fastidious men working in the city’s financial districts, meticulously attired. He bore none of those constraints; instead, his presence exuded the rawest masculine energy. Xin Gan, watching his back, couldn’t help but imagine what he might look like in a suit and bow tie.

He said, “There’s nothing between us. Would you believe that?”