Chapter 90: Indirect

For a fleeting moment, An Tong met the man's deep gaze, brimming with concern, and instinctively stepped closer. "I just got here; I've only been standing for a moment."

Rong Shen wrapped her hand more tightly and tucked it into the outer pocket of his coat. "It's cold. Next time, you should wear gloves when you go out."

He led her back through the lobby, fingers entwined, and asked as they walked, "Wouldn't that look a bit old-fashioned?" An Tong hesitated, murmuring, "If my hands are cold, I can just put them in my pockets. Nobody wears gloves on the street these days."

Rong Shen glanced sidelong at her earnest little expression, his low laughter warm as he gently squeezed her hand. "Excuses, excuses."

As they spoke, the two of them reached the elevators. It was not yet the end of the workday, so few people were around, though occasionally an employee would stroll past with a coffee in hand.

When the strikingly handsome man, hand in hand with the coolly elegant young woman, strode openly into the lobby, they instantly drew many eyes.

"Whoa, is that the Executive Director?"

"Goodness, what day is it today? The Executive Director is actually among us mortals!"

"Not just among us—look closely, did he just put that girl's hand in his own pocket...?"

"Wasn't it said... the Executive Director was single?"

A few employees lingered nearby, whispering among themselves, but no one dared approach. Even colleagues who had planned to take the elevator began wandering aimlessly in the lobby, waiting until the pair had left before going over.

Meanwhile, An Tong followed Rong Shen into the elevator. In the confined space, only the two of them remained, gazes meeting.

An Tong felt a little uneasy under the man's heated stare. She tugged her scarf higher, almost burying her face in it. "Where are we having dinner?"

"Private dining, west side of the city," Rong Shen replied without shifting his gaze, a hint of amusement at his lips. "With your face buried so deep, can you still breathe?"

An Tong glanced up at him, inhaled and exhaled a few times in exaggerated silence, as though to answer his question with action.

At this, Rong Shen's thick brows relaxed, a refined smile playing on his lips. Just then, the elevator arrived at the third basement level. He ruffled her hair and led her toward their parking spot.

Once inside the car, An Tong fastened her seatbelt and glanced at the man in the driver's seat. She hesitated but said nothing.

The car was not his usual business vehicle, but the Porsche Cayenne he’d driven before.

An Tong had half a mind to suggest she drive, but recalling the accident when Shi Ye had rear-ended her, she quickly discarded the idea. With Rong Shen in the car, she might get nervous or distracted; if anything were to happen again, it would be far from ideal. Better to sit quietly and let him take the wheel.

Rong Shen steered with one hand. As the car left the underground garage, they quickly merged into the busy main road.

After about forty minutes, the man drove them into the development district on the west side of Zhanzhou.

An Tong quietly admired the scenery outside the window. Unlike the bustling city center, this area exuded a tranquil and leisurely air.

As dusk settled, the distant Ferris wheel by the river lit up in a dazzling display of lights.

An Tong rested her hand on the car door, gazing at it a moment longer. The last time she’d ridden a Ferris wheel, she had been sixteen.

Perhaps she was lost in thought for too long, but when Rong Shen came over, he followed her gaze. Though he looked only briefly, he did not miss the nostalgia and yearning in her eyes.

He joined her side without a word or question, his expression composed, and led her into the private dining restaurant.

They were shown to a private room, where the service manager warmly brought over two cups of chrysanthemum tea. "Mr. Rong, the kitchen is ready. Would you like us to serve the courses now?"

"Bring a dessert first," the man said as he removed his coat, rolling up his sleeves with unhurried elegance. "Serve the main dishes in half an hour."

"Certainly, Mr. Rong."

After the manager left, An Tong held her teacup, feigning a sip while sneaking curious glances at the man across from her.

"Why aren’t you drinking your tea? Why are you staring at me?" Rong Shen suddenly spoke, his tone teasing and light.

Clearly, there was nothing she could hide from his sharp perception.

She traced the rim of her cup and asked in a neutral tone, "Do you eat here often?"

The manager had addressed him as ‘Mr. Rong’—not a common title—and treated him with the utmost respect, as if he were an honored guest.

"Not often," he replied, blowing gently on his tea, his expression gentle and warm. "Only once every few months."

An Tong glanced at the logo in the corner of the menu, quietly making a mental note.

What he liked, what he enjoyed eating—she wanted to discover it all, and remember.

An Tong always felt she didn’t know Rong Shen well enough.

He, for his part, seemed to understand all her habits and preferences, and could even use his skills as a therapist to discern the direction of her moods.

By comparison, Rong Shen remained to her like an unfathomable ancient well—visible, but its hidden depths forever out of reach, the secrets behind its placid surface impossible to grasp.

Thinking this, An Tong’s gaze inevitably lingered on the man's face, lost in thought.

Shortly, the service manager returned in person with a pre-dinner dessert—lime mousse.

There was only one portion, placed in front of An Tong.

She looked up at Rong Shen, saw his subtle nod, and so made no further ceremony, cutting off a small piece of mousse and placing it in her mouth.

The dessert was as soft as cotton candy, delicate and fragrant, gradually releasing the sweet-tart flavor of lime as she chewed.

Surprisingly delicious.

An Tong took a few more bites, then looked up, the little fork still between her lips. “This is really good. Want to try?”

Like most men, Rong Shen didn’t seem especially interested in desserts.

But seeing An Tong’s eager expression, he was moved and, rather than refuse, raised his brows as if acquiescing.

An Tong immediately pushed the plate toward him, pointing at the untouched half of the cake. "I haven’t touched this side—try it."

But though the plate was passed over, there was only one small fork, and she had already used it.

An Tong glanced at the utensils by his side—if he were to eat cake with chopsticks...

Just picturing it felt too awkward to bear.

She stood up. "Wait a moment, I’ll get another—" fork.

"No need," the man said, his arm reaching across the table to gently stop her wrist, then taking the fork she had used.

An Tong fell silent.

She sat back down, cheeks flushing uncontrollably.

She watched, dazed, as the man took a bite of cake with the fork she had just used, even licking off the remaining cream.

Wasn’t he going to wipe it off first?

She turned away, the tips of her ears burning.

This indirect sharing was even more intimate than that embrace the other day.

At that moment, Rong Shen set down the fork and looked up, a glimmer of laughter in his deep eyes. "Why is your face so red? Are you hot?"

(End of chapter)