Volume One, Chapter 19: His Kissing Skills Are Lacking, but There's Room for Improvement

The man's kiss was anything but tender—it was wild and fierce. Su Li did not care for such a kiss. She pushed against Mo Xingyuan's shoulders, rejecting his roughness. The more she resisted, the more relentless his kiss became. He seized her hands, lifting them above her head to stop her from pushing him away.

A gust of wind swept in through the open French windows, lifting the sheer white curtains into waves. The wind pressed and tangled with the curtains, until at last, they seemed to dance together. Sunlight streamed into the room, tinting the white fabric with gold—a sight of breathtaking beauty.

Her lustrous black hair spilled over the edge of the sofa, her clothes rumpled, her eyes glazed as if veiled in mist. It felt as though another heart beat within her chest, pulsing hot and erratic. Su Li gasped for breath, the taste left in her mouth shifting from unfamiliar to intimately known, her body limp and weak.

The breath at her neck burned so hotly she thought it might scald her skin. The man's breathing was ragged, yet fiercely restrained. Su Li thought this madness would continue unchecked. She had underestimated the man's endurance and self-control. She was astonished that he could stop himself in such a moment. And surprised, too, that he had lost control at all.

Su Li could tell—he had lost control. For a man to suddenly touch a woman he did not love, so crazed, there had to be a reason, and that reason must be another woman—the woman he did love.

Su Li remembered what Lu Jing had said: the woman he had been close to had gone abroad after his illness was discovered. Gone abroad... Suddenly, Su Li realized—was Mo Xingyuan's trip abroad for that woman? How else to explain his behavior today?

With the answer clear in her mind, Su Li calmed quickly. She no longer tried to push him away, letting him lean against her. His breath was at her ear, gradually steadying. The two of them stayed there, leaning against each other, the curtains still billowing, but the room had grown quiet.

A long time passed before Mo Xingyuan finally sat up. The woman's face was fair, her lips full and red—undeniably his handiwork. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing; he seemed to want to speak, but could not find the words.

Su Li sat up, tidied her hair, picked up the hair tie that had fallen between the cushions, and deftly tied her hair back. She straightened her clothes, curved her lips into a smile, and said, “You're not much of a kisser—you've got room for improvement.”

Her teasing words made Mo Xingyuan's heart sink.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

Mo Xingyuan stood outside on the balcony, smoking, his heart beating heavy and pained, a constant reminder of what he had just done. He had lost control. Frustration mounted in him as he finished one cigarette after another. His phone buzzed. He glanced at it, but didn’t reply.

Hearing movement behind him, he turned. Su Li had changed her clothes, was rubbing her still-damp hair, and came out to fetch her laptop before returning to her bedroom. In truth, she hadn’t wanted to be with him in the way her words had implied.

A sudden burn on his fingers startled him—he looked down; the cigarette had burned to the end. Mo Xingyuan went back into the living room, grabbed his coat, and left.

Hearing the door close, Su Li let out a deep breath, her rigid posture collapsing. She toppled onto the bed, pressing her lips together. The sensation between her lips was not pleasant, a little numb. She ran her tongue lightly over them, recalling Mo Xingyuan’s kiss, her lips pressed tight, a trace of lingering feeling.

How could that other woman bear to leave him? If she had stayed by his side, Su Li couldn’t imagine how much he would have cherished her. She was certain that Mo Xingyuan would have loved the one he truly cared for with all his heart.

“You can’t drink.”

He Xin-yan reached to snatch the glass from Mo Xingyuan, but was stopped by a murderous glare. Watching him down the drink, He Xin-yan was both worried and helpless. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

Mo Xingyuan ignored him, pouring himself another drink and downing it.

“Can’t you do something?” He Xin-yan shouted at Chi Mu in frustration.

Chi Mu only glanced indifferently at He Xin-yan, as if to say, “What can I possibly do?”

“I just can’t believe this—” He Xin-yan was so angry he wanted to curse. “Couldn’t you have stopped him from going abroad? I just don’t get it—why bother with her?”

Mo Xingyuan paused mid-drink, his eyes cold as venom, glaring at him with a chilling intensity.

He Xin-yan yanked off his glasses to rub his temples. “What do you expect to accomplish by going? You’re not planning to bring her back, are you? Besides, she’s married now.”

Chi Mu tried to signal He Xin-yan to rein himself in and not provoke Mo Xingyuan further.

“She’s getting a divorce.” Mo Xingyuan set down his glass and finally spoke. “Go help her.”

He Xin-yan’s eyes widened. “What did you say?”

“She needs a professional lawyer for her divorce case,” said Mo Xingyuan. “You go help her.”

He Xin-yan rolled his eyes in exasperation. “And why should I?”

“Consider it for a generous attorney’s fee.”

He Xin-yan shot him a look. “I thought you’d say it was for old times’ sake.”

Mo Xingyuan picked up another cigarette. “You’d scoff at that.”

“As long as you know.” He Xin-yan put his glasses back on. “And after the divorce? What then?”

“I might not live to see her case concluded.”

He Xin-yan fell silent. The room grew oppressively quiet.

After finishing his cigarette, Mo Xingyuan stood, coat in hand. “Draft a gift agreement for me.”

“To whom?” He Xin-yan dreaded hearing a particular name.

“Su Li.”

He Xin-yan and Chi Mu both showed surprise. After all, Mo Xingyuan had once said that marrying Su Li would give her nothing but the title—nothing else. Now he actually wanted to leave something to her.

“What changed your mind?”

Mo Xingyuan shrugged on his coat, his tone stiff. “She’s not as unworthy as I thought.”

With that, he left.

Chi Mu hurried after him, leaving He Xin-yan staring for a moment before letting out a quiet chuckle.

As Chi Mu drove, he glanced in the rearview mirror. “The specialists abroad said there’s still a chance for you. You don’t need to be so pessimistic.”

Mo Xingyuan clenched his hands, gazing out at the city traffic streaming past the window. “A chance—that’s all.”

Chi Mu wanted to offer more words of comfort, but as Mo Xingyuan said, a chance was only a chance. It wasn’t a certainty; it meant little.

The window was cracked open, and the wind was biting cold. The streetlights on either side of the bridge made the night as bright as day. He suddenly remembered a year when he’d seen a woman about to jump from this bridge, a young girl crying and clutching her hand, begging her not to. The woman was set on dying. Though his car was about to drive away, he’d risked danger, reversed, and pulled the woman back from the edge.

He’d only glanced once at the tear-streaked girl before Bai Zhiyao urged him away. He wondered how that woman was doing now. But what did it matter? He himself was dying; how could he care about someone else’s fate?

He had done good deeds, but it had not made him live longer.