Yang Qingheng's mind went blank. In a flash, she pounced and slapped the hand hard.

An eerie silence fell for a moment, then Tang Bainian's hesitant voice came from outside: "...Yang Qingheng?"

Yang Qingheng pressed herself against the door, so embarrassed that she dug her toes into the ground, only realizing belatedly that her face was burning.

A disheveled man and woman, ex-husband and ex-wife, are alone in a room.

Each of them alone could be made into a bizarre news story. She couldn't imagine how furious Tang Bainian would have been if he had accidentally seen the man inside.

"I...I haven't washed up yet, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hit you," she explained.

"It's okay, Mom and I will come and call you downstairs for breakfast."

As soon as Tang Bainian finished speaking, Mu Huihe's voice rang out from outside, just as expected.

“The family is still so reserved,” she knocked on the door. “Xiaoxiao told me you twisted your ankle last night while wearing high heels. I got some medicine and asked Bai Nian to massage it for you before he went to work, so it will heal faster.”

The old man had spoken, so it was disrespectful for her to keep the door closed. Yang Qingheng nervously swallowed and glanced at Song Hengjue.

The man jumped in surprise and scrambled into the closet.

The door opened in response.

"Isn't it quite pretty?" Mu Huihe chuckled and pressed her down to sit on the sofa.

Tang Bainian walked in carrying a medicine box, his gaze fixed on the half-open window, his eyes flickering almost imperceptibly for a moment.

"It's getting chilly now, and leaving the windows open at night can easily cause you to catch a cold," he casually remarked, warming the medicated oil in his hand and pressing it onto Yang Qingheng's ankle. His voice was flat and even, as if he were just saying it offhand, but Yang Qingheng broke out in a sweat, forgetting even the pain in her foot, and subconsciously glanced at Mu Huihe beside her.

Fortunately, the old lady didn't notice anything. She carefully picked up the quilt from the floor, patted it, frowned, and instead of putting it back on the bed, casually tossed it into the laundry basket next to her: "This quilt smells of alcohol. Since the weather is nice today, let Auntie wash it for you."

He reached out to open the closet and take out a new bed.

Yang Qingheng's pupils dilated in shock, and she screamed, "Don't move!"

Mu Huihe trembled with fright, glanced at her in surprise, and stared intently at the cabinet with her dark eyes.

"That cabinet, that cabinet..." Yang Qingheng's brain was racing, but she couldn't come up with a reasonable explanation for the time being.

Tang Bainian gave her a deep look, then stood up with a light laugh: "Qingheng is very private. Her clothes are all inside. Even I don't usually dare to touch her things. Mom, please don't expose her secrets, or she won't dare to come downstairs for dinner later."

"I don't understand you young people." The old lady shook her head, picked up the quilt that needed washing, and went out.

Back in the day, Bai Nian's dad would even wash her underwear for her. The couple were as close as one person. Nowadays, young people talk about distance all the time, which really opened the eyes of this old lady.

How far apart can people who sleep in the same bed be?

"You're done cleaning up, you can go out now," Yang Qingheng's eyes flickered for a moment, she knew that this person probably noticed, her ears were red, "I'll change my clothes and then go downstairs."

"Okay, I'll go check if your barley porridge is ready." Tang Bainian picked up the medicine box, and before leaving, he glanced deeply at the wardrobe, a ruthless glint flashing in his usually calm eyes.

Yang Qingheng gave a vague reply, but as soon as he left, she hurriedly locked the door from the inside, frowned and glared at the half-face peeking out from the gap in the wardrobe: "Hurry up and come out."

Song Hengjue patted his chest, still recovering from the close call.

Yang Qingheng peeked out the window. There was no one in the garden. She urged impatiently, "Hurry up and leave, or the old lady will whip you, won't she?"

No sooner had the words left her lips than the old woman's voice faintly came from outside, followed by the creaking sound of the door lock turning.

Song Hengjue jumped in surprise and darted out the window, disappearing from sight.

Yang Qingheng was holding two quilts in her hands. Before she could throw them down, a vein throbbed on her forehead, and her heart pounded with fear. She stuck her head out to look and saw that the man had landed safely.

He cursed under his breath, grabbed his pants and belt from under the bed and threw them down. Pointing in the direction of the house, he made a throat-slitting gesture at him with a cold face—if someone sees this, he'll kill you.

Song Hengjue shrank his neck, pulled down the pants on his head, and ran to the back as if his life depended on it. As soon as he got out, he saw a car stop in the distance.

The car window rolled down, revealing Fang Nan's face, who waved excitedly at him: "Brother Heng!"

That brat, he even knew to come and meet him. The money he was given wasn't wasted.

Song Hengjue gave him a look of gratitude and admiration as if he had seen a savior, then suddenly opened the car door and met the eyes of the policeman inside.