Chapter 61 seemed to be saying something silently...
Xia Zhiyao listed everything Zhou's mother had said on her phone, taking notes and asking questions as she did so: "You should actually buy an air fryer, it's very convenient."
“Yes, yes, that’s good.” Zhou’s mother smiled and nodded, her tone as affectionate as if she were talking to her daughter.
The two chatted and laughed in the kitchen. Even Zhou Yue couldn't help but peek at them from the doorway for a few more seconds. The scene was peaceful and harmonious, and for a moment he felt that this was what a home should be like.
After tidying up, Zhou's mother clapped her hands and said it was about time to leave. Xia Zhiyao checked the time and stood up as well: "I'll go too, and see you downstairs."
Zhou Yue didn't stop them, he just gave a faint reply, and watching the two walk out the door side by side, his heart suddenly calmed down.
For dinner, he brought out the dishes his mother had brought, heated them up, and placed them on the table. There was no fancy plating or complicated presentation, but they suited his taste perfectly, with just the right amount of saltiness. The steaming food had a familiar, homey smell.
After finishing his meal, he efficiently cleared the table and washed the dishes spotlessly, restoring quiet to the kitchen once again.
Stepping out of the bathroom, he leaned on the edge of the table with one hand and opened his laptop with the other. The screen lit up, and the files and unread emails served as a silent list, reminding him how much he still had to do.
He rubbed his temples, then immersed himself in his work, replying to emails and annotating documents, and time slipped by unnoticed.
Only after finishing the last document did he let out a long sigh, close his laptop, and feel as if half of the stiffness in his shoulders and back had been removed.
He pulled back the covers and crawled in, only to find himself a little cold—not just physically, but also with a strange sense of emptiness. He turned over, staring at the ceiling, feeling somewhat uneasy. At this time last night, Xia Zhiyao was beside him.
Zhou Yue closed his eyes, and the images from last night uncontrollably surfaced: her profile in the dim light, the strength with which her fingertips gripped his shoulder, the low breaths escaping her lips, and the look in her eyes that made it hard to tell whether it was restraint or indulgence.
His breathing tightened slightly, and the more he thought about it, the clearer it became that he hadn't felt this kind of rapid, relaxing sensation in a long time.
Just as he said, he slept very well when Xia Zhiyao was around. Even just sitting quietly in the same space could gradually relax the tension that had been building up inside him.
He closed his eyes, and it seemed as if her voice still lingered in his ears, sometimes sharp enough to draw blood, and sometimes unexpectedly gentle.
As those images flashed by, before drowsiness gradually crept in, he thought he would probably sleep very soundly. But deep down, he vaguely knew that this sense of peace could only be found in the nights when she was there.
The next day at noon, Zhou Yue groggily turned over, intending to take another nap.
Just then, the doorbell rang, abrupt and persistent, ringing one after another like an alarm clock that refused to give up, forcibly pulling him out of his drowsiness.
He frowned, sat up, put on his coat, and slipped on his slippers to open the door. A deliveryman was standing outside, carrying several large bags, with more than a dozen boxes stacked at his feet, each with clear recipient information on a label.
"Mr. Zhou? These are all for you. There will be more later."
Zhou Yue paused for two seconds, his voice still low and hoarse from not having woken up properly: "...I didn't buy anything."
The deliveryman was clearly familiar with this reaction, and said with a smile, "Does someone at your house help you with this?"
Zhou Yue bowed his head and signed the document. As soon as he closed the door, he looked back and saw that his living room had become a small logistics sorting center. Boxes were piled up next to the coffee table and sofa, with different colors and sizes, and there were even a few that were obviously insulated boxes for fresh food.
The bedding, four-piece sets, and down comforters all had an understated sense of luxury in their packaging, and felt as soft as clouds. The kitchen seasonings, pots and pans, and knives were all from brands she used to love.
He didn't even overlook small details like tissues, dish soap, and storage boxes; he could almost picture her meticulously selecting and comparing colors, sizes, and materials in front of the screen.
He stood amidst a pile of boxes, somewhat bewildered. He bent down and opened one of the boxes, which contained a pillow. Next to it, in a small box, were two sets of dark-colored bath towels and hand towels. The familiar brand logo on the care label made him pause slightly. It was the one she had insisted on replacing, saying it was soft and durable.
He suddenly had a strange feeling that she had only gone out temporarily and would soon come back with the keys, as if nothing had changed.
He bent down and pulled over the box closest to the coffee table. Inside were two thick-bottomed white porcelain mugs. Further down, there was a thermos, with the matching filter and tea canister neatly embedded in the foam.
That meticulous thoughtfulness wasn't like just casually sending a few things; it was more like she was rearranging his life from beginning to end.
The living room was quickly filled with torn cardboard boxes and packaging bags, like a sudden invasion of life.
Zhou Yue sat on the sofa and reached out to press the new pillow to check its firmness. The familiar bouncy feel made his chest tighten slightly.
He was momentarily at a loss, unsure whether to pack his things first or call her to ask. His hand had already reached for his phone, but he stopped before dialing.
Looking down at himself surrounded by boxes, he suddenly felt a strange sense of disorientation, as if someone had silently broken in and filled the empty space little by little, and he had no time to refuse, nor did he want to refuse.
He sighed softly, his gaze slowly sweeping across the room full of delivery boxes and brand-new household items, as if he had been pushed into a scene of being "cared for".
Without any extra notes or explanations, she silently delivered all of this, gradually transforming what was originally a temporary lodging into a place that felt like "home."
Zhou Yue sat back down on the sofa quietly. Around him were half-opened cardboard boxes and uncollected scraps of paper. He smiled slightly, a faint, unassuming smile that conveyed a long-lost sense of peace.
She's always been like this. She never says a word, yet she manages to mend his life perfectly, piece by piece. And he seems to have grown accustomed to her like this.
“Xia Zhiyao…” he murmured softly, without reproach, more like a deep sigh.
She didn't mention the matter between the two of them again, but used these small traces of life to replace the "confirmation of the relationship," hiding the words "I still care about you" in pots and pans, in the details of daily life. Compared to the passionate entanglement of that night, this silent arrangement was more unsettling.
His phone pinged, and he looked down to open WeChat. It was a message from his mother: "I noticed your house was missing a lot of things the other day, and Zhiyao said she bought them for you. Remember to thank her. What a great older sister she is!"
He stared at the words for a few seconds before slowly moving his finger and replying: "I understand. Thank you, Mom."
He packed slowly, holding each item in his hands longer than necessary, as if to confirm that these were indeed her choices, reflecting her taste and habits.
By the time he finished packing the last box, it was already dark. The neon lights outside shone through the window, casting a warm glow over half of the living room. He leaned back on the sofa, suddenly feeling an urge to hear her voice.
His phone was right there beside him. He unlocked it, found her name, and pressed the dial button. His heart skipped a beat for no reason. The phone rang for a long time, but no one answered.
Zhou Yue leaned back on the sofa without moving. The moment the screen went black, he suddenly laughed, whether it was self-mockery or disappointment, it was hard to tell.
He said softly, "You..." His voice carried a hint of pity, but also a touch of helplessness.
The screen lit up again; it was her WeChat message: "What's up? I'm at my mom's."
Zhou Yue stared at the message, paused for two seconds, then flicked his finger and replied with three words: "Thank you."
Soon, her message popped up: "Of course, it's your mom who's paying anyway."
Zhou Yue stared at that sentence, leaned back on the sofa, looked down at the thermos on the coffee table, and ran her fingertips along the metallic texture of the cup, as if trying to discern a trace of her warmth from its icy coolness.
Her tone seemed nonchalant, as if she were talking about something not worth taking seriously, but he could sense an imperceptible distance between them, as if she were deliberately reminding him not to take this as her "special" status.
But he knew that these things were not something anyone could just pick out, and certainly not something anyone would be willing to spend the time to prepare for him.
He leaned back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling in silence for a long time, the feeling of being gently pushed away growing stronger in his heart.
Their relationship is like a chemical reaction at a critical point; it appears stable and transparent on the surface, but in reality, it can instantly spiral out of control if any external force intervenes.
During the day, at the company, the two never crossed the line.
Xia Zhiyao is consistently calm and capable, handling matters quickly, accurately, and ruthlessly. Zhou Yue is composed and rational, leaving no room for error in public. They only occasionally meet each other's gaze, and only for fleeting moments required for work.
In the conference room, they worked side by side, their thinking clear and their cooperation seamless. Their conversations were full of professional jargon, and any personal emotions were shut out.
But once night falls, the atmosphere at social gatherings and dinners subtly loosens, the clinking of glasses blends with the lamplight, and the rhythm changes. As soon as alcohol touches the lips and teeth, the clear line drawn during the day becomes blurred, or even disappears.
They never talked about love, nor did they ask who approached whom first after the first time. Each time was like an "unintentional exception," yet it came too naturally, so naturally that it seemed like a tacit understanding that had been formed long ago and belonged only to them.
It was almost ten o'clock when the dinner party ended. The night outside had fallen. As Xia Zhiyao walked out of the private room, her expression was unreadable, but under the influence of alcohol, the corners of her eyes seemed to be stained with a deeper color.
Zhou Yue walked on her right. To outsiders, he was simply maintaining a gentlemanly and polite distance between colleagues. But only he knew that, even from half a step away, he could smell the faint scent of wine in her breath, mixed with her usual perfume, as if beckoning him to go deeper into her world.
Neither of them spoke as they went downstairs. When they reached the parking lot, the night wind blew, and the rationality they had maintained during the day seemed to be stripped away bit by bit, leaving only that familiar, dangerous tacit understanding fermenting in the shadows.
He opened the car door, his gaze briefly meeting hers. She neither dodged nor looked away, but merely raised an eyebrow slightly—a very subtle movement, yet enough to shatter any boundaries.
Zhou Yue didn't say a word, but the restlessness that had been building up since leaving the dinner party was amplified in the cramped space of the car. She turned her head to look out the window, and the city's neon lights were reflected in her profile, making her look both distant and close enough to be reached.
At the red light, he finally turned his head to look at her: "Going to your place, or..."
Xia Zhiyao didn't turn her head, but simply said, "Your home is nearby."
That one sentence made him purse his lips almost imperceptibly.
As the car drove into the underground parking garage of the residential complex, Zhou Yue got out of the car after the designated driver parked it. The moment her hand slid through his palm, he felt all his restraint crumble.
Neither of them spoke on the way upstairs. Xia Zhiyao changed her shoes and put her bag on the sofa.
Zhou Yue closed the door, leaned against it, and looked at her with eyes as dark as the night, carrying a hint of undisguised frankness.
At that moment, all the boundaries of daylight disappeared, and they all knew what was going to happen next.
They'd experienced nights like this countless times; there was no need for probing or preparation. Xia Zhiyao took off her coat, casually draped it over the sofa armrest, and said nonchalantly, "I'm going to take a shower first."
Zhou Yue hummed in response, his tone flat, yet carrying an unspoken certainty.
Xia Zhiyao took her change of clothes into the bathroom and glanced at the sink where several familiar items were neatly arranged: face wash, makeup remover, conditioner, and even the scent was the one she usually used.
Xia Zhiyao stood under the showerhead, rinsing herself. Hot water slid down her neck, forming a thin stream at her collarbone. Suddenly, the bathroom door was pushed open a crack, and a cool breeze and familiar footsteps rushed in.
She didn't open her eyes, but just let out a breath, her tone tinged with a helpless laziness: "Can't you wait a bit?"
Zhou Yue closed the door, his footsteps slowly approaching, his voice low and warm, shrouded in the steam: "I don't think I've ever done this with you before."
She opened her eyes and watched him slowly walk to her side, standing in the space where mist and heat intertwined, his gaze fixed heavily on her.
The water splashed loudly. He reached out and adjusted the water temperature, then casually brushed her wet hair to one side, the movement seemingly casual, yet also as if he was taking the opportunity to linger on the back of her neck.
She didn't move or refuse; she simply tilted her head to let the hot water continue to flow. The air was thick with an ambiguous atmosphere, enveloped in the steam, and slowly warmed up.
She closed her eyes and felt his fingertips slowly sliding through her hair. The sound of water and breathing mingled together, and all that remained was the silence between them.
"Lower your head a little." Zhou Yue's voice was very close, carrying an undeniable certainty.
She did as he said, her hair falling gently under the warm water as he moved. After he finished, he turned off the shower, grabbed a towel from the shelf beside him, and placed it directly over her head, gently massaging her hair with his hands outside the towel. His movements were unhurried, yet they left her with nowhere to escape.
"Let's go," he said softly.
She raised an eyebrow: "Where to?"
"What do you think? Do you want to do it in the toilet?" He looked at her, a hint of provocation in his eyes.
Xia Zhiyao did not refute, but simply raised her hand to remove the towel, wiped the water droplets off herself, and casually handed the towel back to him.
Zhou Yue followed behind her, his gaze subtly fixed on the hem of the shirt that was stained dark by her wet hair. With each step, he could feel a certain pull on him.
When she reached the bedroom door, she stopped, turned around and glanced at him. Her eyes were smiling, but she didn't say anything. Zhou Yue reached out and pushed the door open, letting her go in first.
Xia Zhiyao walked in, casually rolling up the sleeves of her shirt, exuding a nonchalant yet alluring charm.
She sat on the edge of the bed, wiping her hair with her head down, her expression indifferent, as if this was a place she had been to countless times and knew all too well.
Zhou Yue closed the door, took the towel from her hand, and began to dry her hair.
The towel rubbed against her hair, and his fingertips occasionally touched her earlobes and the side of her neck. The warm touch made the air tighten little by little.
"When did you buy those things?" she suddenly asked, her voice muffled by the towel.
“A few days ago.” He spoke calmly, as if he were talking about something ordinary.
"On purpose?"
Zhou Yue looked up at her, his single-eyelid eyes deep and serious, a slight smile playing on his lips: "If I hadn't made a point of it, do you think I would remember this clearly?"
She didn't reply, but just smiled with her eyes lowered. He casually tossed the towel aside, and his hand naturally landed on her shoulder, his fingertips gently caressing the skin beneath her shirt fabric. The only distance between them was the warmth of their breaths.
"Zhiyao." He called her name softly, his voice sounding like it was being forced out from the deepest part of his throat, carrying a hint of barely suppressed agitation.
Xia Zhiyao looked up at the sound, her eyes clear but with a layer of light dampened by the night and moisture. She neither retreated nor met her gaze, but tilted her head slightly, as if to say silently: Do whatever you want.
He suddenly leaned down, placing his hands on either side of her body, forcing her to look up and meet his gaze.
"Are you waiting for me to lose control?" His voice was low and hoarse, like sand being ground together, carrying a hidden fire that had been pushed to its limit.
Xia Zhiyao blinked, slowly propped herself up with her hands, leaned back slightly, and brought her lips closer to his: "Then why don't you hurry up?"
Zhou Yue seemed to be ignited, his eyes suddenly darkened, and he grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com