Chapter 8: Haven't We Met Somewhere Before?

A faint buzzing broke the silence as the phone, wedged in the crack, began to vibrate.

Jiang Yao bent down to retrieve it, her gaze flickering sidelong to He Yunqing.

“Yao, why aren’t you here yet? 3016, don’t get the wrong room.” Ye Yiyi’s voice came through the line.

Jiang Yao held the phone, forcing a bitter smile. Staring at He Yunqing’s striking face, she realized she’d already gone to the wrong place.

“Something came up unexpectedly. How are things on your end?”

Ye Yiyi’s excitement was barely contained. “It’s great! But what happened to you?”

“Just a small issue, I’ll tell you later.” Things were going especially well for Ye Yiyi, while for Jiang Yao, not so much.

Now, no matter how she tried to explain, she’d never be able to clear her name.

She hung up and stepped out of the bathtub, addressing He Yunqing, “I don’t have feelings for you.”

He Yunqing reached for a towel and tossed it to her.

It landed squarely on her small face. She used it to dab away the water, continuing, “Nor was I following you.”

He Yunqing turned away, preparing to leave. But recalling her awkward expression, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips.

When this man didn’t smile, he was intimidating, hard to approach; but when he did, it was like the thaw of snow—warmth laced with a trace of coolness.

Naturally, Jiang Yao saw none of this; all she caught was his retreating back.

She thought to herself, He’s angry—really angry. And who could blame him? Anyone in his situation would be furious. Was he headed to call the police? After all, she was clearly in the wrong tonight.

In desperation, she grabbed his arm. “I’m not crazy, truly. There’s no need to call the police—I can explain.”

He Yunqing’s lashes lowered, his gaze settling coolly on her hand gripping his arm.

Jiang Yao jerked her hand back, as if burned.

He turned his head. “Are you planning to keep talking to me like this?”

Jiang Yao glanced down at herself. Her clothes had been thin to begin with; now, soaked through, the white shirt clung to her skin, nearly translucent.

She flushed scarlet, instinctively clutching the towel to her chest, trying to cover up. Yet she forced a casual tone. “Uh, this was just an accident.”

“Young lady, don’t you think you have a few too many accidents?”

The words slipped out without much thought from Jiang Yao, but at that moment, He Yunqing was reminded of a certain report about her.

His eyes darkened. Clearing his throat, he found a bathrobe and tossed it to Jiang Yao. “Put this on.”

Seeing her still rooted in place, he added, “Do you really want to walk out of my room looking like that?”

If she did, and the paparazzi got a photo, tomorrow’s headlines would be impossible to predict.

Jiang Yao quietly retreated to the bathroom, changed into the robe, dried her hair, and even cleaned the bathtub before finally emerging.

He Yunqing was lounging on the sofa in the living room, a French novel open in his hands, looking utterly relaxed.

Jiang Yao glanced at him, then at herself—matching robes.

In the dead of night, wearing identical sleepwear with a man she’d only met a handful of times, sharing a hotel room—it was all too strange, uncomfortable.

She sat at the far end of the sofa, away from him, waiting for the dryer to finish with her clothes.

“Let’s hear your explanation,” He Yunqing said, putting his book aside and looking at her steadily.

“Ah?” Jiang Yao was caught off guard.

“Didn’t you say you could explain?” His eyes held a hint of amusement.

He wasn’t angry. He’d dealt with far more persistent fans, and Jiang Yao—whom he barely knew, to whom he owed a debt—was hardly a threat.

“Oh, actually I—” Before she could finish, she sneezed loudly.

Probably caught a chill earlier.

He Yunqing rose, poured a glass of hot water, and handed it to her.

She eyed it for a moment.

“Not going to drink?”

She accepted it then, blowing on it before taking a tentative sip.

He sat down beside her, his gaze inadvertently falling on her left wrist.

She usually wore a wristband, but with it drying in the machine, a long scar beneath was laid bare.

Jiang Yao didn’t try to hide it. Sipping the water, she said lightly, “A foolish mistake of my youth.”

Her tone was casual, as if speaking of someone else entirely.

“Youth?” he echoed.

After all, she was only twenty-five.

“Yes, it’s been ten years now,” she said, unconcerned.

She felt there was something about this man—something that made her lower her defenses, just as she had ten years ago.

Ten years ago, on the day she’d been unable to bear her pain and had made that desperate decision, someone had come into her hospital room, looked at her bandaged wrist, and told her none of it was her fault.

From that day on, she resolved to live well, no matter what.

He Yunqing studied the profile of her face, unspoken emotions flickering in his eyes.

Suddenly Jiang Yao put down her cup, tilting her head to look at him. “You seem familiar. Have we met before?”

He dropped his gaze, letting out a short laugh. “Every woman who likes me says that.”

“You…” She was left speechless.

Handsome as he was, there was no need to be so self-absorbed.

The doorbell rang.

A woman’s voice called from outside, “It’s me. Open up.”

Jiang Yao jumped, instinctively shrinking closer to He Yunqing and away from the door.

Anyone witnessing this would surely misunderstand.

Especially since the visitor was a woman…

“What’s—” she began, turning her head, but before she could finish, her lips brushed lightly against his.

In that split second, her eyes flew wide, as if something had exploded in her mind.

She recoiled like a spring, nearly tripping over herself in the process.

Looking up, she saw him watching her, eyes narrowed.

It had to be the hot water earlier—her face was still burning.

“Are you in there?” the woman outside called again.

He Yunqing stood, unruffled, as if nothing had happened, and strode to the door.

He didn’t let her in. “Let’s talk outside.”

Jiang Yao finally breathed a sigh of relief, sitting up straight, her fingers unconsciously touching her lips.

A cool, crisp scent of cedar lingered.

He wore that same scent of cedar.

Puzzled, she retrieved her clothes from the dryer and changed. Just then, a message arrived.

She opened it, and her face instantly turned ashen…