Volume 1, Chapter 22: A Woman Lying on Shang Linyuan's Bed

Inside the bathroom.

Lu Xiaoman gave herself a quick rinse. Since her left hand could not get wet, she had to rely solely on her right. After drying off, she walked over to the area where clothes were kept. As she picked up the nightgown, she suddenly froze.

The pale beige cotton pajamas were folded perfectly, yet the edges were slightly curled, as if they had been smoothed over and over again by someone’s hands. She lifted the pajamas to her nose and caught a familiar, cold, woody scent.

It was the signature fragrance of Shang Linyuan!

It was not some store-bought wood-scented diffuser, but a unique aroma belonging only to him, infused with notes of pine needles and cedar. It was the same scent that filled his study whenever he added his cedar essential oil—the one he had used for three years—to his aroma diffuser.

Lu Xiaoman’s heart began to race. Why would this nightgown, which hadn't been worn in ages, be permeated with Shang Linyuan’s scent?

A thought flashed through her mind. Her fingers, clutching the hem of the pajamas, tightened abruptly, crumpling the curled fabric into a small ball in her palm. That cold, woody fragrance seemed to have hooks, burrowing through her nasal passages into her lungs, making her ribs ache.

She hurriedly pulled on the pajamas and walked out of the bathroom, where the maid was waiting.

"Miss Lu, do you need any help?" the maid asked.

"Please help me dry the clothes I just took off. I’ll need them later. Thank you."

The maid left quickly with the wet clothes. Lu Xiaoman’s gaze landed on the large wardrobe in the right dressing room. As if to verify something, she walked over and gently pulled open the wardrobe door.

Inside hung a row of shirts and trousers, perfectly aligned in a very simple color palette: black, white, and gray. It was Shang Linyuan’s style—minimalist.

She slowly pulled open the wardrobe door on the right. Her pupils dilated as she saw the contents. The right side of the closet was filled with women's dresses in various colors and styles, as if someone had moved an entire spring palette into the room.

She remembered that in high school, Chu Yan loved wearing dresses. She used to complain to Lu that they could only wear school uniform skirts one day a week, and had to wear trousers the rest of the time. Chu Yan loved vibrant colors, saying that only bright clothes could make her feel better.

Lu Xiaoman’s fingertips hovered in mid-air. Her hand, just about to touch a bright red spaghetti-strap dress, recoiled as if burned. That red was too striking; its high saturation was like a burning fire—it was Chu Yan’s favorite color.

She still remembered the school anniversary during her sophomore year, when Chu Yan wore an almost identical red dress, standing on stage singing "Little Luck." The hem of the skirt traced a passionate arc as she turned, and the whistles of the boys in the audience rose one after another.

"Only by dressing brightly can I ensure no one dares to bully me."

At the time, Chu Yan had gripped her wrist and laughed, the light in her eyes even more dazzling than her dress.

But now, this dazzling red felt like a thin needle, piercing Lu Xiaoman’s heart without warning. She took half a step back, her lower back hitting the wardrobe door with a dull thud. The cold, woody scent still lingered at the tip of her nose, but now it carried an indescribable bitterness.

She recalled the panic she felt when she first smelled it in the bathroom, and the flutter of her heart when she touched the curled edges of the pajamas. She felt her face flush with heat, as if she had been slapped hard across the face.

Shang Linyuan’s shirts and trousers on the left, Chu Yan’s dresses on the right. What a perfect match.

Lu Xiaoman took a deep breath, trying to suppress the sharp pain in her chest. Her eye sockets felt swollen. She blinked hard to force back the moisture, then reached out.

*Click.* A soft sound, as if something in her heart had been locked away for good.

She turned around, her gaze falling on the black, white, and gray in the left wardrobe. She suddenly felt that these monotonous colors were just like Shang Linyuan himself: calm, restrained, and never making exceptions for anyone.

She would be no exception, either. Some yearnings should be nipped in the bud from the very beginning.

Just then, a faint "click" sounded at the bedroom door.

Lu Xiaoman turned sharply to see a tall silhouette standing in the light. Shang Linyuan was holding Lu Mingxi with one arm and a tray in the other. Seeing that she had already changed into the pajamas, his eyebrows twitched imperceptibly, and a faint smile bloomed in the depths of his eyes. "Are you done washing?"

Lu Xiaoman’s throat tightened. Afraid that speaking would reveal her thoughts, she remained silent.

"Mommy, are you hungry? The mister warmed up a cup of milk for you," Lu Mingxi said at the right moment, easing the tension for her.

Lu Xiaoman breathed a quiet sigh of relief and replied, "I'm not hungry."

Shang Linyuan set the little one down and walked toward Lu Xiaoman, stopping half a step away. His gaze was like silk soaked in warm water, washing over the pale beige nightgown she wore.

The fabric clung snugly to her shoulders and back; the neckline, washed many times, curved downward to reveal a sliver of porcelain-white collarbone. The hem reached just mid-thigh. It seemed she had grown a little taller since then, and... fuller as well.

His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly, and his eyelashes drooped. "It’s a bit small. I’ll have someone buy the right size later."

Lu Xiaoman did not notice the surging emotions behind his lowered eyelids. She instinctively tugged at the hem of her dress. Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washed over her, and her body swayed slightly.

She tried her best to steady herself. "No need. Once my clothes are dry, I can go home."

"Mommy, I want to play here a little longer. I don't want to leave," Lu Mingxi said, running over to tug at her hand.

Lu Xiaoman felt as if her head weighed a thousand pounds. She didn't give in to her son. "Mommy has things to do later, have you forgotten?"

Lu Mingxi finally noticed that something was wrong. "Mommy, what's wrong? Your hand is burning up."

Shang Linyuan set the tray down. Just as his right hand was about to touch her, Lu Xiaoman collapsed to one side. She simply couldn't hold on any longer.

Shang Linyuan caught her, gently laid her on the bed, and pulled the covers over her.

"Mommy, where does it hurt?" Lu Mingxi was frantic, pacing around the bed.

Lu Xiaoman kept her eyes closed, her brows furrowed, her forehead covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

"Hush," Shang Linyuan said, looking at Lu Mingxi. "Mommy is unwell. Go downstairs and tell Uncle Wei to come up and examine her."

Lu Mingxi nodded and scurried out of the room.

The room was draped in gray curtains, filtering the harsh midday light into a gentle white. Shang Linyuan stood by the bed, looking down at the woman lying there.

She was curled on her side on the pillow, her cheeks flushed with an unnatural heat. Her breathing was light as a feather, yet carried a jagged, labored quality—the unique respiration of a fever.

Shang Linyuan sat on the chair beside the bed. The distance was less than half an arm’s length, yet it felt like there was a transparent barrier between them. His heart hammered painfully in his chest.

A thought rolled over his tongue again and again, burning his throat. Just as he was about to speak, footsteps sounded at the door.

Wei Zhenming ran in, carrying his medical bag.

"What’s wrong? The little brat called me so urgently, don't tell me you..." His words stopped abruptly.

What did he see? A woman lying on Shang Linyuan’s bed?

This was madness.