Translator: Larbre Studio Editor: Larbre Studio
It was getting late.
Without the festive noise of the crowd and fireworks, the world quieted down as night fell. Snow kept falling down in silence and adding to the white cover on the ground.
Mo villa was extremely quiet. Li Qin and both maids had gone to sleep. The house was masked in darkness except the master bedroom on the second floor with its light on.
He Xiyan kept herself busy in the room. She took out a deluxe dark blue duvet cover set from the closet and replaced the sheet and cover that had been used for ten days.
Her husband, Mo Yixuan, was somewhat a germaphobe who disdained any dirt or disorder, even a hair on the floor disgusted him. Knowing that, she personally cleaned their bedroom every day.
After making the bed she took a cleaning towel from the bathroom and wiped every dirt off the night stands and side table by the couch. She then examined the floor in the bedroom and the bathroom in real earnest until she had picked up the last few hairs.
The door opened.
The man who came in was in a black suit that fit him very well and showed his long legs and a physique comparable to a model. He had a well-framed face – ink-black eyes, tall nose, and thin lips slightly pursed – that’s elegant but also cold as snow.
“Ahem…”
He coughed in a low voice with his hand by his mouth, but it was still heard by the woman.
He Xiyan turned around and looked up, meeting his gaze where no emotion can be read from.
“Yixuan…” She called him softly and lit up a smile. She reached out to take off his black jacket as she had always done, and swept off out of habit the dirt that might had accidentally fallen on it.
“It must be cold outside,” she took the man’s hand – it was colder than hers.
“Give me a second. I’ll go get the water ready for a hot bath so that you’ll feel warmer.” She said that with concern while walking toward the bathroom, but her hand was held back before she could take a second step forward.
The man’s hand is much bigger, her hand in his. She could feel the warmth flowing through their fingertips.
“I’m hungry, Yanyan,” said the man with a deep voice and finally some tiny bit of expression.
“I’ll go make noodles for you. Just a moment.”
He Xiyan reached for the remote on the nightstand and turned up the room temperature a little before she turned around and ran to the kitchen downstairs.
Suddenly the room fell in silence. The man closed his eyes and then opened them with an undetectable hint of fret. He looked around the room he could not be more familiar with – clean and organized as usual, not even a hair at large, just like three years ago.
He then shifted his sight to the clothes on the couch with the tags still on. It was a coat, perfect for the weather. He picked up the coat with his slender fingers and unfolded it to put it on himself.
He felt much warmer soon.
A familiar message tone broke the silence.
The man took out his phone from the pocket and glanced through the message on the screen.
He seemed fidgety again and locked it. But it sounded again, again and again. Five, six messages flushed in.
He took out his phone for the second time, lips pursed, and quickly typed something back. He then just shut the phone down and tossed it on the couch.
All was captured by He Xiyan when she came in.
She stood there, with her mouth opened and her face getting paler.
How many times has it been? Why does he still have messages while at home?