Shang Yu raised his hand and gently wiped away the raindrops that had splashed onto the corner of her eye from the edge of the umbrella. His voice was hoarse as he spoke, "At the memorial hall."
So… he had recognized her that early, even though she was still wearing a mask at the time.
Li Qiao lowered her eyes, a faint smile playing on her lips as her gaze landed on his hand holding the umbrella. She teased softly, "I see… I thought you hadn't noticed me."
"Tired?" Shang Yu reached out and gently tousled her hair. Seeing the flutter of her lashes and the exhaustion on her face, something stirred in his chest. His palm slid naturally to the back of her neck, kneading it gently.
Li Qiao stiffened slightly from his touch. His warm, dry hand on the back of her neck seemed to draw all her senses to one point, and a powerful flutter started from her heart, spreading through her body.
She lowered her eyes, trying to calm her racing pulse, and nodded truthfully. "Mm, a little."
Shang Yu's lips lifted slightly. His large hand moved down to lightly rest on her shoulder as he angled the umbrella more over her. "Come, I'll take you to rest."
…
Ten minutes later, as the car approached the Nanyang Mansion, Li Qiao looked out the window, her gaze drifting to Shang Yu. "Master Yan lives here regularly?"
The man turned slightly, his lips barely moving. "Mm. It's quiet."
She had heard people talk about the Nanyang Mansion before. Rumor had it that the entire ten-mile radius was off-limits to outsiders. She never imagined she'd be brought here by Shang Yu himself.
Before long, they entered through the underground garage and took the elevator up.
Li Qiao gave the mansion a brief once-over. The layout was stark, with a cold, ascetic style dominated by shades of black and gray. The unique decorations revealed an unmistakable precision and meticulous taste.
Clearly, he had a particular fondness for black.
In the living room, Li Qiao curled up on the sofa while Shang Yu stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, lighting a cigarette. He turned and asked, "When did you start working as a mortician?"
Li Qiao casually grabbed a leather throw pillow and raised an eyebrow. "Strictly speaking, I'm not a mortician yet. At best, I'm my teacher's student and assistant."
Shang Yu took a drag from his cigarette and walked over, flicking the ash nearby before glancing sideways at her. "The stitching skills—did you learn them from Master Jiu?"
Hearing this, Li Qiao's expression flickered, her eyes carrying a smile. "Sort of. I do owe a lot to my teacher."
As luck would have it, just as she finished speaking, Liu Yun walked into the living room—and clearly heard every word.
So… the one who stitched up his wound was this Miss Li, who only calls herself a mortician's assistant?
Liu Yun silently clutched his left arm: "…"
Just then, hearing footsteps, both Li Qiao and Shang Yu turned to look.
A strange silence flowed through the room before Liu Yun cleared his throat and nodded. "Boss, the room is ready."
Shang Yu sat down, bringing the cigarette to his lips as he looked at Li Qiao. "Go take a shower first. We'll eat after."
Li Qiao responded with a quiet "okay" and stood up, following Liu Yun out of the living room.
As they walked, she strolled unhurriedly for a while before finally asking, "Liu Yun, that young man who was buried today—how did he die?"
Liu Yun paused in his steps, looking at her with some surprise. "Boss didn't tell you?"
Li Qiao shook her head nonchalantly. "I didn't ask. Why don't you tell me?"
After a moment of thought, Liu Yun didn't hide anything and asked directly, "Do you remember the man you saw at the Emerald Garden before?"
With his reminder, Li Qiao recalled the first time she met Shang Yu. She narrowed her eyes slightly. "The one who was kneeling and begging?"
"Yeah. He's the one who got Qing Yu killed!" Liu Yun's voice tightened with emotion, laced with deep hatred.