Ye Fengwu pulled a face, then took a small silver box of cigarettes from his pocket — the kind that most people would never even see in their lifetime. He lit one, leaned back on the narrow old sofa, and exhaled a thin stream of smoke that curled toward the ceiling.
"That old bastard won't let it go easily," he muttered, his voice low and calm, though his eyes glimmered with cold murder. "Let's just hope... they play the game hard enough."
The soft rhythm of a knife chopping vegetables echoed from the kitchen — thud, thud, thud — and somehow, that sound felt almost comforting to him.
He hadn't heard anything that warm, that domestic, since his adoptive mother had died when he was fourteen. Her daughter — the "sister" who used to bully him relentlessly — had vanished not long after. Since then, the word home had meant nothing to Ye Fengwu.
But tonight, that changed. From now on, wherever Qin Qinghan and her daughter lived — that would be his home.
And whoever dared to touch a single hair on their heads... he'd take their entire arm.
"Ah—!"
A sharp cry from the kitchen snapped him to attention.
In a flash, Ye Fengwu sprang from the sofa, burst through the kitchen door, and saw Qin Qinghan clutching her left hand. A few drops of blood dotted the cutting board beside the half-chopped vegetables.
His heart tightened. For a man who'd faced gunfire without blinking, it was absurd — but he suddenly wanted to rip that knife apart for daring to hurt her.
She had steady hands, usually. But today... after everything, her mind had been elsewhere.
"I'll take a look," he said, stepping closer.
The kitchen was tiny; just two steps and he was right beside her. Qinghan backed up instinctively, but there was nowhere to go. He caught her hand gently but firmly.
"Don't touch me," she warned, her eyes wary. She tried to pull away — but before she could, Ye Fengwu lifted her hand... and put her bleeding finger in his mouth.
The warmth of his lips, the unexpected intimacy — Qin Qinghan froze. Her cheeks flushed red with shock and anger.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
Smack!
Her palm cracked hard against his cheek.
He could've dodged it. Easily. But he didn't.
He deserved it — every bit of it.
He kept holding her hand even after the slap, his dark eyes oddly calm. Honestly, sucking a cut didn't do much of anything... but he'd seen it in all those romantic dramas — the guy does it, the girl melts.
So why was she just furious?
When he finally let go of her hand, Qinghan pressed herself against the wall, trembling slightly. Her earlier anger faded into unease. She was sure he'd hit her for that slap.
But instead, he grinned.
"Don't worry about it," he said lightly. "I owed you that one anyway."
Then he reached for the knife. "Tell me how you want it cut — I'll do it. You just handle the cooking."
She stared at him, confused — that strange mix of tenderness in his eyes and the effortless way he held the blade. What was he really trying to do to her?
Seeing her frozen there, Ye Fengwu sighed. "C'mon, honey, let's get dinner going. I haven't eaten all day."
That single word — honey — made her heart twist in both fear and confusion.
Finally, she forced herself to answer, "Just... cut them into pieces."
He nodded and grabbed a few potatoes. When she reached for them, he quickly stopped her.
"I'll handle it," he said quickly. "You shouldn't get that finger wet — slows down healing."
He looked for all the world like a nervous new son-in-law, eager to impress his in-laws.
Qin Qinghan stood there, helpless, wondering for the hundredth time: Was this man really the monster they said he was?
Half an hour later, the five of them sat around the cramped dining table.
The atmosphere was heavy — not cheerful, just painfully quiet.
Ye Fengwu dug into his bowl. The first bite hit his tongue, and his eyes lit up. He gave her a big thumbs-up.
"Damn, wife, your cooking's incredible. Marrying you's the best thing that ever happened to me."
Then he wolfed down the food like a man starved.
He wasn't flattering her — the meal really was good. He'd eaten in plenty of places, but very few ever earned his praise.
Qin Qinghan didn't smile. She just placed a small bit of food in her daughter Jing Si's bowl and said softly, "Eat up, sweetie."
She herself hadn't eaten anything all day — yet her bowl remained untouched.
Her parents, Yang Yu and Qin Zhi, also ate in silence. Neither liked the ex-con sitting at their table.
Just then, Qin Qinghan's phone rang.
The screen read: Uncle Qin.
Her brows knitted together, but she still answered politely.
"Uncle, what is it?"
The voice on the other end was cold — Qin Fei's voice. Her expression tightened as she listened.
Ye Fengwu watched her carefully, sensing the tension in her eyes.
"What did he say?" her mother asked.
Qinghan hung up, exhaling. "He wants me to go to Fenghao Construction tomorrow... to negotiate a deal."
At once, Yang Yu slammed her chopsticks down.
"That snake! That bastard Qin Fei — and your grandfather too! They're sending you straight to your death!"
"Everyone knows that Fenghao's project lead in the suburbs is Jin Bao," she ranted. "That man's a pervert and a psycho. You can't go!"
Qin Zhi's face darkened. "Your mother's right. You're not going."
Qinghan's smile was bitter. "If I don't, Grandpa will fire me from the company. Without that job... how am I supposed to support you and Jing Si?"
Her parents fell silent. They knew the truth — they'd lived off her income for years. If she lost that job, they'd have nothing.
"Don't worry," Qinghan tried to reassure them. "It's just a meeting. I probably won't even see Jin Bao."
At that, Ye Fengwu finally spoke. His tone was steady, final.
"You're not going," he said. "I'll handle the money."
Both parents turned to glare at him with open disdain. A broke ex-con, talking about money? they thought.
Even Qinghan just shook her head wearily.
After dinner, Ye Fengwu quietly gathered the dishes and washed every one of them.
The rest of the family, drained from the chaos at the birthday banquet, went to bed early.
Qin Qinghan disappeared into the bathroom with a change of clothes. Soon, the sound of running water filled the small apartment.
Ye Fengwu stared at the closed door, jaw tight.
"That tiny shower... how the hell does she even fit in there?" he muttered. "Kinda makes me want to check."
He laughed at himself and lit another cigarette, the smoke curling through the dim room.
Twenty minutes later, the door creaked open — and she stepped out.
Her long hair clung damply to her shoulders, her loose pajamas doing little to hide her figure. Even without trying, she looked breathtaking.
For a man like Ye Fengwu — who'd seen death, blood, and betrayal — this simple sight hit him harder than any bullet.
At first, he'd told himself that protecting her was a duty, an apology, a way to make things right.
But now... seeing her like this, fragile yet radiant — duty and guilt didn't matter anymore.
Because what he felt, right then, was something far more dangerous.
He realized he might actually be falling for her.