"Hm. I like smart women," Shaun Cole said calmly, turning back to look at Mo Guilan, whose hand was still frozen midair.
"So for the next half month, don't make me unhappy. Otherwise… you know what happens."
Hearing his words, Mo Guilan obediently lowered her arm. She stood there with her head down, her cheeks faintly flushed.
Pah! Who needs you to like me anyway!
"Now go downstairs," Shaun Cole continued.
"I'll give you five minutes. Bring all your luggage up. You'll be resting here for the next half month."
"And remember—don't tell anyone what happened on this ship. Go."
With that, he turned and walked out.
Mo Guilan bit her lip, her expression shifting several times. In the end, she let out a helpless sigh and headed downstairs.
When she returned from the first deck with her luggage, she saw that Shaun Cole had somehow procured a bed and a table. The table was piled with food—clearly supplies belonging to the ship's crew.
"Put your luggage here," Shaun Cole said with a faint smile.
"Relax. As long as you don't do anything out of line, I won't hurt you."
Hearing this, Mo Guilan set her luggage aside and slowly walked over to the bed, sitting down. After hesitating for a moment, she asked nervously:
"Those hijackers… why did you have to kill them? You could've tied them up and handed them over to the police once we reached shore."
"Killing them was more convenient," Shaun Cole replied casually.
"And guarding them would've been tiring."
It was an explanation Mo Guilan found impossible to refute.
The conversation ended almost as soon as it began.
After a while, Mo Guilan sat on the edge of the bed, glancing at Shaun Cole—then lowering her head. She looked up again… then down again.
Over and over.
Even without turning to look, Shaun Cole could clearly sense her movements.
"Does Frederick Huang call you Thirteenth Aunt?" he suddenly asked.
Mo Guilan, who had just been about to look up again, froze in shock.
"How do you know that?!" she blurted out.
"Nothing," Shaun Cole replied lightly.
"Just asking."
His suspicion was now fully confirmed.
No wonder she had felt familiar—she really did resemble a certain actress from his pre-transmigration days.
"Get some rest," he said, glancing at the still-dazed Mo Guilan.
Then he removed his hood and lay down on the bed beside her.
Seeing him take off his hood, Mo Guilan finally got a clear look at his face.
Half-long black hair.
Deep black eyes characteristic of East Asians—narrow and sharp.
A faint scar running from beneath one eye all the way to his lips.
A high nose bridge.
Thin, well-shaped lips.
He was an extremely handsome man—far more handsome than her Feihong.
But she had no time to dwell on that.
Seeing him lie down so casually, Mo Guilan jumped to her feet.