“Young Miss, do you… need anything else?”
Nana Toki sat on the bed like a cat waiting by a warm brazier, forcing a pleasant smile as Qingyu Si finished her shower. “It’s late. Fresh from the bath, you’ll catch a chill. Maybe head back to your room.”
Qingyu stepped out like moonlight slipping through silk. A semi‑transparent purple lace nightdress floated over her skin; black lingerie hugged her pale body, tracing curves like ink on rice paper.
At the right of her slim waist, a ghost‑blue butterfly danced like a winter flame, making that perfect figure look longer, sharper, impossible to ignore.
The room filled with a citrus shampoo scent, bright as an orchard at dawn. It pricked Nana’s nose, and her gaze, like a hooked fish, kept drifting back to Qingyu.
“You’re right. At this hour, it’s easy to catch cold.”
She tugged the towel off her hair and nodded. Nana started to rise, hand reaching for the door, but Qingyu’s palm pressed her down like a quiet snowfall.
“Um… Young Miss?”
Nana’s eyelid twitched. A bad tide rolled up from her gut, cold as river water.
“The walk back is too far. Tonight, I’m sleeping here.”
Qingyu looked at Nana’s face, worse than crying, and pressed her lips like sealing lacquer. Then she let go of Nana’s shoulder. “We haven’t shared a bed in ages. Five, six years, maybe.”
“That won’t do. You’re the esteemed young lady; I’m just a servant. If the Master hears, I’ll be dismissed.”
Nana wanted no part of this flame‑hot, casually seductive storm. “You wouldn’t want me fired, would you?”
“It’s fine. If I don’t say it, no one knows.” Qingyu sat at the bedside, combing damp hair like threads of night. “And unless I agree, Father won’t fire you.”
“…”
Looked like she had zero intention of letting Nana escape.
“I’ll take the floor. You take the bed.”
Nana reached for hope like a rope thrown from a boat, ready to fetch a sleeping bag from storage.
But—
“Sleeping alone is cold.”
Qingyu clasped Nana’s hand, head tilting, eyes steady as winter glass. “Do you not want to sleep with me?”
That lovely blank face carried a noble pressure, the weight of frost on bamboo.
Nana: “…Right, I don’t!”
I still haven’t figured out if you’re the Nesting Phoenix!
And didn’t the System swear it could confirm with direct skin contact?
Why’s there no reaction?
That damned System tricked me again!
“No—”
She thought no, but her smile said yes, smooth as a mask. Better a small bend than a big grudge.
“Lights out, then. It’s Monday tomorrow. We’ve got to get up early.”
Qingyu released her and turned back to dry her hair, a quiet wind over strings.
Nana lay in the bed, mind racing like a lantern parade, plotting how to fend off a possibly hungry tiger.
But.
She’d overthought it. Qingyu finished drying, killed the lights, and slipped under the covers in one smooth ripple. A moment later, only soft breathing, as light as a bell.
Asleep.
All the way to morning.
Nana sat up with twin black moons under her eyes, watching the young lady already dressed, buttoning her uniform like folding a crane.
So much for danger. It really was just sleep.
But—
“Did you sleep well?”
Her voice chimed like wind bells. Qingyu stood by the door, handbag in hand, face calm as polished jade. “Your bed’s too small, and a bit hard. I slept poorly.”
“Next time, come to my room.”
Nana: “…Wait, what?” The words felt like a net tightening.
“Up. Or you’ll be late.”
Qingyu checked her watch, willow brows pinching like a bowstring. “I’ll wait in the hall. Come when you’re done.”
“Uh… okay.”
She left with her handbag, a swift shadow in morning light.
Nana: “…”
It felt like she’d stepped neatly into a trap Qingyu had laid with silk threads.
“Now that’s rare… you overslept, Tongtong.”
Freshly washed and buttoned into a classical maid dress, Nana stepped into the Si Family villa’s hall and ran into a familiar face from the original host’s memories—Yiyi Liu.
She was a maid here too, warm as a hearth, one of the original host’s few friends.
“Didn’t sleep well?”
Yiyi, sweeping like a breeze over tiles, slipped close to whisper. “I saved you breakfast. Drop the young lady off, then come back and eat.”
She tossed Nana a bright smile like a sunflower.
Nana nodded and headed straight for Qingyu, waiting at the main doors like a still pond.
The original host’s job was caring for Qingyu’s daily life. Mornings meant escorting her to school, then home to tidy her room. Rest until afternoon, then pick her up again.
Easy work, high pay. The original host had liked it.
Nana took Qingyu’s handbag, opened the car door, and climbed in. They headed for school, tires humming like low drums.
The Si Family ran in shadows; publicly, Qingyu was just an heiress in silk and light.
On campus, people knew she was old‑money, but the roots under the soil stayed unseen.
Thanks to the plot’s iron leash, the male lead Yiwei Yang studied at the same school.
By now, he’d already “conquered” three: the campus flower, a policewoman with iron eyes, and a white‑collar queen who ran a company like a chessboard.
The reason he’d stood the original host up that night? A sudden call—someone had drugged the white‑collar lady. He rushed over, spent the night, and ended his virgin dawn.
As his final target, Qingyu would go to school alone after the original host got blown up. On the way, enemies of the Si Family would strike. Uncle Chen would die so she could live, a torch guttering in the wind.
Then the male lead would use the death and the ambush to draw near, and begin Qingyu’s route, sweet as bait, sharp as a hook.
Nana lined up the likely dominoes, ready to warn her lady.
A flash ripped across her eyes like lightning on pooled ink. Her heart alarm wailed.
She threw an arm around Qingyu, pulling her away from the window like hauling someone from a river.
“Ah, you—”
Bang!
Crash—
A gunshot cracked the air, glass screamed into shards, and the tires shrieked like hawks.
The world flipped. Fire burned into Nana’s waist, hot as a brand.
Broken glass kissed her cheek and left a shallow line, red as a thread on parchment.
“Are—”
“Uncle Chen, drive!”
She cut off Qingyu’s words like slamming a door. “Back to the Si estate. Now!”
Uncle Chen, grizzled and steady as an old pine, gripped the wheel and rolled power back into the engine. The black classic car lunged, fleeing down the street like a stag.
Bang bang bang—
Bang bang bang—
Black jeeps burst from side alleys like wolves. Masked men half‑stood with rifles, and a hail of rounds chased the car like iron rain.
The street turned to chaos, siren‑bright and dust‑gray. In minutes, innocent bystanders fell, ten, then more, scattered like petals in a storm.
Beep beep beep—
Nana pushed Qingyu down into the back aisle. The rear partition’s bulletproof glass crazed into a spiderweb, choking sight, ready to fail.
It wouldn’t hold long. The crackling looked like frost spreading on a pond.
Nana wiped the blood at her waist—just a graze, but it flowed like a thin stream.
She drew a sharp breath, climbed off Qingyu, and grabbed a black helmet from the side like snatching a lantern. She slid it onto Qingyu’s head and pointed at the webbed glass.
“This won’t last. At the next turn, you and Uncle Chen hang on.”
She didn’t wait for a reply. She twisted forward, voice tight as a bowstring. “Uncle Chen, stop at the next corner!”
“What!?”
His hands jolted on the wheel. If they weren’t running for their lives, he’d be turning to demand answers.
“No time. If you don’t want your lady dead, you stop.”
She yanked down Qingyu’s visor, sealing her face like a knight’s mask.
Then—
Crash—!
The rear window burst into glittering rain.
Nana pulled a round thing from her pocket and sent it flying like a thrown moon.
Boom!
The blast roared behind them, a tiger’s maw of fire. The pressure wave lifted the car’s tail, threatening to flip it like a toy.
Uncle Chen had to throw a side drift, elegant as calligraphy, tires shrieking, to bleed speed.
Before the car settled, Nana kicked the door and jumped into the street, a shadow leaving the blade.
“Don’t get out.”
She tossed Qingyu the phone with 110 already ringing, voice flat and firm as stone.
“Leave everything here to me.”
