The chandelier's crystal light cast fractured glimmers across the dining table.Three pairs of silver chopsticks were arranged neatly beside the bone-china dishes—yet the air around them felt sharp enough to draw blood.
Yan Yan kept her head lowered, sipping her soup in small, careful sips,deliberately avoiding the eyes of the two men across from her.The tension at the table was so heavy that even the faint clink of metal on porcelain sounded piercing.
"Try this."
Qi Silu's voice broke the silence.His slender fingers held a pair of ivory chopsticks; he lifted a slice of steamed perchand placed it gently into Yan Yan's bowl.The fish was snow-white, glistening against the blue-and-white porcelain—a picture of quiet grace.
Yan Yan blinked in surprise and looked up, meeting Qi Silu's calm gaze.His face was as composed as ever, as if it were nothing more than a polite gesture,yet in the depths of his eyes flickered a trace of something she couldn't read.
"Thank you…" she murmured. Her chopsticks had barely touched the fishwhen a sharp crack cut through the air.
Zhao Mingyuan set his wineglass down hard.Red wine sloshed against the crystal walls in a dangerous arc.His eyes sliced toward her bowl, cold and gleaming,and a faint, mocking smile tugged at his mouth.
"Teacher Qi is quite considerate," he drawled, the words carrying a hidden edge."What's wrong—worried my family's cooking won't suit Miss Yan's taste?"
Qi Silu's expression didn't change.He merely gave Zhao Mingyuan a mild glance and said evenly,"She's too thin. Not fit to carry a child."
A derisive laugh escaped Zhao Mingyuan.He reached across the table without hesitation,snatched the piece of fish from Yan Yan's bowl,and popped it into his own mouth.
"Not bad," he said, chewing slowly as his gaze locked on Qi Silu."But I prefer to feed myself."
Yan Yan's fingertips trembled slightly.The rice in her bowl suddenly tasted like chalk.
Zhao Mingyuan rose abruptly, his tall frame casting a shadow over the table.He ladled a bowl of chicken soup himself and slid it toward her."Drink," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for refusal."It'll replenish your blood."
Qi Silu's chopsticks paused for a fraction of a second—then stilled completely.
The three shadows crossed and tangled under the warm light,a silent war fought in the space between breaths.
Then—a shrill telephone ring sliced through the tension.
The butler hurried to answer it. After a moment,he bowed slightly toward Yan Yan."Miss Yan, a call for you."
She froze, set down her chopsticks,and as she rose, her skirt brushed against a glass.Water spilled across the tablecloth, spreading in a dark stain."Sorry," she murmured, and hurried toward the living room.
Zhao Mingyuan watched her retreating back, his gaze sharp and shadowed.Qi Silu lowered his eyes, fingertips tracing the rim of his cup—expression unreadable.
Yan Yan picked up the receiver, but before she could speak,a cold, familiar voice came from the other end.
"Yan Yan, you'd better remember your place."
Her hand tightened around the cord. Her throat felt dry.
"I'm paying you to give my son a child," Madam Zhao said,each word like a needle dipped in venom."And if that happens to leave one for that man named Qi as well—that was Mingyuan's demand.Don't delude yourself into thinking it makes you anything more than what you are."
Yan Yan's breath quivered, but she dared not reply.
"If not for their insistence that both children be born of the same mother,do you think I'd ever allow this disgraceful arrangement?"Madam Zhao's tone sharpened to a hiss."Sending myself a walking scandal—just like his father, that fool!I agreed only for the sake of a grandchild.Don't you forget why you're here!"
A brittle laugh."Don't think getting close to Qi Silu will protect you.Everything he gives you—I can take back anytime I please."
The line clicked dead.Only the cold hum of the dial tone remained.
Yan Yan stood motionless, her fingertips icy.
When she finally returned to the dining room, her face was bloodless.
Zhao Mingyuan looked up, smiling faintly."Who was it?"
"...Wrong number," she said, forcing a curve to her lips.
Qi Silu's gaze flicked to her trembling hands.A glint of frost passed through his eyes.
Zhao Mingyuan chuckled, pulling out her chair with exaggerated gentleness."Sit down. The food's getting cold."
His fingers brushed her wrist—a touch so light it felt like a threat.
Qi Silu said nothing.He quietly picked up a piece of sweet-and-sour riband placed it into her bowl.
"Eat," he murmured.His tone was mild, but his eyes were bottomless.
The air around the table grew heavier still—a silence thicker than the night itself.
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