Chapter 78: Serve Well

Zhong Huayan tossed an ice cube into the hot spring, sending ripples across the surface. Her tone was commanding, brooking no argument.

“Get in.”

His eyebrows arched slightly.

This aura was all too familiar. He remembered how, long ago, she had always liked to order him around.

To him, it was a twisted form of affection. Days spent in the Zhong household felt like walking on thin ice—survival dictated by fear. Yet her forceful presence, her disregard for consequences as she shielded him, became his sole comfort.

He still recalled that winter, snow swirling through the sky. He’d been punished to stand outside, the biting wind flaying his skin, all because a blunder had cost the Zhong family a business deal. He thought his life was over.

Then he saw his sister, Zhong Huayan, shrouded in a black coat, standing before him. She slapped a servant across the face.

Then, shooting him a fierce glance, she uttered just two words: “Get in.”

He stepped into the icy river. Cold water mixed with torn flesh, cracked lips too dry to cry out in pain.

But because of her, he survived.

In such a household, Zhong Huayan herself was oppressed, wielding no real authority. Yet, with her brazen defiance, she rescued him time and again.

Even through countless kidnappings.

Thus, Fu Yanian had pledged himself to her for life. The rebel whom nobody could tame would obey only her.

He descended into the hot spring, his skin radiant as jade against the swirling steam, like a gemstone forged high atop a snow-capped mountain, imbued with the spirit of earth and sky.

Beneath his shoulder blades, the mist revealed savage scars, and he seemed to notice her gaze. Instinctively, he shifted away, as if reluctantly baring himself, the sound of his breathing clear and intimate—more arresting than the rising steam.

“You’re breathing so gently. Mr. Fu, you’ve worn this mask for so long. Are you able to remove it in front of me?”

“Haven’t I always been utterly unguarded with you?”

“My privilege, Yanian.”

Upon hearing her affectionate address, the sickly chill of his back seemed to ignite, flushing red with heat.

“Yanian, you must be quite adept with water, aren’t you?”

His hair, now drenched, made him appear even more disheveled. For such a man, master of countless fates, to kneel at her feet—this proud, aloof soul, wholly surrendered—was a peculiar joy. It drew the righteous into the abyss, only to show them the ecstasy of heaven.

Conquest and surrender are two sides of the same coin; neither can escape the grip of control. Desire weaves a net, crafted solely to ensnare the wildest of spirits.

Zhong Huayan was wildness incarnate.

Compared to the hidden greed in Fu Yanian’s heart, she was a soul that had been wild, mad, and finally tempered.

“Huayan, you have the right to remain silent, just as I take off my mask and face you honestly.”

“Yanian, is this your first day knowing me? I am no longer the chairwoman of Zhong Group. I need not wear that false mask. My desires have been awakened by you; you’d better think about how to extinguish them in this heat.”

He hadn’t yet replied before she slipped into the hot spring.

She wore a white lace gown, rich with allure. Her hands rested on the edge of the pool, fingers slowly caressing the rim, like a snake in Eden tasting forbidden fruit.

Her eyes brimmed with mischief and greed, as she deliberately grabbed ice cubes and tossed them at his chest—one after another—making him feel both fire and ice, tormenting not only the body but the soul.

“Do you want it?”

“I do.”

“Beg me.”

She shifted from commanding to enticing, two simple words crushing his dignity yet filling him with willing joy.

In childhood, receiving forced help in strict environments could breed masochism and madness; especially when tangled with hormones, it became a dark salvation.

He placed her on a pedestal.

He became the apple, ripe for the picking, trembling on the brink.

“I beg you—grant me the chance to serve you.”

She had seen him strong as iron, commanding with authority, untouchable and unquestionable. Now, she watched this exalted, powerful man strip away his mask, exposing his most fragile and longing self.

Such vulnerability only made him more enticing. The weakness of a man, the strength of a woman—it’s a quality that always leaves one thirsting, the contrast so striking it chills the bones.

“Hold the ice in your mouth. Come here. You know how to serve. Little brother.”

She gently parted his lips, placed an ice cube inside, and smiled sweetly, though her smile was tinged with wickedness. “If you drop it, you get another.”

He half-closed his eyes in the steamy spring.

He was the Buddha’s child, high above all, a pillar of society—building temples and hospitals, a commercial icon revered by thousands, the faith of countless hearts.

But all these achievements, all the fateful opportunities, were because of her.

She could make him a Buddha or a demon. Make him noble, or make him despicable.

The man sank into the hot spring, strength flowing through his hands more formidable than any creature of the deep—like a hidden crocodile beneath the sea. His hands gripped her slender thighs.

Zhong Huayan lit a cigarette, her hand gently stroking the head of the man laboring beneath the water, as if rewarding him.

Outside, a storm was surely raging, yet who could know, beneath that tempest, how fish and crocodile entwined in obsession, how snake and crane loved and fought. As the apple fell from the tree, the snake bit fiercely, juice splashing everywhere.

Cold seeped into her limbs from the ice, but in the hot spring, it melted, becoming a pool of shimmering ambiguity.

He stayed underwater for nearly ten minutes.

His endurance was astonishing.

She began to tremble, until he scooped her up and carried her to the bed.

She tossed her whip to the bedside. “If I’m not happy, you’ll get the lash.”

“My service ethic for you is unmatched, Huayan.”

In that moment, he tore away every barrier, his posture wild as a beast.

He watched her face closely, seeking which gesture she enjoyed most.

The waterbed pressed into his back, melting away sweat.

An endless night without sleep…

By noon the next day, when she opened her eyes, the man at the table was dressed in a black suit, impeccably tailored. His face lowered as he examined reports, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, idly caressing the paperwork in his hands. He looked ascetic and cold, even when annoyed and tugging at his tie, his restraint was absolute. Simply leaning against the chair, he seemed as if a jade mountain might collapse. His arrogance was justified, never appearing out of place.

Yet to her, he seemed intriguing.

She had once regarded him as a younger brother, a childhood companion.

Now, she truly felt as if she had tasted forbidden fruit.

After all the betrayals she endured, she had resolved to face this sinful society, this complex world, with everything she had—ready to bear loneliness, walk through hardship alone. But then he appeared… and she found herself slowly reliant on him.

Such dependence was deadly, like water wearing away stone; for one who has known cold, how could she ever refuse fatal warmth?