Chapter Five: A Rainy Night, Stirred Emotions

After finishing the announcement, it was already ten at night. The rain poured harder than the day Guarjia had sworn. Stepping out of the taxi, Su Mian covered her head with a thin windbreaker and hurried into the apartment building.

The elevator was chilled by the air conditioning, causing her to shiver uncontrollably. Her damp windbreaker felt as if it might freeze into a block of ice. She inwardly grumbled, wondering if the property management could adjust the air conditioning according to the weather.

Soon, they reached the fifteenth floor. Although Su Mian knew Shang Jiuxu wouldn’t see her at home, she still maintained her composure and adjusted her posture—she always felt an inexplicable reverence toward him.

When the elevator doors opened, she was startled by a shadow.

Recognizing who it was, she immediately relaxed.

Shang Jiuxu leaned against the door in a deep gray loungewear set that draped well, wearing light gray cotton slippers. Holding his phone, he saw her come out, thumb flicking the screen off, and said lightly, “Come in, change your clothes, and take a shower.”

The scene was so familiar that Su Mian thought she had traveled back to high school. Out of habit, she replied, then caught herself and said, “I’ll go upstairs to wash.”

She dared not look at him, her fear ingrained to the bone. The closeness they once shared had faded through two years of separation, replaced by a subtle resentment after their breakup. At the crowded banquet hall, she hadn’t noticed it, but in private, the feeling was especially clear.

Calmly, she began walking toward the stairwell, but she couldn’t help sneezing. Embarrassed, she counted silently—one, two, three—half hoping he might ask her to stay.

“There will be thunder tonight. You live alone; I’m not at ease,” Shang Jiuxu said softly, watching her retreating figure. It sounded more like a discussion, yet it was more like a firm notification he was sure she would agree to.

Once again, with gentle words, he coaxed her into compromise, just like countless times before.

Su Mian’s spine stiffened, her gaze darkening. She bit the inside of her lip sharply.

“Are you taking care of your sister who’s afraid of thunder, acting as a brother?”

Before he could answer, she strode over in a few steps, looking up at him slightly, teeth clenched to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

“If I didn’t want you to, would you sit outside my window again? This is the sixteenth floor, you know.”

—Five years earlier—

The old Shang family mansion nestled in the western hills of the capital, surrounded by dense forests and mist. The area saw abundant moisture and thunderstorms, though the north was generally dry and sunny.

Su Mian’s room was in the middle of the second floor of the detached Western-style house. To the west lived Grandfather Shang; Shang Jiuxu occupied the easternmost, prime corner. The first floor housed Shang Biehan, their father’s rooms, and the nanny’s quarters.

Su Mian was awakened by a mild thunderclap. She was a light sleeper. Since the night her birth mother died in her arms during a storm when she was two, thunder and lightning had become a subconscious nightmare.

She was too young to remember her mother’s passing clearly. She pestered Aunt Zhou to tell her, but the woman refused. She then turned to Shang Jiuxu.

He was engrossed in writing complex financial charts she couldn’t understand—interwoven pale blue and black lines, orderly and intricate, like a painting born from data. He was being nagged by her pinching his arm, holding a water brush pen in one hand, tilting his head to look at her with a good-natured smile.

He carried a faint scent of ink—not the foul smell of traditional brush ink, but something between printed books and coffee aroma. Su Mian liked the smell, gently sniffing it before pulling on his white T-shirt and leaning close to his neck.

“What are you doing?” His voice was so soft it was barely audible.

“What shampoo do you use? It smells so nice.” Like a little puppy, she sniffed, detecting hints of pinewood—fresh and clear.

At sixteen, she was blossoming like a bud about to unfurl, her soft, sweet scent wafting near his neck.

Shang Jiuxu squinted. She disliked heat and wore a cool but modest camisole. From his lowered gaze, he could see her fair, rounded shoulders peeking from the loose neckline. His Adam’s apple moved, and he shifted his eyes to the lush locust trees swaying in the courtyard beyond the window.

Sunlight slanted across him, gilding even his thick black eyelashes with a light golden hue, making his skin glow with clarity.

Su Mian stared blankly, marveling once again at how handsome he was—far more so than the moonlit flowers she had planted with Grandfather Shang in the greenhouse. If he were placed in a pure gold vase, he would be stunning.

“I don’t remember. Didn’t you want to know about your mother?” he said.

Su Mian’s attention was indeed diverted, and from then on, she understood the source of her psychological shadow.

So it was no surprise that she was awakened again by thunder that night. She opened her eyes drowsily to total darkness; the blackout curtains blocked out even a sliver of moonlight.

“Boom!” Another thunderclap shattered her sleep. She slid out of bed in slippers to find Shang Jiuxu standing at the door in black short sleeves and shorts, blue-striped slippers.

Seeing him, an inexplicable surge of grievance welled up, perhaps because she had just learned about her mother that day. She wanted to collapse into his arms and cry, but her feet faltered.

Noticing this, his sharp brows rose slightly. His deep, dark eyes silently asked what was wrong.

A sudden thought struck her.

Shang Jiuxu no longer seemed like a brother. The sharpness in his features, his calm yet increasingly powerful aura, reminded her he was a grown man.

She happily called the other brother “Second Brother,” but always addressed Shang Jiuxu by name. Why was that? Weren’t they all brothers?

She tried to see him as a brother, but it only made her heart ache. She hastily changed the subject.

For a teenage girl, some habits no longer fit. Shang Biehan had a girlfriend and said he’d bring home a sister-in-law. Would Shang Jiuxu do the same? Would he hold other women, patting their backs to soothe nightmares?

For the first time, Su Mian clearly realized this but had no grounds to ask. Her heart turned sour, as if stained by plum wine.

“I can sleep on my own,” she said, then slammed the door as if fleeing.

“Bang.” The door stirred a gust of wind. Su Mian leaned against the wall, regretting the harsh slam but forcing herself not to listen to any noise outside. She took several deep breaths.

Outside, silence reigned as if no one was there. Only the wild storm battered the window frames, like vengeful demons from hell finally finding a chance to return and express their grievances.

Deep breaths could calm the mind. Was this something her biology teacher taught? Or something Shang Jiuxu had said to comfort her? Su Mian trembled slightly, unable to distinguish.

A few steps later, she hid under the thin summer quilt, covering her entire body. Still feeling unsafe, she curled into a tight ball, clutching the quilt over her ears.

“Boom!” The thunder shattered her resolve. Shaking violently, she threw off the quilt, determined to face her fear.

She was an Aries—she didn’t believe in such superstitions. Even if terrified to the extreme, she forced herself not to be afraid.

It was only thunder and lightning. Only childhood trauma.

Su Mian shuffled to the window in her slippers, took a deep breath, and fiercely pulled back the curtains—only to recoil a step, nearly stumbling.

Thick rain traced winding paths down the glass, rapidly shifting. Outside, a dark shadow loomed, blurred by the moonlight and rain.

Suddenly, a bright lightning bolt streaked across half the sky. Shang Jiuxu seemed to sense it, turning back. His damp hair softened his imposing presence; his refined features, calm and composed, met her gaze.

That single look erased her fear.

Snapping back to reality, she saw him sitting on the windowsill. The wind was strong, and the rain fierce. It was obviously slippery; falling from the second floor would surely break an arm or leg!

Su Mian immediately pushed open the window, reaching out to grab his hand. The wind and rain blew inside, soaking her face and head quickly. The floor spread out a wet patch in all directions, but she didn’t care.

She pulled Shang Jiuxu inside. Standing before the wide-open window, she wrapped her arms around his waist tightly, her body trembling gently. Tears fell at once.

Behind Shang Jiuxu was the cold wind and rain; in his arms was the fragrant, soft Su Mian. Her tears warmed his chest in waves. His short sleeves were soaked through. The cold wind and rain brought low temperatures, but her tears were warm.

Her softness pressed tightly against his chest, the gentle natural scent of a young girl wholly focused on the moment—he could feel it. Shang Jiuxu sighed inwardly, unsure whether it was relief or loss.

That little warmth was never enough. He wanted more, something else, but could only suppress the desire.

He longed to hold her back but hesitated. His large hand settled on her head. Gently patting her shoulder, his voice was softer than the moment snow melted in early spring: “Qingqing, be good. Don’t cry. I’m here.”

As Su Mian sobbed, he gently moved her away. His cool fingertip brushed tears from her cheek. His dark eyes held a deep, unyielding tenderness, tinged with a subtle complexity she couldn’t understand. Suddenly, something struck her deeply.

Her heart raced wildly, and instinctively, she sensed what it was.

Her heart was stirred.

She realized she might like Shang Jiuxu—not as a sister likes a brother, but something more profound.