Chapter Seventeen: A Lap Pillow

“Secret recipe,” Zhao Chen said with a mysterious smile, amber eyes sparkling with mischief. “Exclusive supply, strictly confidential.” He paused, watching Yu Ling savor the drink with satisfaction, then added, “From now on, whenever you feel unwell, I’ll make this for you.”

Yu Ling cradled the warm porcelain cup, feeling the strange warmth and medicinal fragrance flow through her body, dispelling the gloom of her menstrual discomfort.

She looked at Zhao Chen’s gentle, smiling face, and the irritation and melancholy born of her discomfort were replaced by a profound happiness, nurtured with such careful care. This man—not only did he remember her passing mention of period troubles, but he also took the trouble to research an “upgraded” formula... Such thoughtfulness moved her far more than any expensive gift ever could.

These small joys, meticulously tended to, seeped silently into every corner of Yu Ling’s life like a gentle stream.

She casually complained about the office air conditioning being too cold, and the next morning, a soft, cloud-like cashmere shawl appeared in her commuter bag. The shawl was an elegant oatmeal color, with no logos, but its delicate touch and excellent warmth made it irresistible. Zhao Chen casually remarked, “A friend sent me a sample; it’d be a waste to let it sit unused.”

One evening, watching a food documentary, Yu Ling swallowed at the sight of the translucent crab meat lion’s head, casually remarking, “That looks delicious.” The next night, the complicated Huaiyang delicacy appeared at the dinner table! The lion’s head was perfectly balanced in fat and lean, melting in her mouth, with crab meat bursting with flavor. Wearing a little whale apron, Zhao Chen looked proudly expectant: “I learned from the video—first time cooking, not bad, right?”

After her period, while reading on the living room sofa, Yu Ling absentmindedly rubbed her slightly sore calves. The next day, by the shoe cabinet near the entrance, a compact electric foot bath massager appeared—smooth white, easy to operate, with fragrant medicinal bath sachets included.

As he adjusted the water temperature, Zhao Chen explained, “The landlord left it behind; it hasn’t been used. I read the manual—looks pretty functional. Want to try?”

He remembered all her dietary restrictions and preferences. No cilantro ever appeared. Animal offal was automatically excluded. Shrimp had to be deveined, and when eating fish, he carefully picked out every tiny bone.

She preferred sweeter coffee, so he always added an extra half portion of syrup to her lattes. She liked crispier potato wedges; he baked them a little longer. When she read, she liked to nestle in the sofa corner, where her favorite soft pillow and gray-blue knitted blanket were always waiting.

He even remembered the rough pattern of her menstrual cycle, preparing warm packs in advance for those days, silently replacing cold drinks in her fridge with room-temperature soda water. At night, she would find a warm glass of milk on her bedside table, quietly sweetened with sleep-inducing honey.

These subtle acts of care were as natural and pervasive as the air they breathed. They bore no grand declarations or contrived romance but were like the strongest vines, slowly wrapping and seeping into Yu Ling’s heart, which had long been encased in a hard shell formed by past experiences, gently prying it open.

She began to grow accustomed to—and even look forward to—this feeling of being carefully cared for. She grew used to his presence, his warmth, his silent protection, and ever-present thoughtfulness. The year-long agreement between them felt lighter and lighter in her heart, as fragile and fleeting as a feather ready to be blown away by the wind.

One evening, after bathing, Yu Ling wore a soft cotton nightgown and curled up on the living room sofa, watching a gently paced old film.

Zhao Chen sat on the carpet beside her, leaning against the sofa, a thin silver laptop resting on his knees. His fingers occasionally tapped silently on the keyboard, the screen filled with complex code that Yu Ling couldn’t understand.

He wore loose gray loungewear; the soft fabric outlined broad shoulders and back. The tips of his hair still held a trace of dampness from his shower, exuding a lazy, homely aura.

The air was filled with the film’s soothing soundtrack and the faint scent of cedarwood shower gel from Zhao Chen.

The floor lamp cast a warm glow, enveloping them in a quiet, cozy little world. On Yu Ling’s knees lay that gray-blue knitted blanket, soft and warm, carrying the scent of sunshine.

The film reached a tender moment where the leads embraced and fell asleep together. Yu Ling’s gaze drifted away from the screen and unconsciously landed on Zhao Chen’s lowered profile.

He watched the screen intently; long lashes cast small shadows over his eyelids, a straight nose, and thin lips pressed gently together. His expression was calm. Under the blanket, Yu Ling’s curled legs were very close to his shoulder.

A thought suddenly and clearly sprang into Yu Ling’s mind.

A lap pillow...

Her heart skipped a beat, and her cheeks flushed uncontrollably. The lap pillow he had half-jokingly “asked for,” causing her to flee in embarrassment...

The film’s background music softened into something tender and lingering. Zhao Chen seemed to sense her gaze; his fingers paused their tapping, and he turned his head slightly.

The light caught his amber eyes, warm and focused like softened jade, looking gently at her. He said nothing, only quietly watched her with a gaze that questioned yet silently embraced.

Time seemed to freeze in that moment. Only the faint dialogue from the film and their soft breathing filled the space.

Yu Ling looked into those clear, open eyes, seemingly filled with starlight; she looked at the soft gray fabric of his loungewear draped over his shoulder, at the smooth line of his neck revealed by his slight turn...

Impulsively, she moved.

Without hesitation or struggle, as if drawn by an invisible force, she gently, with a barely perceptible tremor, shifted her curled legs carefully inch by inch, resting them beside Zhao Chen’s crossed legs on the carpet.

The soft cotton of her pajama pants, through the thin lounge trousers, pressed lightly against his warm, firm thigh muscles.

Then she adjusted slightly, tentatively placing her curled feet, clad in soft socks, on his folded thigh.

The warm, surprisingly resilient touch transmitted clearly through the two thin layers of fabric to the soles of her feet.

Yu Ling’s face instantly turned as red as a ripe tomato. She dropped her head abruptly, unable to meet Zhao Chen’s eyes, her heart pounding wildly in her chest, nearly bursting through her ribs! She could even feel her toes curling nervously!

What was she doing? Was she crazy? Did she really just… voluntarily put her feet on him?!

Time seemed to stop. She could hear her own heartbeat thunder in her ears.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

No teasing or triumphant laughter came.

Summoning great courage, Yu Ling timidly lifted her eyelashes and glanced at Zhao Chen.

He was frozen solid!

His body remained slightly turned, motionless. His usually gentle, smiling amber eyes—eyes that seemed to see through everything—were wide open, clearly reflecting her embarrassed face, filled with disbelief and shock?! And a trace of sudden, childlike bewilderment?!

His hand holding the mouse was frozen mid-air; his fingertips pale. For the first time in front of Yu Ling, his exquisitely handsome face showed a clear, almost stunned expression, as if this unexpected “favor” had knocked him senseless! Even his ear tips showed a visible flush of crimson!

The silence was unnerving. Only the film’s soundtrack erupted into a romantic, soaring symphonic climax at an inappropriate moment.

Yu Ling stared at his completely petrified expression, at the unmasked shock and daze in his eyes, at the blush spreading even to his ears. The embarrassment and tension she had felt just moments ago strangely shifted into a huge, indescribable delight and amusement!

So… he could be flustered? He could be stunned? He could blush?!

This man, who usually appeared calm and in control, gentle and harmless yet profoundly unfathomable, was completely undone by her simple action?!

The overwhelming contrast almost made Yu Ling laugh out loud! She stifled her laughter, threw caution to the wind, and slid down a little more to curl up comfortably. Then, gently and carefully, she rested the full weight of her head on Zhao Chen’s crossed thigh.

Her cheek, through the soft gray lounge trousers, pressed against his warm, firm thigh muscles. The pleasant scent of cedar mingled with sunshine enveloped her instantly. She could clearly feel his thigh muscles tense rigidly, and the sudden strong heartbeat beneath the fabric was unmistakable.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Like drums pounding against her eardrums and cheeks.

Yu Ling’s cheeks burned fiercely, but she closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep, though the corner of her mouth betrayed a sly, mischievous curve.

Zhao Chen remained stiff as a statue. He lowered his head, gazing at Yu Ling curled up on his leg like a cat that had found its warm nest.

Her black hair spilled over his gray loungewear, her profile delicate and soft, long lashes fluttering like butterfly wings, cheeks still flushed.

And on his thigh rested the warm, gentle touch of her feet and the heat of her flushed face...

A powerful, unprecedented warmth mixed with indescribable excitement surged through his limbs and bones! His heart felt as if gripped tightly by a warm hand, aching with tenderness and swelling painfully.

Slowly, stiffly, he raised the hand not holding the mouse, fingertips trembling slightly, hesitated, and then, with utmost gentleness and care, touched the strands of her hair resting on his leg.

The motion was awkward, like a child touching a precious treasure for the first time.

His fingertips felt the softness and smoothness of her hair, like the finest silk.

He held his breath, not daring to move, fearing to disturb this sudden, weighty “gift” resting on his leg and making his heart tremble.

The code on the screen had long since stopped scrolling. He had no idea what was playing in the film.

The whole world seemed reduced to the warm, fragrant weight on his leg and the deafening, irregular beating of his heart in his chest.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Shattering all his carefully crafted composure and calm facade.

So… this was what being a lap pillow felt like.