In an instant, the pressure on her chest vanished without a trace; Qiao Yinyin's body gave a violent, impossible-to-miss tremor.
Though they were already intimately familiar—last night they had stayed pressed together for hours—there was no awkwardness between them.
Yet when Jiang Cheng stared straight at her and their eyes met, Qiao Yinyin still couldn't stop the wave of shyness rising from deep inside.
It felt like someone was running experiments on her body, the kind that make you squirm.
The operator's hands wouldn't stop moving.
At the same time, those sharp eyes pinned her down.
They caught every tiny flicker of expression on her face.
It was as if he were studying how she would react.
Instinct told her to relax and enjoy it.
But for a girl in her first love—one head-over-heels for a man—showing that kind of pleasure, that total abandon, right in front of him was mortifying.
That's why girls usually show extraordinary self-control and reserve in these moments.
So a lot of guys end up wondering
why their partner doesn't seem to enjoy it the way those Japanese-video teachers or Atmosphere Group girls do, moaning and shouting.
The root is usually right here.
Out shopping or over dinner, if you told Qiao Yinyin to flirt outrageously with Jiang Cheng, she'd fire off the dirtiest lines without a second thought.
But now, cradled in his arms, it was like she'd become a different person—shy and timid.
Ask her to say anything suggestive
and she'd be too embarrassed to get a single word out.
When Qiao Yinyin bit her lower lip, Jiang Cheng's mouth curved up.
"It's cold outside—let's go in and I'll warm you up."
He stood so suddenly that Qiao Yinyin couldn't stifle a soft cry.
Her arms, which had been locked around his solid waist, flailed in surprise and hooked around his neck.
Watching Jiang Cheng stride toward the bedroom, Qiao Yinyin's heart fluttered in panic,
but she forced herself to sound calm: "You only know how to take clothes off. I should be the one warming you."
Even as she spoke they stepped into the bedroom.
The curtains were still drawn; the heavy fabric blocked almost all light like a solid wall.
Only a single faint thread managed to slip through.
Plunged into darkness, Qiao Yinyin felt the searing gaze that had been fixed on her vanish along with the light.
Without eye contact, the tension and shyness drained away and her body relaxed as if untied.
Jiang Cheng gently laid her on the bed; her soft form shifted slightly.
She rolled to one side, slender arm reaching toward the nightstand, fingers searching for the remote that controlled the lights.
Behind her came the quiet rustle of clothes being removed.
Her heart lurched; she moved faster, but before she found the remote a familiar, scorching breath swept over her. A broad, powerful hand shot out and effortlessly flipped her onto her back.
Jiang Cheng's low, magnetic voice sounded beside her ear: "You warm me? Technically true—you'll be wrapped around me—but I generate heat. Can you?"
His teasing, intimate words seemed to spark invisible fire in the air.
At those words, Qiao Yinyin's fair cheeks flushed a tempting pink, like spring peaches just coming into bloom.
Compared with her earlier stiffness, as her feelings for Jiang Cheng deepened
she actually felt herself growing shyer.
Before, they had always gone straight to the point,
leaving her no time to think.
But these recent times, as their bond grew closer,
their encounters had become laced with more emotional exchange.
She lowered her lashes, unable to meet his burning gaze, and stammered, "I—I don't know what you mean."
The corner of Jiang Cheng's mouth lifted; long fingers tipped her delicate chin up, forcing her to look at him.
"Not understanding is fine—feeling it is enough."
Before he finished, he bent down, covering her in light, scattered kisses.
At first they were gentle as dragonfly wings, but soon they turned hotter, deeper.
Qiao Yinyin's hands clutched the sheet beneath her, as though clinging to the last scrap of reason.
Gradually, though, her body answered; those soft little hands released the sheet and slid up to encircle Jiang Cheng's strong neck.
The room was so quiet a falling needle would have echoed.
Only the rustle of fabric and their quickening, mingled breaths broke the silence... Skin to skin, lips to lips, Qiao Yinyin had long since forgotten An Xin and Annie's questions.
While Jiang Cheng was busy here, Xingchen Investment was in tight communication with the Security Team far away in Switzerland.
After Environmental Protection Girl changed the slogans on her placards, the group began protesting at the entrance to parliament.
It happened to be election season in Switzerland.
When the session ended, Environmental Protection Girl stood nearby, eyes fixed on the exit.
Spotting the politicians, she turned to Billy of the Security Team and whispered, "They're coming. Follow me and watch my performance."
The instant she finished, she shot forward like an arrow, heading straight for one figure in the crowd.
Her target was a middle-aged man with slicked-back hair and a crisp suit.
He walked with steady steps, every gesture exuding authority and confidence.
None of which made Environmental Protection Girl hesitate for a second.
Running, she called out, "Mr. Pitt, please wait a moment!"
At Environmental Protection Girl's shout, the students who had been trailing her—Billy from the Security Team included—hurried their steps and pressed close behind.
Every one of them looked tense yet thrilled, as though they were taking part in some momentous crusade.
All of them waited on her slightest gesture, ready to follow her lead.
The call made Pitt, who was about to climb into his car, freeze with one foot on the sill.
He turned slowly, gaze sweeping toward the source of the sound.
Not far off, a figure was waving and shouting in this direction.
Once he recognized the girl who had lately filled the media—Environmental Protection Girl—Mr. Pitt's face showed a flicker of interest.
Earlier, a few opportunistic politicians had already noticed the band of students constantly appearing at the gates of Congress.
To court votes, some of those politicians began seeking out the much-watched Environmental Protection Girl.
Thanks to those exchanges with the politicos, Environmental Protection Girl gradually gained a modest circle of attention.
Had it not been for those vote-hungry schemers who invited every reporter they could find.
And trumpeted their so-called record of real action and their man-of-the-people image.
Given the naive, impractical measures the girl kept proposing.
Even if she sat in protest at the Congress gates day after day, she would scarcely have drawn a single curious glance.
The coverage was slight, the spark minimal.
But remembering that he himself was up for election this year, Pitt pulled back the right leg that had been about to enter the car.
In a flash he rearranged his expression, donning the warm, practiced smile he had rehearsed countless times.
He turned unhurriedly and fixed his gaze on Environmental Protection Girl.
Then, like a seasoned actor stepping onstage, he began to play the part of the approachable statesman.
First, smiling, he gave her a small nod of greeting.
To show full respect and attention.
He even took a deliberate step forward, extended his right hand, and said softly, "Hello—were you calling me?"
The instant Pitt paused.
The reporters who had been lying in wait along the curb surged forward like hounds scenting prey.
In the blink of an eye they had ringed Pitt and the girl.
Cameras and video rigs were hoisted, lenses trained squarely on the pair.
"Mr. Pitt, I've heard you care about the environment; I've even listened to more than one of your speeches. I have something to ask—please help us, help this world."
Pitt glanced at the placard Environmental Protection Girl held aloft; behind her stood other students, each raising signs printed with different slogans.
At the sight, his smile froze, replaced by a stiff, awkward stare.
He had assumed they would trot out the usual empty cries—cut carbon emissions, win "climate justice" for the planet.
To that sort of talk he would, as always, have offered understanding and support.
In the present era, "environmentally correct" issues remain forever in the social spotlight.
Particularly in Switzerland, a country proud of its neutrality.
A hot-button topic like this, if skillfully exploited.
Could become an attractive political chip for those of them who represented big money.
After all, every protest meant the current administration had left some problem unsolved.
And he could seize the chance to harvest votes from the discontented.
But now he saw their slogans had suddenly become: "Boycott Conglomerate, investigate Dazong Automobile—give us back clean air!"
Pitt cursed inwardly: "What the hell?"
Had he known it was this, he would never have stopped.
He would have pretended not to hear, let his Bodyguard keep the students at bay, and driven straight off.
Yet the thing was done; he had already halted.
Meanwhile every camera and recorder was trained on them, filming without pause.
At this point, even if he wanted to slip away, he could not.
He forced himself to speak up: "Is there something I can do for you?"
Environmental Protection Girl answered at once: "Mr. Pitt, we've learned that Conglomerate's cars in China exceed emission limits. They did the same in the Pretty Country three years ago and were fined more than ten billion dollars, yet they still haven't stopped—they ignore global air pollution. It's unforgivable."
At her words Pitt's relaxed brows snapped into a tight knot.
For them, environmental issues were always useful, competitive.
Yet Switzerland was a neutral nation.
Environmentalism was one thing, but Conglomerate was a car brand from Germany.
Besides, the firm had official ties to Beijing.
He had no wish to entangle himself in some other country's policy tangle.
He tilted his head slightly and replied in the most tactful tone he could manage: "Dazong Automobile? Hm… could there be some misunderstanding? As for what you mentioned about China, I'm afraid I've never heard a thing."
Seeing Pitt's stance, Billy at once stepped forward and handed Environmental Protection Girl the printed dossier they had prepared.
She was no pushover; she knew every trick for whipping up a crowd.
She took the papers, flipped them over, and deliberately held them up in front of the cameras.