He could only say that he'd been very restrained in front of Si Nian.
From Si Qing's perspective, Jiang Cheng still cared a lot about how Si Nian felt.
Because of that, she felt she couldn't retreat any further—if she did, she might have to keep her heart hidden in the dark forever.
After dinner, Jiang Cheng suggested taking a walk, but the two girls clearly wanted to avoid a repeat of the phone-shopping incident.
In perfect sync they made an excuse about heading back to campus.
Jiang Cheng sighed again—those two really were good girls.
With their looks and figures, plus their unbeatable tag-team combo, landing a wealthy long-term sponsor in Shanghai would be effortless.
The moment they realized Jiang Cheng was interested, they could have dragged him on a wild shopping spree, yet they hadn't.
Jiang Cheng didn't force them to stay longer.
Given the current situation, what difference would another hour make?
He couldn't use his hands or his mouth; staying would only leave him itching with desire and zero chance to deploy his skills.
Better to send them back early.
After dropping the girls off, Jiang Cheng told Wang Sheng to head for the Shanghai Conservatory of Music.
The two campuses were actually very close.
Less than two kilometers apart.
Luckily Zhou Ying's apartment complex was another two kilometers from her school.
Such a short distance instantly set Jiang Cheng's mind scheming.
When he eventually found a place for the Twin Sisters,
he'd have to pick a neighborhood in the opposite direction from Zhou Ying's.
In under half an hour Jiang Cheng reached the complex.
He took the elevator up and, as usual, didn't ring the bell.
The moment he stepped inside he kicked off his shoes.
Only a dim yellow lamp glowed in the living room.
Thinking Zhou Ying wasn't home, he suddenly heard a soft rustle from the direction of the Practice Studio.
"Who's there? Jiang Cheng, is that you?"
As the voice sounded, the studio door inched open a hairline crack.
Clearly Zhou Ying hadn't opened it fully—just a cautious sliver.
She pressed her eye to the gap and peeked out.
In the dim entryway light she saw Jiang Cheng bent over, changing his shoes,
black jacket draped over his arm, the watch on his exposed wrist glinting.
The instant Zhou Ying recognized him,
the tension in her heart flipped to delight.
Like a joyful bird she flung the door wide and darted into his arms, crying, "It really is you! Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"
As she lunged forward,
Zhou Ying's figure slammed into Jiang Cheng's vision.
She was slightly breathless, fresh from dance practice.
The straps of her leotard drooped on her shoulders,
her collarbones sharp and clean.
Yet she had none of the scrawniness typical of dancers.
Sweat-sheened from rehearsal, she looked anything but messy—more like a dew-drenched bloom, vibrantly alluring.
The sight made Jiang Cheng's breathing deepen at once.
Before she could crash into him he stepped forward, clamping an arm around her waist.
His palm met the thin muscle of her midriff—firm yet softly trembling.
For dancers, controlling body fat is paramount.
Yet Zhou Ying was unique—neither bony nor flat.
Perhaps because she majored in Piano and minored in dance, her body had developed a one-of-a-kind elegance.
Her lines flowed like carved marble, full in all the right places.
Most striking were the soft curves straining naturally against her leotard, as though a gift from nature itself.
Her waist tapered exquisitely,
muscle faintly visible beneath the thin fabric damp with perspiration.
It wasn't hard, knotted muscle but springy, vibrant, and alive.
Her gently flared hips showcased perfect proportions,
and the practice pants clung to legs of just the right thickness.
Not twig-thin, but shapely—knees even carried a hint of baby-soft roundness, adding gentle charm.
When she lifted her arms, the lines of her forearms were smooth, wrists delicately boned.
The instant he hugged her, Jiang Cheng's arms slid lower.
He cupped two perfect handholds and lifted.
Zhou Ying gasped, instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist and flinging her arms round his neck.
To Jiang Cheng the move felt like she'd deliberately offered herself up.
Her softness pressed fully to his chest; their mingled breaths caught fire.
Jiang Cheng glanced at her flushed ear tips, sweat-damp strands,
then at her parted lips, and lost all restraint, kissing her hard.
Not a gentle peck—an urgent, deep kiss.
His tongue drove past her teeth, swallowing whatever she'd meant to say.
Still kissing, he walked her into the studio,
footsteps steady, one hand stroking the small of her back, savoring the resilient muscle. "I've wanted to come for ages… seeing you like this, I can't hold back."
Mirrors on every side reflected them: her reddening face, the urgency in Jiang Cheng's eyes, her body pressed to his.
Though toned from dance, she felt soft in his arms, her very breath trembling.
The moment she spotted the mirrors panic flashed across her dazed expression.
"Jiang Cheng, don't—" She shoved hard against his chest.
But he felt welded to her.
The studio door slammed shut as her back hit it.
Jiang Cheng braced one hand beside her head, pinned her wrists to the wall with the other, kissing fiercer, grazing her lips, jaw,
finally nibbling her burning ear. "Been too long… Let's review—see how flexible you've kept."
Zhou Ying struggled harder, tears forced from her eyes.
Her wrists hurt in his grip; she kicked helplessly. "Stop! Let go—"
Puzzled, Jiang Cheng assumed this was some new playful kink.
Still kissing, he tugged at her leotard collar.
Her face reddened further; as his mouth moved to her neck she gasped a shaky whisper against his ear. "My mom—Jiang Cheng, stop—my mom's still here!"
The words exploded in his ears.
What?
Fang Yuan?? Wasn't she in Chengdu??