Jiang Cheng listened in silence, feeling the tremor in the body pressed against him and the urgent confession that came with it.
He wasn't stupid; how could he miss the constant shifts between truth and pretense in Wang Yuyan's words, the little schemes woven in between?
Yet Jiang Cheng didn't expose her.
Wang Yuyan's favorability value toward him had reached 99, so a few private calculations weren't a bad thing.
For a woman whose favorability had climbed this high, a touch of scheming and eagerness to please was itself a kind of flirtation and surrender.
Her fear meant she cared about his reaction, that she'd accepted his rules and was willing to keep playing within the boundaries he drew.
Without pursuing the topic further, Jiang Cheng's hand—having paused—returned to cup Wang Yuyan's bottom.
A casual tug brought the two of them as close as they could get.
The squeeze drew a soft, coquettish whimper from Wang Yuyan.
"I can't promise I'll always be on call, but as long as you're willing—" Jiang Cheng's low voice murmured at her ear, carrying a rekindled, playful heat, "I can keep you for a lifetime."
The words struck like a stone cast into a lake, stirring not ripples but surging waves.
Wang Yuyan froze for an instant, then a mix of shock, wild joy, and fierce resolve seized her.
She jerked her head up, eyes blazing bright with fire.
"A lifetime…"
That three-word promise replaced every pale comfort words could offer.
The faint bitterness Jiang Cheng's earlier rebuke had stirred vanished in an instant.
He had bought her cars, even a huge duplex at Cui Lake.
He'd arranged further study for her; everything she'd achieved was thanks to Jiang Cheng.
Yet he had never said how long she could stay beside him.
The first time she'd given herself to him she'd asked what they were—was she his girlfriend?
Jiang Cheng had only said, "If you think you're my girlfriend, then you are."
Wang Yuyan understood those words perfectly well.
Play with me and you're my girlfriend; stop and we're done.
A clear-cut scoundrel's line, pure mutual convenience.
But what he'd just said was nothing like that.
Though not a conventional promise, in their kind of relationship it meant he was willing to take responsibility for her.
Inwardly elated, she still offered no thanks and gave no cheer.
As she leaned in again her body moved first, softly attaching itself to him, one leg hooking straight around Jiang Cheng.
"Then I'll remember, husband." Her voice was gentle, laced with a survivor's dependence and a touch of artful softness. "Later… however long I wait, however lonely I feel, thinking of those words will keep me from fear."
After speaking she offered her lips of her own accord.
Unlike their usual teasing kisses, Wang Yuyan pressed her mouth to Jiang Cheng's chin.
The solemn stamp felt more like a ritual of ownership sealed and confirmed.
"I'll be good… stay good, so I'm easy for you to 'keep'."
With this "seal" and declaration she restated her place: possessed, easily contented, seeking permanence.
Looking at that close, tear-stained yet determinedly docile face,
Jiang Cheng's lips finally curved in a faint, almost invisible arc.
He offered no further comment or promise.
Action always speaks louder than words—especially at a moment like this.
The hand kneading her bottom abruptly tightened, pressing her harder against him so she could feel every change, every degree of heat between their bodies.
His other hand slid from her waist down behind her knees
and in one standard, possessive princess carry he lifted her clean off the ground.
By now Wang Yuyan's excitement was no less than Jiang Cheng's.
Her arms instinctively circled his neck, the curve of her smile far more obvious than his.
"Words without deeds won't do." Jiang Cheng strode steadily toward the bedroom, voice still calm yet the playful heat climbing. "Let me see… just how 'good' you can be."
Once inside he nudged the door shut with a toe; the hinges gave a dull thud, shutting out the courtyard night.
No light inside; only palace lanterns outside cast fragmented beams through carved window lattices, painting mottled patterns on the rosewood furniture.
He set Wang Yuyan on the cushioned luohan bed and leaned over her. Light and shadow crossed his face—half bright, half dark—making his features look profoundly deep.
Lying on the soft pad, Wang Yuyan watched his descending silhouette, then suddenly hooked his neck and kissed him first.
The instant their lips met she felt Jiang Cheng's body tense, followed by an even fiercer response.
By now neither of them spared a thought for washing up.
Wang Yuyan's fingers roamed his back, tracing the smooth lines of muscle, her body instinctively pressing closer to his.
Just as they were lost in each other, light footsteps sounded outside, then Xia Li's steady voice: "Young Master Jiang, dinner is ready. Shall I serve it now?"
Jiang Cheng's brows drew together slightly at the interruption.
Normally Xia Li should know he was occupied; what was different today?
Seeing his reaction, Wang Yuyan instantly understood Xia Li's intent.
As a housekeeping manager she would never approach at such a moment.
Was Xia Li retaliating for her earlier deliberate window-opening?
But how had Xia Li noticed in the first place?
Wang Yuyan treated Xia Li as no more than a personal maid, unaware of her mercenary background.
Though Wang Yuyan's careless press had escaped Jiang Cheng behind her, the tiny glance aimed at Xia Li had still been caught.