Chapter 11:

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Hearing the man’s words, Jiang Zhi froze as if struck by lightning.
What did he mean by ‘feels quite soft’?
‘The design is rather nice’?
She couldn’t tell if he was teasing her or simply making an observation.
Jiang Zhi could only pretend she hadn’t heard, hastily finishing her tidying.
Her back was turned, so she missed the subtle curve that lifted the corners of his otherwise cool lips, and the way his dark pupils deepened into fathomless pools.
After putting her things away in the adjacent empty room, the image of his reddened knuckles flashed in her mind. She touched the ointment tube in her pocket.
After all, he had gotten into that fight because of her.
Hesitating for a brief moment, Jiang Zhi stood and walked towards the master bedroom.
She scanned the room. It was empty and unnervingly quiet, as if he’d never returned.
Just as she wondered where he’d gone, the bathroom door clicked open from within.
Shang Chi stood there, bare-chested, a white towel slung low around his hips. His hair was damp, water droplets tracing paths down the strands of his fringe before falling onto the hard plane of his chest.
Broad shoulders tapered to a lean waist, his skin the common tone of Asian complexion.
The droplets journeyed downward, tracing the defined lines of his abs, slipping over the ridges of his hip bones and the V-cut lines disappearing beneath the towel’s edge.

A closer look revealed prominent veins snaking just above the towel’s border.
The sight was undeniably seductive, intensely alluring.
An overwhelming wave of raw, masculine energy instantly saturated the room.
Jiang Zhi had never imagined the physique concealed beneath his tailored suits could be so impressive. Every muscle was perfectly proportioned.
An extreme inverted triangle, an enviable head-to-body ratio.
Compared to the male models she’d seen before, they now seemed bland by comparison.
Jiang Zhi involuntarily swallowed, her fingers tightening on the ointment tube.
Thankfully, he was focused on drying his hair and didn’t witness her openly appreciative stare. The embarrassment would have been mortifying.
Shang Chi lifted his gaze through the towel’s fibers, glancing at Jiang Zhi. His voice was cool and detached, “Something you need?”
A keen ear might have detected a deliberately suppressed roughness beneath the surface chill.
Jiang Zhi averted her eyes, cheeks flushing. “President Shang, I came to apply the ointment.”
Shang Chi paused for a second, his deep eyes darkening further. “Fine.”
With that, he strode across the room on long legs, settling effortlessly into a single armchair. He stretched his legs out slightly.
The towel was tossed aside. He then reached for the cigarette pack on the coffee table, lit one, and took a slow drag, holding it between two fingers.
His other hand rested on the arm of the chair, waiting.

Jiang Zhi hadn’t expected him to agree so readily.
In novels, powerful figures usually ignored minor injuries like this, didn’t they?
But the offer was made; she couldn’t take it back now.
Jiang Zhi knelt before him, squeezed some ointment onto her fingertip, gently took hold of the hand resting on the chair arm, and began applying the cool salve to the reddened knuckles.
The chill of the ointment seeped into his bones under the soft pressure of her fingers.
Shang Chi’s eyes were half-lidded. He took another heavy drag from his cigarette.
Kneeling, Jiang Zhi’s hair kept slipping forward, obscuring her view.
She gathered it all to one side, tilting her head slightly as she focused on her task.
Her thick, raven-wing lashes cast delicate shadows beneath her eyes.
The fine down on her luminous skin was visible, along with her elegant nose, full, rosy lips, and the long, graceful curve of her swan-like neck…
His deeply desired one was within reach. No words, no actions were needed; her mere presence was a deadly allure.
Jiang Zhi felt the intensity of that gaze again—the same searing look from the car.
Her captivating fox-like eyes lifted and met the dark, unfathomable pupils watching her through the haze of cigarette smoke behind his gold-rimmed glasses.
Her heart involuntarily clenched.

As the smoke dissipated, the man’s profound features settled back into an expression of cool detachment. “What?”
Jiang Zhi blinked, momentarily disoriented, thinking she’d imagined it again. She grasped for a neutral topic. “Weren’t you supposed to be on a business trip?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned forward slowly, his handsome face magnifying before her. The distinct scent of him—male and clean, mingled with fresh soap—invaded her senses.
Jiang Zhi’s breath hitched. Instinctively, she leaned back, putting distance between them.
“Afraid? Just flicking ash.” His tone, laced with mockery, slid into her ear.
Jiang Zhi glanced at the table. He was right; his fingers tapped the cigarette, sending grey ash falling into the tray, the ember glowing red.
Before she could speak, Shang Chi’s voice cut in, low and commanding. “Stay out of the Qin family’s affairs.”
Hearing this, Jiang Zhi retorted instantly, “No.”
Her uncle had treated her well. How could she stand idly by?
The words had barely left her lips when his fingers, rough at the pad of his thumb, closed firmly beneath her chin.
Shang Chi’s voice dropped to a dangerous timbre. “You don’t have the right to choose.”
His formidable aura enveloped her. Having managed Jiang Nian for three years, Jiang Zhi had navigated circles with all kinds of elite figures.
Never had she felt so utterly cowed by a single look.
She didn’t understand why his anger had flared so suddenly.
But she refused to back down. She tilted her chin up, her fox-like eyes locking onto his defiantly. “I agreed to marry you! I do have the right to choose!”
Her gaze burned with stubbornness, resentment, and a carefully feigned composure.

Whether her words persuaded him or something else shifted, Jiang Zhi felt the pressure on her chin lessen slightly.
Shang Chi’s thin lips parted. “Zhou Xu will handle it. You’ll have a satisfactory answer within days.”
His thumb brushed lightly over the skin of her jaw as he looked down at her. “What you should concern yourself with now… is this home.”
After a few seconds of silence, Jiang Zhi processed his meaning and pressed her lips together. “I understand.”
Saving the Qin family was beyond her current means, but it wasn’t beyond his.
Her only task now was to design this empty shell of a house for him.
Shang Chi’s expression remained inscrutable. His gaze lingered on her face for several seconds, seemingly satisfied she would comply, before he finally released her.
He glanced at his watch. “Don’t overestimate yourself again. I don’t have time to rush back and rescue you.”
With that, he stood and walked straight into the walk-in closet.
Moments later, he emerged dressed in another impeccably tailored black suit. Without sparing her a glance, he strode out of the room.
Jiang Zhi’s thoughts reeled from his brutally cold words.
Had he meant… he changed his flight schedule? Rushed back specifically to help her at the Qin residence?
Before she could unravel his motives, she saw him exit the bedroom.
Her eyes fell on the ointment tube on the coffee table. After a brief hesitation, she snatched it up and hurried after him.
“President Shang, wait!”
Hearing her voice, his steps halted.
Jiang Zhi quickly pressed the tube into his hand, her voice gentle but firm. “Remember to apply this.”
Shang Chi glanced at her, his voice deep and cool. “Hmm.”
Watching his tall, imposing figure disappear, Jiang Zhi touched her chin. Recalling his earlier grip, though forceful, she realized it hadn’t caused her any pain.
A faint ripple stirred in her heart. Was this man… not quite what she had envisioned?