MW CH32

Chapter 32: How About I Give It to You?

Kissed once—peeked at Mochuan’s shut eyes—kissed again. No waking? Grew bolder.

Tongue wet his dry lips—traced them slow, like a glutton starved seven years, waiting, yearning, finally tasting the dream dish—greedy but savoring every bite.

Nibbled his lower lip—no whiskey touched, yet I felt tipsy all over.

Not enough—wanted more… What’s he taste like inside?

Post-all-nighter brain—zero patience. Wanted to kiss him? Did it. Taste him? Tongue slipped through the seam on its own.

Sweet.

A bear’ll risk all for honey—I’d go all out for more of Mochuan’s sweetness.

Pushed past his teeth, stormed in—bandit on a spree, touching every new thing, even his soft tongue beneath—hooked, tangled, licked end to end.

He froze—lips, tongue stiff—let me take. With him “asleep,” defenseless, I lost restraint—tongue probed deeper.

Corner of my eye—his hand, resting on his stomach, twitched up—like to grab me—snapped back, fingers curled, clenched tight.

Can’t take it? You went way further last time…

Eyes shut—deepened the kiss—couldn’t stop, sure, but also wanted him to choke on faking it.

Just as this sudden test veered out of hand—snap—tongue root stung. Too greedy—sleeping beauty bit me.

Opened my eyes slow—pulled back, off the couch—heat faded, reason crept in.

Thumb brushed his cheek—his brow half-furrowed—he’d struggled too. Decided to spare him.

“Sleeping pretty sound.” Smiled, leaned down—kissed a wet spot off his lip corner—headed to the bedroom.

Liu Xiahui sits pure—I’m Bai Yin. No reaction after that? I’d join Jizhu Temple with Jiang Xuehan tomorrow.

Quick shower—took longer than usual. Towel-drying my hair back in the living room—Mochuan was “awake.”

Elbow on the armrest, he rubbed his temple with one hand—face shadowed.

He froze at my steps—looked up. Hairline damp—probably washed his face.

“Slept well?” Stopped a bit away—teasing edge.

Stood, stared half a beat—two words: “Not bad.” Checked his phone. “If nothing’s up, I’ll head out.”

Towel round my neck—walked to the door. “Ordered breakfast—two servings. Eat, then go.”

Big city woes—and perks. 5 AM—awkward hour—takeout still delivers, riders still grab.

Noted “leave at door, no bell”—didn’t want to wake him. Opened it—bag sat there.

Brought it in—he hadn’t budged. Tilted my head—called him to the dining room.

He hesitated—moved only after I said I couldn’t finish alone, waste otherwise.

His: Chinese—buns, porridge, fried dough. Mine: Western—coffee, hashbrowns, burger.

Silent eating at first—few minutes in, I broke it. “Class today? That little sleep—holding up?”

Spooned porridge—paused midair. “Fine—can nap.”

More quiet—me chewing, eyes glued to him. Him? Head down, sipping—ignored me.

“Eight Precepts—how’s ‘no unchaste conduct’ broken?” Swallowed my last burger bite—sudden question.

He’d nearly finished—wiped his mouth, flat. “Do unchaste stuff, it’s broken.”

Wow—tautology champ.

Chin propped. “Forced count?”

Crumpled the napkin—eyelid ticked up, faint smile. “Not willing? Doesn’t count.”

“Forcing someone?”

Smile froze—nearly cracked—then: “For selfish lust? No good. But if they deserve it…” Voice dipped. “Mountain Lord’d forgive me.”

Well, damn—situational ethics? Still, eased me—he wouldn’t quit over this.

Post-breakfast—booked his ride, grabbed his coat—saw him to the elevator.

“Contract’s ready—I’ll ping you.” Waved, grinning.

Soft “mm”—eyes down, one hand pocketed, other jabbing the close button. No dice—frowned, mashed it—dying to vanish.

Stay longer, he’d snap.

Held it till the doors shut—didn’t care if he heard—dropped my hand, laughed my guts out.

Weekend hit—no work. Only told Huangfu Rou about Mochuan’s yes.

Slept—woke, hit the treadmill—phone propped up.

“Didn’t think he’d agree…” Video call—Huangfu Rou, silver-rimmed blue-light glasses, sharp as ever.

Ran, talked. “Golden statue for the Nine-Colored Deer? Maybe not. For the kids? He’s in.”

Pictured him blessing Yunduo’s kid—smiled soft.

Cenglu folk swear it’s the Mountain Lord guarding them. Outsider me? “Mountain Lord” ain’t who they think.

Not some airy god or clueless parents—it’s the teacher risking all to free students, village cadres pushing for education, Mochuan at twenty, ditching school no regrets…

They shield Cenglu kids—Cuoyansong’s future.

“Oh—Miss Gu like that conch pearl necklace?” After keeping “Feather of God” for myself, I whipped up a diamond-studded phalaenopsis conch pearl piece for her—custom, better with her gown than the flashy “Feather.”

“She might need tweaks.” Huangfu Rou hesitated. “I’ll sync with her—update you.”

Call done—treadmill off—showered, wiping sweat.

[Got rest days?] Texted Mochuan—stripped, hit the shower. Out—his reply.

[Tuesday]

[Factory tour then? I’ll bring the contract.]

Quick “Sure.”

[I’ll pick you up.]

[Mm.]

Tuesday—contract in hand—ten minutes early, 12:50 at Haicheng Uni. Mochuan, per usual, beat me there.

“Be on time next time—freezing out here?” Ears red—cranked the AC up.

Gotta come half an hour early next time—Haicheng’s damp cold’ll wreck him waiting.

“Just got here—not long.” Glanced at the three contracts on the passenger seat. “All need signing?”

Nodded. “Yeah—one for you, two for me. Scan your ID when you can—optional, up to you.”

“Pen?”

“You don’t check first?” Laughed. “None in the car—borrow one at the factory.”

Not sure he heard—flipped through the contract in the car, focused all the way there.

Jewelry-making’s risky—factory’s in a suburban industrial park. “Factory” feels off—more “workshop.”

“Assembly-line stuff’s elsewhere—prototypes done, shipped to another plant.” Fingerprint unlock—walked him through. “Here’s auctions, custom orders—high-end stuff.”

Full surveillance from the first door—embedding zone, two more passcode gates.

Heads-up given—no shock at our arrival. Craftsmen worked—45x magnifying glasses, steady hands.

“What’re they making?” Mochuan eyed a craftsman’s platinum feather piece.

Waved him into my inner office—personal space. Safe inside held “Feather of God” drafts, a $500K red spinel, plus a 3D-printed model.

Locked the door—spread it all out—pointed at the draft. “That’s it—the feather part.”

He studied—fingers drifted over draft, model, pigeon-blood spinel—lingered.

“Big gem.” Picked up the 56-carat spinel—deadpan.

Simplest take ever for that stone’s history.

Hung the gray model necklace on myself—like a kid showing off treasure—pointed at the center, hyped. “Red spinel goes here.”

Nodded—set it down. Appreciated, sure—but the snow mountain priest, used to finery, wasn’t wowed.

“What’s it called?”

Seemed meh—panic flared.

He doesn’t like it?

How can he not? He has to…

“Feather of God—God’s wings.” Yanked off the model—held it to him, casual. “Suits you—how about I give it to you?”

He blinked—looked down at the gray model—I panicked. “Not this—the real one.”

A multimillion-yuan necklace—I offered it up like Haidilao handing out free fruit plates. Huangfu Rou’d faint if she knew.