Chapter 4: A Conscious Man (1/2)
Chu Jinhan stared directly at her, making no move to go over and help.
Song Yunfei carried the bags inside herself, placed the groceries on the table, and began fanning her face with her hand.
“It’s so hot outside.” She turned on the electric fan and sat on a chair right in front of it, letting the cool breeze blow over her.
Noticing that Chu Jinhan was staring at her, she looked up to meet his eyes. “What are you looking at me for?”
Chu Jinhan withdrew his gaze, glanced at the groceries on the table, and spoke flatly, “I have to go out and deliver food in a bit. There’s no time to cook, so we should just order takeout.”
This hour was the peak dinner rush and the busiest time for food delivery. Normally, Chu Jinhan went straight to delivering orders after his shift and wouldn't return home at all. He had only stopped by today because Song Yunfei had acted so unusually, and he was worried she might have hanged herself inside the apartment.
Song Yunfei suddenly realized that he actually thought she bought all these groceries for him to cook.
She let out a helpless smile. “I bought these so I could cook later, so you’d have something ready to eat when you got back from delivering food.”
“Since you’re already home today, though, why don't you take the day off? I’ll cook.”
Song Yunfei genuinely didn't want to eat takeout. Since Chu Jinhan wasn't going to cook now, she would just have to do it herself.
Chu Jinhan gave her an odd, measuring look.
Over the past six months, Song Yunfei had cooked fewer than five times—and three of those were just boiling instant noodles. Most of the time, they either ordered takeout or Chu Jinhan cooked. And even when he did the cooking, he was still the one stuck washing the dishes afterward.
With her buying so many groceries today and claiming she was going to cook herself, it was no wonder he suspected something was off.
Still, Chu Jinhan didn't say anything. He gave a quiet nod, walked over to the sofa, sat down, and quietly began scrolling through his phone.
Aside from the soft whirring of the fan, the room fell into an eerily quiet, awkward silence.
Song Yunfei stole a peek at the man sitting opposite her.
He wore a crisp white shirt with the collar left unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up, exposing his wheat-toned forearms. His head was lowered as his long, slender fingers swiped across the screen.
He used to be quite fair-skinned, but now he seemed a bit tanned. Far from ruining his poise, it actually gave him a more mature, grounded presence.
Fine beads of sweat lined his forehead as well. It was clear he was hot too, yet he stubbornly refused to come sit with her and share the fan.
Song Yunfei sighed inwardly.
It seemed that over the past six months, the original host had almost entirely worn away whatever lingering guilt he had held toward her.
Chu Jinhan was actually checking stock market quotes, though he had no money to buy any. Song Yunfei kept all his salary cards and strictly forbade him from trading stocks. While she claimed she wanted to save money so they could buy a home together in the future, she couldn't actually control her own spending habits, filling her idle days with endless online shopping.
In truth, buying a home was merely her excuse—with Chu Jinhan’s real identity, why would he ever need to save up to buy a house? She was simply afraid that if he had money on him, he might track his way back using the address on his ID card. He wouldn't even need the exact address; just returning to Hai City would give him a 50 percent chance of being recognized.
The two stocks he was watching had risen again, performing almost exactly as he had anticipated.
Just as he was lost in thought, a warm gust of air suddenly brushed past him.
Chu Jinhan looked up, only to realize that an electric fan had somehow been placed in front of him.
Turning his head, he saw Song Yunfei squatting on the floor, plugging the power cord into the wall socket.
His eyes drifted to the back of her lowered neck. A few stray strands of hair clung to the side of her skin, and her tight T-shirt pulled upward, exposing a sliver of fair waist and the white waistband of her denim shorts.
For some reason, the images and tactile warmth from last night suddenly flashed back into his mind.
After plugging it in, Song Yunfei stood up. “There you go. I’m going to cook now—you enjoy the fan.”
With that, she turned around and walked into the kitchen.
The kitchen was tiny and painfully crude—just two makeshift countertops, with neither a natural gas line nor a range hood installed.
