Pei Lingchu’s gaze snapped up, finally registering Fu Chi’s stark white face, her lips almost translucent. A sudden clench in her chest was laced with a prickle of inexplicable irritation. Grabbing Fu Chi’s wrist, her tone held a sharp edge of concern:
“Why did you come out without an umbrella? Go take a hot shower immediately. Your body is delicate; you’ll catch a cold so easily. Don’t worry about me.”
Her lower lip tightened. If Fu Chi fell ill because of the rain…
“It’s alright, I was only out for a moment.” Fu Chi’s voice was soft yet held a stubborn undercurrent as she fixed her gaze on Pei Lingchu. Through the towel, she gently pulled her to sit on the living room sofa. “Wait here for me.”
With that, she re-draped the towel more securely around Pei Lingchu and turned towards the storage room.
Only two wall lamps illuminated the living room, casting ethereal patterns on the walls. A subtle fragrance of woody rose filled the air.
Pei Lingchu lifted a corner of the towel, dabbing at a droplet of water that had slid down her forehead. Her gaze fell to the damp fabric clinging to her calves, a deeper wave of frustration rising within her, though her expression remained smooth. Her fingers curled tightly into her palm as she took a slow, deliberate breath.
Thankfully, her mother was already asleep.
When Fu Chi returned, she carried a first-aid kit and a pair of white slippers.
A flicker of surprise crossed Pei Lingchu’s eyes at the sight of the kit, but it vanished quickly. She remained silent, the soft terrycloth cocooning her, gradually warming her skin.
She sighed again, her toes curling slightly.
Their stark shadows stretched across the living room floor, one figure sitting upright, the other kneeling.
Pei Lingchu lowered her gaze to watch her.
Fu Chi’s eyelashes fluttered gently against her pale cheek. Her high nose bridge caught the cool light, her smooth hair pulled back into a high ponytail. Her eyelids were thin, revealing delicate blue veins beneath. Her breathing was shallow, her forehead smooth and luminous.
“Elder Sister Xiao Chu, please don’t wear those heels again. They rub the back of your ankles so easily.” As she spoke, Fu Chi reached out, intending to slip off the high heels. Her gaze settled on Pei Lingchu’s cool white feet, the faint blue veins a delicate map beneath the skin, now shadowed by her presence.
“Xiao Chi.” Pei Lingchu’s voice caught her, pulling her back. She instinctively drew her calves back, the usual rigid posture softening, her shoulders rounding inward slightly as she regarded Fu Chi with a contained impatience. “Go take a shower and sleep. You don’t need to do this.”
Fu Chi’s movements stilled, her head bowed, lost in some private thought.
Just as Pei Lingchu thought she would finally rise, a wave of intense heat enveloped her ankle. The unexpected warmth made her flinch, her shoulders twitching. Her eyes widened, suddenly meeting a pair of clear, luminous depths.
Blue eyes, as pure and clean as seawater.
The tear mole beneath her eye trembled with the subtle curve of her gaze. Slowly, Fu Chi’s palm tightened, gently but firmly holding Pei Lingchu’s slender ankle. “It needs to be done.”
“I am the housekeeper. It is my duty to serve Madam.”
Madam…
Pei Lingchu pressed her lips together, a hint of resignation in the curve.
This was the second time Fu Chi had called her “Madam.”
Speechless, Pei Lingchu turned her head away, her gaze escaping the shimmering blue depths to settle on the quiet, shadowed living room. Moonlight flowed silently over the grand piano facing the door, the misty light reflecting off its black surface in shifting patterns.
“Don’t call me that.”
Her throat, unused to such directness, held a trace of huskiness.
Even though Fu Chi’s tone, like before, held a playful quality when she said “Madam,” it still felt unsettling, a subtle disturbance beneath the surface.
Normally, the household staff would never address her that way.
Her toes rested lightly on lean, firm thighs, the fabric of the suit pants soft beneath her touch, a damp warmth emanating from beneath her foot. Pei Lingchu blinked, shifting her ankle uncomfortably. Her calf remained captured by a possessively warm hand. Her gaze flickered down to Fu Chi below.
In recent years, she had been consumed by her career, taking on countless assignments, staying abroad after finishing her studies, though they would connect through their phones. Initially, Xiao Chi would call her often, but gradually, the calls became less frequent. Returning home, the house felt so different, and the person…
Pei Lingchu’s brow suddenly furrowed, her breath catching in her throat. She inhaled sharply, her calf trembling, instinctively wanting to pull it back. “Xiao Chi, you don’t have to…” Her voice trailed off, her lips parting slightly as she stared, unblinking, at the person below, a flicker of disbelief in her eyes.
A cool breath ghosted over her heel, the faintest hint of a breath touching her calf.
The earthy scent of rain that had filled her nostrils was now replaced by a subtle blend of bergamot and the faint medicinal aroma clinging to Fu Chi.
The scent of shower gel, and the lingering herbal fragrance seemed inseparable from Fu Chi.
“Just a little blow, it won’t hurt anymore.”
Her foot was lifted to about shoulder height for Fu Chi, who tilted her head, her pale lips parted as she gently blew on the abrasion, before dabbing it again with a cotton swab.
A brief sting, followed by a cool relief. Her instep felt strangely ticklish.
“Why did you want to become a housekeeper?” Pei Lingchu asked suddenly, her voice clear and cool, with a subtle undercurrent of unease that the downpour outside hadn’t washed away.
The little sister who had once trailed after her was now attending to her with such… devotion.
Pei Lingchu’s gaze deepened, but as she watched Fu Chi’s careful movements, as if afraid of causing her any pain, the sharp edge in her eyes softened, replaced by a touch of tenderness and helplessness.
It was she who should be the one being meticulously cared for.
Fu Chi’s fingertip paused, and the waterproof bandage was applied slightly askew. Her expression remained serene as she began to slowly peel it off.
The question hung between them once more, the same one Pei Lingchu had asked upon her return, their first meeting.
The dark room was suddenly illuminated by a flash of white light, Pei Lingchu’s red lips stark against her pale face.
Then, darkness returned.
The crackling thunder mixed with the relentless drumming of rain.
They remained in the same position, unmoving, the wildly swaying shadows of trees dancing across the floor through the window.
Fu Chi applied a fresh bandage, this time perfectly centered on the slender ankle. A faint smile touched her lips as she stood up. Just as she was about to speak, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her, her vision blurring, her body swaying precariously.
“Xiao Chi.” Pei Lingchu immediately reached out, her hand finding the curve of Fu Chi’s waist, steadying her swaying form. “You need to stand up slowly after crouching down. Are you feeling better now?”
Fu Chi’s skin felt feverishly hot beneath the silk of her shirt, a sensation that lingered on Pei Lingchu’s fingertips for a fleeting moment before abruptly withdrawing.
Pei Lingchu’s fingers curled inward, retracting her hand.
“I’m alright.” Fu Chi took a step back, subtly avoiding her touch. Her gaze flickered to Pei Lingchu’s heel, concealing the unreadable emotions in her eyes. “Can Elder Sister Xiao Chu walk on her own?” Her voice was soft.
“Mm.” A hint of coolness entered Pei Lingchu’s tone. She adjusted the damp fabric clinging to her calves and slowly rose from the sofa, her bare toes finding the slippers.
“Xiao Chi, go to sleep. I can manage from here.” She had just bent down to pick up her heels when another pair of slender fingers hooked the delicate straps and lifted them away.
“I’ll put these away. Elder Sister Xiao Chu, please go take a bath quickly. You were out in the rain; you might catch a cold. I’ve already drawn the water for you. But after your bath, you should remove the bandage. It doesn’t breathe well and shouldn’t be left on overnight.”
Finishing her words in a soft tone, Fu Chi moved efficiently towards the door. She was about to place the shoes in the shoe cabinet when she remembered they were still damp from the rain. Her movements faltered. She hesitated, wondering whether to wipe them first or have them professionally cleaned tomorrow. However, the soles were lambskin; they couldn’t be worn if they got wet and would easily chafe the heel. Perhaps she should just discard them…
“Xiao Chi.” Pei Lingchu’s soft call echoed in the spacious, quiet living room as she noticed the still figure by the door, each syllable distinct.
Never mind, she thought. Tomorrow will do.
The discarded shoes lay carelessly in the entryway. Fu Chi watched Pei Lingchu in the dim light, her silhouette graceful, her gaze lingering on the curve of those red lips. A subtle movement in her throat betrayed a silent longing before she gently shifted her eyes away.
“Coming.”
Silence settled over the living room once more, save for the faint droplets of water on the floor, seeming to retain the warmth of heated skin.
The downpour gradually subsided, and the clear moonlight filtered through the trees, falling upon the gently swaying white curtains, the shadows of leaves dancing softly.
The entire residence drifted into slumber.
Sha-sha…
Su-su…
The curtains stirred softly, like leaves rustling in a gentle breeze, casting a wavering grey shadow on the floor, drifting lazily.
From the third floor, a figure suddenly gazed down. Her blue eyes shimmered faintly, framed by the loose folds of a white waffle-knit pajama set that draped over her slender frame. As she moved, the legs of the pants swayed loosely, ghost-like.
Bang—
Fu Chi reached up and firmly shut the half-open window, drawing the curtains tightly closed again. Cold moonlight spilled over her bony wrist, where pale blue veins pulsed faintly beneath translucent skin.
Her lips moved slightly, but no words came out.
She lifted her eyes and glanced around, as if making sure every window was securely closed. She stood in the living room for less than a minute before quietly walking back upstairs. The carpet muffled the sound of her steps.
But Fu Chi didn’t return to her room. Instead, she paused at the door next to it, her fingertips resting on the handle. With a gentle press, her figure slipped soundlessly into the room, leaving the door ajar—a thin sliver of space left behind.
The curtains inside were tightly drawn, not a trace of light leaking through. The air carried the faint scent of lemon and sandalwood. Breathing came soft and slow.
Though the night was pitch-black, Fu Chi moved with ease, as though she could see in the dark. Without hesitation, she stepped past the walk-in closet and made her way to the bed. As she bent forward, her long hair slipped from her neck and spilled to one side.
She held her breath—so shallow it seemed no air passed through her lungs—as if even the tiniest sound might wake someone. But the person in bed had long since sunk into a deep, medicated sleep. In this entire room, Fu Chi was the only one awake.
She gently pinched the corner of the light blanket, peeling it back slowly. Beneath it, a pair of pale, porcelain feet appeared—ankles slightly crossed, resting on their side in the soft bedding.
Fu Chi placed her palm against the bed and slowly sat down, her eyes locked on the curve of one heel. She lifted a hand, her fingers hovering.
“Just as I thought… forgot to take off the bandage.”
