The banquet concluded with the President departing first.
Xia Chenchen stood on the Foreign Ministry's marble steps, watching Xia Xingkong preen like a peacock as she slid into Xu Yan's car under the envious gazes of her dance troupe.
Beside her, Chi Weiyang gritted her teeth, radiating indignation.
Chenchen merely observed from afar. Why resent it?I'm the one who ended things with Xu Yan. I'm the one who got pregnant…
Yet, despite her reasoning, a hollow chill lingered in her chest.
...
By the time her taxi reached the stately mansion, midnight had settled deep. Past eleven. Xia Dabai and the household staff were long asleep. The grand home felt unnervingly silent.
She dropped her purse onto a sofa and crept into the kitchen.
Hunger clawed at her stomach—she'd missed dinner entirely amid the day's chaos. Rummaging through the refrigerator revealed only premium gourmet ingredients; wasting them on a late-night snack felt wrong. Besides, truthfully, these delicacies still felt alien to her palate.
A commoner truly can't relate to a lofty President.
Finally, tucked in the fridge's farthest corner, she unearthed a forgotten bag of dumplings—the ones she and Dabai had made together days ago.
Dumplings used to be precious comfort food for them, made whenever time allowed. Here, in this opulent world, they likely seemed embarrassingly humble. She lit the stove, boiled water, and deftly slid the dumplings in. A frantic search later, she concocted a dipping sauce from assorted condiments.
Ten minutes passed. Plump, steaming dumplings filled her bowl.
"Heavenly…" Chenchen breathed in the aroma. Her stomach growled fiercely.
Too hungry for formalities, she crouched right there in the kitchen and popped one whole into her mouth. Starving, she swallowed too fast—
Searing agony!
She hopped wildly from foot to foot, mouth gaping, frantically fanning her tongue. "Hot! So hot!"
Then—
Her gaze snapped to the kitchen doorway. Someone stood watching. How long?
She froze mid-hop. The half-chewed dumpling lodged in her throat. She choked violently.
"Cough!Hack!" Eyes watering, face flushed crimson, she finally dislodged it. She shot a glare at President Bai. "Must you… appear like a ghost every time?"
She hadn't expected him back tonight. He'd clearly arrived earlier—now clad in dark silk pajamas. Sinfully attractive, she noted unwillingly, yet radiating that familiar, intimidating frost.
Bai Yeqing ignored her complaint, striding past into the kitchen.
Feeling foolish, Chenchen fell silent, mechanically chewing another dumpling while her eyes tracked his movements.
He yanked open the fridge, surveyed its contents with a critical eye, and frowned—a deep crease forming between his brows. Nothing satisfied him.
Ah. The mighty President prowls for midnight snacks too.
A small smile touched her lips. "Hungry?" she ventured.
"..." Silence. He grabbed a dry-looking pastry, took one reluctant bite, and grimaced as if swallowing gravel.
Chenchen bit back a laugh. The seemingly omnipotent Bai Yeqing, humbled by hunger! The world imagined him feasting nightly on gourmet banquets.
Laughing at him? Suicide.
"Want some dumplings? I can spare a few," she offered, genuine this time.
"Unnecessary." Two icy syllables.
Iceberg!
Chenchen huffed under her breath, "Only offering because of today. Starve then." She dramatically sank her teeth into a plump dumpling, chewing with exaggerated relish. "Mmm…Pure bliss! Nothing beats homemade dumplings after a long day. Definitely beats… dry sawdust." She deliberately chewed louder.
"Were basic table manners omitted from your education?" His voice cut like winter air.
"Pardon?"
"Who permitted you to chew like a farm animal?"
"Yes, Your Excellency," she muttered sourly. "I'll chew silently." She adopted agonizingly slow, soundless bites. Presidential Palace rules—especially when His Coldness is present.
Bai Yeqing's gaze flickered between her sulky face and the steaming bowl. His frown deepened. In one swift motion, he snatched the bowl from her hands.
"Hey!" she protested.
He seized her chopsticks, plucked a dumpling, and popped it into his mouth.
Chenchen gaped. "But Mr. President… your germaphobia?"
"Circumstantial." Extreme hunger lowered standards.
"Except… that one…" Her finger trembled as she pointed to the dumpling now in his mouth. She bit her lip. "I… I just took a bite of that one…"
Bai Yeqing froze. His eyes locked onto hers, darkening with lethal intensity. A predator sizing up prey.
Chenchen's knees wobbled. Instinctively, she cupped her palm beneath his lips, whispering meekly, "Spit it here…"
Unfair!
He took it! And it's not like I'm contagious!
His lips parted, poised to expel the offending morsel.
But…
Her upturned face was mere inches away—flushed, indignant, yet oddly vulnerable. Her soft palm hovered near his face, carrying a faint, clean scent… like fresh limes. Delicate. Intoxicating.
The fragrance slammed into him—a visceral memory of her scent five years ago. Those nights…
She'd been shy, yielding, trembling beneath his touch.
He'd chosen her photo from countless candidates. Back then, he'd dismissed it as a fleeting transaction, destined for oblivion.
Yet here he stood, that elusive sweetness haunting him still… etched stubbornly in his senses…
"Mr. President?" Her tentative voice broke his trance.
His gaze refocused, deeper, more turbulent. He met her eyes. Then… swallowed. Deliberately.
Chenchen's breath hitched. Disbelief widened her eyes. Then, slowly, comprehension dawned. A delicate pink blush began to stain her cheeks.
He… ate it?
Does that mean… we just shared… an indirect kiss?