Chapter Twelve: True... Emptiness

Everything happened just as Lin Yang had expected. No sooner had the pot exploded than a disgruntled voice shot through two walls, piercing straight into his ears.

“Lin Yang, are you acting up again?” Wu Qianqian, still half-lost in sleep, was suddenly jolted upright in her bed, her drowsy eyes quickly igniting with anger. She’d been deep in the throes of a weekend slumber at home, only to be rudely awakened by that damned explosion. Without the slightest courtesy, she unleashed a lion’s roar at the wall before her. Luckily, her mother was away visiting relatives, or she’d surely have scolded her for her lack of decorum.

“Uh, it’s nothing. I just slipped and fell.” Lin Yang replied with a forced laugh, his tone lacking conviction. To pass off an explosion as a slip of the foot—one had to admit, his improvisation was less than convincing, like hiding silver in a land without trees: obvious and futile.

“Slipped and fell?” Wu Qianqian, sitting at her bedside, frowned deeply, cursing inwardly. How could a fall sound like an explosion? Of course, she didn’t believe him—especially since this wasn’t the first time. Twice before, she’d come home to rest on a Saturday, only to encounter this very misfortune. She’d even considered whether it was worth coming home at all. Throwing off her covers and slipping into her slippers, she marched straight to Lin Yang’s door, determined to launch a surprise inspection this time.

Hearing her quick footfalls, Lin Yang leapt up in panic to tidy up. If she caught sight of the scene, the game would be up and his secret exposed. His hurried clattering and banging left much to be desired in terms of stealth.

Bang bang! The knocking came before he’d even managed half the cleanup. Clearly, the girl was using all her strength, hammering at the door.

If a stunning beauty, clad in pajamas in the dead of night, comes knocking at your door—possibly with nothing underneath, bare as the day she was born—what man wouldn’t leap to open the door with a broad smile and welcome her in?

Was Lin Yang not a man?

He was, undeniably.

Did he have issues with his orientation?

Of course not.

Impotence or premature issues?

That would require further investigation. The crucial point was, he was still pure, a virgin, miles behind the libertine scions of other influential families.

Not opening the door would make him look guilty; opening it would expose everything. He’d managed to stash the pan and hotplate under the bed, but the scattered medicinal powder littering the floor was not something that could be cleaned up in seconds.

“Lin Yang, what’s going on? Why haven’t you opened the door yet?” Wu Qianqian’s words were loaded with implication; anyone overhearing would let their imagination run wild.

Not opening the door in the middle of the night—was there a woman hidden inside? Especially with all those suspicious noises. One had to marvel at a woman’s imagination. In fact, Wu Qianqian’s mind went exactly there, likely influenced by her dormmates’ penchant for watching risqué films.

Lin Yang cursed himself for his earlier hesitation. Had he just tidied up quickly instead of overthinking, he might have managed to get things in order. But regret, as always, comes too late, and you can't buy an antidote for it, no matter how rich you are.

Just as Wu Qianqian was about to lose patience and kick the door down, the door creaked open a sliver, and Lin Yang’s head gingerly poked out.

The acrid scent of burning rushed out to meet her. Wrinkling her delicate nose and pinching it with a slender hand, Wu Qianqian’s brows knit together as suspicion flashed in her eyes.

Glancing down at the ashen-black powder scattered across the floor, she questioned, “Lin Yang, what are you doing?”

“N-nothing,” Lin Yang replied with a sheepish grin, gesticulating wildly as he tried to explain, but his words were unconvincing.

Caught red-handed, with the evidence scattered on the floor—he might as well have slapped himself.

“Nothing? Then what’s this?” Clearly, Wu Qianqian wasn’t buying his act. She pointed at the acrid, gray-black powder with a prosecutorial air.

Women are strange creatures—sometimes they interrogate relentlessly, sometimes they let things slide, sometimes they pretend not to see, and sometimes they’ll even help you cover up. Lin Yang could only hope Wu Qianqian would be the type to turn a blind eye, but that was clearly wishful thinking. Those bright, clever eyes showed no sign of letting go.

Curiosity is universal, and for a young woman like Wu Qianqian, it only grew stronger by the day. She was determined to ask every “why” until the end of time, or perhaps add a few more digits to the tally.

“This… this…” Lin Yang was at a loss for words, unable to conjure a convincing lie.

“This what? What are you really doing?” Wu Qianqian’s patience was already running thin after only a few exchanges; her face clouded with irritation. In her mind: You’ve been caught in the act, why not just confess? Must I put a knife to your throat for you to spill your secrets?

Her lively eyes scanned the room like a hunting hound in the night.

It’s only natural that haste breeds mistakes. Beneath the bed sheets, an electrical cord was poking out. Ignoring Lin Yang’s awkward grin, Wu Qianqian strode to the bed, bent over, and reached for the cable.

She shouldn’t have bent over. As she did, Lin Yang was instantly dumbstruck—his head spun, blood surged like a rocket, flooding his brain, and a faint metallic tang filled his nostrils as his breath quickened.

Beautiful. Far too beautiful.

Tempting—damnably tempting.

Damn, she’s really not wearing anything under there!

The sight was almost too much. Lin Yang’s shameless gaze fixed upon Wu Qianqian’s inadvertently exposed, perky chest—not the earth-shattering kind, but small, firm, and perfectly shaped, enough to fill a hand.

Wu Qianqian’s sleep habits were notoriously uninhibited—she’d often strip herself naked in bed, and in her haste tonight, she’d simply thrown on a loose pajama top before storming to Lin Yang’s room. Normally, the loose garment concealed everything, but the moment she bent over, all was revealed.

With her bent over and Lin Yang’s gaze angled just so, the view was unavoidable—her fair, pert chest was fully exposed, even the two rosy buds visible, rising and falling with her breath, delivering a killing blow to his composure.

Gulp. Overcome by emotion and temptation, Lin Yang had to admit his resistance to beauty was woefully inadequate. With everything on display, he was pitching quite the tent beneath his pants, straining as if to burst through the fabric.

Wu Qianqian, oblivious to the spectacle she was providing, continued her search. Pulling out the hotplate and the pan stowed under the bed, she examined them for a moment before asking, “Lin Yang, how do you explain this?”

But when she turned, she saw him staring, eyes wide, at her bouncing chest, drool nearly spilling from his lips.

“Lin Yang!” Wu Qianqian practically roared, clearly angry—not at his ogling (which she hadn’t even realized), but at being deceived. They’d been neighbors for half a year—not exactly close, but not strangers either—yet here he was, trying to brush her off with lies.

Reluctantly tearing his gaze away, Lin Yang forced a smile as countless calculations raced through his mind.

“Aren’t you going to explain?” Seeing he was still silent, Wu Qianqian pressed him again, this time with a sly smile that was just a bit too cunning.

“I’ll talk,” Lin Yang blurted out, fearing another moment’s delay would result in bodily harm—didn’t she look ready to bite, baring her neat little teeth for emphasis, her sharp canine fangs flashing?

Wu Qianqian halted, arms crossed, fixing him with a look that said, “Out with it, I’m all ears.”

“The pot exploded,” Lin Yang explained in a rush. Seeing Wu Qianqian’s confused and nearly contorted expression, he remembered that “alchemy” wasn’t exactly common knowledge and clarified, “I was making a medicinal pill and it blew up.”

After a moment’s thought, Wu Qianqian asked, “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Lin Yang nodded earnestly, his gaze unwavering, utterly serious.

In the dim light, they stood facing each other, their shadows stretched long and thin.

Wu Qianqian stood tall and imperious, looking down at the busy Lin Yang.

The floor was strewn with ashen medicinal powder, so at odds with the otherwise tidy room. The acrid smell was enough to turn anyone’s stomach; it was no place for sleep.

Silent and contemplative, Wu Qianqian watched him clean, apparently lost in thought, forgetting to keep questioning.

Where should she start? She wasn’t sure.

What should she ask? She wracked her brains.

A chilly breeze wafted in, lifting the hem of her pajama top, exposing a flash of thigh—her first casualty to the cold. The draft brought her to her senses, and she fixed Lin Yang with a piercing gaze as he straightened up, having just finished cleaning.

“You were making medicine?” she asked, drawing out the words with skepticism, suspicion clear in her eyes.

“Yes, making medicine.”

“What kind of medicine?”

“Golden Silkworm Powder.”

“Huh, it doesn’t even have ‘pill’ in the name. What’s that?”

“This…” Lin Yang hesitated, at a loss, then replied evasively, “You wouldn’t understand.”