Chapter 3: The Boss And Her White Little Lotus
Yu Liuxue's mind drifted to the memory of their past interaction, three years ago, when Lin Qingyin had publicly expressed goodwill toward the original owner of the narrative. There was a subtle, tantalizing energy in that moment — a hint that beneath Lin Qingyin's poised exterior, there was awareness, perhaps even vulnerability, that Yu Liuxue could exploit.
She stood from the sofa, letting the light fall across her body, the golden shimmer of her skirt tracing the soft curve of her hips. Her fingers toyed with the ribbon at her waist, twisting it deliberately, a small act that carried more command and control than any spoken word.
Her eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the city skyline through the window, imagining Lin Qingyin somewhere beyond the glass, untouchable, yet tantalizingly close.
Her pulse quickened, a warm, almost erotic surge that wasn't just about desire but the thrill of challenge. She could almost feel Lin Qingyin's presence, the tension that hummed between them like a live wire. It was intoxicating, absurdly so, and Yu Liuxue allowed herself a small laugh, low and mischievous.
"You think you're untouchable, little lotus?" she whispered to herself, a teasing edge to her tone. Her fingers traced absent patterns along the silk of her skirt, and the subtle sway of her hip was deliberate, playful. "We'll see how serene you stay when I step into your world."
The room seemed to shrink around her, the soft glow of lights, the shimmer of fabric, the gentle jingle of the chain on her ankle — all coalescing into a charged atmosphere.
Every movement, every thought was a subtle seduction, a calculated teasing of fate, the world, and the goddess whose calm composure would soon meet Yu Liuxue's unstoppable force.
With a slow, deliberate stretch, she slant her head, letting her hair cascade over her shoulder, and her eyes sparkled with amusement, authority, and promise.
The story's narrative had placed her in this crucible of love, jealousy, and ruin — but Yu Liuxue was already plotting, already alive with the thrill of what she could do, and most importantly, the intimacy and tension she could cultivate with the untouchable Lin Qingyin, whether the girl realized it or not.
"Let's make this fun," she murmured, a faint smirk on her lips. The world outside would tremble, the narrative would bend — but Yu Liuxue, graceful, dangerous, and incandescent, would emerge not broken but commanding, playful, and ready to ignite the slow burn of girls - love tension that fate itself had neglected to account for.
Yu Liuxue's thoughts flickered between annoyance and amusement. She couldn't help but think that Lin Qingyin had been far too polite to the original owner — courtesy that now seemed dangerously misinterpreted. She didn't owe anyone her attention, Yu Liuxue muttered under her breath, fingers twitching over the ribbon at her waist. Especially not him… or anyone else.
No sooner had she finished grumbling than she noticed movement at the top of the stairs. Lin Qingyin appeared, fresh - faced, makeup removed, wearing a soft silk pajama set that clung gently to her slender frame. Her white home slippers barely made a sound as she stepped forward, each motion precise, almost gliding.
The soft light of the villa spilled over her small face, illuminating the flawless porcelain skin, and her pupils, dark and starry, swept over Yu Liuxue in a cold, appraising glance. In that instant, Yu Liuxue froze, chest tightening as though the cold gaze had physically pressed against her ribs.
A sharp, instinctive pain clawed at Yu Liuxue's chest. She squatted down, clutching her breast as her elbows braced against the sofa, knees pressing into the cold marble floor. Fine beads of sweat dotted her temple, her pink lips parting for a shallow, shaky breath. Even in that weak, almost fragile state, she ensured her mission was clear:
"Just stop Lin Qingyin and Yao Yishu from being together, no matter the method or means… yes… Right?"
A hesitant, mechanical voice responded faintly in her mind: "Yes."
A small, triumphant smile tugged at Yu Liuxue's lips, though her heart continued to ache. Sorry, Yao Yishu. Your heroine is excellent, but she's mine now.
Lin Qingyin passed by the sofa without a hint of expression, her hands lightly brushing the armrest, posture straight and elegant. Yu Liuxue's fingers shot out like a lifeline. "Voiceless…" she whispered, voice fragile, shaky, yet tinged with desperate need.
Lin Qingyin's brow furrowed imperceptibly at the sound, but she didn't break her calm. Yu Liuxue reached further, weakly stretching out a hand. "Qingyin… I'm sick," she murmured, letting her voice trail into a delicate whimper.
The system, silent for a moment, finally replied: "…What kind of disease do you have?"
The villa itself seemed to shrink around them. Though only a few staff were present, countless hidden cameras captured every subtle motion, every glance, every millimeter of the tension between them. Lin Qingyin's eyes held a complicated light for several beats, and then she moved, squatting gracefully in front of Yu Liuxue. The motion was deliberate, controlled — poised, unyielding, yet somehow intimate.
"Where's your medicine?" Lin Qingyin asked, her voice calm, measured, almost indifferent — but the faintest hint of curiosity threaded through it.
Yu Liuxue's body softened at once, melting against her. She clung to Lin Qingyin's neck like a boneless ribbon of silk, her chin resting against the pale side of Lin Qingyin's neck. Warm breath ruffled the soft strands of hair near Lin Qingyin's ear. The proximity made her shiver, a thrill mingling with the ache in her chest.
Lin Qingyin's hands remained steady, one supporting Yu Liuxue's back, the other under her knees, holding her securely but without giving in to indulgence. Her gaze flicked down briefly, assessing the small, fragile form in front of her, her lips pursed into a subtle, controlled arc. She said nothing, but the smallest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth — measured, restrained, utterly controlled.
"I'll carry you up to rest," Lin Qingyin said finally, placing a forearm beneath the crook of Yu Liuxue's legs. She lifted the small woman with practiced ease, the golden - pink skirt trailing along the gray - and - white marble floor, brushing over tiles with faint swishes that left a delicate echo in the still villa.
Yu Liuxue pressed closer, thin fingers curling into the loose neckline of Lin Qingyin's pajamas. Her grip tugged just enough to reveal the small hook beneath Lin Qingyin's collarbone, a flash of snow - white skin. Lin Qingyin's gaze flicked downward briefly — measured, assessing — but she did not soften, did not yield. She only noted the motion, precise, controlled.
"Qingyin… I'm so… uncomfortable," Yu Liuxue whispered, her tone weak but teasing, designed to distract and provoke in equal measure.
Lin Qingyin's arms adjusted, shifting the little woman gently yet firmly. The contact was intimate but precise — each movement deliberate, maintaining control while letting Yu Liuxue's clinginess play out.
Their bodies were pressed together, Yu Liuxue's warmth blending with Lin Qingyin's calm, her soft breaths brushing against the smooth silk pajamas. Every small movement — fingers brushing hair, skirt trailing, the jingle of ankle chains — made the air around them crackle with tension.