Kiss Down Hard

Chapter 24: A Fierce Kiss. The twilight deepened, and the crystal chandeliers within the Mo Family Manor lit up one by one, casting a warm glow.

As Wen Yicong and Pei Xizhou walked side by side into the villa's dining room, the nanny was struggling to place Airi into his high chair—one panting with exertion, the other twisting and turning incessantly. For some unknown reason, the little boy was feeling agitated and restless, crying and refusing to sit down.

Master Heng, Aunt Tang, and the others were at a loss, doing their best to restrain Airi to prevent him from running off and getting hurt. Seeing this, Wen Yicong frowned slightly and swept her gaze across the dining room.

Only then did she notice a small alloy toy car lying in the corner to the left. Her eyes flickered, and she hurried over to pick it up, handing it to Airi as she said softly, 'Airi, don't cry.

You saw this and wanted it, didn't you?' Sure enough. Airi took the car from Wen Yicong, and his entire demeanor instantly calmed down.

Wen Yicong asked again gently, 'Airi, now that you have your car, let's have dinner. How about that?' This time, Airi paused, his eyelashes fluttering as if processing the slightly complex sentence.

A few seconds later, he nodded softly. The nanny and Master Heng breathed a long sigh of relief at the sight. 'It is a good thing you came, Teacher Wen,' Aunt Tang sighed.

'We thought the young master was feeling unwell and were about to call the doctor.' 'When spending time with Xingbao, one needs a bit more patience and observation. Over time, a rapport will naturally develop,' Wen Yicong replied.

She wore a gentle smile, her eyes filled with encouragement and affection as she took Airi's small hand and walked back to the dining table. She then leaned over, wrapped her arms around Airi's small frame, and exerted effort, attempting to lift him back into the high chair.

However, due to his Western heritage and sturdy bone structure, Airi was surprisingly heavy despite his small appearance. Wen Yicong misjudged the weight and, lacking sufficient leverage, instantly lost her balance and stumbled backward.

Just then, a large hand reached out from behind to steady her. The force was just right—providing support without being intrusive.

Wen Yicong, still shaken, turned around. Pei Xizhou’s handsome, jade-like face came into view. Embarrassed and flustered, she whispered, 'Thank you.' Pei Xizhou curled his lips but said nothing, reaching out to take Airi from Wen Yicong’s arms.

Not daring to let go completely, Wen Yicong kept her hands hovering on either side of Airi, and together with Pei Xizhou, they settled the little one back into his high chair. When Mo Shaoshang walked into the dining room, he caught this scene exactly.

From his perspective, the young therapist's slender, petite frame was almost entirely blocked by the man; the two were standing extremely close, their movements in caring for the child so synchronized and intimate that they looked like a family. This image landed in Mo Shaoshang’s eyes like a poisoned thorn.

A cold, sharp light glinted in his blue-black eyes, and with a blank expression, he walked over slowly. 'Sir.' 'Mr. Mo.' Master Heng and Aunt Tang lowered their heads and called out respectfully.

Hearing their voices, Wen Yicong paused and instinctively looked up. She locked eyes with Mo Shaoshang. He was looking at her, his gaze dark and gloomy like a sky heavy with clouds before a storm, or like a beast having locked onto its prey—raw, greedy, and unmasked, as if he wanted to swallow her whole.

Her heart gave a violent jolt, and Wen Yicong felt an inexplicable panic, like a child caught doing something wrong. The intensity of his gaze was overwhelming; unable to bear it, she lowered her eyes, looked away, and greeted him softly, 'Good evening, Mr.

Mo.' Mo Shaoshang replied flatly, 'Good evening, Teacher Wen. Please, take a seat.' Wen Yicong nodded slightly and sat down in the chair next to Airi as instructed.

After a long while, Mo Shaoshang finally shifted his gaze away from Wen Yicong, then tilted his head slightly to glance at the handsome man beside the high chair. Pei Xizhou’s gentle, jade-like face remained calm.

He tugged at the corner of his mouth and said in a half-joking tone, 'I came uninvited today; I hope I haven't made myself a nuisance.' Mo Shaoshang ignored Pei Xizhou and sat down at the head of the table. A servant handed him a sterilized hot towel, which he took, lowering his eyes to wipe his hands with a composed and unhurried demeanor.

Time ticked by, and the dining room was deathly silent, save for the faint sound of Airi spinning his toy car wheels. Sensing the sharp, biting, and cold pressure radiating from the master of the manor, everyone’s nerves tightened involuntarily, and no one dared to breathe loudly.

Wen Yicong, puzzled, frowned slightly and cast a quiet glance at Pei Xizhou. The man stood poised by the table, his expression not having changed much from before; he still wore a breeze-like smile, radiating a warmth that seemed capable of melting ice.

After looking at Pei Xizhou, she couldn't help but turn her gaze to the head of the table. Mo Shaoshang was still slowly wiping his hands, his eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses lowered, his long lashes occasionally fluttering like two rows of black feathers.

Just sitting there in that relaxed, languid manner, he formed a moving portrait. Wen Yicong couldn't help but feel suspicious: Pei Xizhou was a guest, and by all logic, a guest shouldn't rashly take a seat without the host’s permission.

But the master of this house... had he forgotten there was a living, breathing person standing here? It couldn't possibly be on purpose, could it?

As Wen Yicong pondered this, her brows furrowed deeper. Pei Xizhou was left standing aside, yet he maintained his composure with grace.

Watching him, and recalling the subtle, hesitant expressions Aunt Tang and Master Heng had shown when mentioning the current relationship between Pei Xizhou and Mo Shaoshang, she began to understand. After several more seconds, only when all ten of his well-defined fingers were wiped clean did Mo Shaoshang speak coldly: 'Please, sit.' Pei Xizhou’s expression remained unchanged, and without a word, he sat down on the other side of the table.

Ever since the death of the elder of the Mo Family, Mo Cunxun, Pei Xizhou had rarely stepped foot in the Mo Family Manor. His last visit was three months ago, when Airi had just arrived in Jinghai.

Pei Xizhou, who had been on an exchange program in the United States, heard the news and specifically set aside his work to fly back thousands of miles to visit the little nephew with whom he shared a special bond. Although the relationship between Mo Shaoshang and Pei Xizhou could not be called close—and was even somewhat delicate—Pei Xizhou had, after all, grown up in the Mo Family Manor and had been carefully nurtured by the old master.

Master Heng, mindful of old ties, still made special arrangements for his visit. Dinner was Chinese cuisine. Staff in uniform, well-trained, brought various exquisite dishes to the table one by one.

Wen Yicong’s eyes flickered. During her time as a therapist at the Mo Family Manor, she had observed that the daily menu at the Mo table was light; aside from Western meals, the Chinese dishes focused on the natural flavors of Jiangzhe and Cantonese cuisine.

Based on this, Wen Yicong inferred that Mo Shaoshang’s palate leaned toward the mild. Yet, tonight’s spread included several vibrant, spicy dishes: Mapo Tofu with boiling red oil, the numbing sensation of Sichuan peppercorns and the fragrance of chilies weaving through the air; boiled beef floating in an enticing layer of red oil; and shredded pork in garlic sauce with an overflowing aroma...

The rich, heavy colors of these dishes stood in stark contrast to the lighter ones on the table, their fragrance so appetizing it made one’s fingers twitch. Clearly, the change in tonight’s menu was entirely due to Pei Xizhou, this special guest.

Wen Yicong guessed that these intense flavors were likely Pei Xizhou’s preference. Given Mo Shaoshang’s attitude toward Pei Xizhou, it wasn't hard to guess that this was Master Heng’s arrangement.

As Wen Yicong pondered, her gaze lingered on the bright red dishes, and she became momentarily distracted. Noticing where her eyes were fixed, Mo Shaoshang spoke softly, breaking the silence at the table: 'Are these dishes not to your liking, Teacher Wen?' Wen Yicong came to her senses, smiled, and explained, 'No, that’s not it.

My grandmother was from Tongcheng. When I was little, she often made Mapo Tofu and boiled meat slices for me. Seeing these dishes suddenly reminded me of her, so I drifted off.' 'Teacher Wen’s grandmother was from Tongcheng?' Pei Xizhou, sitting opposite, suddenly interjected with surprise in his tone.

Wen Yicong nodded. 'Yes.' A deeper smile bloomed on Pei Xizhou’s lips as he said, 'What a coincidence. My mother was also from Tongcheng.

When I was very young, she would often cook Tongcheng dishes for me herself.' As he said this, the gentle light in his eyes dimmed imperceptibly, revealing a trace of nostalgia and melancholy, before he shook his head with a smile, his voice tinged with regret.

'It’s just a pity my mother left us too soon.' A sense of loneliness flashed through Pei Xizhou’s eyes. Recalling his history of losing his parents at a young age, Wen Yicong felt a pang of sympathy.

Not knowing how to respond, she thought for a few seconds, smiled politely, and said, 'I actually know a few places in Jinghai that serve decent Tongcheng cuisine. If there’s a chance in the future, I could take Dr.

Pei to try them. Those shops have quite a good reputation.' Pei Xizhou chuckled upon hearing this and replied, 'If a place can earn Teacher Wen’s praise, it must have its merits.' He paused for a second, his tone carrying a hint of playfulness.

'Then I shall wait for Teacher Wen to contact me when you have time to take me out for a meal.' This suggestion was purely a polite social pleasantry, and Wen Yicong didn't think much of it, simply curving her eyes and laughing, 'Alright then.' And so, Wen Yicong carefully tended to Airi, guiding the little boy in using his utensils, while chatting with Pei Xizhou across the table, the two of them exchanging words back and forth.

Just then, with a 'clatter,' the small spoon in Airi’s hand fell to the floor. Wen Yicong was about to bend down to pick it up, but Pei Xizhou, sitting on the outside, was faster.

He leaned over first and retrieved the spoon. A servant waiting nearby immediately took the spoon, hurried to the kitchen’s cleaning station, and moments later returned to hand the clean spoon back to Pei Xizhou.

Pei Xizhou smiled, held the spoon up before Airi’s eyes, and raised his arm slightly to avoid the little boy’s direct grab, then, imitating Wen Yicong, guided him softly: 'Spoon. I want, spoon.' Airi lifted his small face, his lips moving as he struggled to squeeze out a few syllables: 'Spoon...

I want spoon...' Pei Xizhou showed his approval and handed over the spoon. Wen Yicong was also delighted by Airi’s attempt at expression; she curled her lips and exchanged a look with Pei Xizhou.

A remarkable rapport. Mo Shaoshang’s face was as cold as ice; he remained silent throughout, eating his meal without a word.

Before long, Airi was full and began to impatiently slap the table. Seeing this, Aunt Tang habitually stepped forward, wanting to pick the little boy up, but was stopped by a shake of Wen Yicong’s head.

Wen Yicong smiled, watching Airi silently, her eyes full of expectation and encouragement. The little boy, seeing that no one paid him any mind after slapping the table for a while, seemed confused and anxious, and then opened his mouth, laboriously squeezing out a few syllables: 'I want, I want down, down...

I want down...' 'That’s amazing, Airi!' Wen Yicong was overjoyed. 'High five!' The little boy seemed to sense her joy, waving his small hands and pressing his thumb against hers.

Aunt Tang smiled too, reaching out to lift the high chair’s tray. Wen Yicong stood up and reached out, preparing to lift Airi out.

Suddenly, a cool breeze brushed her cheek, and a crisp, unique scent of cedar—strange yet familiar—invaded her senses without warning. Her fingertips trembled, and she turned her eyes to see that Mo Shaoshang had arrived at her side at some point.

He leaned over, bent his waist, and scooped Airi into his arms with a smooth, decisive motion. Wen Yicong was stunned, unable to react for a moment, and instinctively said, 'Mr.

Mo, what are you...' 'I am taking Airi to rest.' Mo Shaoshang’s tone was indifferent, devoid of emotion. 'Excuse me.' With that, he turned and walked out of the dining room with Airi.

Wen Yicong glanced toward the head of the table. His rice was almost untouched, and he seemed to have only symbolically touched a few dishes.

She couldn't help but blurt out, 'Are you finished eating already?' Mo Shaoshang did not stop his pace, leaving behind a cold 'Hmm,' and his tall, cold, and stern back soon disappeared in the direction of the elevator. Wen Yicong sat back down, holding her chopsticks, but she had lost her appetite.

She recalled the various expressions and gestures Mo Shaoshang had shown since entering the dining room. His icy gaze, his deliberate act of ignoring Pei Xizhou, his nearly untouched dinner, and his abrupt departure at the end... she couldn't help but feel that something was strange.

Just then, a conversation in hushed tones drifted from the direction of the pantry, faint and indistinct, reaching Wen Yicong’s ears. It was Master Heng’s voice: 'The master has a headache; prepare a ginger tea later.' The chef replied, 'Understood, Master Heng, I will.' A trace of worry quietly sprouted from the bottom of Wen Yicong’s heart, like a tiny vine, winding upward and gently wrapping around her heart.

A headache? Was he ill? Or was he too exhausted from work? Pei Xizhou, sitting opposite, noticed the fleeting abnormality in her expression, set down his spoon, and asked softly, 'Teacher Wen, what is it?' Wen Yicong composed herself, gave Pei Xizhou an indifferent smile, and shook her head: 'Nothing.' Pei Xizhou curled his lips and suddenly spoke again, half-teasingly: 'Getting along with Mr.

Mo is not an easy task, is it?' Wen Yicong was choked by the question; fearing walls might have ears, she didn't dare tell the truth and could only smile with a strong desire for self-preservation: 'How could that be? Mr.

Mo is handsome, elegant, and charming, and he is a very good person.' Pei Xizhou was amused by her vivid expression: 'Mr. Mo grew up abroad, and the education he received was the most orthodox Western elite culture.' At this point, Pei Xizhou paused for a second, leaned in slightly, looked into her eyes, and said softly, 'Such a nobleman, compared to us normal people, will always be a bit different.' This sentence seemed to carry some hidden meaning.

Wen Yicong didn't understand and looked confused: 'Hmm?' Pei Xizhou smiled: 'Nothing.' Hearing this, Wen Yicong didn't ask further. She lowered her head to eat a piece of vegetable, chewing slowly, her expression thoughtful. * After dinner, the autumn rain outside the window not only failed to stop but grew even denser.

The rain wove diagonally, tapping against the lush greenery of the manor and the clean window glass, the sound continuous and persistent, adding a touch of biting stillness. Pei Xizhou did not stay long.

After dinner, he bid farewell to Wen Yicong and was escorted to the entrance by Master Heng himself. Wen Yicong stood under the porch, watching the taillights of Pei Xizhou’s car light up, drive into the rain, and finally disappear at the end of the manor’s driveway.

Afterward, she pulled her knit cardigan tighter, turned around, and climbed the stairs to give Airi his evening rehabilitation lesson. After a period of systematic, high-intensity cognitive training, Airi was already able to point to and name many common objects in daily life, such as 'cup,' 'ball,' and 'car,' which was undoubtedly an exciting milestone on the road to recovery.

Tonight, Wen Yicong had specifically prepared a set of color recognition cards, intending to begin guiding Airi in identifying basic colors. The lesson started off smoothly enough.

Airi showed interest in the bright red and warm yellow, and under Wen Yicong’s guidance, was able to maintain brief eye contact. However, when Wen Yicong brought out a blue card, Airi’s reaction was completely different.

He almost immediately looked away, his small brows furrowed, and he even waved his little hands in agitation, trying to push the card away. He displayed clear rejection and resistance.

By nearly nine o'clock, the lesson ended. The nanny took Airi to his bedroom for a bath. Wen Yicong stayed in the playroom, putting the scattered cards and teaching aids back in their places.

She picked up the neglected blue card, gently rubbing her fingertips over the smooth surface, her brows furrowed in thought. A moment later, she opened her notebook and wrote a line: 'Airi shows clear rejection and resistance to the color blue; the reason is unknown, and it requires further observation and exploration of the underlying cause.' This discovery made Wen Yicong vaguely uneasy.

Color preferences were usually normal, but such a clear and strong negative reaction in the world of a child on the autism spectrum was sometimes not accidental and could be associated with specific, unpleasant sensory memories or experiences. Wen Yicong thought it over and decided to inform the child’s sole guardian of this discovery.

Having made up her mind, she packed her things and went to the study on the third floor. She knocked on the door, but there was silence inside; no one answered.

She turned and walked toward the master bedroom, knocking on that door, but it remained silent as well. Mo Shaoshang was not in the study, nor was he in the bedroom... had he gone out?

Wen Yicong was puzzled and went down to the first floor, where she ran into Auntie Zhang. The woman had just walked over from the direction of the kitchen, carrying a steaming, reddish-brown liquid.

Wen Yicong curled her lips and greeted, 'Auntie Zhang, you’re still busy so late.' As she spoke, her gaze fell on the small white porcelain bowl, and with a mix of curiosity and concern, she asked, 'Is this Chinese medicine? Is someone ill?' Auntie Zhang stopped and smiled kindly: 'It is ginger tea, prepared for the master.' Wen Yicong was stunned, instantly recalling what Master Heng had told the chef during dinner.

She couldn't help but ask softly: 'Does Mr. Mo often have headaches?' Auntie Zhang sighed softly, lowered her voice slightly, and said: 'The master’s sleep quality has been poor for years.

Sometimes when work pressure is high, or if he didn't rest well the night before, he is prone to headaches the next day. Ginger tea drives away the cold and warms the body, which can provide some relief.' 'So that’s how it is.' Wen Yicong nodded after hearing this.

Auntie Zhang: 'Is Teacher Wen looking for the master?' 'Yes.' Hearing this, Auntie Zhang’s gaze lingered on the young girl’s soft, beautiful face. Her mind turned, and she handed the ginger tea to her, saying: 'Master Heng just said he had an urgent matter for me.

Could I trouble Teacher Wen to do me a favor and deliver this ginger tea to the master?' Wen Yicong was kind by nature, and seeing an elder ask for help, she naturally wouldn't refuse. She nodded earnestly without any suspicion, took the ginger tea, and asked: 'Where is Mr.

Mo now?' 'In the art studio in the wine cellar.' Auntie Zhang smiled slightly. 'Thank you.' 'You are most welcome.' * Outside the window, the rain had suddenly intensified at some point.

The once fine drizzle had turned into a downpour, with bean-sized raindrops slamming against the windows and roof, as if wanting to swallow the entire manor. The pitch-black night sky was torn by flashes of lightning, tree shadows swayed violently in the gale, and the sound of thunder rolled in, low and oppressive, like a giant beast moaning and roaring behind the clouds.

Wen Yicong carefully took the tray containing the ginger tea from Auntie Zhang, the warm sensation passing through the porcelain wall. Following the path in her memory, she walked toward the spiral staircase leading to the underground wine cellar.

Pushing open the heavy, soundproof door, a rich, mellow aroma of wine rushed to meet her, mixed with the unique woody fragrance of aged oak barrels, enveloping her. The wine cellar was dimly lit, with only a few wall lamps embedded in the walls emitting a faint, gloomy glow.

After a long while, passing through the vast and empty forest of wine racks, she finally arrived at the closed door of the art studio. She stood still.

Her heartbeat accelerated inexplicably; Wen Yicong took a soft breath, steadied herself, and then raised her hand to lightly knock on the door with her knuckles. 'Knock, knock.' The sound of knocking echoed in the silent wine cellar.

After a few seconds, or perhaps longer, a man’s voice came from inside. Because of the door panel, it was slightly muffled, his tone cold and without a ripple: 'Who.' Wen Yicong’s heart tightened for no reason; she pursed her lips, cleared her throat, and replied: 'It, it is me, Wen Yicong.' She paused and added, 'Mr.

Mo, the kitchen has prepared ginger tea for you; I have brought it to you.' There was a pause inside, then: 'Come in.' Having received permission, Wen Yicong tentatively reached out and pushed the door open to enter. The art studio was almost devoid of light, plunged in darkness.

A few faint rays of light from the wall lamps filtered through the door crack, barely outlining the general contours of the room: a huge easel, scattered paints, stacked canvases—everything was shadowy and indistinct. The air was filled with a mixture of paint and wine, somewhat stifling.

Wen Yicong squinted, trying to adapt to the darkness, and placed the tray on a table near the door. 'Mr. Mo?' she called out softly, turning her head to scan the surroundings.

However, as far as she could see, besides the hazy shadows of furniture and art supplies, there was no sign of Mo Shaoshang, nor could she perceive any movement from him. The entire studio was terrifyingly quiet, save for her own breathing and the increasingly violent sound of the rain outside.

She was suspicious, muttering to herself, 'Where did he go?' when suddenly, a breath brushed against the skin of her ear, carrying a scorching heat that instantly triggered a series of sensitive shivers. Wen Yicong was startled and, almost reflexively, wanted to dodge.

Unfortunately, it was too late. In the darkness, a hand gripped her slender wrist and pinned her against the wall, causing the giant easel nearby to shake.

The sudden turn of events made Wen Yicong cry out softly. Her eyes widened in shock, and at a distance of mere inches, she locked eyes with a pair of blue-black eyes.

It was Mo Shaoshang. The gold-rimmed glasses that symbolized his rationality had been removed at some point, and his handsome, cold, and fierce face was completely exposed in the shadows.

With no barriers left, he stared straight at her, his eyes bottomless, filled with a dark light she had never seen before. It was like a spider’s web, tangible as it enveloped her, every thread sinking into her bones.

It was also like the deep sea under a storm, churning with thick, ink-like madness and near-desperate longing. Chaotic, restless, feverish, and dangerous.

'Mr. Mo...' She was terrified to the extreme, her lips trembling as she tried to steady the tremor in her voice. Feeling the scalding heat of his palms and breath, her panicked heart was tinged with a trace of worry, and she asked softly, 'You are so hot; are you ill?' Mo Shaoshang did not speak.

He just stared at her steadily, pursing his lips slightly, the arc of his throat moving. He looked truly frightening; Wen Yicong instinctively assumed he was not in his right mind and that it was not the time to discuss Airi’s situation, so she hurriedly said: 'The ginger tea is on the table; I will leave now.

I won't disturb you...' As she spoke, she twisted her wrist, struggling to escape his confinement. However, that large hand was like a mountain, heavy with immense force; no matter how she twisted, it remained unmoved.

Wen Yicong was even more afraid. The rich, intoxicating aroma of wine permeated every inch of the air, along with the intense masculine pheromones, leaving her head somewhat dazed.

As if possessed, she reached out to push him away. How could Wen Yicong know that the spark had already been lit, and it was only Mo Shaoshang’s last shred of reason resisting and restraining it.

Her touch at this moment, the sensation of her soft, smooth fingertips, became the final gust of wind that allowed the wildfire to sweep across the plains. In the blink of an eye, the string in Mo Shaoshang’s mind called 'reason' snapped completely.

His expression was calm, and without a sound, his palm bone rubbed and tightened, pinching her chin. '...' Wen Yicong’s long lashes fluttered.

She watched helplessly as he lowered his head and leaned in. His thin, handsome lips parted. And he kissed her fiercely.