Incurable Chapter 23 part 3

They walked home under one umbrella.

Mu Wan had been rained on, so she headed straight to the guest bathroom like she’d done it a hundred times. When she came out, all the damp heat had been rinsed off her skin. Her cheeks were pink from the shower. She was still wearing Liu Qianxiu’s shirt—long, loose, swallowing her small frame, leaving her legs bare and pale below the hem.

His sweet-and-sour lotus root tasted good. Mu Wan had filmed all day and hadn’t eaten properly. She finished two bowls of rice.

Afterward, she carried the three kittens into the living room.

The moment she sat down, lightning ripped open the black sky outside and flooded the room with harsh white light. Then the rain turned violent—pouring down like buckets.

“Big storm tonight,” Mu Wan said, listening to the thunder roll.

The three little ones were terrified. They kept burrowing into her arms. Mu Wan circled them with both hands, feeling their tiny bodies shake.

“They’re so scared of thunder,” Mu Wan murmured. Another crack of thunder hit, and the kittens flinched again, their cries tight with panic.

They were still so small. Of course, they were afraid.

She used to be afraid, too, when she was a child. Later, she learned not to be. Thunder was loud, but it wouldn’t strike her. She didn’t have to fear it.

Liu Qianxiu sat at the low table with a book. One page lifted slightly beneath his fingers. He glanced at the trembling kittens in Mu Wan’s arms, then looked away again.

Outside: lightning and wind, rain like war drums.

Inside: quiet, warm, steady.

Mu Wan relaxed without noticing she’d done it. She laid her arms on the table and rested her cheek on them. Rain and the soft sound of turning pages filled her ears. Sandalwood calmed her. Curled at the table, Mu Wan’s eyelids sank closed.

Liu Qianxiu’s schedule was ruthlessly consistent. When the hour came, fatigue arrived with it. He closed his book and looked toward the low table.

Mu Wan was asleep.

Her breathing was even and deep. One hand cushioned her cheek atop her folded arms. Thick black hair covered part of her face, like a veil.

Under that veil were long brows, slightly upturned eyes, curled lashes, and lips as glossy as ripe fruit.

She slept quietly—quietly, yet with a lazy softness, like a kitten that had played itself tired, found a safe spot, stretched once, and dropped into sleep.

Soft lamp light cast her small body into a faint shadow on the floor.

She’d been out for a while, long enough to forget the three kittens trembling in her arms. They mewed a few times, searching for comfort, and when it didn’t come, they toddled off with their wobbly steps.

They found another shelter.

Before long, all three were pressed against Liu Qianxiu as they slept.

He glanced at the time—ten o’clock.

Outside, the lightning had faded, but the rain was still fierce and showed no sign of stopping.

Liu Qianxiu stood, carried the kittens to the cat room, and set them down. Then he came back out and stopped just outside the circle of lamplight.

Under the lamp, Mu Wan, the low table, and the books looked like a finished painting.

Her sleeping posture wasn’t comfortable—her slim back tilted slightly, the collar of his shirt falling open to reveal a pale shoulder. One leg had slid free beneath the oversized hem, long and white in the shadow.

Still, she didn’t wake. Her breathing stayed slow and steady.

Liu Qianxiu stepped into the painting.

When his left arm slid around her waist, he caught her scent again—lily-of-the-valley, and beneath it the thin layer of sandalwood from his soap and his clothing.

His lips pressed together. He lifted her with one smooth motion, right arm hooking under her knees.

She was light.

In the white shirt, she felt like a feather. As he picked her up, the feather moved—her head tucked deeper into his chest, her fingers catching his shirt.

She even let out a soft, displeased sound, as if being moved was an offense.

Her breath was warm, spilling into his arms.

With the lamp behind them now, the room fell into shadow. Her features blurred. He saw her eyelids twitch.

“You’re awake?” Liu Qianxiu asked quietly, his voice deep as night.

“I’m not,” the woman in his arms whispered back, husky and low.

For a second, Mu Wan’s heart lodged in her throat. She clung to the warmth, fingers tightening at his chest. Her voice turned lazy and soft, as if it drifted out of a dream.

“Liu Qianxiu… can I stay tonight? I’m tired. I don’t want to go home.”

As she spoke, her head stayed buried against him, breathing in sandalwood. It was as if she fell asleep again right there.

And before she slipped fully under, she heard his answer.

Outside, the rain beat the world into chaos.

His voice, against that storm, sounded almost gentle.

“Mm,” Liu Qianxiu said softly. “Do whatever you want.”

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