"What are you doing here?"
The voice came low, smooth, and deep enough to roll down her spine like a stone sinking into a lake.
Lin Che froze.
Her mind went blank. Completely, utterly, spectacularly blank.
What was she doing here?
She blinked rapidly. Right. They'd been explicitly told not to come near the East Wing. Absolutely forbidden. Off limits. Out of bounds. A red zone. Yet here she was—standing inside it, staring up at the owner of the forbidden area himself.
Wonderful. Truly wonderful, Lin Che.
If there was an award for "Best Decision Made at Midnight," she would definitely be the first runner-up—because even she knew this was a terrible idea.
She couldn't see the man's face clearly. The light was dim, golden from a single wall lamp that painted his figure in shadow.
But his voice—
…that voice felt oddly familiar.
Her brows furrowed slightly. Where had she heard it before? It carried the weight of someone used to being obeyed. Calm, confident, commanding. Yet somewhere underneath that, there was something else—a quiet pull she didn't understand.
But there was no time for thinking. The man was waiting for an answer.
Her pulse leapt. Her thoughts scattered. Fear and confusion tangled together.
Oh no. Think, Lin Che, think!
Nan Lu's ridiculous words flashed across her mind. "Maybe a beast lives there, guarding some enchanted rose!"
A beast, huh?
Well, if this man was the "beast," then the fairy tales needed serious editing—because even in the dim light, Lin Che could tell he had the kind of tall, broad frame that artists loved to paint and girls loved to sigh over.
Oh no. Oh no no no. Focus!
Her lips parted before her brain caught up.
"...Sleepwalking."
A pause. A silence so thick she could hear her own heartbeat echo inside her ears.
Then, a soft huff of disbelief. "Sleepwalking?"
The single word was laced with pure amusement.
Lin Che's brain screamed run, but her body decided otherwise.
"Yes!" she declared, trying to sound very convincing. "I'm sleepwalking! Please, don't mind me! I am sleepwalking!"
And then, as if to add "authenticity," she closed her eyes and began waving her hands around in slow, awkward motions—like a drunk puppet trying to find its strings.
Gong Feng stared.
For someone who was supposedly asleep, she was doing a terrible job.
He pressed his lips together, trying—really trying—not to laugh.
It didn't work.
A quiet chuckle escaped him.
The great Gong Feng, the man who could freeze boardrooms with one glance, was laughing. At midnight. Because of a ridiculous girl pretending to sleepwalk in his private wing.
She kept flailing her hands, bumping into thin air, chanting like a broken record, "I am sleepwalking, do not mind me, I am sleepwalking, do not mind me—"
Every repetition grew louder, more desperate.
She even started tilting her head dramatically, as if following invisible moonlight.
It was… tragic. And hilarious.
But then Gong Feng noticed something alarming—she was wandering dangerously close to the side table near his study chair.
That thing had sharp corners.
He frowned and stepped forward quickly. "Watch out—"
Too late.
She took one step too far, tripped slightly—and instead of bumping into the table, she bumped straight into him.
The world tilted.
There was a startled yelp.
And in the next instant—
Thud!
Lin Che blinked.
Her palms were pressed against something firm. Warm. Very warm.
Her face felt hot—too hot.
She opened her eyes slowly… only to realize she was sprawled on top of him.
On. Top. Of. Him.
Her brain short-circuited.
The dim light from the wall lamp fell across the man's face, and for the first time, she saw him clearly.
Sharp jaw. Elegant nose. Eyes—dark and deep like midnight ink, gazing right back at her.
Her breath caught.
He looked nothing like a "beast." If anything, he looked like trouble sculpted into human form.
Oh heavens, this was worse!
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to still. The sound of crickets outside. The faint ticking of a clock. And the deafening rhythm of her own pulse hammering inside her chest.
Neither of them moved.
The silence stretched between them, thick enough to hear the pounding of two hearts echoing in rhythm. The air itself seemed to hold its breath, unwilling to disturb the stillness that had settled in the room.
Lin Che blinked once, twice.
Her mind had gone utterly blank again.
The weight of reality hit her only when her senses began to return—slowly, one by one.
And then she felt it.
A warmth—soft, lingering, unmistakably real—pressed against her lips.
Her eyes widened.
Wait… what—
Her gaze darted downward, and she froze completely. Her lips were on his.
For a full second, her brain refused to process the scene.
Her first thought: This isn't happening.
Her second: Oh no. This is definitely happening.
Gong Feng's eyes were open too, staring right back at her with the same stunned disbelief.
He looked… utterly dazed. Like someone who had just been hit by a wave and didn't know whether to sink or swim.
And then, as the seconds ticked by, something shifted in his expression—something quiet and unreadable flickered through those dark eyes.
Gong Feng could feel the faint warmth on his lips.
It was so soft, so fleeting, that for a moment he thought he was imagining it.
But the slight tremor in his heartbeat told him otherwise.
Everything around him—the faint scent of her hair, the warmth of her presence, the sound of her uneven breathing—felt too vivid to be a dream.
He had been caught off guard countless times in business and war of words, but this… this was different. This felt personal. This felt dangerous.
And yet… he didn't want it to stop.
Lin Che, meanwhile, was fighting for her life—mentally, at least.
Her thoughts were a storm. Oh no oh no oh no oh no what do I do what do I do—
She tried to push herself up quickly, but just as she shifted, Gong Feng's hands instinctively reached out—steady, firm—and caught her by the waist.
Her breath hitched.
She looked down, startled. "W-wait—"