Chapter 30: It Is Sheng Yang Who Cannot Live Without Wen Jin

Just as she stepped inside, a hand caught her wrist.

Without even looking, Wen Jin felt the familiar, frigid aura radiating from him. She closed her eyes. "Sheng Yang, you are the one who has been emphasizing that I should not cling to you."

So why did he keep drawing closer to her now?

Because of the sudden mention of Jiang Wan, Wen Jin was in a foul mood and had little energy to spar with him. Sheng Yang dragged her by the wrist into a small nearby cubicle. The moment the door clicked shut, the sounds of the outside world were severed, and the entire world turned silent.

Sheng Yang stared at her, his beautiful eyes reflecting only her. "Are you going to Yangcheng?"

Wen Jin frowned, surprised that he had found out so quickly. Yet, it was not entirely unexpected; if Sheng Yang wanted to investigate, he would surely find out. She had kept it from him earlier because she was convinced he didn't care enough about her affairs to look into them.

Wishing to avoid unnecessary trouble, she said quietly, "My aunt’s birthday is coming up. It’s normal for me to go back, isn't it?"

Sheng Yang continued to stare at her intensely. He didn't believe her. A moment later, however, he chuckled, though the mirth did not reach his eyes. He released her wrist, his face cold. "I don’t know what you’re playing at, Wen Jin, but don't try to probe me with such clumsy methods."

Wen Jin felt nothing. The cubicle blocked out the light, leaving them in shadows. They could barely see each other's expressions.

"No one is probing you," Wen Jin said softly. "What are you so nervous and afraid of, Sheng Yang?"

Indeed. From the very beginning, she had done nothing, yet Sheng Yang was the one constantly spiraling into suspicion. Call it excessive caution or overthinking, it was always he who used his own assumptions to judge her and pass sentence.

Sheng Yang’s expression darkened. He unconsciously tilted his head back, his sharp jawline tightening. His fingers curled into his palms, then relaxed. He let out a scoff, his breathing heavy in the cramped space. "What kind of answer were you expecting? That I actually like you? That I care about you?"

Amused by the very notion, his laughter grew more pronounced. He watched her quietly before speaking with cruel coldness: "Do you think that’s even possible?"

Of course not. Wen Jin thought calmly that if this was what Sheng Yang called liking someone, then it was truly terrifying.

She offered no rebuttal, meeting his words with silence—the only way to keep herself composed. She didn't want to argue with him; it felt utterly pointless.

As expected, Sheng Yang’s tone grew harsher. "Men are possessive. Even if I don't like you, your body is perfectly compatible with mine. On that account alone, I’m reluctant to let you go. Otherwise, I wouldn’t keep you by my side."

A shameless thing to say. He turned and left, opening the door and walking away. His back, however, betrayed a hint of fury.

Wen Jin waited until his figure vanished into the crowd before stepping out of the cubicle.

"It seems your relationship isn't as bad as I thought." Ning Lang appeared from the side, holding a glass of wine, and gestured with it toward her.

Wen Jin glanced at him. "There is no relationship to begin with, so there’s no question of it being good or bad."

A flicker of surprise crossed Ning Lang’s eyes. "What happened? Why are you so unhappy?"

It was only then that she realized her emotions had been too visible. She closed her eyes, suppressed her feelings, and regained her composure. "It's nothing. Thank you for your help with Song Heng."

"Wait until he succeeds before thanking me," Ning Lang said, setting his glass aside. "Come on, let me take you home."

Wen Jin didn't move. She shook her head. "You’ve been drinking. I can go back on my own."

"I have a driver." Not allowing for a refusal, Ning Lang reached out and took her arm.

She was pulled forward two steps before they were blocked. Zhao Yimo stood there with several cronies, smiling with malice. "What’s this? We’ve been looking for you, and you’re trying to run off?"

"We said this was your welcome party. You can't bail on the brothers. We’re not leaving until we’re drunk tonight."

Ning Lang kept his grip on Wen Jin, maintaining a nonchalant smile. "My friend is tired. I’m taking her home."

Zhao Yimo’s gaze fell on Wen Jin with clear dislike. Not wanting to be caught up in their games, she tried to pull her hand away, but Ning Lang’s grip was firm. She sighed and reminded him, "You all go ahead and have fun. I can have a friend come pick me up."

Before she could finish, someone behind Zhao Yimo spoke up: "Ning Lang, since when did you get so close to Wen Jin?"

"Don't let her fool you. She used to be with Sheng Yang."

The moment those words were uttered, the entire area fell silent.

For the first time, someone had acknowledged her relationship with Sheng Yang in front of everyone. Wen Jin looked at the man and said softly, "I was never with Sheng Yang."

What she had with him could hardly be called a relationship. It was just her being a fool.

But she hadn't expected her words to fall directly into Sheng Yang's ears. He walked over slowly and stopped a short distance in front of her. His face was void of expression, his dull eyes fixated on her with overwhelming coldness. "Is that so?"

Wen Jin looked at the others beside him, her clear eyes devoid of ripples. "You all know it, don't you? Sheng Yang has always hated me. How could he possibly be in a relationship with me—"

That had always been his public stance. He was a proponent of bachelorhood, he hated Wen Jin, and he was just playing around with her. Yet, hearing those words coming out of her own mouth felt strangely unsettling.

Everyone looked at each other in confusion. Only Sheng Yang, his gaze shifting to Ning Lang, suddenly asked, "Are you saying this because of him?"

Was she trying to distance herself from him because of Ning Lang?

Sheng Yang stared at her, his anger turning into a cold, twisted amusement. His rigid, indifferent face slowly curled into a smile, though it made everyone’s blood run cold. He lifted a hand and began to adjust his cufflinks with measured, deliberate movements, his gaze sharp as a blade as he scrutinized her.

Zhao Yimo frowned at Wen Jin, ready to throw his usual barbed insults, but he caught Ning Lang’s gaze. Then, he looked at Sheng Yang, whose eyes were brewing with a violent storm.

A truly absurd thought crossed Zhao Yimo's mind.

It seemed that it wasn't Wen Jin who couldn't leave Sheng Yang.

It was Sheng Yang who couldn't leave Wen Jin.