Are You Trying to Seduce Me?

The sound of water in the bathroom stopped.

Ji Mian stood at the entrance of the suite, his heart gripped as if by an invisible hand, tightening abruptly in the brief silence that followed. Between his fingertips he held a cold plastic card—the apartment key card for Binjiang No. 1. The hard edges of the card dug painfully into his palm, as if reminding him of the absurdity and desperation of this visit.

He took a deep breath. The constant-temperature air of the hotel corridor carried the dry scent of the carpet, yet it could not soothe the burning in his chest. The countless speeches he had rehearsed in his mind now scattered like a school of frightened fish, leaving only the most shameful motive floating bare on the surface.

"Private compensation," he murmured to himself, trying to gloss over his inner panic with the word. It sounded far more respectable than "bribe" or "hush money," and was more fitting for his status as the Young Master of the Ji Family—a kind of condescending charity that brooked no refusal.

He raised his hand, but his knuckles froze an inch from the door.

The door opened on its own.

Cheng Yan stood right behind it. He had clearly just showered; his slightly damp black hair was messily draped across his forehead, a few strands still dripping water. His upper body was bare, with only a white hotel towel loosely wrapped around his waist, revealing large expanses of wheat-colored skin tanned by the construction site sun. His muscles were sharply defined, exuding a vigorous, untamed vitality. Water droplets slid slowly down his broad shoulders, solid chest, and clearly chiseled abs, disappearing into the edge of the towel, carrying a kind of unguarded sensuality.

When those deep-set eyes met Ji Mian's, there was no surprise at all. Instead, like a hunter who had been waiting long enough, he calmly sized up the prey that had delivered itself to his doorstep.

Ji Mian's breath was instantly choked off. All his rehearsed opening lines stuck in his throat. He had imagined many scenarios, but never this one. This most primal, most direct physical impact made his carefully constructed psychological defenses crumble precariously.

"Something on your mind?" Cheng Yan's voice was lower and huskier than usual, carrying the moisture of his bath. It was lazy, yet exuded an all-knowing pressure.

Ji Mian's cheeks flushed uncontrollably. His gaze scrambled away from that solid chest, fell onto the messy bed behind Cheng Yan, then darted back as if burned. Finally, he could only stare fixedly at the tips of his expensive custom leather shoes.

"I... I'm here to..." he stammered, the palm holding the key card already slick with cold sweat. "I'm here to talk to you about compensation."

Cheng Yan said nothing. He simply stepped aside, clearing a path. The gesture itself was a silent invitation, and also a silent taunt: Do you dare to come in?

Ji Mian had no choice. He gripped the key card tightly, as if holding onto his last lifeline, and walked in with stiff steps.

The room was filled with a mixture of smells: the crispness of hotel disinfectant, the soapy scent of body wash, and... Cheng Yan's unique masculine presence, carrying a hint of sweat and construction dust, aggressively invasive. This scent enveloped Ji Mian, making him feel as if he had wandered into the lair of a wild beast.

"How considerate of the Young Master of the Ji Family," Cheng Yan said, closing the door behind him. The soft click sounded like a闸门, completely cutting off Ji Mian's retreat. He walked unhurriedly to the sofa, picked up a black old T-shirt, and pulled it on. His movements were casual, but his gaze remained fixed on Ji Mian like two searchlights. "Coming all the way here in the middle of the night for a personal delivery."

He emphasized the word "delivery," the sarcasm unmistakable.

Ji Mian's face reddened further, almost bleeding. He forced himself to look up, meeting Cheng Yan's mocking eyes, and held out the key card. He tried to make his voice sound steady and natural: "About the compensation we discussed earlier—the plan my brother gave you, I don't think it's thoughtful enough."

He paused. Seeing that Cheng Yan was just looking at him with no intention of taking the card, he could only steel himself to continue: "That kind of public compensation might be troublesome for you. I've prepared another... private one."

He said the word "private" softly and slowly, even tilting his chin up slightly, imitating the actors in movies, trying to project a hint of allure. But his trembling eyelashes and reddened eyes betrayed his guilt and fear completely.

"This is an apartment at Binjiang No. 1," he said, shaking the card. "Fully furnished, move-in ready. No one from my brother's side, no eyes from the Ji family. Absolutely quiet. Think of it as... my personal compensation to you."

He finally finished speaking, his heart racing, waiting for Cheng Yan's reaction. He had imagined Cheng Yan might be surprised, might be tempted, might even greedily take the card. As long as he took it, there would be room for negotiation, and he would regain the upper hand.

But Cheng Yan just looked at him silently for a long time. His gaze was bottomless, as if appraising the quality of goods, or watching a pathetic one-man show.

Then he let out a low laugh.

"That's it?"

The laugh landed like a slap across Ji Mian's face.

"You think I'm short of a place to live?" Cheng Yan's tone was calm, but it was like a sharp knife, peeling away Ji Mian's pathetic facade layer by layer. "Or do you think your 'private compensation' is only worth a measly apartment?"

Ji Mian's face turned deathly pale. All his calculations, all his smug "charity," had become nothing but a joke before Cheng Yan.

"I... that's not what I meant..." he fumbled, trying to explain, wanting to take back the card that had made him lose all face.

But Cheng Yan was faster.

One step. Just one step, and the distance between them was completely erased.

A wave of hot, oppressive masculine energy instantly enveloped Ji Mian. He could even smell the lingering moisture in Cheng Yan's hair. Ji Mian instinctively stepped back, but his lower back slammed heavily against the cold wall with a dull thud.

Nowhere to retreat.

Cheng Yan was a head taller, and now he leaned down slightly, one hand braced against the wall beside Ji Mian's ear, trapping him completely between himself and the wall. That body—which had just been lingering in Ji Mian's mind, so full of power—now locked him in place with an intensely aggressive posture.

"What do you mean, then?" Cheng Yan's voice was very low, his breath brushing against Ji Mian's sensitive ear, sending a shiver through him. "Young Master Ji, you dress up like this, come to my room in the middle of the night, hand me an apartment key card, and talk about 'private compensation'..."

His gaze slowly traveled downward, carrying a scorching heat, from Ji Mian's reddened eyes, past his straight nose bridge, and finally resting on his slightly parted, pale lips.

"...Are you trying to seduce me?"