Chapter 40: Late

The meeting ended at 5:30, and the sky wasn’t dark yet.

Yang Yi returned alone to her hotel room with the brown sugar Feng Liancheng had bought; there was still time before nightfall, and flying over now would draw attention, so she lay on the bed to rest, recovering her spirit and strength.

But exhausted, she fell asleep without realizing it, dreaming she stood barefoot in a small stream, the water cool and clear, the bottom lined with smooth pebbles, occasional small fish nudging her feet with gentle kisses. The sunlight was perfect, warming her skin, surrounded by birdsong and insect chirps—lively yet serene.

Then the ringtone woke her.

She picked up her phone—it was nearly 9 p.m. The caller was Chris.

Damn it!

Outside, night had fallen. Yang Yi didn’t answer the call; she let it ring. She opened navigation, set the destination to Elro International Hotel, and flew from the balcony into the night sky.

The moment the ring ended, Yang Yi stood on the hotel’s rooftop terrace.

The interior glowed with light. She entered the sitting room connected to the terrace—its decor was the work of a master, quietly luxurious and elegant—but Yang Yi paid no attention to any of it. Her eyes locked immediately on the man on the brown leather sofa.

The sofa faced her at an angle; Chris sat sideways, seemingly lost in thought, staring at his phone. His attire revealed how seriously he took this date: a British three-piece suit, even a tie clip, his brown-black hair combed back—but in the long wait, a few strands had fallen over his temples, lending him an air of melancholy.

Yang Yi could see only his profile—the dramatic contours, like blue deep pools hidden behind dense forests, the prominent Adam’s apple beneath the tight collar—made her heart pound wildly.

He was tightly wrapped in the three-piece suit; beneath the tailored fabric, the faint outline of firm, bulging muscles emerged, his tall frame forming a silhouette—a beautiful image.

He was like the most expensive non-sale item in the most luxurious jewelry exhibition, something she had never even had the right to enter, only stared at for countless nights and days at the sapphire on the promotional poster.

Before coming, she had been certain this sapphire had been carefully packaged and delivered to her doorstep, waiting only for her to pluck it.

But now, as his figure came into view, the sapphire vanished—only he remained, only Chris Norton, a living man who could laugh, feel hurt, eagerly show her his collection—what was he thinking now?

Her pounding heart raced faster and faster; the strength she had barely gathered suddenly drained away. She felt weak, ears ringing, only her heartbeat accelerating—faster, faster—like a drum.

She felt she must find a place to sit and rest, to ease this inexplicable symptom.

Her inner uncertainty made her want to retreat immediately; she instinctively didn’t want him to see her like this.

How could she explain her lateness? Say she accidentally fell asleep? What would he think—that she was just stringing him along, playing some coy game?

Yang Yi felt confused. Slowly, she backed out of the room and sat by the pool on the terrace, staring blankly at the moon.

Suddenly, Yang Yi snapped awake, sensing someone slowly approaching behind her—she realized it was Chris.

“Why are you sitting here alone?” Chris asked softly, sitting beside her and turning to face her.

Yang Yi looked at his face—this was the second time she had seen him so closely. His charm and allure were like a legendary sword, razor-sharp, slicing through her defenses in an instant, leaving them in ruins.

“I was thinking about how to explain why I’m late,” Yang Yi said.

Chris watched her intently for a moment, then suddenly smiled. “No need to explain—you’re already here.”

For the first time, Yang Yi realized that if your heartbeat races too fast, it can make breathing difficult—like being drowned. Like as a child, suddenly shoved into a river, the air in her lungs dwindling, trying desperately to hold her breath until her chest felt ready to burst, then gasping for air—only to have water rush into her lungs, powerless to struggle, sinking slowly into the depths, consciousness fading…

She covered Chris’s eyes with her hands. “Don’t smile at me. You probably already know—I’ve been obsessed with you for years. Your charm is magnified a thousandfold for me. I can’t resist.” She said it jokingly.

But she knew she wasn’t joking.

Chris laughed harder. He blinked, his thick lashes brushing her palm—tingling, crawling all the way into her heart. His breath warmed her hand, making her face burn.

She thought, I’m done for. I have zero experience in this—facing a seasoned expert, I’m only inviting pain.

Before arriving, she believed she was here to claim the sapphire, to taste whether the cake lived up to her imagination. She was confident, certain she could easily win him over. But the instant she saw the sapphire—even before touching it—its brilliance blinded her. Her confidence vanished like a punctured balloon, collapsing into a heap of mud.

Chris gently took the hand covering his eyes. Her hand was slender, not soft, with thin calluses on the palm. He tenderly brought it to his lips and kissed it. Seeing Yang Yi’s face instantly flush red, even flustered, he smiled.

That blush made his hours of waiting suddenly meaningful; his restless anxiety melted like sugar in hot water.

He had begun preparing for this moment before the sun even set. Confident, he prepared for battle, making thorough strategic preparations—like an explorer venturing into a new world, ready to face hardship, certain he would be rewarded.

But time slipped away as he waited. The sun slowly sank below the horizon; the twilight burned like his heart—burning, burning—until darkness fell, leaving only ashes.

Until the night curtain rose and the moon hung high, she still hadn’t come.

He searched for reasons: Had something delayed her? Was she working overtime? Had she been pulled away to handle another alien incursion?—Did she even know I was still waiting? Had she forgotten me already?

Am I not important to her at all? Then why be so late without even a single call?

Has she woken from her fantasy obsession and realized I’m nothing special? Has she met enough truly outstanding people now that I no longer seem worth noticing?

A flood of questions rose and sank in his mind. He sat alone, waiting from afternoon to evening, from sunset to moonrise. The candles in the sitting room nearly burned out; only the roses still exhaled their sweet fragrance, drifting in the lonely air.

This was a unique experience, a feeling he had never known before—it made him almost unrecognizable to himself.

This self-pitying melancholy made him feel like an idiot.

He finally dialed her number—but no one answered. The dial tone mocked him.

Yet she came at last. She was flustered, even afraid to enter and face him directly, unsure how to explain her lateness. This retreat delighted him, pulling him from self-doubt, lifting him instantly from the depths to the peak—this rollercoaster ride nearly made him dizzy.

He didn’t care about her lateness at all. He even welcomed it, grateful for whatever caused it, because it proved she still felt drawn to him, still obsessed—on some level, he was now in complete control.

Merely this realization satisfied him—more than enough to repay all his waiting.

He took her hand and walked into the sitting room. The candles had long burned out; the food had passed its peak flavor—he had instructed the butler to prepare everything in advance, to avoid anyone discovering their relationship.

“Shall I have them bring a new meal?” he asked, looking down at Yang Yi.

She looked at the setup, then at the food on the table. Her expression showed nothing—no joy, no disgust. Only in her dark pupils did a strange emotion seem to ripple—Chris, proud of his emotional perception, felt nothing at all.

She walked over, picked up a rose from the table, brought it to her nose, and sniffed. “No, this is enough.”

Yang Yi walked toward him, smiling with the red rose in hand. Chris’s pulse spiked. His heart pounded like a gun was pointed at him. In a flash, the scene felt familiar—though it was his first time seeing it, it seemed as if he had lived it countless times in his mind.

She suddenly wrapped her arms around his waist. Chris raised an eyebrow, startled.

Yang Yi smiled. “I’ve always remembered—you said you wanted wings to fly freely through the sky…”

An invisible force lifted him. The scenery around them blurred past. In an instant, they were in the sky.

Below, the city’s countless lights stretched like a galaxy along the hills and plains, twinkling softly, as if slowly flowing.

Chris had seen this view before—many times, flying in his private jet, gazing down at the earth, at the city—but never like this: standing freely in midair, like a god watching over humanity.

Is this her perspective?

Yang Yi loosely held his waist—he understood it was only for his psychological comfort; the real support came not from her arms, but from the invisible mental force around them—her awakened ability.

“I’m letting go now. Don’t worry—nothing will happen,” he heard Yang Yi say.

She slowly released her hold. He floated completely in midair. He moved his arms and legs—free, utterly unbound, as if gravity no longer affected him.

Chris’s movements encouraged Yang Yi. Like a child eager to show off to a friend, she wanted to reveal every ability she had—to amaze him, to make him look at her differently, to ensure he never underestimated her again—ideally, to imprint this moment forever into his heart…

A thought suddenly struck her, quickly turning into an urge. She couldn’t wait to act on it.

“Come on, let’s play—we have all night,” Yang Yi said, struggling to contain her excitement.

Before Chris could respond, they shot rapidly toward the wilderness, landing on a remote mountain wasteland. Yang Yi glanced at him and smiled. Then, weightless, they plummeted from ten thousand feet.

Chris’s face paled, but his eyes glowed with excitement. When they reached the forest canopy, they glided over it, brushing the treetops like a hurricane bending the trees low.

Then, they flew just above the treetops, like two birds skimming the water’s surface.

They soared over mountains, darted through canyons, skimmed low over water, leaving long ripples behind, and flew through thick clouds, weaving between flashes of lightning.

Chris thought, even real birds couldn’t do better. He felt freedom—absolute, unbound freedom. At this moment, all earthly fame and fortune seemed as insubstantial as smoke. To a free bird, what did human delicacies or fine clothes matter? Beautiful concrete boxes only trapped freedom; steel four-wheeled carts only limited distant steps.

The initial tension vanished quickly. He became lost in this boundless freedom.

He looked at Yang Yi. Her lips curved slightly, adding liveliness to her usually cold face. Her eyes remained calm, dark as ink, gazing far into the distance—even in her most tender moments, she seemed lost in thought.

Everything that now amazed and stunned him was merely her daily life.

“We’ve reached the sea,” Yang Yi said.

The sea at night was mysterious and dangerous. Beneath the undulating waves, countless terrifying beasts seemed to lurk. A full moon hung silently above, reflecting shimmering light on the water.

They flew just above the surface, occasionally seeing fish leap up and accidentally collide with her mental barrier, dazed and disoriented.

Suddenly, the waves below erupted—a massive mouth lined with sharp teeth lunged toward them. The two tiny figures looked like two mice facing a lion on the savanna.

Chris’s heart jolted. Yang Yi laughed softly. Instantly, their bodies rose. The mouth snapped shut—empty. Slowly, it sank beneath the waves.

From above, the beast’s shadow in the water resembled a submerged island. It gracefully shifted its body—as if the attack had merely been a playful game.

Yang Yi thought: If I want to trigger the suspension bridge effect, when could there be a better opportunity?

She had heard that when a person nervously crosses a suspension bridge, their heart races. If someone else is beside them at that moment, they mistake the physiological reaction caused by fear for attraction to that person—and fall in love.

So the best way for two unfamiliar young people to date is to do something thrilling—to experience heart-pounding excitement together, then believe it’s love.

I must do something to force his heart to race. Take him flying, soaring over mountains and canyons, hunting monsters, chasing the moon, doing every dangerous, thrilling thing—while he’s heart pounding, I’ll be beside him. He’ll think it’s because of me.

Even if it’s fake “attraction”—no matter what, he must fall in love with me, to compensate me for years of obsession.

I want to control his fate. I want him to laugh for me, cry for me, suffer for me—even kneel before me, begging me to love him. Let this distant, untouchable star submit to me, become a badge on my chest.

She looked at Chris. He stared down at the sea monster, his expression one of shock and curiosity—like a boy seeing Godzilla for the first time.

Yang Yi watched him, like a predator fixing its gaze on prey.