Seventeen Vine Moon

Jiang Li first met Liang Zhou Yue while she was uncomfortably dressed in a gown, hiding in his resting room to adjust her attire. 
Seeing him, she became so nervous that she couldn't pull up the zipper, her embarrassment palpable. 
That day, Jiang Li felt an unusual tug at his heartstrings and helped her with the zipper twice. 
Upon their next encounter, he was the campus prince, and she was everyone's darling. 
He played basketball on the field, while she, in her flowing dress, sat in her boyfriend's passenger seat. 
It was then that Jiang Li understood he had to see things through to the bitter end. 
To seize love forcefully, to take advantage of her vulnerability. 
After all, such a beautiful woman should naturally belong to him. 

Liang Zhou Yue never thought she would be liked by a man five years her junior. 
He was rebellious, cold, proud, and remote, but he always responded to her every request. 
On a hot summer day, Liang Zhou Yue was stopped by a downpour at the entrance of the teaching building, with swirling filthy water and sludge on the steps below. 
As she worried about how to return to her dorm, a man's rigid spine bent in front of her. 
Jiang Li's tone was always so languid, casually stirring distress: "Sister, I'm afraid you're scared. I especially came to carry you home today." 
In that moment, Jiang Li, who had never gotten close to a girl before, submitted to her before everyone.

Deliberate Infatuation

At eleven o'clock at night, Liang Zhou Yue, exhausted to the point of falling asleep, was jolted awake by a sense of oppression.


In a daze, she felt a series of minute touches, followed by a tingling sensation as if she had been electrified.


One hand against the man's chest, she stretched out the other to switch on the bedside lamp.


With a click, Liang Zhou Yue finally saw Jiang Li's face clearly.


"Jiang Li, I'm tired, can you please spare me?"


The man's face, illuminated by the warm yellow light of the lamp, appeared more defined.


The gentle visage from two years ago had now turned into a more mature, and icily handsome countenance, with shadows of time lending a rich coldness to his features.


His hair, which was about to touch his shoulders, was somewhat damp; he had gathered it all behind his head, revealing a smooth and full forehead, exuding a wild and dominant aura. The man, fresh out of the bath, carried the natural fragrance of shower gel.


Chapter 115: Inhuman in the Dead of Night