Obsessive Young Master Wei: My Beloved Loses Control Every Night

On the afternoon of the fourth day, she finally received a reply.

However, it was sent by Zhou Mingyuan himself, but from an unknown number, and the message was very simple:

【Hello Ms. Bian, I am a colleague of Mr. Zhou Mingyuan. Mr. Zhou has been transferred to an overseas branch yesterday and his return date is uncertain.】

Before he left, he asked me to convey his gratitude to Mr. Bian for his past help and to thank him for his care.

It may be inconvenient to contact you in the future. Wishing you all the best.

Bian Zhizhi stood there, stunned.

Job transfer?

Emergency overseas assignment?

yesterday?

This is so sudden.

She had heard Zhou Mingyuan say on WeChat last month that he was in charge of an important project and would soon be promoted. How could he suddenly be sent abroad?

Moreover, it was an "emergency" transfer, so there wasn't even time to say goodbye, and he could only ask a colleague to relay the message.

This is completely illogical.

Although investment banking work is busy, such a major transfer cannot be rushed; there would at least be advance notice and handover time.

Moreover, Zhou Mingyuan was doing very well in China and had a bright future, so why would he suddenly choose to go to the overseas branch?

Not right.

There must be something wrong here.

But she couldn't quite put her finger on what was wrong.

She hesitated for a moment, then dialed back the unfamiliar number.

The phone rang for a long time without being answered. Finally, the message "The number you dialed is temporarily unavailable. Please try again later" came through.

She tried dialing Zhou Mingyuan's original mobile phone number again, but the message was "The number you dialed is currently switched off."

It's like they've vanished into thin air.

Bian Zhizhi sat on the edge of the bed, holding her phone, her heart filled with mixed feelings.

She should feel relieved; Zhou Mingyuan is no longer bothering her, and she has one less worry.

But that kind of disappearance without warning made her feel uneasy.

It's like... someone cleared the obstacles for her.

She was startled when the thought popped into her head.

How is that possible?

Who would care whether Zhou Mingyuan contacted her or not?

Who would go to such lengths for such a trivial matter?

Her breath caught for a moment.

Wei Zixian.

That day, she lied and said it was a spam text message.

He didn't press her at the time, but with his keen senses, he must have realized she was lying.

Given his obsession, he would definitely investigate the contents of that text message and find out who Zhou Mingyuan was.

Given his methods and the power of the Wei family, it doesn't seem like a difficult task for him to "urgently send someone abroad."

Could it really be him?

Bian Zhizhi suddenly stood up and paced back and forth in the room.

No, it's impossible.

She shook her head frantically, trying to deny the terrible thought.

Wei Zixian was just a patient.

He rarely even leaves this house, so how could he possibly reach out to the outside world?

Moreover, Zhou Mingyuan has a complex network of connections in the financial world, so he is not so easily shaken.

But if it wasn't him, then who was it?

coincidence?

What kind of perfect coincidence could there be in the world?

Right after she rejected Zhou Mingyuan, he was urgently dispatched abroad and cut off all contact.

That evening, it was healing time.

Bian Zhizhi was restless.

She sat at the table, organizing pottery materials, but her fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, almost knocking over the bucket of water next to her, splashing water onto the back of her hand.

Wei Zixian sat beside her, quietly watching her. Only after she finally calmed down did he speak: "You're not feeling well today."

"I'm sorry, young master," Bian Zhizhi said softly.

Wei Zixian didn't reply, but simply reached out and moved the clay figurine she had made in front of her.

That was a piece they made together last week, Bian Zhizhi's work.

It's a crooked little figure with indistinct features, arms and legs of different lengths, and a thin crack after firing.

To be honest, it's not good-looking.

But Wei Zixian treasured it, putting it in a velvet box and placing it in the most conspicuous spot on his desk.

"Don't worry." Wei Zixian's fingers traced the crack on the top of the clay figurine's head. "It will be alright."

Bian Zhizhi raised her head and looked at him.

His bangs had grown long, and his eyes were in the shadows, making them difficult to see clearly, but Bian Zhizhi could sense that he was looking at her.

Is this a form of comfort? Or...?

Bian Zhizhi dared not think too much about it. What if Wei Zixian was behind this?

She dared not ask, dared not seek confirmation, and could only pretend that everything was normal.

Wei Zixian, on the other hand, seemed to have returned to his previous "quiet" state.

Overall, this outcome is a good thing for her.

At least, no one bothers her anymore.

Bian Zhizhi breathed a sigh of relief and felt much happier.

It was another Thursday afternoon, and the healing session ended earlier than usual.

Because Wei Zixian was in very good condition today, he successfully completed all the healing procedures.

She suddenly thought of filling this empty time with reading.

There are many books on the bookshelves in the activity room.

From classic masterpieces to modern literature, from philosophical theories to poetry and prose, it has everything.

Bian Zhizhi lingered in front of the bookshelf for a moment, and finally pulled out a collection of poems.

Neruda's "Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair".

It is the original Spanish version, with Chinese annotations attached.

She sat down on the sofa, holding her book.

Wei Zixian sat next to her, holding a classic book in his hand, reading quietly.

Bian Zhizhi opened the book and began to read.

Her Spanish wasn't fluent, but her pronunciation was standard and her voice was soft.

"Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche..."

(Tonight I can write the saddest verses.)

She reads very slowly, pausing when she encounters unfamiliar words and glancing down at the Chinese annotations beside her.

Wei Zixian listened quietly, his gaze fixed on the pages of the book.

When she read the fifth poem, she felt a weight on her shoulders.

Wei Zixian leaned his head closer.

Bian Zhizhi's body froze instantly.

Her first reaction was to move it away.

Wei Zixian did not stop her, but glanced at her as if to confirm her attitude.

Then I gently touched her shoulder, as a warning.

Bian Zhizhi continued reading the poem.

His voice trembled slightly, but he managed to keep it steady.

"Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente..."

(I like it when you're silent, as if you've disappeared.)

When she read this sentence, Bian Zhizhi couldn't stand his closeness and the temperature of his breath, so she moved to the side, wanting to create some distance.

But as soon as she moved, Wei Zixian suddenly moved as well.

He moved closer to her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her into his embrace.

The book slipped from Bian Zhizhi's hands and fell onto the carpet.

"Young Master—" she exclaimed.

But Wei Zixian didn't give her a chance to finish.

He rolled over and pinned her to the sofa.

The movements weren't particularly rough, but they carried considerable force.

His knees were pressed against her legs, his hands were on her ears, and he was looming over her.

Bian Zhizhi was trapped beneath him, breathing rapidly, her eyes wide open.

This pose is too dangerous.

It was so dangerous that it reminded her of the look in his eyes when he kissed her by the piano that day—a look that seemed to devour her whole.

Wei Zixian looked down at her, his gaze lingering on her face.

"Two choices," he said, his voice low and husky. "First, continue reading, just like before, with me leaning against you."

He paused, leaned down, and his nose almost touched hers.

"Second," his breath brushed against her lips, "while in this position, finish reciting the rest of the poem for me."

Bian Zhizhi's mind went blank.

She quickly calculated in her mind.

Leaning on someone's shoulder is inappropriate, but it's at least a "relatively normal" form of physical contact.

Pressing someone down on top of you has crossed the line to an absurd degree.