Obsessive Young Master Wei: My Beloved Loses Control Every Night

It was almost eleven o'clock when the car entered the Wei residence.

Most of the windows in the house were dark, with only the foyer and corridor lit up, like silent eyes in the late autumn night.

To Bian Zhizhi's surprise, Wei Yanqiu was still awake.

She waited in the living room, without turning on the main light, only turning on a floor reading lamp.

She sat in a single sofa by the lamp, holding a book in her hand, but the pages remained untouched for a long time.

Hearing the car, she closed her book and stood up.

Seeing that they had returned safely, the tense expression on her face eased slightly.

"Is everything going smoothly?"

She asked Bian Zhizhi, but her gaze immediately fell on Wei Zixian, who was standing half asleep beside Bian Zhizhi.

Her gaze lingered carefully on his face.

"It went smoothly, Mr. Wei," Bian Zhizhi reported softly, helping Wei Zixian to steady himself.

"Young Master is adapting better than expected. He finished the movie and had a good dinner. He's just tired now."

Wei Yanqiu took two steps closer and carefully examined Wei Zixian's face. Indeed, apart from exhaustion, there were no other signs of fatigue.

On the contrary, there was even a relaxed calmness between his brows.

She nodded and said to Bian Zhizhi.

"You've worked hard. Take him back to his room to rest. You should get some rest too."

"Yes."

Bian Zhizhi and the maid who arrived quietly helped Wei Zixian back to his bedroom on the second floor.

I helped him take off his coat and shoes, and watched him lie down in bed, falling asleep almost the instant his head hit the pillow.

Standing by his bedside, looking at his sleeping face, Bian Zhizhi's slender frame, which had been holding on tightly, seemed to have its last bit of strength drained away, and it swayed slightly.

tired.

Exhausted, both physically and mentally.

Not only physically, but also mentally.

The kind of exhaustion that comes from constantly weighing and tearing between professional ethics and human instincts, between safety boundaries and emotional authenticity with every step you take.

She returned to her room, closed the door, and finally let out a long sigh of relief.

Finally, she was all alone.

It allows one to shed all the composure of an observer, the calmness of a guide, and all the caution one displays when dealing with Wei Yanqiu.

Exhaustion, like a black tide, rose from my feet, over my chest, and choked me.

She slid down to the floor, hugged her knees, and buried her face in her arms.

Something is definitely starting to get out of control.

And she seemed powerless to stop it.

The day after that movie, Wei Zixian woke up earlier than usual.

Morning light streamed through the gaps in the curtains, shrouding the bedroom in a bluish-gray hue.

He lay flat on his back in the middle of the bed, staring at the ceiling.

But at this moment, what appeared in his mind was not the fake starry sky, but the flowing light and shadow on the big screen, and the hand that had been held.

The palm seemed to still retain the touch, warm but not too forceful, supporting him steadily when he trembled, and gently kneading his knuckles when he clenched his fist.

The pulse, transmitted through his skin, beat by beat, gradually synchronized with his heartbeat.

Wei Zixian raised his right hand and stared at his palm in the dim light.

He tried to recall how he gripped the hand.

First, his fingers were wrapped, then his thumb was gently pressed against the web between his thumb and index finger, while the other four fingers held the back of his hand.

The pressure was just right, not too tight or too loose, which should have been very comfortable, but Wei Zixian still felt a bit nauseous at himself for being so affectionate.

He let go, hoping that Bian Zhizhi would hold his hand like that again.

His thoughts always jumped around very quickly in the early morning, and he suddenly remembered a scene from a movie.

The male protagonist runs in the torrential rain, his shirt soaked and clinging to his body, revealing the outline of his shoulder blades.

The light from the screen shone on Bian Zhizhi's profile, making her eyes appear bright.

When the male protagonist finally embraced the female protagonist, he heard a gasp from beside him.

Was she feeling sad for the characters in the movie? Is it because she has such strong empathy that she's so nice to him?

Wei Zixian turned over and buried his face in the pillow.

This was a scent he had been familiar with for ten years.

But today, something else seems to have mixed in with this smell.

Shampoo? Or perfume? He didn't know.

The scent was very faint; it would only waft over briefly when she leaned forward occasionally, before quickly dissipating in the wind.

But he remembers.

I remember it too clearly.

Breakfast time is 7:30.

When Wei Zixian came downstairs in his dark gray pajamas, the tableware was already set on the long table in the dining room.

Butler Li stood by the window, adjusting the curtains to let the morning light stream in at a gentle angle, cutting a diamond shape into the teak floor.

"Good morning, young master." Butler Li turned around and nodded slightly.

Wei Zixian nodded.

This is a courtesy gesture that he has only recently resumed.

He had previously tried to avoid even eye contact.

He sat down in his usual spot.

From this angle, you can see the terrace extending out of the floor-to-ceiling windows, beyond which lie layers of mountains and forests, where autumn colors are slowly spreading, green interspersed with yellow, and yellow tinged with red, like an overturned palette.

The maid brought breakfast: vegetable porridge, shrimp dumplings, a small dish of blanched broccoli, and a cup of soy milk.

Wei Zixian picked up a spoon, scooped up a spoonful of porridge, and paused for a moment before putting it in his mouth.

He looked up and gazed at the restaurant entrance.

At this time, Bian Zhizhi should already be sitting in the seat opposite him.

She would quietly eat her breakfast, occasionally exchanging a few unimportant words with him.

If he didn't respond, she wouldn't continue; she would simply turn her gaze away and look at the mountains outside the window.

But today, that spot is empty.

The rising steam from the porridge blurred his vision.

He held the spoon up until the steam dissipated and a thin film formed on the surface of the porridge.

"Ms. Bian is organizing her healing plan for this week in the study."

Butler Li's voice came from behind, "She wants you to eat first, there's no need to wait."

Wei Zixian lowered his eyes and put the slightly cooled porridge into his mouth.

The rice was cooked to perfection, but he couldn't taste it; his mouth felt completely numb.

He chewed and swallowed slowly, his gaze falling on the empty chair opposite him.

The chair has a deep red velvet cushion and an intricate floral pattern carved on the backrest. The surface is smooth and shows no signs of being sat on.

She's not here.

It wasn't pain, it wasn't nausea, it was emptiness.

It's as if something that should have been there has been taken away.

Even though she was only late, and even though she would be there soon, the feeling that "she wasn't where she should be" still made him uncomfortable.

Wei Zixian finished the last bite of porridge.

He suddenly remembered a similar sound effect in a movie.

It's the sound of a glass being placed on a marble table.

In a bar late at night, the male protagonist slams his whiskey glass down and says to the bartender, "Another one, please."

At that moment, Bian Zhizhi's fingers curled slightly.

Her right hand, which had been resting loosely on the armrest, flicked her index finger towards her palm the moment the glass made a sound, but the next second, the finger relaxed again.

She was nervous.

At that moment, he had an absurd thought.

If he were the one making that sound, would she react too?

Could she also react that way because of his emotional fluctuations?

"Young master, would you like more porridge?" the maid asked softly.