During The Blizzard (Amidst A Snowstorm Of Love)

Canto 15: Cat And Mouse In Love

"Love is like a game of cat and mouse, a playful pursuit where one chases and the other teases, making each step an essential move in the dance of affection."

Translator: Wuxia Studio, Editor: Wuxia Studio

"Care for a drink?" Lin Yiyang inquired, his voice smooth as polished marble. Her heart fluttered in an unwelcome rhythm. "Choose whatever suits your taste," he added, his gaze flicking towards hers for a fleeting moment, sending a jolt through her.

"Wine," she promptly replied the word tight in her throat. Their synchronized response led to a strained chuckle as if they were marionettes pulled by the same invisible strings.

"I'll handle the drinks, you take care of the food." He rose with an unnerving grace, returning with a bottle of wine. His movements were calculated, eyes never leaving hers as he skillfully uncorked it, the sound echoing in the strained silence.

The neck of the wine bottle hovered above her glass, a silent question. "How much?" he queried, his voice husky, sending shivers down her spine.

"Top it off," she declared, her voice braver than her heart felt. "I can hold my liquor. First time on stage, downed it in one, ended up tipsy and triumphant."

Lin Yiyang chuckled, a single, hollow sound. It wasn't the warm laughter that had earlier disarmed her. This one spoke of secrets and hidden depths.

It marked the first occasion someone declared to him, "I'm a good drinker," their words laced with an unspoken challenge.

The amber liquid filled the glass, yet her attention remained fixed on the one pouring. His every move was etched in her mind, fueling the storm of emotions within her.

The hot pot bubbled between them, a cauldron of simmering heat mirroring the emotions simmering beneath the surface. Each bite of vegetables felt like a deliberate pause, a stolen glance across the steam a charged inquiry. Manners and conversation were strained, punctuated by the clinking of chopsticks and the slosh of broth.

Yin Guo, cheeks flushed from the wine, her voice a touch too loud, dipped her vegetables with exaggerated care. The alcohol loosened her tongue, blurring the lines between playful and provocative. Lin Yiyang, his gaze laser-focused on her, barely touched his food, content to drain his glass instead. Empty bottles lined his feet like discarded soldiers, a testament to his silent war with intoxication.

Despite the alcohol, his mind remained razor-sharp. When Yin Guo fretted about transportation, her concern masked by feigned nonchalance, his reply was clipped, dismissive. "Two men," he scoffed, "can find shelter anywhere." The unspoken implication hung heavy in the air, a challenge cloaked in indifference.

The pot dwindled, its contents consumed but the tension simmering on. Should they linger, prolong the inevitable confrontation, or initiate the ritual of cleaning, a tacit admission of defeat? Yin Guo stole glances through the steam, his dark eyes boring into hers, an echo of that unforgettable night. This close, she could almost discern the secrets dancing in their depths, the hidden desires veiled by stoicism.

He reached for the almost empty wine bottle, the gesture an unspoken question. Her reply, "I'm done," hung heavy in the air, a challenge of her own. She rose, stacking dishes with exaggerated precision, a silent battle cry.

"Leave it," his voice was low, almost a growl. "I haven't finished." The excuse hung thin, his gaze locked on hers. He stirred the nearly empty pot, a charade of hunger masking something deeper. Did he crave more food, or did he seek another kind of sustenance, one she wasn't sure she was willing to offer?