Ch.2 The Talkative Her and the Mute Him

Chapter 2

Sang Lu admitted it.

She was taking a gamble.

In that fleeting moment, countless thoughts had flashed through her mind.

Awakening was one thing.

Whether she could escape her tragic fate was another.

What if she woke up the next day only to be controlled by the plot again?

Rather than worrying about becoming the universally disliked character in everyone’s eyes, it was better to proactively change their impressions—first by establishing basic trust with Feng Yan, communicating more, and building a positive image.

Well… but now, being silently stared down by that man with an icy expression…

It was undeniably suffocating.

His gaze felt heavy, pressing down on her until she could barely breathe.

She didn’t know how long it lasted…

Or perhaps it was only a few seconds.

The man indifferently averted his eyes.

Gave a slight nod.

Silently acquiesced.

The oppressive atmosphere vanished, and Sang Lu’s spirits instantly lifted, her face breaking into a bright smile.

"I’ll go tell Aunt Zhang—I’ll call you when it’s ready~"

Yes!

If he was willing to eat together, there was still hope for their relationship!

With light steps, Sang Lu headed toward the housekeeper’s quarters.

The man tilted his head slightly, watching her retreating figure.

Even from behind, her good mood was unmistakable.

Though his eyes were a deep, inky black, a trace of confusion flickered through them.

What was she trying to do?

The thought crossed his mind only briefly before dissipating.

Never mind. It didn’t matter.

He had no intention of wasting energy deciphering the motives behind her every action.

It was just a meal.

……

Forty minutes later.

When Sang Lu reappeared before Feng Yan, she had changed into a bright yellow loungewear set.

The man lifted his gaze.

His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

Whether at the office or at home, he strictly adhered to a cold, solemn aesthetic.

The sudden intrusion of such a vibrant color was… jarring.

Had the person before him been an assistant or employee, he would’ve immediately issued a dress code reminder.

But Sang Lu wasn’t his subordinate.

So, he chose silence.

Completely oblivious to Feng Yan’s gaze, Sang Lu pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Now that I think about it, this might only be the second time we’ve eaten together, huh?"

"Wait—or was it the third?"

Though she phrased it as a question to Feng Yan, she didn’t even glance at him.

Half a second later, she answered herself with a clap of realization:

"Oh right, it’s the third—I almost forgot about that time at the family estate."

Feng Yan: "……"

At the dining table,

the two ate in silence.

Feng Yan picked up his food with delicate precision, chewing without a sound.

In contrast, Sang Lu’s movements were lively, her words plentiful.

When the spice hit her, she scrambled to pour herself water.

When she tasted a delicious soup, she exclaimed: "Wow, this is so good it could bring tears to your eyes~"

Throughout it all, Feng Yan didn’t spare her a single glance.

Had this been the pre-awakening Sang Lu, she would’ve interpreted his aloofness as deliberate indifference, letting resentment fester in her heart.

But now, her mental state was unnervingly healthy.

She didn’t overthink things at all.

Wasn’t it normal for someone who couldn’t speak to eat quietly?

Besides, given Feng Yan’s circumstances, if there was going to be any conversation, shouldn’t she be the one to initiate it?

With that in mind, Sang Lu mentally rehearsed what she wanted to say.

Once the meal ended and Aunt Zhang and Aunt Li had cleared the table,

she called out to Feng Yan just as he was about to leave.

"Wait a second—"

The man paused mid-movement, his cool gaze sweeping over her.

Sang Lu looked up at him with a cheerful smile:

"We don’t get many chances to talk, and since you’re home today, how about… we chat for a bit?"

The moment the words left her mouth,

Aunt Zhang and Aunt Li in the kitchen exchanged shocked glances.

Heavens.

How could the madam be so bold!?

Their hearts pounded in their chests.

The word "chat" was practically taboo—a sensitive landmine the madam had just stepped on without a second thought.

Given that the master couldn’t speak, every servant—whether at the Feng family estate or the Qinghe Bay residence—knew to maintain silence in his presence.

If words weren’t necessary, they shouldn’t be spoken.

And anything that might remind the master of his condition?

Absolutely forbidden!

The two housekeepers strained their ears, but no sound came from the living room.

They braced themselves, certain this was the calm before the storm…

In the living room,

Feng Yan’s expression was frosty.

After a long silence,

his brow creased slightly as he retrieved a small leather-bound notebook from his coat pocket.

Since he couldn’t speak, he relied on writing for communication.

Carrying a notebook and pen had long become habit.

He unscrewed the pen cap with deliberate slowness.

The nib touched paper, the scratching sound faint but clear.

A moment later, he placed the notebook on the table,

turning it toward Sang Lu.

Sang Lu leaned in to look—

and froze.

On the page, in sharp, forceful strokes, was a single word:

「Mn.」

Sang Lu: "……"

After all she’d said, she’d expected at least a few words in response.

Who knew he’d be this stingy—just one character!

He couldn’t even spare a punctuation mark!

Weren’t CEOs supposed to even cough with perfect grammar?

Someone was lying!

Though her mind was spinning with criticism, what came out of her mouth was entirely different.

"Sorry, sorry—"

So.rry.

Those two words were all too familiar to Feng Yan.

During company meetings, whenever an employee was presenting, a mere glance from him would often prompt an automatic "Sorry, Mr. Feng."

Their flustered expressions always carried an unspoken subtext: Sorry, I forgot you can’t speak—I shouldn’t have said so much in front of you.

His dark, fathomless eyes studied Sang Lu’s face.

She met his gaze—neither oppressive nor gentle—head-on.

And continued:

"—My question was pretty pointless. I guess ‘Mn’ is all you could really write, huh~"

With a light laugh, her eyes crinkling, she seemed to have a sudden idea.

"—How about this: I’ll talk, you listen, and you write down whatever you feel like answering. Sound good?"

"But seriously, how is your handwriting so good? I’m so jealous."

"I took calligraphy classes in elementary school, but only lasted a month—started strong, quit fast."

"Wish I’d stuck with it. Ugh~"

"Did you practice penmanship?"

"Ah, that doesn’t count as the first question, by the way. Hahaha."

Relaxed, Sang Lu’s chatty nature emerged in full force.

A single "Mn" from him had sparked an entire monologue.

With every sentence she spoke, the expressions of Aunt Zhang and Aunt Li in the kitchen grew more horrified.

They knew the master’s temperament—no one had ever dared be this noisy in his presence.

Feng Yan’s eyes held no warmth.

He listened impassively, then picked up his pen again with unhurried grace.

Sang Lu’s behavior today was unusual.

But they were, nominally, husband and wife.

If she had questions, he would answer.

「Yes. Practiced for some time.」

Sang Lu peered at the page and marveled:

"See, only dedicated practice gives your strokes that sharpness. My childhood teacher wasn’t lying."

Feng Yan: "……"

For her second question, Sang Lu deliberated briefly.

"How many days a month do you usually spend in the capital?"

Quickly, she added:

"(Not checking up on you, btw—just curious.)"

The man’s hand hesitated almost imperceptibly.

The unfamiliar phrasing from Sang Lu gave him pause.

His expression indifferent, he leaned back in his chair.

The pen scratched against paper once more.

No business trips recently.

As he wrote, Sang Lu stole a few discreet glances.

His lashes lowered, veiling his eyes, his jawline sharp and defined.

The sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing slender, pale wrists with a cool undertone. His hand, gripping the pen, had long, well-defined knuckles and faintly visible veins, exuding a subtle sense of strength.

She was an absolute sucker for good looks—and hands.

There was no denying it.

When it came to appearance and aura, Feng Yan was flawless.

His brows carried an elegant sharpness edged with a hint of arrogance, giving him a striking, almost aggressive handsomeness. Yet his silence tempered that boldness, making it elusive—adding layers of restraint and mystery.

Sang Lu couldn’t help but wonder…

If Feng Yan weren’t mute,

what kind of dazzling brilliance would he radiate?

As if sensing her unabashed gaze, she noticed him frown slightly.

She guessed he was probably annoyed by her endless questions.

Sang Lu posed one final inquiry:

"Last question..."

Feng Yan lifted his eyes indifferently.

His expression said, Go on.

"I’m pretty talkative. Back in middle school, I’d even get called out by the teacher for chatting too much with my desk mate and end up standing in punishment. But holding back what I want to say just feels… uncomfortable, you know?" Sang Lu admitted. "So, uh… do I annoy you with all this talking?"

Yes.

That was the first thought that flashed through Feng Yan’s mind.

Knowing himself, if she kept rambling, his patience would run out in under five minutes.

Sang Lu waited for an answer, her clear, liquid eyes fixed on him.

Feng Yan glanced at her, then at the leather-bound notebook.

When his gaze shifted back, Sang Lu instinctively straightened her posture, eager to leave a good impression.

To him, the gesture carried an unwitting trace of something pitiful.

Feng Yan paused for half a second before slowly looking away.

Against his usual cold demeanor, he wrote two words—

"It’s fine."

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