Chapter 17: Under Currents

Jiang Mu returned his gaze firmly, each word deliberate: "I don’t want to know."

She could already guess—it would only be old grudges and tangled romances from a past life. She had no desire to learn more, nor the strength to absorb any additional information now.

Mu Anyan was unsettled by the girl’s stubbornness, a rare feeling for someone usually so composed.

Eventually, he relented, his voice low: “You need to rest at home first.”

She looked at him, noticing the fatigue etched onto his usually sharp and reserved face. The long journey must have worn him down.

She was tired too.

So she didn’t resist any longer.

Once inside his car, a pleasant fragrance greeted her, and she finally leaned back and fell asleep.

Rushing back from school without a moment’s rest, with so much happening, she hadn’t had time to process anything and was forced to accept it all.

When Jiang Mu reopened her eyes, she was still in the car.

Her sleep had been restless—only an hour of light slumber—and her mind remained unsettled.

She glanced at the time: half past four in the morning.

The man stared out the window, the moonlight casting his jawline in striking relief, making his features appear especially calm. Somehow, under the moon’s glow, his usually stern gaze softened, revealing a hint of tenderness.

Perhaps sensing her gaze, he turned and met her eyes.

She stared at him, expressionless.

“Awake?” His voice was rough.

---

Jiang Mu responded with a soft hum, then rolled down the window beside her, only to find herself in an utterly unfamiliar place. Before she could ask anything, he unlocked the door: “Get out.”

Still groggy from sleep, she followed him out.

Along the way, she murmured vaguely, “Sorry, Dad.”

He stopped. “What?”

She moved her lips slightly, lifting her eyelids: “I was unreasonable back at the old house. Don’t blame me. Grandmother’s situation was hard to accept, and then memories of Mom... I just lost control for a bit.”

He studied her quietly, then said in a low voice, “It’s alright.”

After that, neither spoke. They took the elevator upstairs, one after the other.

Arriving at the designated floor and entering the home, Jiang Mu blinked and rubbed her eyes. This wasn’t a hotel, nor her own home, and she felt clearer: “Where is this?”

“My place.”

Jiang Mu froze for a moment.

Then reality dawned on her, and she snapped back to awareness.

The apartment had two bedrooms and a living room, decorated with a minimalist yet elegant style. The furnishings were simple—several books and files rested on the living room table, and the study overflowed with work documents, filled with the pulse of daily life.

This must be where he usually lived.

“Am I staying here tonight?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered shortly.

Just then, the doorbell rang. He opened the door and took in a delivery, handing it to her: “These are your change of clothes.”

---

Jiang Mu frowned and took the package, glancing inside as he said, “For now, wear my clothes. I remember you had a bit of an aversion to unwashed clothes.”

She recognized the contents: just disposable underwear.

Then she watched him enter the master bedroom and return with a white shirt for her.

Holding it up to the mirror, she said, “Isn’t this too big, Dad?”

Seeing his expression that seemed to say “Just make do,” a spark of curiosity lit within her: “Can I borrow some of Fang Muqing’s clothes instead?”

“There aren’t any of hers here,” he replied, surprised she brought up her name but not avoiding the topic.

“Have you not been with her for a long time?”

Mu Anyan’s mood darkened; he felt the girl’s words were deliberately sharp.

He was reluctant to answer.

Yet the girl spoke as if discussing everyday matters, her tone indifferent: “But didn’t you say you still had physical needs for her?”

Her voice was always like this. Most of the time, he tolerated it because it was harmless, but this time she had completely twisted the facts.

He was about to clarify seriously, but on her pale, soft face were eyes brimming with a fierce, probing intensity—like a rose full of thorns. He sensed complexity swirling within her gaze.

They held each other’s eyes for a few seconds, an unspoken current flowing between them.

“Usually, I’m the one who goes to her.”