Chapter 20 Teaching Someone to Fish: Carrying Her Upstairs

The wind in Beicheng had been quite strong these past two days, howling fiercely outside the window.

Inside, Zhao Jichuan yanked open the door and casually tossed his suitcase by the entrance.

Han Rao hadn’t even had time to take in the layout of the room before the man urgently kissed her. She sat on the white shoe cabinet by the entrance, forced to tilt her head back to meet his questioning gaze.

Han Rao chuckled softly, cupping his face with both hands. Her fingertips lingered on his burning skin, gently sliding down to trace his Adam’s apple.

Zhao Jichuan felt a sudden stiffness in his back. He grabbed the restless hand, pushed her legs away with his knee, and said hoarsely, “Didn’t you say you fell? Let me see.”

Saying that, Zhao Jichuan pulled off her black boots. Seeing her layered clothing underneath, he couldn’t help but laugh at her, “Back for hibernation?”

Han Rao rolled her eyes at him, “I’m just afraid of the cold.”

She was actually very afraid of the cold, and it might have been that a few years ago, while filming, she had injured herself without taking it seriously. Every winter, if her legs were exposed to the cold wind because she wore too little outside, they would hurt.

Zhao Jichuan recalled the scene he saw of her filming in Hengdian, and his heart suddenly tightened. He clearly remembered that day she wasn’t wearing much and was kneeling, crawling in the snow.

Layer by layer, like peeling an onion, he took off her jeans and flesh-colored leggings, his gaze fixed intently on her legs.

Her legs were exactly what people online called “comic legs”—straight, slender, and fair.

Unfortunately, there were still faint bluish bruises lingering on that leg. He knew they were left from her filming; she had mentioned last time that there were quite a few action scenes in this drama, and she did them all herself without using a stunt double.

Zhao Jichuan’s hand covered the bruises on her leg, gently rubbing them as he asked her ambiguously, “Does it still hurt?”

Han Rao arched her back, hooking her hands around his neck, her hot breath brushing against his face. She said, “It hurts. Didn’t I tell you? I fell just to see you.”

Then, that hand covered his hand, lightly tapping it. “How about it, Mr. Zhao, help me rub it?”

Zhao Jichuan naturally didn’t believe her nonsense. He kissed her lips, his hand gripping her knee, parting her legs, and wrapped his arms around her waist to lift her up.

Han Rao hung on him like a sloth, leisurely being carried upstairs by him.

The process was both long and brief.

Han Rao was confused, wondering why he was in such a hurry. He acted as if he missed her to the bone, unwilling to wait even a second longer. Once inside his private space, he couldn’t wait to devour her completely.

Han Rao tightly wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her head in the hollow of his shoulder. The faint scent of sandalwood on the man’s body wafted to her nose, and she smiled contentedly before biting down on his shoulder.

This was an unprecedented experience; Zhao Jichuan strongly felt the sensation of being needed, of being depended upon by her.

She seemed like a drifting duckweed floating in the air, scattered by the slightest breeze, fragile and vulnerable. And he was her savior—she could only cling to him, holding him tightly, unwilling to let him go, yet opening the door wide to warmly welcome him whenever he arrived.

Zhao Jichuan touched her damp hair and gently kissed the fine sweat on her forehead.

Han Rao was dazed from his kiss; she thought, maybe she did want to see him after all.

Zhao Jichuan had long since seeped into her very being like poison. She loved his body, his rhythm, his sweat, and the way he looked at her with raw, unfiltered desire in his eyes.

She was probably truly happy, dopamine flooding her system, her legs restlessly swinging in the air.

Zhao Jichuan stepped firmly and steadily up the stairs. Her childish, sugar-high antics had just caused them to part for a moment.

Zhao Jichuan frowned and lightly slapped her on the butt.

Han Rao was momentarily stunned. This slap was strange, unlike the last time when it carried a sense of shame and reprimand.

On the contrary, she felt a spark of excitement and pleasure, her scalp tingling and her toes curling.

Han Rao was startled by her own thoughts and softly called his name, “Zhao Jichuan.”

Zhao Jichuan wrapped his arm around her waist and chuckled lowly, “Last time it hurt, were you sulking with me?”

He still remembered.

Han Rao shook her head, wanting to say it wasn’t like that; she actually didn’t like being treated that way by him.

But at this moment, she couldn’t bring herself to say it, because right now, she liked it very much.

Han Rao felt as if two people lived inside her body—one obedient, upright, and innocent; the other wild, dark, and lustful.

She really liked this version of herself; she felt she had never truly understood herself so deeply before.

Lost in thought, Zhao Jichuan had already stepped into the bedroom.

His bedroom was decorated in a European and American style, dominated by shades of gray, white, and black—simple, comfortable, and elegant.

The curtains were tightly drawn, blocking out all sunlight, much like him. From the very first time she saw him at President Du’s drinking party, she felt he was a man with deep layers, someone few could truly get close to.

Han Rao was placed on the bed by him, still kneeling, her gray turtleneck sweater not yet removed.

Zhao Jichuan gripped her slender waist, beads of sweat dripping onto the sweater.

Suddenly recalling something, he gently tapped her again.

Han Rao looked back at him, her eyes glistening with tears.

Zhao Jichuan chuckled softly, “So this is what Rao Rao likes.”

Han Rao’s ears and neck flushed red; she bent down, letting him tease her.

She suddenly felt that he understood her better than she did himself, like a mirror reflecting her darker side.

When it was over, the two sat apart on opposite sides of the bed, separated by an invisible barrier.

Zhao Jichuan lit a cigarette, and Han Rao looked at him with a bright smile.

He understood her gaze, stood up in silent agreement, stuffed a cigarette into her mouth, and then lit it for her with his own.

In the pitch-dark bedroom, two little sparks flickered and burned, gradually turning to ash.

Han Rao exhaled softly and asked bluntly, “Is this your home?”

“Yeah.” He looked at her, gripping her hand, “If you like it, you can come often.”

Although he often stayed in hotels, he always needed a place to call home.

And he was very generous with her, willing to share his place with her.

Han Rao received a definite answer, and a surge of electricity ran through her heart. She didn’t know what his definition of “home” was. But in her definition, home

was a highly private space that belonged solely to oneself, a place where others were not allowed to intrude.

This time he brought her home, but she didn’t understand what he was really thinking. She also didn’t know how many women he had brought to this house before.

Did the woman who called him last time also come here?

Han Rao scanned the room, trying to catch even the slightest clue. But clearly, she failed.

Zhao Jichuan’s house didn’t even carry the faintest breath of life, let alone the appearance of someone having visited regularly.

Zhao Jichuan ruffled her hair, noticing the hesitation in her eyes. “Ask whatever you want.”

Han Rao stood up and straddled him, pressing her hands against his chest. In this position, she was on top, giving a strong sense of dominance.

“Then be honest, besides me, have you said this kind of thing to other women?” Her brows arched, looking especially alluring.

“Do you want to hear the truth or a lie?” he countered.

Han Rao lifted her leg and got off him, then jumped straight off the bed. She smiled and said, “Then you might as well lie. Otherwise, I’ve already boarded your pirate ship—what if I find out you’ve already been married?”

She tugged at the corner of her mouth, “I admit my sense of morality isn’t very high, but it’s not that low either. If I really were a third sister, you better keep it from me. If I find out, be prepared to pay me an astronomical breakup fee, or I’ll make your life miserable.”

Zhao Jichuan didn’t know what was wrong with her, suddenly acting so out of character, like a jealous woman, each sentence more biting than the last.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her back, their noses brushing together. “Han Rao, don’t you think it’s too late to be asking this question now?”

The rice has already been cooked; now you’re starting to wonder if he has a family or other women.

He didn’t know that it was precisely because she was beginning to care about this that she was pressing him.

“So you just don’t dare to answer, huh?” she said.

Zhao Jichuan pinched her earlobe, “Yes, I’ve not only been married, but I also have two kids. Forgot to tell you, besides you, I have about eight or nine other women.”

“Are you satisfied now?”

Han Rao pried his hand away, the corners of her lips involuntarily curling up as she walked straight toward the bathroom.

Intimidating lies—who can tell what’s true and what’s false?

　　-

When Han Rao came out after her shower, she saw that Zhao Jichuan had already tidied up; he was dressed and ready, gazing at her quietly.

Han Rao finally realized that he probably had another drinking party tonight.

She reached for her phone to check the time, roughly calculated when she needed to leave for the airport, picked up the clothes thrown on the floor, and said to him, “You have something to do later? That’s perfect. I bought a ticket to return to Suzhou tonight, so we’ll see each other after the New Year.”

As soon as Zhao Jichuan heard she was going back to Suzhou, he frowned, “Did I tell you to leave?”

Han Rao’s brows also furrowed.

She thought when he said he wouldn’t let her go home, it was just a joke to tease her, but she didn’t expect him to be serious.

Just now, they seemed to get along pretty well, and she hadn’t provoked him.

Han Rao stopped what she was doing. “What do you mean?”

“I have a gathering tonight, and you’re coming with me.” He leaned closer, ruffling her hair, tempting her, “If you don’t go, I guarantee you’ll regret it.”

Han Rao looked at him suspiciously, “Why would I regret it?”

Zhao Jichuan chuckled lightly, not answering her question. Instead, he opened the drawer of the bedside cabinet, took out a bank card, slipped it into her phone, and then sent her off to blow-dry her hair and change clothes.

Han Rao glanced down at the reflective bank card, didn’t ask how much money was on it, nor why he suddenly gave her a card. She just assumed he was trying to buy her off.

So, for the sake of the bank card, she said, “Then I’ll leave tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he said.

Han Rao casually changed the flight ticket to tomorrow morning, then pushed open the bedroom door and remembered her suitcase was still thrown by the entrance, so she went downstairs to find it.

Only then did she have the chance to take a look at the home he had mentioned.

Everything was pretty much as she had imagined—cool tones, black and white style, perfectly matching his personality.

What was surprising was that she unexpectedly discovered Zhao Jichuan was actually keeping fish on the first floor.

It was a large fish tank, housing several small red fish. They weren’t big, but they swam quickly, their tails flicking back and forth.

Han Rao didn’t know what species the fish were. She leaned in to look closer, ran her hand along the glass of the tank, and counted—there were six fish in total.

As she moved her finger, the little fish followed its movement, which looked quite amusing.

Han Rao was very playful, deliberately drawing circles quickly with her fingertips. Sure enough, a little clumsy fish couldn’t keep up and swam away dazedly.

Zhao Jichuan stood on the stairs, watching her bend over, her face almost pressed against the fish tank.

He spoke up and asked, “Like it?”

Han Rao glanced back and said ambiguously, “It’s okay.”

She wasn’t really interested in these creatures in the water; she preferred furry animals like cats and dogs. However, since it was her first time seeing the fish Zhao Jichuan kept, she couldn’t help but feel a bit curious, which is why she stopped to take a closer look.

“Have you raised them before?” He chatted with her casually.

Han Rao shook her head, “I’ve never raised fish, but I have raised little turtles.”

“Bastard?” Zhao Jichuan laughed out loud; her straightforward manner was very amusing.

Han Rao sneered, “What’s wrong with calling it a bastard? Do you really have to say turtle?”

She had been in Beicheng for a full six years, yet never learned the local dialect. On top of that, to make it easier to deliver her lines, she worked especially hard to practice Mandarin, focusing on precise pronunciation and clear enunciation.

But inevitably, I was subtly influenced and occasionally slipped out a couple of phrases in the Beicheng dialect.

Zhao Jichuan was completely amused by her, “So how old is your turtle?”

Han Rao: “Dead.”

That turtle was bought for her by Old Han when they were kids; she and Han Ting each had one. Hers was originally well taken care of, but later in the winter, the turtle escaped and crawled into some corner or crevice, and they couldn’t find it.

Because of this, Han Rao was upset for several days.

Later on, it was simply forgotten.

Zhao Jichuan: “…”

She really didn’t seem like the kind of person who could take care of living things well; if they survived, it was just good fortune.

Zhao Jichuan looked up as she tapped the fish tank again with her fingertip. Remembering her playful nature, his temple twitched, and he warned her, “Be careful, don’t kill my fish.”

Now it was Han Rao’s turn to be speechless.

She shrugged and muttered, “You take care of your precious darling yourself. I didn’t touch it, so don’t blame me if it dies.”

She wrinkled her nose, silently criticizing him for being stingy.

She just glanced a couple more times and teased his fish a bit, it’s not like she reached into the fish tank to catch one alive and throw it out, nor did she pour in a ton of fish food to stuff his precious little treasure to death

Zhao Jichuan thought to himself about her sharp tongue, urging her to hurry up and get ready, not to be late.

Because he said tonight was a private dinner, Han Rao didn’t bother dressing up. She took a white sweater out of her suitcase and changed into it, then reapplied a light makeup.

By the time the two set off, it was already dark; a few stars hung in the deep blue night sky, clouds shrouding the moon, giving a somewhat sunless feeling.

When Han Rao was a child, she heard Su Zhiyu say that this kind of night meant bad weather.

And indeed, it was just like that. As soon as she got off the plane today, she felt that the sky in Beicheng was gloomy and overcast, without any sun, as if the smog was quite severe.

Zhao Jichuan sat in the driver’s seat; today, he was driving himself.

He held the steering wheel with one hand, his profile looking particularly smooth and defined, sharp and angular—a truly dashing and charming man.

Han Rao glanced at him twice, then leaned back in her chair to play on her phone. As soon as she opened it, a WeChat message popped up.

Han Ting sent her a few photos, taken of tonight’s dinner, featuring fish, shrimp, and her favorite, cola chicken wings.

Han Rao sent an “angry” emoji, then couldn’t help but glare again at the man driving.

If it weren’t for him, all this rich food would have gone straight into her stomach tonight.

Zhao Jichuan suddenly grabbed her hand, “Next time, be a little more subtle when you scold me.”

Han Rao: “…”

The drive wasn’t too far, but Han Rao was terrible with directions. Before she knew it, Zhao Jichuan had stopped the car, and the two of them got out together.

This is a highly private restaurant, decorated with distinctive Northern City features—red walls, gray tiles, and big red lanterns hanging at the entrance, giving it a festive New Year atmosphere.

There were quite a few green plants in the courtyard, but it was the dead of winter, and most flowers had withered, leaving only a few evergreen pines and cypresses still holding onto their color.

Han Rao followed Zhao Jichuan down a long corridor before entering the private room.

The private room was quite lively; at a glance, it was filled with handsome men and beautiful women. Apart from Fan Qin and a familiar face, she didn’t recognize anyone inside.

Fan Chen didn’t expect Zhao Jichuan to bring Han Rao to this kind of occasion. He shrugged and called Han Rao over to sit with him.

Zhao Jichuan glanced at him, simply said, “You’re late,” and without introducing Han Rao to everyone, he led her to their seats.

Han Rao wasn’t a fool either; she insisted on having him introduce these people at an inappropriate time.

In this kind of setting, Zhao Jichuan wasn’t the only one who brought a woman. Every circle has its own unspoken rules; these women weren’t meant to be taken home as wives, nor was anyone expected to call them “sister-in-law.” Everyone tacitly avoided acknowledging their status and silently steered clear of the topic.

Han Rao took off her coat and sat obediently, carefully observing the group of people in the room.

No matter what purpose Zhao Jichuan had in bringing her here, she couldn’t afford to lose face for him.

Soon everyone had arrived, and the attendant, unable to distinguish the identities of the people in the room, poured wine for everyone.

Han Rao said, “Thank you,” and Zhao Jichuan suddenly turned to her, “Don’t drink. You’ll be driving when we get home.”

After speaking, he asked again, “Can you?”

Han Rao nodded, “I will.”

She has had her driver’s license for several years, but since she doesn’t own a car, she hasn’t had many opportunities to drive.

Just as Han Rao was about to explain, Zhao Jichuan suddenly changed the subject, lifting his chin to show her someone and softly asked if she recognized him.

That person looked about the same age as Zhao Jichuan, only he seemed a bit more eccentric.

Han Rao nodded; of course, she knew.

To be precise, the moment she entered the private room, she recognized the other person.

The man’s name was Zhou Ye, a well-known genius director in the industry, skilled at filming historical dramas, adept at capturing ethereal scenes, and especially talented at bringing out the beauty in actresses. Fans often said online, “If only all the female stars in the entertainment industry could work under Director Zhou, it would definitely be a visual feast.”

But the most impressive was his master, Li Liqiang, a top director in the industry and a guarantee of box office success and critical acclaim. Li Liqiang, over sixty years old, still remained at the forefront of filmmaking, releasing a New Year’s film almost every other year.

Zhao Jichuan smiled gently, “Let me introduce you to each other.”

Han Rao looked at him in shock; only now did she understand the meaning behind his words—that not coming would definitely lead to regret.

Saying this, Zhao Jichuan called out to Zhou Ye. Without even standing up, he said to him, “Han Rao, an actor graduated from Beijing Film Academy, professionally trained, acts quite well. Take good care of her from now on.”

Zhou Ye’s gaze fell on Han Rao, appraising her with the eye of a director discovering beauty.

He could tell that when she wore heavy makeup, she was an aggressive beauty, but without it, she could play the delicate and pitiful innocent perfectly—she was an actress with incredible versatility.

However, in all these years of knowing each other, Zhao Jichuan had never kindly introduced an actress to him, nor had he ever softened his tone to ask him to take care of someone.

A strange event.

Zhou Ye raised an eyebrow and half-jokingly said, “Since President Zhao has already spoken, then I have a suitable project in mind for Miss Han.”

Zhao Jichuan expressed his thanks, raised his glass, and the two clinked their cups in the air before drinking it all in one go.

Han Rao didn’t expect to meet such a famous director. She raised her hand to touch the wine glass, intending to make a toast, but was scolded by Zhao Jichuan, “Shall we walk back tonight?”

Han Rao pressed her lips together, raised the glass of water, and said, “Sorry, Director Zhou, I’ll toast you with water instead of wine.”

Zhou Ye was a person who didn’t sweat the small stuff and didn’t care about such details. He waved his hand and said, “Han Rao, I’ve remembered your name.”

Perhaps it was because she had met a famous director today that Han Rao was in a good mood. When the drinking party broke up, she carefully helped Zhao Jichuan, who had drunk a little, and personally assisted him into the front passenger seat.

Zhao Jichuan rubbed her hair, “Are you happy now?”

Han Rao nodded vigorously, saying earnestly, “Thank you.”

She was actually quite grateful to Zhao Jichuan. He responsibly helped her sign with an entertainment company, had the agent show her suitable scripts, and even introduced her to directors. This was far better than forcefully using connections to shove her into a production crew.

His actions made her feel that he was “teaching her to fish,” helping her step by step to pave her way in the entertainment industry.

She admired strength and really liked men like him who were mature and had a planned, guiding nature.

In that moment, she was smug, somewhat dazed.

I thought, it would be even better if he were her lover.