Chapter 22 New Year “Don’t Tempt Me”

Han Rao heard his question and couldn’t help but turn over to face him. The man closed his eyes, quietly waiting for her answer.

He remained motionless, which instead made Han Rao feel somewhat dazed. She wondered if that unreasonable request he just made was something she had imagined

Zhao Jichuan didn’t get an answer, so he opened his eyes and pinched her earlobe, saying, “I said, stay and keep me company.”

He actually really liked gently nibbling on her earlobe like this. Her earlobes were very plump, and according to Beicheng, people with such full earlobes are blessed.

Han Rao blinked, “No, I want to go back to Suzhou.”

She refused decisively.

Of course, there was no way she would spend the New Year with him in the northern city; there was absolutely no room for negotiation or compromise on this matter. Before leaving Suzhou, Grandma…

She also reminded her to be sure to come back, and she promised not to go back on her word.

Moreover, she thought Zhao Jichuan must have been out of his mind to say such things. He had his own family; how could he possibly spend the New Year with someone like her, who was nameless and without status?

It’s simply a fairy tale.

Han Rao raised her hand to touch his forehead; it was still very hot. She sighed and told him to get some rest early, saying a good sleep should make him feel better.

Zhao Jichuan was dissatisfied with her evasive attitude and also displeased that she rejected him without thinking it through.

He didn’t like her when she flared up and argued with him.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, locking her in his embrace. “I haven’t broken the fever yet, and you dare to leave?”

Han Rao’s heart sank, feeling that he was being unreasonable. “You have a fever, but it’s not my fault. What does that have to do with me?”

“Wasn’t it you who complained about the heat in the car and wanted to roll down the window?” He decided to be unreasonable to the end.

Han Rao’s ears turned slightly red, and many images flashed through her mind: dripping sweat, entangled bodies, burning heat..

At the end, she breathed lightly, insisting that it was unbearably hot, the oxygen in the car was running out, and she was about to suffocate, so she opened a small crack in the window herself.

Han Rao pressed her lips together, ignored him, and turned over.

She always felt that he wasn’t thinking clearly, maybe he was sick and bored, so he deliberately picked fights with her.

Zhao Jichuan looked at the woman with her back turned to him and tugged at the corner of his mouth. She was always such a killjoy—who was she throwing that attitude at?

He was already feeling unwell and listless, and now he was even less willing to indulge her. So he raised his hand and turned off the desk lamp. The two lay separated on opposite sides of the bed, as if an invisible boundary had been drawn between them.

The curtains in the room were tightly drawn, not a single ray of light seeping in, making it dark and eerie.

Han Rao felt unwell all over, hugging herself tightly as she curled up in a corner of the bed. She counted sheep for a while, and before she knew it, she drifted off to sleep in a daze.

When Han Rao felt insecure or her nerves were highly tense, she habitually had nightmares.

Her dream was nothing fancy, just being pressed against the door panel of the private room’s bathroom, a pair of hands reaching up, violently tearing apart her green floral dress. She screamed hysterically, but no one heard. In the end, a wine glass was smashed down, blood appeared, flowing down her forehead, drop by drop, falling onto the patterned bathroom floor tiles.

Suddenly, she seemed to see that grimacing face, and with a start, she sat up, a sweat breaking out across her forehead.

Han Rao was panting softly, and when she opened her eyes, she realized the bedroom was lit.

Zhao Jichuan wore gray loungewear, his complexion looking a bit better than last night, and his spirit was also quite good. Holding the phone in one hand, he cast a suspicious, probing glance at her.

Han Rao habitually concealed her emotions, or rather, she had long been accustomed to how to digest such a terrible dream.

She raised her hand to wipe the sweat, got out of bed to find her phone, and as she was leaving, she vaguely heard Zhao Jichuan on the phone saying, “Got it, if Yueyue wants to go by herself, let her go; if not, have someone accompany her.”

Han Rao asked herself silently: Who is Yueyue?

She returned to the guest room, found her phone, and her face darkened—damn it, she had overslept.

The plane was at 9:15, and now it was already damn 8:55. Zhao Jichuan’s shitty neighborhood was so far from the airport it was ridiculous. If she didn’t have wings, there was no way she could make it in time.

Han Rao irritably scratched her head, just as Zhao Jichuan finished his call. He leaned against the doorframe, quietly watching her lose her mind calmly.

“Fine, we can’t leave now anyway. Let’s go cook,” he said.

Han Rao gave him a blatantly naked glare without holding back. She seriously suspected he was doing it on purpose.

But she had no evidence.

Zhao Jichuan coughed lightly twice, and she suddenly remembered he was a patient. She leaned over and touched his forehead. “Still running a fever?”

“Mm.”

Han Rao’s kindness stirred within her again. She checked the recent flight tickets; the earliest she could leave was in the evening.

Since she couldn’t leave anyway, she decided to “see it through to the end” and take care of him for the afternoon. “Then I’ll make you some porridge.”

Han Rao went straight to the kitchen and rummaged around. She hadn’t expected that his house was actually quite well-stocked.

She got some rice and then, to her surprise, found red dates, goji berries, longan, and walnuts. She cleaned them up and, without much thought, threw them all together to cook.

This could be called “Eight-Treasure Porridge,” her own Korean-style creation.

While she was cooking the porridge, Zhao Jichuan squeezed in a remote meeting. She vaguely heard him speaking English, seemingly discussing an advertising investment project.

Han Rao’s English skills were quite good; basic communication was no problem. She had grown up attending tutoring classes, and after entering university, her sense of self-planning grew stronger, so she valued the language even more. During breaks, she would find a quiet corner to regularly practice speaking and listening.

In her youth, she was always ambitious, full of passion, and her dreams were grand. It wasn’t for anything else; she just wanted to make sure that if one day she had the chance to break into Hollywood, she wouldn’t hold herself back because of a language barrier.

Later, on the day Han Rao became a huge star, many people marveled at her luck.

But what they didn’t know was that every step she took was endured with gritted teeth and perseverance—and that all counted.

The porridge was simmered slowly over low heat, taking more than half an hour in total. During that time, Zhao Jichuan even took a shower.

When Han Rao called him to eat, she saw him come out with wet hair and muttered, “I told you not to take a shower.”

“If the fever doesn’t go down, it’s your own fault!”

“What did you say?” Zhao Jichuan didn’t hear clearly.

Han Rao smiled brightly and said it was nothing, then served him a bowl of porridge, letting him taste her cooking.

Han Rao was quite confident in her cooking skills. After graduating, she moved out of the school and had been cooking for herself ever since. On set, if they weren’t shooting early scenes, she would also prepare a simple meal for herself.

Zhao Jichuan gave a soft “hmm” and went back to blow-drying his hair.

He didn’t start eating, and Han Rao didn’t dare to pick up her chopsticks first either, even though her stomach was already growling with hunger.

She was bored, so she went to look at his few fish again. The little fish swam quickly and were quite cute.

After blow-drying his hair, Zhao Jichuan called her over to eat.

The two sat at the dining table, each with a simple bowl of porridge.

The appearance of the porridge was quite decent, but he was very dissatisfied with the lousy goji berries. He didn’t know who on earth liked to eat this stuff, nor when Auntie had put it into the kitchen at his home.

Zhao Jichuan was particularly picky; Han Rao even thought he was a bit fussy. When he said he wouldn’t eat goji berries, he picked them out one by one with his chopsticks.

Han Rao: “…”

She was originally quite speechless, intending to pretend she hadn’t seen it, and took a bite by herself, feeling smug and thinking the taste was pretty good.

It was only when the goji berry was held in her mouth and chewed to bits that she belatedly realized what was happening.

“Zhao Jichuan, you’re not lacking in that department, are you…”

Otherwise, how would there be goji berries at home?

Isn’t it said that goji berries nourish the kidneys?

Incompetent men need this thing to make up for it.

Men, especially older men, are particularly sensitive about this matter, as it concerns a man’s dignity.

Han Rao pressed her lips together, scolding herself for being too quick-tempered and speaking without thinking. She sipped her porridge to hide her embarrassment while subtly watching his reaction.

Zhao Jichuan was too lazy to argue with her; he didn’t care about her making such jokes. After all, only men who have insecurities in this area would care about these things. It’s like how a good-looking person never pays attention when others call her ugly, because she knows she is absolutely beautiful.

He finished drinking the bowl of porridge and then got up to go to the study to busy himself with work.

Han Rao took the bowl to the kitchen, washed it clean, poured a cup of hot water, and returned to Zhao Jichuan’s bedroom to find the thermometer.

The door to Zhao Jichuan’s study was ajar, and Han Rao gently knocked twice.

The man looked up, “Come in.”

Han Rao was still wearing his white shirt, her smooth, fair legs swinging aimlessly in front of him all morning. She just placed a glass of water on his desk, took out the thermometer, and handed it to him. “Take your temperature again.”

Sunlight streamed through the window, and he squinted, feeling as if every strand of her hair was glowing.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, and Han Rao naturally sat on his lap. “Trying to please me?”

Han Rao softly responded with a “Hmm,” “Didn’t you say it was because of me that you got sick? I’m afraid you’ll abandon me. Isn’t making amends enough?”

She was very honest and knew she had a bad temper, so when her emotions were stable, she made sure to show him vulnerability, telling him that she needed him, providing him with emotional value and a sense of achievement from being needed.

Zhao Jichuan turned her face, clamped her chin, and kissed her.

He was very dominant, liking to steal her breath when they kissed, enjoying watching her pound her chest in resistance from lack of oxygen.

He knew,

She was not someone who passively endured; she was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, wild at heart.

Sure enough, this kiss pushed her to the edge again. She grabbed his clothes tightly, pushed him away, and then pressed him against the back of the chair with her chest.

Han Rao straddled his lap, panting, and said, “Zhao Jichuan, aren’t you being too much of a bully?”

Zhao Jichuan reclined contentedly, his eyes lowered to see the tattoo on her thigh revealed. He raised his hand and pinched her thigh.

Han Rao smiled charmingly, curling the corners of her eyes, raised her hand to tap his lips, then turned around to grab the thermometer. “Let’s take your temperature first.”

Taking her temperature required five minutes, so she comfortably sat on his lap for the entire five minutes.

The long five minutes, Han Rao coveted his handsome appearance, yet told herself she couldn’t do it. Because she still had to fly to Suzhou later, she couldn’t afford any more delays this time; if she delayed any longer, she would really have to go home on New Year’s Eve.

Zhao Jichuan saw her instinctively clench her legs, sneered, and threw her out of his arms, “Don’t tempt me.”

Han Rao lowered her eyes and pressed her lips together, reminding him, “The time should be up.”

Zhao Jichuan took out the thermometer and handed it to her.

Thirty-seven point eight degrees, the fever had gone down a bit but hadn’t completely subsided.

Han Rao handed him the water, “It should be almost better by tonight. You’re busy, remember to drink plenty of hot water.”

She knew he still had work to do, so she quietly left the study, not forgetting to close the door behind him.

She returned to the guest room, changed into her own clothes, and neatly folded his shirt, placing it on the bed.

Han Rao packed her suitcase again, estimated the time, and decided to take a taxi to the airport.

Before leaving, she hesitated for a moment, steeled herself, and didn’t tell Zhao Jichuan.

She couldn’t figure out his strange temperament and wasn’t sure how sincere he was about wanting her to stay for the New Year.

But she couldn’t take the risk; she had to go home to spend the New Year with Xu Lianqiu and Su Zhiyu.

She knew that moments like this would only become fewer and fewer in the future.

By the time Zhao Jichuan finished his work, the sun had already begun to set in the west.

He rubbed his temples, glanced at the glass of water on the table that had long since gone cold, and suddenly thought of Han Rao.

She didn’t make a sound all afternoon, and I had no idea what she was busy with—probably watching movies again.

He guessed as he pushed the door open and called to her, “Han Rao.”

No response.

He called out again, but there was still no response.

Zhao Jichuan went downstairs and noticed that the twenty-eight-inch suitcase placed by the entrance was missing. Only then did he become puzzled—she had slipped away silently.

You do have quite the nerve.

The man chuckled softly; she certainly had her own ideas. She left without saying a word, as if she had never been there at all.

He pushed open the guest room door and saw that she had neatly folded the shirt, with a note left on the bedside table.

Probably because she couldn’t find any writing paper, she wrote everything on toilet paper. The handwriting was wild and unrestrained, clearly showing she was in a hurry when writing.

【Zhao Jichuan, I’ve returned to Suzhou. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to disturb your work. Remember to take your medicine on time. Wishing you a Happy New Year and all the best!】

She also drew a smiley face.

Zhao Jichuan flipped the piece of paper over and glanced at it, letting out a light chuckle. She wasn’t afraid of disturbing his work; she was clearly afraid he would keep her in Beicheng for the New Year.

Sometimes he thought she was quite smart, and other times he thought she was rather foolish—she couldn’t hide anything, and a bit of her thoughts were all written on her face.

Zhao Jichuan crumpled the torn piece of paper into a ball and casually tossed it into the trash can with a basketball shot motion.

He thought, let her off the hook for now.

When he sees her next year, he will deal with her properly.

　　-

Han Rao was sometimes quite childish. The moment she left without saying goodbye, she decided that no matter if Zhao Jichuan called her or sent her a WeChat message, she would pretend not to see it.

No matter what, let’s get through this New Year first before talking about anything else.

As a result, during the few days of the New Year, her phone was eerily silent, and Zhao Jichuan didn’t pay any attention to her at all.

Instead, Qin Yunqian specially sent her a WeChat message on the first day of the new year, wishing her a Happy New Year and inviting her to meet in Beicheng.

Han Rao agreed, recalling a grilled fish restaurant in Beicheng from years ago, and said that if the place was still open, they would go there to eat grilled fish.

Qin Yunqian agreed readily.

Han Rao’s agent, Hu Shengnan, also sent her many WeChat messages, discussing her next role.

Hu Shengnan held two roles in her hands, both of which she thought suited Han Rao well. However, due to scheduling conflicts, only one could be chosen, so she left the decision to Han Rao.

These two characters are completely different, and the genres of the dramas are also different. One is a super strong female lead in a modern urban workplace drama, while the other is a third party in a period drama set in the 80s and 90s.

Han Rao had been holed up at home these past few days, reading through the scripts she had received. To be honest, between the two roles, Han Rao preferred the strong woman because she admired strength.

The strong woman had a particularly charismatic personality, embodying the independent woman of the new era. She was the female lead’s boss—decisive and efficient, somewhat reminiscent of Zhao Jichuan, though her scenes were pitifully few. The role of the third party had plenty of scenes, but her actions defied common moral standards, making people grit their teeth in frustration.

Han Rao hesitated for two days and chose the latter.

Hu Shengnan was quite surprised to receive her reply and immediately called her.

“I thought you would choose the other one.”

Han Rao said, “I think playing the mistress role well would actually benefit me more.”

“Tell me your thoughts.”

Han Rao closed the door firmly. “I think the role of the mistress will gain even more popularity after the show airs.” She chuckled softly, “I can even predict that once this drama is released, it will spark widespread discussion, and even online abuse. But as long as there’s discussion, it means there’s heat, and with heat, everyone will get to know me.”

Han Rao’s purpose in casting was simple: to let the audience recognize her first and remember her.

“Aren’t you afraid of online harassment?”

This was actually Hu Shengnan’s concern. She had seen too many artists who, even after mentally preparing themselves, were still affected emotionally by the flood of insults online. The scariest part was that many people couldn’t distinguish between the online world and reality; their dislike for a character would even extend to the actor themselves.

“I’m not afraid, Sister Nan,” Han Rao smiled. She wished people would insult her online every day; being criticized was better than being forgotten by the internet.

“I know what I want. I just want to be famous,” she said, her tone growing even more resolute.

To wear the crown, one must bear its weight.

Which top celebrity hasn’t faced online harassment? Since she decided to make a living off acting and popularity, she had to have a strong enough heart and be mentally prepared to face all kinds of difficulties.

The two chatted for a while longer, and Hu Shengnan found talking with Han Rao very enjoyable.

Hearing her speak today, Hu Shengnan felt she understood her a little better.

At first, she thought Fan Qin had hooked her up with a connection who was probably just a pretty but useless person. But unexpectedly, this time, Han Rao surprised her—she actually understood marketing quite well.

As the call was about to end, Han Rao said, “Sister Nan, Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year, see you in Beicheng.”

After saying that, the two hung up the phone.

Han Rao sat cross-legged on the bed, holding her phone, hesitated for a moment, and then sent a WeChat message to Zhao Jichuan.

Han Rao: [Zhao Jichuan, Happy New Year!]

The message went unanswered; he didn’t reply immediately. Instead, Han Ting burst in without even knocking.

“Sis, let’s play mahjong,” he said excitedly. They had been one player short these past few days.

Han Rao first scolded him a bit for his bad habit of not knocking, then turned and asked, “Have you gathered enough people?”

Han Ting snapped his fingers, “My classmate is here, isn’t that enough people?”

“When will they arrive?” Han Rao asked.

“Soon.”

“Alright then.” Han Rao quickly got up and tossed her phone aside. “I’ll go wash my face first.”

“Mm, hurry up.”

Han Rao went to the bathroom to freshen up. Han Ting heard her phone buzz once, and he leaned over to look—it was a WeChat notification.

Zhao Jichuan: [Mm.]

Han Ting didn’t touch Han Rao’s phone. Smiling, he came out of her room and told Su Zhiyu that he would go wash some fruit first.

The cool water flowed over his fingertips as Han Ting stared blankly out the window.

He knew that Han Rao had started keeping secrets, secrets she intended to hide from the entire family.

He recalled the night of the twenty-ninth of the twelfth lunar month, when he took Old Han’s car early to Wuxi Airport to pick up Han Rao. When he asked why she hadn’t taken the high-speed train back, she lied, saying there were no tickets left.

But he actually didn’t expose her; there are no direct flights from Yiwu to Wuxi.

He didn’t tell her either; he even specifically looked into her

The plane’s landing time—she was on the flight returning from North City.