CHAPTER 279: ZHOU LUCHEN, YOU ALSO HAVE TODAY, HUH" _1

It was late at night, which accounted for the surrounding silence.

That voice was incredibly clear.

Zhou Luchen’s.

Shen Jing put down her coffee, threw on a coat, went downstairs, and opened the door. She looked up.

The villa’s five-meter-long, French-carved gate had been completely opened by the security guards.

Several black Mercedes G-Class SUVs and an S-Class AMG, forming an executive motorcade, were parked in the large courtyard, both inside and outside the gate.

More than ten chauffeurs and bodyguards in suits and white gloves stood by the cars, escorting their president to Beverly Manor.

In the dead of night, running a fever of 104 degrees, the second young master Zhou sat on the steps before the fountain, cradling a bouquet of red roses.

They were the Red Naomi variety. His elegant, well-defined hands, holding them, appeared even fairer in contrast.

Perhaps due to the long, dusty journey, Zhou Luchen’s eyes were slightly downcast, and his deep, broad, fan-shaped double eyelids showed a hint of fatigue and weariness.

Yet, his noble aura, inherent to a young master of his stature, did not diminish.

At this sight, Shen Jing stood motionless for a moment, stunned.

"In the middle of the night, you..." Why have you come? Before she could finish, the moment Zhou Luchen looked up and their eyes met, she became too nervous to speak.

Zhou Luchen’s fever was so high his neck was flushed, the rims of his eyes were red and moist, and his vision was blurred. Yet, his eyes remained profoundly dark, like a bottomless pool with faint, unreadable ripples.

They locked eyes for a long while.

Zhou Luchen’s gaze, as he lifted it, settled on the half-open door.

In the living room, the Pink Crystal Bear was on display. She had taken good care of it, even adding a small white organza hat to its head.

Zhou Luchen withdrew his gaze. "Do you like the crystal bear I sent you?"

Since he’d seen it, she couldn’t feign indifference. Shen Jing nodded slightly.

Only someone like Zhou Luchen, so adept at indulging a woman, would snap it up at auction for a high price at first glance. Otherwise, who would pay hundreds of thousands of dollars for a crystal bear—a child’s plaything—to display at home, especially right as the bidding opened?

"...I like it."

Seeing her flustered expression, Zhou Luchen pressed his thin, crimson lips together. "As long as you like it."

Unable to bring herself to ask questions, she simply said,

"Thank you."

After a slight cough that seemed to come from deep within his chest, Zhou Luchen’s voice grew increasingly hoarse. "Would you believe what the New York media says?"

Knowing the truth, she didn’t believe it and paid no attention to it.

She suddenly understood why Zhou Luchen had visited in the dead of night.

He was afraid I’d misunderstand, wasn’t he? She smiled ruefully to herself.

His romantic entanglements were endless. From this girl to that beauty, Zhou Luchen would probably spend a lifetime trying to sort them out.

"Zhou Luchen, so even you have days like this."

He laughed calmly, his smile tinged with a feverish haze, yet also carrying a hint of frankness.

"Yes, you’ve got me. I was afraid you’d misunderstand."

Her eyes, always so prone to tears... She didn’t know why, but they felt swollen and hot, as if they were about to overflow. Shen Jing instinctively lowered her gaze, fighting back the sensation and avoiding Zhou Luchen’s stare.

"Zhuang Ming told me about the Zhou Family’s affairs. But Zhou Luchen, why didn’t you tell me yourself? If Zhuang Ming hadn’t said anything, would I have never deserved to know? Were you afraid that you couldn’t bring yourself to be ruthless with your biological father and would thus disappoint me? I don’t care how you handle the Zhou Family. Or do you simply think none of this concerns me?"

As she enunciated each word carefully, Zhou Luchen rose and walked towards her, his exquisitely crafted, gleaming leather shoes stepping steadily onto the entrance stairs.

He crossed the distance in large, rapid strides.

She was quickly pulled into a fierce embrace, caught off guard as they pressed close. The red roses he held were now crushed between them, their stems encircling her back.

His body temperature was scorchingly hot, transmitting through his clothes to her.

Apart from his inherent noble aura, Zhou Luchen seemed utterly drained of energy.

Shen Jing’s hands gently went around Zhou Luchen’s back, resting on his spine, which was bent as he leaned over her. It was a natural reaction to embrace him in return.

But as her fingertips brushed against the silky satin of his fine-spun shirt, she found it damp with hot sweat.

How could his fever be this bad?

Shen Jing’s fingers hesitated for a good while.

Then she heard him say, "You’re a woman; you should stand behind me. The Zhou Family’s affairs have nothing to do with you, and my relationship with my father has never been good."

"Overthrowing the Zhou Family had nothing to do with Joanna. If you don’t believe me, I won’t bother explaining it to you ever again."

Such harsh words.

"Fine, I believe you," Shen Jing said with a smile.

Zhou Luchen never liked being controlled. Even the Zhou Family, with whom he shared blood ties, could be overthrown with a mere flick of his wrist. But his one miscalculation was leaving behind too many romantic debts. He used to think he had power and influence—so what if it was the media? But the media’s reach was pervasive; they were adept at digging up scandals and loved to meddle in his private affairs. If it weren’t for Shen Jing, he couldn’t be bothered to deal with the media; it wasn’t part of his career considerations.

His burning forehead pressed against Shen Jing’s cheek. "Make no mistake, I want to marry you."

She had to admit, his magnetic voice, tinged with a nasal sound from his cold, held her utterly captive.

She could clearly see the fragrant bouquet of red roses but no sign of a ring. Teasing lightly, she said, "Proposing without a ring? Is this your idea of a heartfelt proposal?"

Zhou Luchen let go of her and turned to walk down the steps.

The bodyguard, wearing white gloves, had already discreetly opened the door of the black AMG, taken out a black Bible, and quickly walked up to Zhou Luchen, presenting it to him.

Shen Jing watched silently.

The Bible, having passed through Zhou Luchen’s hands, was handed to her. "The ring is inside. I want to marry you."

Was this the first time this young nobleman had ever proposed? It seemed likely. Perhaps his high fever had made him act impulsively, following his heart. This proposal was utterly unprepared. No grand, publicly known affair, no floor carpeted with rose petals. Instead, it was in the dead of night, a motorcade escorting him here, a man burning with a 104-degree fever, holding roses and placing the ring inside an ancient Bible.

The page was open to a classic verse from the Bible: Psalm 36:5.

"Thy faithfulness reacheth unto the clouds."

She recognized the verse. Oh Lord, Your faithfulness... the most steadfast promise in the world.

The ring lay between the lines of English text.

Just like Zhou Luchen himself—direct, forceful, no beating around the bush. It wasn’t that he couldn’t afford a lavish setup; the allowance he gave her was always extravagant. Just the two of them.

An indescribable feeling, so real it was both tart and astringent, filled her chest. Shen Jing closed the Bible, clutched it to her heart, and turned to go inside.

When she tried to close the door, her strength was far less than Zhou Luchen’s; he easily propped it open with his palm.

"You’re not agreeing?"

"You have a fever."

The door was pushed open again, and Shen Jing looked up.

Her gaze fell upon Zhou Luchen. His expression was somber, the clean, distinct line of his jaw pulled taut, looking severe.

"Aren’t you calm enough yet?"

With reddened eyes, Shen Jing said, "Zhou Luchen, do I look like I absolutely can’t live without the title of Mrs. Zhou?"

Zhou Luchen leaned in.

The corners of his lips lifted faintly, his expression, directed at her, holding a hint of mockery and a silent question.

"What do you want? Just tell me."

Shen Jing replied calmly, "I want Zhou Luchen."

"I am right here. Isn’t that enough?" Zhou Luchen countered.

Shen Jing gazed into his eyes.

The rims of his eyes were intensely bloodshot, and his thin lips, already crimson, seemed even more vivid due to his high fever. He exuded a decadent, alluring charm, unwittingly tugging at any woman’s heartstrings.

Yet he asked, "Are you satisfied seeing me like this, Shen Jing?"

Shen Jing’s lips moved. "You never give people a chance to think things over. Must it always be whatever you say?"

Silence hung between them, a standoff.

"Twenty minutes."

Zhou Luchen coolly withdrew his hand from the doorframe without entering, placing the roses in her arms.

He turned and sat down on the entrance steps.

A few minutes later, he reached out his hand.

He was gesturing for a cigarette and lighter. The bodyguard fumbled in his pocket. "Sir, you’re ill. You should smoke less."

Before this young nobleman, such words held no sway.

He just sat there, one hand resting on his knee, a cigarette pinched between his fingers. He smoked with an air of utter loneliness and desolation, as if the craving from days of abstaining had surged back; he’d smoke one cigarette halfway through before lighting another.

This young nobleman, who had grown up surrounded by adulation, was immensely proud. He’d never been rejected in his life—not until Shen Jing. He had now experienced it all with her. Just like now, Zhou Luchen stared at the glowing tip of the cigarette between his fingers, his gaze empty. He didn’t understand where he found the patience to sit here waiting for her "yes," smoking so recklessly as if he didn’t value his life. He knew what Shen Jing wanted—just a promise. He’d given it, yet she still hesitated. Although he didn’t believe in God, he’d symbolically placed himself under God’s judgment, yet Shen Jing still hadn’t decided to commit to a life with him. After their breakup, hadn’t she been close with Sun Qiyan? Had he ever made a fuss about it? That inconspicuous safety cord... in the end, it was he who had given his to her. So on what grounds did she always fixate on the romantic debts he’d incurred before he knew her, or after they had broken up?