Cocoon (Lily ABO) - Chapter 29

Ling Yu made a phone call to her landlord explaining her early move-out. Since the place was essentially a short-term rental, the landlord was quite understanding and refunded the remaining rent immediately. Because her last move had been so rushed that she hadn’t even fully unpacked, it took almost no effort to toss everything back into her car—it was simply a change of scenery.

After leaving the keys under the floor mat as requested, Ling Yu stood at the door with her suitcase, still in a daze. She was actually moving into Han Jingman’s home.

Han Jingman had been in Chicago for a few days and hadn’t cooked much since her return; the fridge was practically empty. After settling her luggage, Ling Yu made a list and headed to the supermarket. She was efficient, and before long, the fridge was restocked with fresh vegetables, fruit, and milk.

Han Jingman’s apartment was a 2b2b layout—two bedrooms and two bathrooms. As Ling Yu watched her small belongings slowly fill her own bedroom and bathroom, a sense of joy overflowed within her. She was truly staying here tonight. This was a completely different state of mind from the times she had occasionally stayed over and had to desperately suppress her inner delight; now, it was an open, rightful happiness.

Afraid of disturbing the other woman’s brief nap in the bedroom, Ling Yu moved cheerfully but quietly in the kitchen, careful not to make any loud noises. Because she had cleaned the room when checking out of her previous place, she noticed a container on the table that looked like clay pot porridge Han Jingman had left there. This gave her an idea for dinner: she had specifically bought ingredients to prepare seafood porridge.

Using small pliers, she cracked the crab shells bit by bit, picking out the delicate meat and stacking it neatly, carefully removing every tiny shard of shell. There were also some clams; she chose a small brush to meticulously scrub them. Holding a hard clam that had been soaking in clean water between her fingertips, she watched as the shell opened slightly, the “tongue” peeking out and retracting. The fresh, tender meat pulsed, and without warning, it blew a few small bubbles.

Ling Yu’s face suddenly flushed crimson. She dropped the poor shell back into the water and gripped her fingers tightly, rubbing them. That soft, slippery sensation… whatever she was thinking of, Ling Yu started waving her hands frantically in front of her face to fan herself.

When Han Jingman emerged from the bedroom, she saw Ling Yu standing by the sink waving her arms in a fluster, her haphazardly tied hair bun wobbling precariously.

“What are you doing?”

Ling Yu had been so deep in thought that she hadn’t heard the bedroom door open. Hearing the confused voice behind her, she felt like a thief caught red-handed. She turned to see Han Jingman with damp hair draped over her shoulders. Having just bathed, she was enveloped in a fresh mist of water. Beneath her solid-colored bathrobe, two milky-white, smooth calves were visible. Ling Yu’s face grew even redder.

Seeing the girl’s face grow increasingly crimson, Han Jingman felt a sudden alarm. Could she be running a fever again? Ignoring her wet hair, Han Jingman hurried forward and pressed her hand against Ling Yu’s forehead, then checked her own. After testing a few times back and forth, she still didn’t feel at ease and pulled Ling Yu over to take her temperature.

No fever. Why is her face so red?

Han Jingman carried the fresh scent of a bath, mixed with her unique, mellow red wine pheromones. Her warm breath brushed against Ling Yu’s nose, enticing her until her gaze began to turn dazed.

So fragrant.

Ling Yu stood still like a statue, letting Han Jingman check her temperature and feel her forehead. The damp moisture made Han Jingman’s skin look dewy—like a plump, fresh fruit. Ling Yu became entranced again, unable to move her eyes from the other woman’s face.

Silly.

Han Jingman glanced at her. The girl was clearly fine; she just looked a bit dazed, likely a side effect of the suppressants.

Han Jingman didn’t want to bother with her anymore. She had come out to see if the girl had finished unpacking, only to find her in this foolish state. She patted Ling Yu’s cheek and pointed toward the counter, asking irritably, “What’s for dinner?”

Being patted snapped Ling Yu out of her reverie. She threw her romantic thoughts to the back of her mind and hurriedly replied, “Seafood porridge. It’s good for the stomach.”

Han Jingman gave an “mhm,” told her to call her when dinner was ready, and turned gracefully to head back to her room to continue drying her hair.

Ling Yu stared at her back. Even the bulky bathrobe couldn’t hide her slender, beautiful waist. She’s too thin; there’s barely any meat when I hold her. I have to cook well and feed her up, Ling Yu thought.

Han Jingman had no idea what the person outside was thinking. Back in her room, she undid her bathrobe, revealing a physique as lithe and elegant as a spring bamboo shoot. She wasn’t actually thin; she simply had an excellent bone structure—her legs were long and slender, and every movement was imbued with grace.

Before the mirror, her naked body was beautiful and delicate, yet the originally flawless skin was now covered in red marks, especially concentrated on her chest, belly, and back shoulders. Even the hidden inner thighs hadn’t been spared. In places where she had been treated most ruthlessly, there were even some faint bruises. Following the direction and distribution of those marks, one could practically sketch out the entire night of lingering passion.

Han Jingman inwardly cursed that brat for not knowing her own strength, while simultaneously feeling a blush of shame over the past two days of indulgence. Ling Yu likely felt aggrieved in her heart—she actually couldn’t bear to use force; it was simply that Han Jingman’s skin was too delicate. Even a slight suck would leave a mark.

Taking the discarded bathrobe, Han Jingman prepared to go to the laundry room to wash her used items. But when she lifted the lid of the washing machine, she found the evidence of their desperate intimacy from the night before. The mess of sheets had been stuffed directly inside by Ling Yu, who hadn’t had time to start the wash.

Han Jingman suddenly had the urge to go to the kitchen and give her a thorough thrashing. The light-colored sheets were covered in various marks, with dried semen stains in several spots. The memory of being relentlessly entangled by that person in the late hours of the night surged up, making her feel suddenly indignant. Han Jingman slammed the lid shut, her fingertips trembling with bashful annoyance.

The oblivious culprit was still in the kitchen scrubbing away, busy mincing ginger into tiny bits because she knew Han Jingman disliked the pungent taste.

As the clay pot porridge simmered slowly on low heat, Ling Yu took advantage of the break to check her email on her laptop. With the new semester starting next week, there were constant updates for her as a Teaching Assistant.

After replying to several student inquiries one by one, a music-themed email with a light pink cover popped up. Ling Yu clicked it open and scanned it briefly, not paying it much mind. Having finished her work tasks, she drafted a new schedule for her upcoming experiments.

The seafood porridge had simmered for nearly two hours. The rice was soft and thick, and the whole kitchen was filled with a savory aroma. Ling Yu grabbed two cucumbers from the fridge and prepared a cold salad. Once everything was on the table, she knocked on the bedroom door. “Sister Han, dinner is ready.”

Han Jingman closed her book, opened the door, and glanced at the obedient girl before her. Catching the aroma of the food, her words of resentment died in her throat. She silently swallowed her accumulated blame and followed her to the table.

The cold cucumber salad had an extra touch of light rice vinegar—sweet, sour, and crisp, it was very appetizing. Han Jingman always ate slowly and deliberately. In the past, whenever Ling Yu cooked, Han Jingman would always find a way to praise her. Seeing her now, silently eating only the cucumber salad in front of her without touching the porridge, Ling Yu couldn’t help but feel nervous.

“Won’t you try the porridge? It simmered for a long time~” Seeing Han Jingman staring at her bowl without speaking, Ling Yu added quickly, “Don’t worry, there aren’t any ginger strips in your bowl. I picked them all out.” Now there were only ginger crumbles.

At this, Han Jingman set down her chopsticks, took the handle of her spoon, and followed the suggestion with a taste.

Having just bathed, her long hair was fluffy and beautiful, draped over her shoulders like satin. As she held the spoon to eat with one hand and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear with the other, her fair fingers grazing her earlobe, Ling Yu wished she could turn into the spoon in her hand.

The crab meat was tender, the firm rice was enveloped in the sweetness of the seafood, and the clams were bouncy and succulent. However, she could still taste a very faint hint of spiciness lingering on her tongue. Han Jingman swallowed the porridge and gave an honest evaluation:

“Mm. I can barely taste the ginger, and the porridge is very smooth and fragrant. It’s delicious.” Upon receiving Han Jingman’s approval, Ling Yu’s eyes instantly sparkled. Excellent.

Seeing that Han Jingman was enjoying her meal, Ling Yu also began to eat in earnest, thinking to herself while she drank her porridge. After a moment, she asked tentatively, “I’ve finished my experiments for the week and processed the data. How about I send you the results along with next week’s schedule after dinner?”

Han Jingman didn’t look up, replying flatly, “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can after reviewing it.”

Oh, a bit cold. Ling Yu touched her earlobe and quickly lowered her head to finish another half-bowl of porridge. But today was technically their first day living together; she didn’t want it to pass in such silence and coldness.

Ling Yu absentmindedly shoveled porridge into her mouth, suddenly remembering the email she had seen. She decided to try again. “School officially starts next week. There’s a welcome ball this weekend, and everyone can bring a guest. Did you see the email?”

“Isn’t the ball a tradition every year? And you’ve always hated participating in these events; you’ve skipped every year. Why the sudden interest?”

Ling Yu was momentarily speechless, her face heating up. She gently prodded the plump rice in her bowl and muttered, “I just wanted to ask if you were going?”

Han Jingman looked at the dejected Ling Yu, and the seafood porridge mixed with ginger crumbles suddenly looked much more appealing.

The lead dancers for the school’s opening ball were usually chosen from among the Assistant Professors, Associate Professors, and Professors. First, students from each faculty voted, and the top nominees then competed against other faculties to select two lead dancers for the year.

For the first two years, because she wasn’t teaching and wasn’t interested, Han Jingman had never been a candidate. A few years ago, the faculty head added her name. Since then, her votes had been at the top every year, her popularity remains high. Though Han Jingman was surprised by her high vote count, she only smiled and didn’t pay it much mind.

To her surprise, at the end of last semester, she received notice from the Dean that she was honored to be selected as one of this year’s lead dancers. In the past two years, because several highly respected professors had participated with great interest—and students had campaigned wildly for those “old rascals”—Han Jingman had lost by a narrow margin.

But this year, several professors suddenly announced they wouldn’t participate, citing a desire for freshmen to experience the campus’s youthful energy and giving more opportunities to the young. Thus, “Ta-da~”, Han Jingman was predictably voted in.

Now, this person was actually asking if she would participate—clearly unaware of the voting, let alone having voted for her.

Han Jingman calmly drank her porridge and said neutrally, “I should be attending this year. Why? Do you want to go?”

Ling Yu nearly stood up to grab Han Jingman’s hand and tell her: Yes, yes, yes! I want to dance with you.

Han Jingman looked at the person whose face was written with expectation, her eyes shining with hope. She let out a leisurely, light laugh. “It wouldn’t be bad if you participated. I hope you meet more people; it’ll be good for you. Don’t soak in the lab every day, or you’ll turn silly.”

Ling Yu grew anxious. She pushed back her chair and stood up to ask, “Then I… huh?”

Han Jingman suddenly extended a finger and pressed it against Ling Yu’s lips, sealing back the words she was about to say. “Then Xiao Yu needs to be good and find her own partner, because I have already been! Pre! Booked!”

Ling Yu was stunned. When? By whom? Who is she going with?

Han Jingman let out a low-voiced laugh. She was truly glad that, regardless of whether she took suppressants or not, she was the only one who had seen this foolish, dazed side of Ling Yu.

“I’m full. Thank you for dinner. After clearing the table, I’ll leave the dishes to you, Xiao Yu.”

Han Jingman headed into the study in high spirits, leaving Ling Yu alone to wallow in regret. It was a rare occasion she thought to go to the ball, yet someone had beaten her to it. It would have been better not to know. Ling Yu resignedly gathered the dishes with a bitter heart.