The moment Li Qiao finished speaking, she clearly caught a flash of icy sharpness in Shang Yu's eyes.
It was fleeting, but it confirmed her suspicion—
She had, in fact, pissed off this Nanyang overlord.
Shang Yu signed the document in front of him, his jawline taut with displeasure. His tone, once mild and unhurried, had turned cold: "What do you think?"
It was only now that Li Qiao realized just how little she actually knew about Shang Yu.
Everything about him—his calm demeanor, his lazy charm, his gentlemanly elegance—was just surface. Underneath that veneer lay something far wilder and far more domineering.
Slowly, she withdrew her gaze, rubbed her chin, and thought for three whole minutes before letting out a frustrated sigh.
"Lord Yan, how about a hint?"
Shang Yu didn't look up. He remained in his signing posture.
But his eyes—dark, stormy, unreadable—gave him away. He was holding something back. So much so that when he pressed too hard with his pen, the tip split the page with a crisp snap.
The small sound drew Li Qiao's attention. She looked over and saw him casually cap the pen and toss it aside.
Then, without warning, Shang Yu stood up.
Unhurried, he took off his suit jacket and began walking toward her.
His expression was cold, his lips drawn into a tight line. In his deep, brooding eyes, something dark was churning just beneath the surface.
Li Qiao instinctively straightened her back, suddenly on guard, eyes locked on him with growing suspicion.
Soon, he reached the sofa.
With a faint scent of expensive cologne, Shang Yu spread his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, covering her pale, exposed skin.
Li Qiao looked startled. She hadn't even said anything when his large hand suddenly cupped her chin.
The rough pad of his thumb brushed along her cheek. He gripped her jaw lightly but firmly, leaned down, narrowed his eyes, and spoke in a voice as cold as ice:
"You want to intern at Yanhuang… because of Zhui Feng?"
Forced to tilt her head back, Li Qiao looked up at him. His grip wasn't harsh, but the tension in his arm was unmistakable—veins bulging, as if he was struggling to restrain himself.
Their eyes locked.
And for the first time, Li Qiao saw something in his sharp, intimidating gaze that no one else had—
A side of Shang Yu that he never showed.
She let out a soft sigh, her thick lashes trembling slightly. With her usual boldness, she raised an eyebrow and asked, "Is Zhui Feng the only option?"
The girl's fearless audacity made Shang Yu's eyes darken even further. Still gripping her chin, he leaned closer, towering over her with a dominant presence.
"If not him, then who?"
They were so close now—just one centimeter more and her nose would brush his lips.
Their breaths mingled. Their eyes clashed—hers wild, his cold.
Li Qiao tilted her head slightly, her gaze piercing straight into his, and chuckled.
"I thought you already knew, Lord Yan."
Anyone watching this scene—Wang Yue, Liu Yun, whoever—would have been stunned beyond words.
Because Li Qiao was the first person to ever stay so calm and cheeky while facing Shang Yu in full alpha mode.
At that moment, Shang Yu's intimidating aura slowly dissipated. His grip loosened. His thumb unconsciously grazed her skin.
After a pause, his deep voice regained its usual magnetic timbre.
"You sure?"
Some things didn't need to be said aloud. One look, one movement—and both sides would understand.
Li Qiao felt his grip relax. Her refined brows lifted slightly, and she tilted her chin upward to rest lightly in his palm.
Then she said softly:
"I want to be at Yanhuang… because I came for Yanhuang."
Two identical words—"Yanhuang"—
But each carried its own meaning.
And she knew, he would understand.
A faint smile finally broke across Shang Yu's lips. The cold glint in his eyes faded.
He raised his wrist slightly, cupping her cheek more gently.
"If you want to work at Yanhuang," he said, voice low and rich, "you'll have to wear formal business attire."