Life is full of risks—choose your rebirth carefully.

I reached out and gently pushed open the heavy wrought-iron gate, its intricate carvings looming before me. The soaring ceilings and the dramatic, snow-white spiral staircases wrapping around the grand hall made the place look like something out of a palace. The early morning light streamed in from behind me, stretching my already slender shadow to an almost surreal length. Step by step, I walked forward, treading over my own elongated silhouette as I entered my new home.

The wheels of my battered suitcase screeched against the polished hardwood floor, the sound grating and out of place in such opulence.

To the side of the staircase stood a mirror, and in it, a delicate-looking girl in a high school uniform gazed back at me, her expression quiet and searching.

The faint trace of confusion in her pale reflection told me one thing—I wasn’t as strong as I’d thought.

Gripping the solid wooden railing, I slowly ascended the spiral stairs, each step feeling surreal, as if I were walking through a dream.

A low, intermittent murmur guided my steps forward.

I reached out again, this time pushing open the first door at the landing. Standing silently at the threshold, I peered inside.

There, on an absurdly oversized bed—the kind I’d never even imagined existed—a man and a woman were boldly entangled in an intimate performance.

From my angle, I could only see the man’s sculpted back and a glimpse of the woman’s milky skin. The scene was almost artistic in its composition, strangely beautiful.

Of course, I was only fifteen. This kind of "lovey-dovey" display wasn’t exactly my cup of tea.

I slid back quietly, ready to retreat downstairs. I’d heard this sort of "exercise" could be quite exhausting.

Besides, I was hungry. Maybe I’d raid the kitchen for a snack.

Then—**"Ah—!"** A woman’s sharp scream pierced the air. Behind me, a man’s voice growled in displeasure, "Who the hell are you?"

I turned.

The man twisted to look at me, and for a long moment, our eyes locked.

He possessed an almost too-delicate face, yet his eyes were sharp as blades. Perhaps it was those piercing eyes that projected his fierce masculinity, overpowering his otherwise refined and elegant features with an undeniably rugged charm.

I didn't want to answer. My gaze drifted downward involuntarily, lingering for a brief moment on the perfect curve of his hips... A silent reminder that I wasn't quite accustomed to conversing with completely naked men.

My body language should have made that perfectly clear.

The woman frantically searched for something to cover herself, while the man's eyes sparkled with amusement and something far more suggestive...

I averted my eyes from the sight of this handsome man's full-frontal display and turned to leave once more. Thankfully, he wasn't so perverse as to insist on hospitality under these circumstances.

Today marked our first encounter. With the most sincere gesture imaginable, he'd warned me exactly how our future interactions would unfold.

I understood perfectly—this guy was a total womanizer, with absolutely no boundaries. The farther I stayed from him, the better.

A twinge of irritation prickled at me. Why did my life always attract men like this?!

Stepping into the kitchen, I found only mineral water and beer in the fridge. The space was so spotless it barely seemed functional. Every spice jar was purely decorative, their contents conspicuously absent.

Seriously, these rich people—all about appearances, nothing beneath the surface.

Twisting open a bottle of mineral water, I sat there sipping while flipping through a book. I had long grown accustomed to waiting in silence...

Less than ten minutes later, I heard footsteps. A man's low chuckle drifted from the living room: "You go ahead to work. I've got some business to attend to."

"Oh my, Young Master Yin," came a woman's sultry, honeyed laughter that grated on the ears. "Do be careful. That little sister is so young—wouldn't want you to get into trouble playing with fire."

"Enough nonsense," the man replied, his voice still laced with amusement but devoid of genuine warmth—like sunlight refracted through glass, visible yet untouchable. "She's the daughter of a friend. Don't let her height fool you; she's still very young. I won't tolerate hearing such remarks again."

The woman fell silent.

I could never quite grasp the distinction between aristocratic elegance and hypocrisy, so I remained quiet. Clearly, my guardian wasn't someone to be trifled with.

After an awkward pause, the woman forced a dry laugh. "Understood, Young Master Yin. I'll skip the pleasantries with her and take my leave now."

The sharp click of high heels gradually faded into the distance.

A lighter flicked open with a crisp snap.

I looked up calmly and found myself drowning in a pair of unfathomably dark eyes.

The man stood about six feet tall, his frame lean but not delicate—the kind of build that wouldn't reveal its underlying strength unless seen undressed, as I unfortunately had. Dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, he exuded effortless elegance.

His skin held a jade-like pallor—flawless yet distinctly masculine. With finely sculpted features that bordered on androgynous beauty and lustrous hair, he carried an aura of glacial perfection: pristine, untouchable, cold.

Though his lips curved in the faintest smile, there was something inscrutable about it—nothing welcoming or warm.

To sum it up, he was the epitome of a handsome, aloof elite—the kind of man who defined contemporary sophistication.

The man looked at me, nodded with a faint smile, and said, "You must be Zhuang Keren. Pleasure to meet you. I'm your guardian, Yin Yijie."

I gave a slight nod, averted my gaze, and returned to my book.

A man like him was far beyond the reach of someone as inexperienced as me. The best I could do was play the role of a well-behaved ward—no point trying to cozy up to his type.

Because there was simply no need.

Yin Yijie took a seat across from me, watching as I sipped water and flipped through my book.

Silence hung between us like a tangible presence, thick and unspoken.

If this was some kind of endurance test he had deliberately set up, he was bound to be disappointed. When it came to patience, I was in a league of my own—my composure unmatched, my restraint unparalleled.

From a very young age, whenever my father wasn’t home, my mother had been rather... enthusiastic about studying the dynamics between men and women. She would bring home all sorts of unfamiliar men to explore the artistry of the human form. My mother was the type who loved to vocalize—loudly—during her favorite pastime.

I don’t remember how I first got used to it, but by the time my memories solidified, I had already learned to take it in stride.

I could even read my books or play my games undisturbed, right through the symphony of moans and gasps.

As if nothing were happening at all.

Sometimes, I thought the most wretched thing about being human was having ears. How wonderful it would be if one could only hear what they wanted to hear.

I often imagined that the world of the deaf must be the most peaceful, the most beautiful. If you didn’t have to listen to the ugly sounds of life, wouldn’t everything be just a little more bearable?

Finally, Yin Yijie broke under the weight of my silence.

"Who brought you here?" he asked.

I rummaged through my backpack and pulled out a document—the court's guardianship certificate with his address printed at the bottom.

At fifteen, not fifteen days old, finding this place was hardly a challenge.

He glanced at me and smiled. "It's not convenient for you to live here while attending school. Staying closer to campus would be better."

I nodded in agreement. As a high school freshman, living in a dorm made more sense. By senior year, I'd be an adult anyway, free from the need for a guardian.

Yin Yijie skimmed through my documents and said, "I own an apartment near your school. You can move there. I sometimes stay over when working late, but otherwise, it's mostly empty except for a part-time cleaner who comes twice a week." He placed a key on the table. "Consider it your temporary home."

Home. What exactly was that? In my memory, I'd never had one.

But there was no point arguing. I reached across the table for the key.

Just as my fingers brushed the cold metal, his hand swiftly covered mine, pressing lightly against my fingertips...

I froze, staring at his hand.

Long, elegant fingers, neatly trimmed nails, the tips slightly upturned—perfectly shaped. His warm touch lingered so lightly that the slightest movement would free my hand.

Yet I didn’t pull away. I just watched, cold and still.

For a moment, the room was utterly silent, so quiet even breathing seemed to pause.

Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined my fate would take such a turn—on the cusp of adulthood, only to land in this awkward predicament with a young, disturbingly flirtatious male guardian.