Like a taut bowstring.
The air in Jiang Wanju’s lungs felt as if it was being squeezed out. Her back was pressed against the glass, and beyond it lay a dizzying drop from a towering height. She was afraid of heights. Clutching Chen Zhouren’s arm, she took a deep breath.
Chen Zhouren asked, “Scared?”
Jiang Wanju, feeling utterly pathetic, nodded with a hint of a sob in her voice.
A normal man would stop at this point to comfort his female companion.
Chen Zhouren was not a normal man.
That would be no different from throwing himself to the wolves.
Jiang Wanju sucked in a breath of cold air. “Stop. Stop.”
“Stop what?” Chen Zhouren said. “In this situation, how am I supposed to stop?”
He teased her as he spoke, watching her face while tightening his hold on her.
Chen Zhouren deliberately provoked her. “Crying so delicately, huh? Little Tangerine, do you like this?”
A tear slipped from Jiang Wanju’s eyes.
Chen Zhouren finally softened his tone, coaxing her, “Not used to it? So delicate—how did you dare go out alone?”
His voice was gentle, but his grip remained firm. He felt he had already given her enough time and shown plenty of kindness.
Yet, seeing her still in tears, he had no choice but to scoop her up and take her away from the transparent glass and the dizzying heights.
The moment he set Jiang Wanju down, Chen Zhouren’s phone rang. He wasn’t in a hurry. Picking it up with one hand, he glanced at the caller ID.
He tapped the screen and declined the call.
Jiang Wanju lay on the sofa, looking pitiful—yet somehow alluring.
Chen Zhouren pinched her cheek.
Just then, his phone rang again, relentless and insistent, as if it wouldn’t stop until answered.
Chen Zhouren frowned and answered the call this time.
Jiang Wanju heard a woman’s voice on the other end. “Where are you right now?”
Chen Zhouren responded coldly, “If you need something, go find Xiaolin. Don’t bother me.”
With that, he ended the call and turned his gaze back to Jiang Wanju, only to find her expression had changed. She stopped him.
“Who was that just now?” Her voice was still a bit hoarse, but her words were sharp and clear. “I don’t touch men who belong to other women.”
Chen Zhouren sucked in a breath at the pain from her pinch. “You little brat.” This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
The insult riled up Jiang Wanju. She pushed at Chen Zhouren, trying to make him leave. Unfortunately, the man was strong. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pressing her back down.
“What are you worried about?” Chen Zhouren said. “She’s just a family member. A kid…”
His voice trailed off as he studied Jiang Wanju’s face. “You still care about that? Don’t. It’s just a child. Not worth your concern.”
Jiang Wanju called him a scoundrel, but at this point, anything she said sounded more like sulking.
Chen Zhouren liked her voice. He lowered his head, scooped her up, and kissed her lips, biting down slightly. He moved her into the position he liked, coaxing her with endless patience.
Gone was the aloof and composed Jiang Wanju from earlier that day. Now, she was a teary mess, like a bubbling hot spring deep in the mountains, endlessly spilling over.
The sofa shifted from the movement. Jiang Wanju’s head spun, her thoughts a tangled mess. Chen Zhouren found her dress bothersome and tugged at it.
Jiang Wanju rasped a reminder, “Bai Qing bought this. It was expensive—almost twenty thousand.”
Chen Zhouren chuckled.
“That just makes me want to tear it more.”
Jiang Wanju tried to stop him, but she had no strength left—utterly defeated.
“It’s really expensive,” she mumbled.
“I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow,” Chen Zhouren said, pinching her cheek and dropping a teasing kiss. “Not just one—you can pick as many as you want… What, still unhappy?”
Jiang Wanju cared about whether he would actually replace it, but the lack of oxygen made it impossible to think straight.
They made a mess for a long time. By the time the clock’s minute hand had moved halfway around, her dazed gaze briefly cleared. A few seconds later, she suddenly gasped out, “Wait—”
“It’s fine.” Chen Zhouren stroked her face. The sensation from earlier still lingered, and he was savoring it. “I had a vasectomy.”
Jiang Wanju let out a surprised noise. A large stain had spread on the sofa. Just as she was wondering how to deal with it, Chen Zhouren pulled her up.
She looked at him, dazed and uncomprehending, until he lowered his head and nibbled her ear.
“Want to go again?”
It wasn’t just about going again.
By the time Jiang Wanju got a good look at the suite, the sofa was ruined beyond recognition. She found herself pressed into the soft bedding, her knees sinking into the sheets. The expensive silk didn’t hurt her skin, but a large patch had been dirtied by saliva.
She had fallen asleep lying down but woke up sprawled on her stomach.
Jiang Wanju skipped breakfast. She slept until eleven. Sunlight streamed through the glass window, making her squint. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes.
Her hearing gradually returned. Chen Zhouren was talking on the phone, speaking in rapid Cantonese. Jiang Wanju didn’t understand a word.
She yawned, half-opening her eyes, as Chen Zhouren walked over.
“What do you want to eat?” This story is hosted at g.com.
His tone was gentle. He approached her bedside and naturally cupped her face. “Anything you feel like having?”
Jiang Wanju buried her face in the blanket. “…It’s not breakfast time anymore, is it?”
“Then should I decide?” Chen Zhouren asked, still mild. “Want some soup?”
Jiang Wanju peeked out, like a tiny mushroom pushing through the soil after rain. “What kind of soup?”
What kind of soup?
Lazy people love tomato, pork, and egg drop soup. Just grab some pre-sliced meat from the supermarket, crack an egg into the pot, chop up a few tomatoes—it’s as simple as it gets. Jiang Wanju made it all the time.
Another favorite was coriander, egg, and grass carp soup. Slightly more effort, but still a quick fix.
Chen Zhouren didn’t drink those. He teased her, saying that in Cantonese, these were called “boiled soups”—quick and easy like instant dessert soups, not something you’d order on a date.
Instead, he treated Jiang Wanju to jazzed-up soup.
Pork bones, solomon’s seal, conch, old ginger, and dried scallops were the first to go into the pot. Then came chicken feet, lean pork, and old chicken. Good soup couldn’t be rushed. Chen Zhouren had already reserved a table before Jiang Wanju even woke up. The ingredients simmered on low heat for two hours, then the fish maw—soaked overnight—was added, stewed gently with half a rock melon. The other half of the melon was blended into a puree and cooked for another hour.
By the time Jiang Wanju and Chen Zhouren arrived, the soup was ready.
As soon as it was served, Jiang Wanju caught the light, sweet fragrance. Starving, she took a sip immediately. The chicken broth was rich, blending harmoniously with the fresh taste of conch—both deep and refreshing, absolutely delicious.
She blurted out, “So good.”
Chen Zhouren chuckled. “If you like soup, how about winter melon soup tomorrow?”
Jiang Wanju hesitated.
Chen Zhouren wasn’t in a hurry. He casually ordered a cup of tea from the waiter.
It wasn’t just soup. There were also two styles of fish rolls—freshly filleted grouper wrapped around slivers of Jinhua ham and shiitake mushrooms. Half were steamed and topped with a light superior broth sauce, while the rest were fried to a golden crisp and tossed in a tangy-sweet glaze. The shrimp and eggs were perfectly done—the shrimp sweet and plump, the eggs soft and smooth, neither overcooked nor runny. The shrimp dumplings were delicate and translucent, their filling a juicy pink—meticulously balanced at eight parts shrimp to one and a half parts pork fat, making them plump and bursting with flavor.
Then there were deep-fried white oysters from Lau Fau Shan, their bellies thin and bodies plump. After frying to a golden crisp, they were wrapped in lettuce and dipped in tartar sauce—crispy outside, tender and juicy inside.
After indulging in too much meat the night before, Jiang Wanju craved greens. She went for stir-fried pea shoots and Chinese broccoli steeped in broth, topped with a dusting of dried shrimp roe. She never thought of herself as someone with a big appetite, but by the time she finished the meal—two whole hours later—she realized just how much she had eaten.
Chen Zhouren seemed busy. He took several phone calls, though never in front of Jiang Wanju. He always stepped away, speaking in hushed tones—sometimes in Cantonese, sometimes in Mandarin.
But there was no sign of the assistant from yesterday, nor the temperamental young lady—no more phone calls either.
Jiang Wanju ate leisurely, unhurried. Just as the meal was wrapping up, a dessert arrived—almond milk with bird’s nest.
She frowned in confusion. “Did we order this?”
“I did.” Chen Zhouren smiled at her, lowering his voice. “After all that yelling, doesn’t your throat hurt?”
Author’s Note:
Smooch~