There was no unpleasant smell of alcohol or food on Chen Zhouren. He smelled fresh and clean, which was the exact opposite of his scheming nature. His scent gave off an air of gentleness and harmlessness, making people subconsciously want to trust him.
Although Jiang Wanju had been drinking, her mind was still clear. She raised her hand and lightly hit him:
“Let go.”
But the soft hit carried no real threat—it landed on him without pain or weight, barely noticeable. Chen Zhouren, ever cooperative, let her go and looked at her with a faint smile.
“Long time no see.”
It really had been a while. Almost three months. Yet his familiar attitude made it feel like it had only been three days since they last saw each other.
The silence in between, the mass-sent New Year text… it was as if none of it had happened.
Jiang Wanju didn’t feel like talking to him. She rubbed her eyes, feeling dazed and tired, and continued walking toward her room. The hotel’s thick carpet muffled her footsteps. Chen Zhouren followed behind her and asked:
“You ate so little tonight. Don’t you want to eat something more?”
Jiang Wanju stopped and turned to look at him.
“I’m tired now.”
Even if the king of heaven himself showed up, she wasn’t going out for another meal. She wanted to rest properly.
“I know,” Chen Zhouren said smoothly. “You go take a shower. I’ll order food for you.”
He said it so naturally, as if they were a long-time couple living together. But in reality, they’d merely been in sync for a few brief days—as nothing more than temporary lovers.
It seemed like Chen Zhouren had an innate talent for slipping into people’s lives. Whatever he said, it somehow sounded comfortable and convincing.
To her own surprise, Jiang Wanju nodded.
Taking advantage of the moment, Chen Zhouren smoothly re-entered Jiang Wanju’s suite.
She didn’t care. After closing the door, she kicked off her shoes, let down her hair, and went to the bathroom to shower. Chen Zhouren stayed outside and made a call to order food.
When the dishes were placed neatly on the high table in the suite, Jiang Wanju had already finished removing her makeup and showering. She didn’t care if he saw her fresh-faced and dripping wet—after all, he’d already seen her at her worst.
Wuxi and Suzhou dishes tended toward sweetness, Hangzhou cuisine was known for its light and fresh flavors, and Shanghai food combined both qualities.
Chen Zhouren had ordered “Kou Sansi” (Shredded Ham, Chicken, and Bamboo Shoots), Longjing Shrimp, a Three-Delicacy Soup, and a vegetarian cornmeal dish. This story is hosted at g.com.
Jiang Wanju hadn’t eaten much earlier and needed these warm, comforting foods to soothe the stomach upset by alcohol. Picking up her chopsticks, she began eating without a word.
Then she heard Chen Zhouren ask:
“How’s work?”
“Pretty good,” Jiang Wanju replied.
“Has Bai Qing’s ex-girlfriend caused you any more trouble?”
“No.”
“When are you going back to Beijing?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
……
Question after question, Chen Zhouren asked at an unhurried pace. Jiang Wanju ate quickly, answering simply and focusing on finishing her meal.
Chen Zhouren sat relaxed on the sofa. He didn’t cross his legs, his posture casual but never impolite.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked.
“No,” Jiang Wanju replied in a muffled voice. “With someone as busy as President Chen, how could I dare to be mad?”
The Longjing shrimp had such a fresh flavor it almost made her teeth ache. The warm, comforting food slid down her throat, filling her stomach and making her chest feel like it was opening up into a vast, blue sky.
Her words made Chen Zhouren’s dimples appear again. He leaned toward her. Jiang Wanju was still eating, clearly hungry. Her cheeks were puffed out as she focused on getting full, not caring about her eating manners—she just wanted to eat and then go straight to bed.
A loose strand of hair fell forward. Chen Zhouren gently brushed it back for her so she could keep eating without distraction. He watched her with interest, like she was a little hamster clutching peanuts in its tiny paws—adorable enough to make him want to poke her soft cheeks.
“In the workplace,” Chen Zhouren said in a softer tone, “little Tangerine, try to understand.”
“You didn’t even tell me you were here,” Jiang Wanju replied.
“And you didn’t say you were coming either.” Chen Zhouren reached out and pinched her cheek. Her freshly washed skin was cool, smooth, and soft like milk. He lowered his voice. “Come here. Let me hold you.”
Jiang Wanju ignored him. Chen Zhouren didn’t push; he let go and leaned back into the sofa, smiling.
“Come sit for a bit. For the next few days, I’ll take care of your late-night snacks. I’ll make sure little Tangerine gets all plump and well-fed.”
In her industry, appearance and figure mattered. She didn’t strictly monitor her weight, but she’d still check now and then to see if she needed to cut back.
Putting her chopsticks down—she’d eaten enough—Jiang Wanju walked over to Chen Zhouren and sat right down on his lap.
He slid a hand down her spine and lightly patted her lower back. His voice carried a hint of laughter. “Really? What kind of company doesn’t even let its employees eat properly?”
He was half-joking as his fingers slowly found the soft flesh at her waist. The feel was still good, though noticeably leaner than before. She’d been so busy with work lately her appetite had suffered, and her subcutaneous fat had thinned without her realizing.
“You’ve lost weight,” Chen Zhouren said.
Jiang Wanju hummed faintly, arms around his neck as she looked at his face. He was still exactly as he’d been in Hong Kong—elegant and charming, with motives as brazen as his good looks.
“Doesn’t President Chen have his own room?” she asked.
“Nowhere feels as comfortable as Miss Jiang’s,” Chen Zhouren replied, his arm snug around her waist.
He never hid his intentions. Jiang Wanju knew perfectly well what he meant, and she should have refused. She needed to get up at eight the next morning for breakfast and work. Morning was when Chen Zhouren seemed to be at his most energetic, and if she let him stay tonight, she wasn’t sure she’d even make it to meet her director on time.
But.
Like wine, a good lover could also be addictive.
As she sat on his lap, Chen Zhouren began to gently warm her knees with his palms. He wasn’t in a rush. This was a consensual thing—if Jiang Wanju said no, he wouldn’t press further. He was, after all, a very capable partner in every sense—just not one who talked about emotions.
“I’m really tired tonight,” Jiang Wanju said honestly. “I don’t want to move.”
Chen Zhouren kept massaging her knees leisurely. “Then don’t move. Little Tangerine, there’s more than one way for men and women to have a good time.”
Jiang Wanju blinked in surprise. She didn’t quite get what he meant.
He continued kneading her knees until the skin flushed slightly with warmth, then gestured for her to rest on the bed. Meanwhile, he called the hotel to request a brand-new, unused towel.
Jiang Wanju frowned in confusion. “What do you need a towel for?”
Half-lying on the bed, one of her pale feet ended up caught in Chen Zhouren’s palm as he toyed with it. His dimples deepened, eyes gleaming like a fox laying a perfectly set trap.
“Little Tangerine,” he said, “want to try something… special with me?”