In the end, Ming Jiahe managed to lure her into the French restaurant as she had hoped.
Watching the girl across from her obediently eating her Mont Blanc, Ming Jiahe quietly raised her phone camera from the tabletop.
Finally!
Her photo collection was about to get a new addition! And it would be a one-of-a-kind one at that!
Ming Jiahe couldn’t contain her excitement. Through the lens, the girl’s puffed cheeks trembled slightly with each chew, like a cat sneaking a treat.
The moment she pressed the shutter, Jing Nian’an suddenly looked up, the cream at the corner of her lips shimmering faintly in the sunlight.
Is it really that delicious? Ming Jiahe hurriedly put down her phone and swiftly grabbed the napkin box, trying to cover up her actions.
Her movements were practiced and smooth.
“You’ve got it all over your face.”
Then, Ming Jiahe pretended to be annoyed as she pulled out a tissue, her fingers honestly reaching toward the other girl’s lips.
But Jing Nian’an suddenly turned her head away, the silver spoon clinking crisply against the porcelain plate.
She elegantly wiped the cream from her lips, lifted her chin, and shot Ming Jiahe a glance, like a proud Ragdoll cat tauntingly saying:
“What’s so good about it? It’s not delicious at all.”
But her reddening earlobes betrayed her.
Ming Jiahe’s breath hitched, her hand under the table frantically pinching her own thigh.
So adorable! That tsundere act!
Just as she was scheming how to sneak another photo, Jing Nian’an’s phone suddenly lit up—it was a video call from Wen Zhuo.
The girl picked up her phone and visibly stiffened when she saw the caller ID.
After a moment of hesitation, she still pressed the answer button.
“Brother.”
Her soft, trailing tone sounded as sweet as honey, carrying a natural, coquettish intimacy that made Ming Jiahe’s ears tingle.
On the screen, the man was unbuttoning his white coat, his slender fingers pausing at the third button: “Sweetheart, did you eat properly today?”
A red mole was faintly visible on his exposed throat, appearing and disappearing with his breath.
But Jing Nian’an’s gaze was suddenly drawn to the dessert cart outside the camera’s frame.
A server in white gloves was placing handcrafted swan cream puffs on the table.
The swan cream puffs were dusted with snowy powdered sugar, their wings adorned with delicate silver sugar pearls, filled with smooth raspberry custard cream.
“Sweetheart?”
Wen Zhuo’s voice remained gentle, but his pupils behind his glasses darkened.
He lightly tapped the screen, his knuckles glowing with a cold, pale light.
Ming Jiahe deliberately stabbed her silver fork into a cream puff, causing the raspberry custard cream to slowly ooze out from the opening.
Jing Nian’an immediately shifted her gaze back, her fingertips unconsciously tracing circles on the tablecloth:
“Yes, brother, I ate properly. Oh, Wen Zhuo, you’re so naggy.”
“Really?” Wen Zhuo suddenly leaned closer to the camera, his amber eyes seeming to pierce through the screen. “Then let your brother see today’s lunch, and I won’t nag anymore.”
Hearing this, Jing Nian’an immediately straightened up.
“There’s nothing special, just regular food.”
Her eyes drifted toward the table in front of her, deliberately avoiding Wen Zhuo’s gaze.
She had already eaten two desserts today. If Wen Zhuo found out and told Jing Lüyan…
The girl’s glass-like eyes shifted, and she suddenly leaned closer to the screen: “Brother, my signal is bad here! I’m going to eat now!”
Without waiting for a response, she quickly hung up, guiltily flipping her phone face-down on the table.
On the other end.
Wen Zhuo stared at the suddenly blackened phone screen, his well-defined fingers slowly tightening, his knuckles turning pale from the force.Jing Nian’an had just set her phone down when Ming Jiahe’s inquisitive voice drifted over. “Your brother’s surname is Wen?”
The girl’s fingers paused slightly as she lifted her shimmering, watery eyes.
“My cousin’s surname is Wen.”
Her tone was light as she idly twirled the dessert fork, the silver utensil casting fragmented light between her fingertips. “Is there a problem?”
In that instant, a complex, indecipherable emotion flickered through Ming Jiahe’s eyes.
The Wen family…
But she had heard the elders in her own family say—the people of the Wen family were all a bunch of lunatics.
“Nothing.”
Ming Jiahe set down her teacup, deliberately casual as she straightened her napkin to cover her momentary lapse. “Just asking casually.”
Then, she awkwardly changed the subject, as if eager to shake off some unsettling association:
“Would you like to try other flavors?”
Jing Nian’an tilted her head, studying her for a moment. Her shimmering eyes blinked, seemingly completely unaware of Ming Jiahe’s odd behavior.
“Alright.” She gave a dignified nod, her tone both spoiled and matter-of-fact.
She then reached out to poke at the newly served macaron, lightly touching it with her fingertip before pulling back, frowning and muttering quietly:
“This color is so ugly…”
Ming Jiahe watched her this spoiled and picky demeanor, momentarily speechless.
—Does she really know nothing?
—Or… does she simply not care?