The bedroom was on the third floor of the house, facing south. At eleven in the morning, light poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, filling the whole room with brightness.
Along the left wall stood a full row of wardrobes, the clothes hung inside arranged by shade of color.
Song Wan glanced over them roughly—many were classic pieces from top luxury brands, with everything from spring to winter wear, all complete.
Seeing the delighted expression on her face, Huo Jingheng felt an inexplicable surge of joy in his heart as well.
“If you don’t like any of them, you can have a tailor make something custom for you.”
More than half of his own clothes were privately tailored, with the occasional luxury designer piece mixed in.
Song Wan nodded exaggeratedly. “How could I not like it? I love it! So many beautiful clothes—this is literally my dream walk-in closet.”
Even in her previous life, she had never had a walk-in closet of her own, just one big wardrobe.
Many of her clothes wouldn’t fit inside, and she’d had to hang them on racks outside.
The scene before her now was exactly the walk-in closet that had appeared in her dreams—one that belonged to her alone.
It wasn’t just clothes, either. On the bottom level were two rows of cabinets specifically for shoes.
From tall boots and high heels to sneakers, everything was there.
As Song Wan looked on, she grew a little sad, and Huo Jingheng caught it keenly.
“What’s wrong?”
Song Wan shook her head. “Once the baby grows, I’m definitely going to gain weight. By then, I won’t be able to fit into any of these clothes and shoes.”
Many of the bloggers she followed online had gained weight to some degree after pregnancy.
Some would start dieting and shaping up during their postpartum confinement for the sake of their careers.
She didn’t dare imagine how many pounds a big glutton like herself, who loved eating so much, would gain by then.
Huo Jingheng seemed unable to understand her worry. “You can just buy new ones then.”
“Capitalists really do talk big,” Song Wan muttered under her breath.
Thankfully, he didn’t hear her.
In the very center of the walk-in closet stood a low cabinet with six drawers, its brass handles polished to a brilliant shine.
To the right was the vanity table, French-style, with a large tabletop.
On it sat three large jewelry boxes with tea-colored glass lids, through which the jewelry inside was visible.
Song Wan walked over. The first box held pearls.
A full strand of South Sea pearls, every one perfectly round, glowing with a faint pink hue.
Beside them were several pairs of pearl stud earrings in different styles, which could be mixed and matched freely.
As a fashion blogger, several ideas flashed through Song Wan’s mind.
There were also two long pearl necklaces, which could be wrapped twice around the neck as a choker, or knotted and worn as a sweater chain.
The second box held jadeite. The most eye-catching piece was a strand of old-mine glass-varietal jadeite beads—sixty-seven of them, with a pure, true green. Held up to the light, they seemed to hold a pool of water within.
It came with a pair of cabochon earrings and a saddle-shaped ring.
Still, Song Wan felt it couldn’t compare to the set her mother-in-law had given her.
The third box was the largest, divided into two levels.
On top were the wristwatches—a white gold Nautilus with a blue-gray dial.
Song Wan didn’t know watches and couldn’t recognize all the brands, but she knew this one: a Patek Philippe.
There was also a Cartier Tank, as well as a Piaget with a dial ringed in diamonds—extremely thin, perfect for pairing with an evening gown.
The lower level held all kinds of diamonds: an all-American diamond necklace on a platinum setting, eleven stones in total, with a cool, brilliant fire.
A pair of pear-shaped diamond drop earrings and several rings—square-cut, round solitaire in a six-prong setting, and a three-stone style—all sat in the ring slots.
In the corner of the vanity table was a small lacquerware box, its gilded peonies rich and magnificent.
Inside were a Cartier Love bracelet and a tortoiseshell comb.
If Song Wan had seen these on her first day after transmigrating, she probably would have gone wild with joy.
Having already seen the two sets of jewelry her mother-in-law had given her, Song Wan considered herself well-versed in such things. She was pleasantly surprised by these gifts, but not to the point of losing her composure.
“Am I benefiting from the child’s good fortune?” Song Wan turned around, tilting her head as she studied Huo Jingheng.
“Jewels suit a beauty. These are nothing.”
Huo Jingheng didn’t deny it.
Song Wan didn’t feel any disappointment. It was the original owner who had suffered all the hardships. Since transmigrating over, aside from that heart-stopping first day, she had been receiving gifts until her hands went soft.
“Amitabha, I hope the original owner is reborn into a good family. Otherwise, my conscience won’t be at ease.”
Although Song Wan was an atheist, she now found herself hoping those legends were true.
“Spacing out again?”
At some point, Huo Jingheng had moved closer to her.
Song Wan could smell his scent—it was rather pleasant, and she couldn’t help taking a few extra sniffs.
Huo Jingheng’s eyes darkened, and he lowered his head as if to kiss her, but Song Wan dodged by turning her face away.
That scoundrel of a man—he’d accepted the gifts himself, and now he wanted to take advantage? No way!
This time it was Song Wan’s turn to gaze at Huo Jingheng with a half-smile, much like the way he had looked at her when they first met.
“Young Master Huo, what are you trying to do?”
Her finger pressed against Huo Jingheng’s lips—so that’s what warmth felt like.
“Change how you address me.”
Everyone called him Young Master Huo, but the way Song Wan said it made it sound especially different.
“Change it to what? Huo Jingheng, A-heng, or…”
Song Wan grabbed Huo Jingheng’s tie, their lips almost touching. “Husband?”
Noticing that Huo Jingheng’s breathing had clearly paused for a moment, Song Wan couldn’t suppress her smile.
She leaned forward proactively, and in just an instant, immediately stepped back.
“That’s a reward from the beautiful Lady Song. Thank you for the gifts, Mr. Huo.”
A kiss was a kiss, but whether the initiative lay in a man’s hands or a woman’s made all the difference in meaning.
Song Wan called out loudly, “Fang Jie, let’s go take a look outside.”
After she left, Huo Jingheng seemed to only then come back to his senses, and let out a soft laugh.
Song Wan had hurried off with Fang Jie, leaving the luggage on the floor, not yet unpacked.
In the past, Huo Jingheng would probably have called a servant to carry the luggage to the bedroom.
Now, for some reason, he picked up the small wooden chest Song Wan had brought, intending to place it in the bedroom next door.
Perhaps the road had been bumpy—the chest hadn’t been fastened properly, and as he set it down, it suddenly popped open on its own, and something fell out.
At first, Huo Jingheng paid it no mind. He was about to put it back when his gaze landed on the portrait on the paper, and his hands paused for a while.
Meanwhile, Song Wan and Fang Jie had already toured the entire villa from inside to out.
The villa had three floors in total, decorated throughout in a French style.
The first floor held the living room and dining room. The entrance hall was paved with black-and-white diamond-check tiles, and the entire living room was covered by a large shaggy rug.
The living room had high ceilings—at least 3.2 meters—with three rings of plaster molding along the cornices.
The sofa in the very center was white, with a marble coffee table in front of it, its surface veined like pale ink bleeding across paper.
Opposite the sofa was a low cabinet against the wall, which could be pushed open with a gentle touch. It was currently empty, with nothing inside.
Above the low cabinet hung an oil painting—a dusk over Victoria Harbour, the ships and water rendered in dark colors.
The living room connected to a terrace, the French doors half open, the air fresh and clean.
Shixun Road was quiet; only the sound of cars passing in the distance could be heard.
From here, one could go straight out to the garden—not large, but exquisite. The grass had just been trimmed, and a row of gardenias was planted along the edges.
The second floor held the study and guest rooms, each with its own private bathroom.
The third floor had only one master bedroom, connected to a walk-in closet and a spacious private bathroom with a bathtub big enough for two people to lie down in.
The more Song Wan looked, the more satisfied she became. Although living on the third floor would be a bit tiring for going up and down stairs in the later stages of pregnancy,
there were plenty of servants—four maids including Fang Jie, a chef, four bodyguards, and a driver.
Huo Jingheng was busy with work, so most of these people were there mainly to serve Song Wan, giving her an odd feeling of being a lady of the manor.
Song Wan happily returned to the bedroom, planning to personally watch Fang Jie unpack the luggage. Strangely, Huo Jingheng was nowhere to be seen.
“Where did Huo Jingheng go?”
The young maid beside her quickly explained, “Sir had some business and just left.”
She hesitated, then added, “He seemed to be in a rather bad mood.”
Song Wan paid it no mind. “Oh, probably something at the company. Where’s the wooden chest I brought? It’s full of valuables—put it away carefully.”
Fang Jie brought it over at once. When it was opened, the topmost item was a painting—the person in it was none other than Song Wan.