When it came to buying bags, Gao Qian had something to say again:
“President Meng, customs inspected Madam’s luggage yesterday. We ended up paying 11.53 million yuan in duties.”
That’s why Chen Luoru’s luggage only arrived home this morning—customs had been busy all day yesterday.
If a traveler brings back one or two bags for personal use, customs usually turns a blind eye.
But Chen Luoru brought back hundreds of bags and all kinds of luxury items. Not declaring them would be suspicious, potentially considered smuggling.
Thankfully, she had a wealthy husband to handle everything for her. Otherwise, customs might’ve detained her in an interrogation room.
Meng Jianchen smiled helplessly at the remark but didn’t say anything.
To Gao Qian, that smile was full of indulgence—what does it mean to casually pay over 11 million in customs duties? The actual value of those items must be several times that amount.
Whether it was the money for the bags or the taxes, it all came out of Meng Jianchen’s pocket.
How much must he dote on her to allow such extravagant behavior?
Ah—Gao Qian could only envy Chen Luoru. That woman must have saved the galaxy in her past life.
If there were a competition for reincarnation skills, Chen Luoru would be a top contender.
Gao Qian followed Meng Jianchen into the CEO’s office. The room was spotless, with lush Chinese evergreens by the window, their leaves dust-free and shining.
Suddenly, Meng Jianchen asked, “What’s the latest on Jinghong Biotech?”
Jinghong Biotech was a wholly owned subsidiary of Jinghong Holdings, established by Meng Jianchen himself after he returned to China.
Back then, he used Jinghong Holdings as collateral to acquire Rongyang Pharmaceuticals—a state-owned enterprise—for nearly 10 billion yuan. The board of directors had mixed opinions on this “snake swallowing an elephant” acquisition.
Rongyang had been underperforming for years, surviving mostly on its reputation as an old and established pharmaceutical company.
Taking over for the state was noble, sure, but Jinghong was a profit-oriented enterprise, not a charity.
At the board meeting, Meng Jianchen spoke passionately, stating that Jinghong Biotech aimed to develop first-in-class drugs and vaccines. He had studied biomedical sciences in the U.S., so he considered himself somewhat of an expert.
With this acquisition, Jinghong Biotech could take over Rongyang’s R&D pipelines and manufacturing facilities, and would receive government support. This was far more efficient than starting from scratch.
To the board, this all sounded like the naive dreams of a fearless newcomer. Everyone has dreams—but realizing them is another story.
In China, so-called “innovative drugs” are mostly me-too or me-better variants—slightly improved versions of existing drugs. Creating a first-in-class original drug was as hard as touching the sky.
Simply put, most companies tweak the chemical structure of existing drugs to avoid patent restrictions while maintaining similar efficacy—essentially high-end copycats.
Top international pharmaceutical firms pour billions of dollars annually into R&D to produce just a handful of first-in-class drugs.
Whether Jinghong Biotech could one day develop valuable innovative drugs remained to be seen—though the profits would be astronomical if they succeeded.
These types of projects required heavy investment, carried high risks, and had long development cycles. It was entirely possible to burn through all the money without producing even a ripple.
That’s why most board members didn’t have faith in Jinghong Biotech’s future. In the end, it was only thanks to Chairman Meng Xiangdong’s decisive support that the acquisition was approved.
The Meng family owned over 50% of Jinghong Holdings. If they wanted to do something, it was going to happen.
Critics might accuse them of abusing majority shareholder rights—but once profits rolled in, those same critics would conveniently forget.
Gao Qian quickly pulled up a report on his tablet. “Currently, drugs CS21840, CS22674, and CS22907 are in the preclinical stage. CS17132 has just received clinical trial approval and will soon enter Phase I.”
“Hmm. Keep tracking it closely,” Meng Jianchen replied, his gaze obscure as he stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at the bustling city below.
Meanwhile, Chen Luoru was busy in her walk-in closet, organizing her belongings. Most of the work was done by the maids, but she was still exhausted.
She sat on the couch, one hand holding the ear of a teacup, the other gently stirring her Assam milk tea with a teaspoon.
Tea etiquette was very particular—the spoon should move back and forth between the 6 o’clock and 12 o’clock positions, not in circles, and certainly shouldn’t touch the cup and make clinking noises.
“Ma’am, where would you like your harp placed?” asked Butler Wu.
Chen Luoru lifted her eyelids, revealing a golden harp.
The gilded body was decorated with intricate European-style carvings, and the 47 strings were arranged in an elegant cascade.
This double-pedal harp had been purchased from a German music store for 130,000 euros. With its vast range, it could play any piece of music.
Chen Luoru had started learning harp at age 10 from a private teacher in Hong Kong. Among the rich in Hong Kong, piano and violin were too common—they preferred more “refined” instruments to highlight their status.
Even a beginner harp cost about 100,000 yuan, enough to deter most families.
Its niche nature meant harp teachers were scarce. In some smaller cities, you might not even find one qualified instructor. Even basic harp maintenance like tuning or replacing strings was a challenge.
Each two-hour lesson cost her 3,000 HKD, making every note she played sound like money flowing out.
“Is there a music room?” she asked.
“There isn’t one yet,” replied Butler Wu. “If you’d like, we can convert a room, but it’ll take a few days.”
“Just put it in any empty room for now.”
“Take the harp to the basement level,” Butler Wu instructed the maids.
Chen Luoru paused. “There’s a basement?”
“Yes, Madam. The basement is for leisure and entertainment, the ground floor is the public area, the second floor is the living quarters, and there’s a rooftop garden. You could invite friends for tea and chats if you like.”
“Take me to see the basement,” she said after a moment.
“Of course. This way, please.”
When they reached the basement via elevator, Chen Luoru was amazed. Meng Jianchen really knew how to enjoy life.
There was a mini bar, private cinema, indoor pool, gym, and even a bowling alley and billiards room.
“Madam, you can do spa treatments here,” said Butler Wu, pointing to a maid. “This is Xiaorou—she’s specially trained.”
Xiaorou rarely did manual chores—she had to keep her hands soft and smooth.
“Do one for me later,” said Chen Luoru.
She had nothing else to do at home anyway—might as well enjoy herself.
Once the harp was placed, only Chen Luoru and Xiaorou were left in the spa room.
Chen Luoru wrapped herself in a towel and lay face-down on the waterbed.
Xiaorou warmed some essential oil in her palms and began gently massaging Chen’s neck and shoulders.
Her technique was just right—relaxing but not painful.
Chen Luoru took care of herself regularly—her skin was fair and supple. She had shallow dimples on her lower back and long, shapely legs in all the right proportions.
“Is this pressure okay, Madam?”
Who else could he be but Meng Jianchen?
Xiaorou replied, “Sir doesn’t like massages.”
Chen Luoru let out a soft “hmm”—as if she believed that. Didn’t like it, yet had a dedicated room and staff? Please.
The spa session lasted over an hour, and Chen Luoru fell asleep from sheer comfort.
When she woke, she was alone. She washed up, got dressed, and stepped out of the room.
As she passed a particular room, she realized she hadn’t seen it before—Butler Wu hadn’t introduced it.
She tried the door—it wouldn’t open.
“Madam, you’re awake,” Xiaorou suddenly appeared.
“What’s in this room?” she asked.
“This room is off-limits. Only Sir’s fingerprint can open it,” Xiaorou replied. “I don’t know what’s inside.”
Chen Luoru then noticed the fingerprint lock on the door.
Not allowed to enter? Was he hiding something?
She didn’t feel much like uncovering Meng Jianchen’s secrets. Instead, she slowly made her way back upstairs.
At 10 PM, Meng Jianchen returned home. Chen Luoru was lying in bed reading.
The cover read: “Shakespeare’s Sonnets.”
As he unbuttoned his suit, he said, “I told you not to wait up.”
“I wasn’t waiting,” Chen snapped. “I just couldn’t sleep.”
She’d napped all afternoon—of course she wasn’t tired.
Meng Jianchen chuckled and handed her a paper bag as he walked to the bed.
Chen Luoru put down her book, opened the box, and saw a pink clutch with three adorable fluffy keychains.
It was a FENDI limited edition she hadn’t been able to get in London. She had no idea where he’d found it.
She resisted the urge to grin and said coolly, “Giving gifts for no reason? Must be up to no good.”
“Do I need a reason to give my wife a gift?” he replied.
Chen Luoru looked up at him with sparkling eyes. “Well then, I’ll reluctantly accept it.”
Inside, she was thrilled—she wanted to twirl around with the bag in her arms.
“Do you want to see your family?” Meng Jianchen asked casually.
“You mean I can go home?” she said, instantly alert.
“Your sister is in Beijing now. Didn’t you know?”
“How would I know?” Chen Yang was always drifting around, though she’d calmed down after having a kid.
“She’s attending a ribbon-cutting event next week at an amusement park in the suburbs,” said Meng Jianchen as he hung up his coat, watching Chen Luoru carefully. “There’s the third-largest Ferris wheel in Asia. Want to go?”
“I want to!” she said immediately. Just the word “play” made her forget everything else.
Sansukini: This chapter has so much luxury that it’s calling me destitute. Lol. I have an Aunt who has a very big walk-in closet with lots of luxury bags, esp LV because she collects them. She helped me a lot financially when my husband was sick and when he died, so I’m really thankful to her.