12 – Don’t move
Wen Yanchuan looked at Wen Man in silence.
He truly hadn’t expected Wen Man to be so clingy when drunk.
He didn’t know how much the woman before him had drunk, but her entire face was flushed pink, her eyes hazy like water. Wen Yanchuan gazed into those eyes, entranced, yet he couldn’t see his own reflection in them.
Wen Yanchuan seriously doubted whether Wen Man had even clearly recognized that the person before her was him.
Wen Man rested her chin on Wen Yanchuan’s knee. Perhaps she had been squatting for too long, as her feet were starting to go numb. She relaxed her posture slightly, relying entirely on Wen Yanchuan’s knee to support her.
Wen Yanchuan lowered his gaze slightly, his thin lips parting. “The floor is cold.”
Wen Man was barely conscious by then. Her eyelids drooped as if she were about to fall asleep any second.
After a moment, she raised a hand to her forehead, seemingly struggling to stay upright. Wen Man stood up, swaying unsteadily, and turned to leave.
The pressure on Wen Yanchuan’s leg eased. His eyelids flickered as he rose and grabbed Wen Man’s arm, his voice low. “Where are you going?”
Wen Man pointed outside, toward the street beyond the venue, murmuring, “I want to go home and sleep.”
Her tolerance for alcohol was usually quite good, and she rarely got drunk in public. Normally, her assistant would be by her side, and she would fall asleep as soon as she got into the car. By the time she arrived home, the effects of the alcohol would have worn off by thirty or forty percent.
Perhaps she was simply too happy today, as a faint smile still lingered at the corner of Wen Man’s lips.
Wen Yanchuan, however, found himself somewhat troubled.
He had never dealt with a drunk person before. During social engagements, he was always the first to leave.
The crimson rose before him was radiantly beautiful, her fair, slender legs faintly visible beneath her long dress. Wen Yanchuan merely glanced briefly before feeling his throat go dry, instinctively averting his gaze.
But as he looked up, he noticed the off-shoulder neckline of Wen Man’s dress had slipped down to her forearms, revealing a generous expanse of snow-white skin, tantalizingly visible.
Wen Yanchuan quickly grabbed the overcoat draped over Wen Man and pulled it around her, turning his gaze elsewhere, resolutely refusing to look at her.
Wen Man herself remained oblivious, still struggling to walk away.
Just as Wen Yanchuan was feeling troubled, a voice called out from the entrance of the venue, sounding somewhat puzzled. “Wen Man?”
Wen Yanchuan looked up to see a short-haired woman standing at the entrance, dressed in a shirt and suit, wearing high heels, walking toward them.
Wen Man, belatedly realizing someone was calling her, turned to look.
“Wendy?”
Wen Yanchuan’s eyes darkened slightly, and his grip on the collar of Wen Man’s overcoat loosened.
Wendy approached, steadying Wen Man with one hand while casting a glance at Wen Yanchuan, her expression tinged with surprise as she looked at Wen Man.
“My goodness, you’ve been hiding your talents!”
Wen Man had actually managed to strike up a conversation with Wen Yanchuan.
Wendy knew all too well that even she, who held considerable influence in the industry, had never heard of anyone daring to claim they could get to know someone like Wen Yanchuan, let alone actually hold a conversation with him—it was practically unheard of.
Seeing Wendy, Wen Man seemed to relax, leaning slightly against her, resting her head against Wendy’s neck and nuzzling affectionately. Her eyes closed as if she were about to fall asleep.
Wen Yanchuan watched Wen Man, his gaze growing even darker before the emotion in his eyes vanished in an instant.
“Miss Wen has had too much to drink. I’ll trouble you to take care of her.”
Wen Yanchuan’s tone was low, his voice carrying a hint of weary languor.
Wendy nodded. Though her curiosity was piqued, she didn’t dare ask about the relationship between Wen Yanchuan and Wen Man.
She turned to look at the coat Wen Man was wearing and reached out to take it off. “This is Mr. Wen’s clothes…”
Wen Yanchuan was taken aback, his mind immediately recalling that expanse of snow-white skin. He quickly spoke up to stop her. “Don’t move!”
Wendy froze, looking up at Wen Yanchuan, whose expression was somewhat unnatural, his brow tightly furrowed.
“It’s cold. Let her wear it.”
Wendy raised an eyebrow, surprised to find Wen Yanchuan was still a gentleman.
But since Wen Yanchuan had said so, she couldn’t say anything more. She simply nodded slightly at him in acknowledgment before turning and leading Wen Man away.
Wen Man was too drunk to attend the banquet. Wendy had no choice but to take her to the car and return to the celebration herself to handle the follow-up arrangements.
Wen Yanchuan watched as Wen Man, drunk and unsteady, was helped into the car by Wendy, still wearing his coat, which was so long it nearly dragged to her ankles.
Drunk, but obedient.
Only after Wen Man disappeared from Wen Yanchuan’s sight did he turn and leave.
A light snow had been falling all night in Shanghai. The matte black Maybach parked by the roadside was covered in a thin layer of snow, which had melted into water, misting the car windows.
The waiting light in front of the car flickered continuously, the incandescent glow illuminating the snowflakes about to land.
Inside the car.
Wen Yanchuan sat in the back, leaning against the seat, loosening his tie.
As if that wasn’t enough, he took off his tie and tossed it onto the leather seat beside him. One hand rested on the center console as he tilted his head back slightly, closing his eyes to suppress the faint stirring emotions in his gaze.
This feeling was very wrong.
The driver in the front glanced in the rearview mirror. The car was dimly lit, but he could vaguely see the weariness on Wen Yanchuan’s face.
The driver tapped his knuckle lightly on the steering wheel and asked softly, “Mr. Wen?”
Wen Yanchuan let out a low “Hmm,” his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Should we return to Panshan Villa to rest, or…”
Wen Yanchuan looked up, his eyes already calm and composed.
He interrupted the driver in a low voice, instructing, “To the private airport. We’re flying to Beijing.”
Wen Yanchuan had just flown back from Leeds today.
He took out his phone and tapped on Wen Man’s profile picture.
In her social media feed, four hours ago, Wen Man had posted a photo of herself in a red dress with long, curly hair, her eyes slightly upturned, looking particularly alluring.
The location tagged was today’s fashion celebration.
Their chat history had stopped on the day Wen Yanchuan stood her up.
It was as if Wen Man was competing with Wen Yanchuan, both of them silently holding their ground, neither making the first move.
Not even a casual greeting had been exchanged.
Wen Yanchuan had just finished a meeting when he saw this post. He flew from Beijing to Shanghai, missing the fashion celebration, but fortunately, he caught a glimpse of a drunken red rose outside the door.
In their brief twenty-minute encounter, Wen Man hadn’t even recognized him, yet her words were filled with complaints and dissatisfaction.
Thinking about it, a faint smile tugged at the corner of Wen Yanchuan’s lips.
He wanted to scold Wen Man for being heartless.
Putting away his phone, Wen Yanchuan leaned back in his seat, raising a hand to gently pinch the bridge of his nose.
He hadn’t slept for nearly thirty hours.
But strangely, he wasn’t tired at all. The scene from earlier still lingered in his mind, like a tolling bell, striking his heart over and over.
A delicate flower blooming amidst the snow before his eyes had already surpassed countless breathtaking landscapes.
How could he possibly feel drowsy again?