20 – Mr. Wen’s Palm is Warm
Wen Man’s forehead rested against Wen Yanchuan’s chest.
The sensation of skin faintly transmitted through the fabric, Wen Man could even feel Wen Yanchuan’s steady, powerful heartbeat—slow and calm.
Unlike her own restless, leaping heart, which nearly burst forth from her lips.
Wen Man’s hand rested on Wen Yanchuan’s forearm; the arm beneath the sleeve was strong and firm, radiating warmth that brought Wen Man immense comfort.
She should have pushed Wen Yanchuan away at this moment, but she indulged her longing, gently leaning into his embrace and closing her eyes.
The suppressed feelings of bitterness seemed to erupt upon seeing Wen Yanchuan, her nose tingling with sourness, and a faint crimson hue coloring the corners of her eyes.
Emotions intertwined, Wen Man’s hand tightened slightly as she thought to herself: Just one more second.
Just one more second, and then she would push him away.
Wen Yanchuan remained still, allowing Wen Man to rest lightly against his chest. His hand gently encircled her waist, holding her protectively in his arms, yet with gentlemanly restraint, not touching her directly—appearing intimate yet maintaining a respectful distance.
He had always been this way.
Listening to Wen Yanchuan’s heartbeat, Wen Man held back her emotions, biting her lip to keep herself from completely unraveling.
She had lost all reason.
In this moment, she only wanted to stay by Wen Yanchuan’s side, in this temporarily comforting and safe place, briefly escaping everything from the outside world.
Even if Wen Yanchuan was deceiving her, she was willing.
Wen Man closed her eyes, then gently withdrew from Wen Yanchuan’s embrace.
Wen Yanchuan looked down at her, his gaze deep, and asked half-jokingly, “You brought nothing with you. Aren’t you afraid I might sell you off?”
Wen Man looked up at him and countered, “Would you, Mr. Wen?”
Wen Yanchuan pondered for a moment before nodding slightly. “You’d fetch a rather good price.”
Wen Man pouted, her tone tinged with grievance. “I left in such a hurry, I only brought my ID and passport.”
Her hand in her coat pocket tightly clutched the small card, gripping it even harder.
The London breeze blew, carrying a hint of moisture, not too cold.
It felt much fresher than the air in Beijing.
Only now did Wen Man fully regain her senses, regretting how unprepared she had been. Rushing to seek out Wen Yanchuan like a refugee was such a bold and impolite act.
Wen Yanchuan didn’t seem to mind; Wen Man bringing herself was enough.
But such an action wasn’t something Wen Man would easily do.
“What happened?”
Wen Man lowered her eyes, her emotions laid bare before Wen Yanchuan.
She usually disliked wearing her feelings on her face. To the outside world, she maintained the persona of an ice-cold beauty, so whether happy or not, her expression remained the same, and no one truly bothered to decipher the emotions beneath that mask.
But Wen Man didn’t want to wear this mask in front of Wen Yanchuan, or perhaps it would be useless even if she did.
Wen Yanchuan had always been perceptive.
Wen Man’s eyes were filled with grievance, her voice softening. “Mr. Wen, can I not say?”
She didn’t want to speak, because she never liked tattling—like a child seeking help from a protector after being wronged.
Wen Yanchuan wasn’t familiar with the industry’s affairs, and bringing up such trivial, unsavory matters felt unworthy of his ears. She didn’t want to burden him with such things.
Such matters didn’t deserve to reach Wen Yanchuan’s ears.
Wen Yanchuan raised an eyebrow slightly, seemingly unsurprised by this answer and showing no extra emotion. He simply nodded and said to Wen Man, “Are you hungry? I’ve booked a restaurant.”
Wen Man lowered her head, fingers twisting the cuff of her sleeve, and answered honestly in a muffled voice, “I had the airplane meal.”
It wasn’t very tasty—she never liked it—but she had eaten a little of the meal provided by the airline to fill her stomach.
Wen Yanchuan nodded and asked again, “What would you like to eat?”
Her tone clearly indicated she wasn’t full. Wen Yanchuan had no experience in coaxing girls, but he had a young niece who, when throwing tantrums, needed to be pacified with all kinds of delicious food.
Wen Yanchuan thought Wen Man was probably similar.
Wen Man thought for a moment. She wanted something spicy.
But she was now standing on British soil, and wanting something spicy that was both delicious and suited Wen Yanchuan’s status was quite difficult.
After a moment’s consideration, Wen Man settled for second best: “I’d like something sweet.”
Wen Yanchuan nodded. “Get in the car.”
Wen Man followed Wen Yanchuan into the Maybach, appearing very obedient.
The car circled around Westminster before slowly driving backward.
Wen Man looked at the church before her, with the Thames River behind it. There was London Bridge spanning the Thames, magnificent and grand. Wen Yanchuan said the fireworks display would be held here tonight.
It was her first time in London, and she was somewhat curious about everything. Throughout the journey, she kept looking at the scenery outside the car window. Wen Yanchuan watched her for nearly ten minutes without seeing her turn her head even once.
Wen Man seemed genuinely in a hurry and hadn’t deliberately dressed up.
Her face was now free of the meticulous makeup, revealing her originally fair complexion. Her eyes were like light amber stones, with long, thick lashes. On her tall, straight nose bridge was a small mole. Wen Man seemed to dislike it, always deliberately covering it up, so this was Wen Yanchuan’s first time seeing it.
It felt somewhat novel, like meeting a new friend. Wen Yanchuan examined it for a long time.
Wen Man wore a light-colored base layer, a high-necked, form-fitting top, and a milky-white coat that fell below her knees. Light-colored jeans hugged her slender legs, paired with knee-high boots.
It was the first time Wen Yanchuan had seen Wen Man dressed so… heavily.
In every previous meeting, Wen Man seemed impervious to the cold, wearing various formal dresses, elegant and stunning.
Without turning her head, Wen Man kept looking out the car window and softly said, “Mr. Wen, it’s a bit impolite to keep staring at me like this.”
Wen Yanchuan paused and looked at the car window on Wen Man’s side, which faintly reflected his face.
“I’ve never been particularly concerned with politeness.”
Wen Yanchuan said this with confidence.
Wen Man: “…”
Everyone knew Wen Yanchuan was polite, gentlemanly, and refined.
Wen Man turned to look into Wen Yanchuan’s eyes and asked him in return, “Mr. Wen, why do you keep looking at me? Is it because my appearance today doesn’t meet your expectations?”
She had brought nothing with her and spent the night on the plane, so she could only ask the flight attendant for makeup remover wipes.
She didn’t want Wen Yanchuan to see her smudged makeup, but exposing her bare face to him like this had truly exhausted her courage.
She had imagined countless times what expression Wen Yanchuan would have upon seeing her less-than-beautiful side.
The car fell silent.
The driver was a London local with thick eyebrows and a heavy beard who couldn’t understand Chinese.
The man before her showed no expression, his eyes deep and his gaze slightly lowered, fixed on the mole on the woman’s nose bridge. After a long moment, he raised his hand slightly.
A faint rustle of fabric sounded. Wen Man froze, then felt the warmth of a palm against her cheek.
Wen Yanchuan covered her cheek with one hand, his thumb gently stroking the mole. His voice was low and unhurried, carrying his unique mature aura.
“Here,” he said, “I think it’s beautiful.”