No matter how the Yin family chose, they would never pick the Zhou family.
This guy must be here to humiliate himself.
Just then, the door to the side hall opened.
The butler entered first, his leather shoes clicking crisply against the marble floor.
He stopped, turned slightly, and bowed with an air of utmost respect.
Yin Lan appeared leisurely, wearing a wine-red satin dress with an extremely narrow waistline. The hem of the skirt fell just past her knees, revealing a pair of straight, slender calves.
On her feet were a pair of black stiletto heels, each step striking the floor with an authoritative rhythm that commanded respect without anger.
She wore no makeup, her face bare, yet she was breathtakingly beautiful.
It could be said that in Jiangcheng, no one dared to compare their beauty to Yin Lan’s.
Everyone stood up.
As Xie Zhiqiu rose, he had already adjusted his expression—three parts gentle, four parts appropriately restrained.
He even took half a step forward, ready to welcome Yin Lan as she approached him.
Yin Lan did indeed walk toward him.
Before the curve of Xie Zhiqiu’s lips could fully form, Yin Lan had already walked past him, leaving behind a faint scent of gardenia.
The fragrance brushed past the tip of his nose without lingering for even a second, and the smile on Xie Zhiqiu’s face froze.
Yin Lan crossed the entire side hall, the sound of her high heels tapping rhythmically against the marble floor, as if striking the hearts of everyone present.
Everyone was tense, unsure who Yin Lan would choose. What if this golden opportunity fell upon them?
After all, being chosen by Yin Lan meant ascending to the heavens in a single step. Almost everyone wore a greedy expression.
Yin Lan continued walking forward, passing Lu Huai, passing Zhao Mingyuan, and finally stopping at the most inconspicuous corner.
Zhou Guchuan’s gaze was captured by a pair of delicate, elegant feet. The woman’s toes were round and adorable, each one looking exceptionally well-behaved.
The man looked up slightly, meeting Yin Lan’s eyes. The corners of her eyes tilted upward slightly, like an ink stain unintentionally smudged on rice paper.
Zhou Guchuan’s heartbeat began to spiral out of control…
No one could remain calm when faced with Yin Lan’s beauty, let alone Zhou Guchuan, whose thoughts were…
This was the first time Yin Lan had looked directly at him since her rebirth. In her previous life, she had never examined this face carefully, only knowing he was the Zhou family’s son who couldn’t be brought into the limelight.
But now she saw clearly: Zhou Guchuan’s eyebrows and eyes were deep, his nose bridge straight, and the line of his jaw sharp.
His eyes weren’t purely black; under the light, they revealed a hint of deep brown, like the mellow sediment of aged tea, unfathomable.
“Young Master Zhou.” Yin Lan stopped in front of him, her tone rising slightly, teasingly stirring one’s heart.
Upon hearing this, Zhou Guchuan politely stood up, towering a full head taller than her.
The man before her showed no expression of being overwhelmed by favor, nor did he wear the well-practiced, proper smile of a scion from an aristocratic family. He simply looked at her quietly, the turbulence in his eyes known only to himself.
“The black tea has gone cold.”
Yin Lan glanced at the untouched teacup in front of him and turned to the butler. “Bring a cup of hand-brewed coffee instead. Ethiopian beans, lightly roasted.”
Zhou Guchuan’s eyes finally flickered. The fact that he didn’t drink black tea wasn’t something even his own family paid attention to.
Yin Lan offered no explanation. Instead, she sat down in the seat opposite him, crossing her legs elegantly.
A small section of her wine-red skirt spread out at the edge of the sofa, like a vibrant flower.
“Young Master Zhou,”
Yin Lan picked up the freshly served coffee from the butler, her tone casual. “Do you think the jacaranda trees of the Yin family are beautiful?”
The side hall was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
Xie Zhiqiu stood a few steps away, the smile still frozen on his face, his entire body like a statue turned to ice.
Lu Huai put away his phone, Zhao Mingyuan uncrossed his legs, and everyone looked toward that corner with disbelief in their eyes.
Were they seeing things? The eldest daughter of the Yin family was sitting before the son of a nouveau riche, personally ordering him a cup of coffee.
Zhou Guchuan picked up the coffee and inhaled its aroma.
“Beautiful.”
His voice was not loud, yet unexpectedly deep. “I came to the Yin family once five years ago. At that time, the jacaranda trees were in full bloom across the entire garden.”
Yin Lan’s fingers paused for a moment on the rim of her cup.
“Five years ago?”
“Yes.” Zhou Guchuan took a sip of coffee, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly—a movement so faint it could hardly be called a smile.
“On the day of Elder Yin’s sixtieth birthday, the Zhou family received an invitation. My father brought me along to broaden my horizons. I stood in the garden for ten minutes and watched the entire display of jacaranda blossoms.”
His tone was flat as he spoke, but Yin Lan noticed his fingers tightening around the coffee cup, the knuckles turning slightly white.
She suddenly remembered something. In her previous life, after marrying Xie Zhiqiu, she once sorted through old photos in her father’s study and came across a group photo from the sixtieth birthday celebration.
In the corner of the photo, there was the silhouette of a young man wearing an ill-fitting suit, standing at the very edge of the crowd, looking up at something.
She hadn’t paid it any mind at the time, flipping past it and forgetting about it. So that was him.
“What can you see in ten minutes?” Yin Lan continued to ask.
Zhou Guchuan set the coffee cup down, its base clinking softly against the porcelain saucer.
The man’s deep brown eyes reflected the light streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, warm and gentle, yet somehow giving the impression that beneath that warmth lay many unspoken things.
“You could see that the jacaranda trees bloomed earlier that day than they did this year.”
Yin Lan said nothing, setting down her cup and smiling at him.
This smile was different from any she had ever given Xie Zhiqiu in her previous life.
There was no probing, no restraint, none of the measured propriety expected of a wealthy heiress.
It was simply the smile of a woman who, after a long and arduous journey, had finally found a stone she could sit on with peace of mind.
“Zhou Guchuan,” Yin Lan called his name, the three syllables spoken softly and slowly.
“I choose you.”
A wave of suppressed commotion rippled through the side hall.
Zhao Mingyuan’s teaspoon clattered onto his saucer, and Xie Zhiqiu’s face turned from pale to ashen and back to pale again.
Zhou Guchuan did not answer immediately. Instead, he did something no one expected.
He pushed the cup of coffee in front of him toward Yin Lan’s side. “Miss Yin,”
the man’s voice was lowered, so low that only she could hear it, “are you sure?”
He didn’t ask why, nor did he rush to nod in agreement. He simply asked her, are you sure?
Yin Lan’s smile deepened instead, and she nodded.
“Sure.”
She picked up the coffee cup he had pushed over and took another sip from the same spot he had drunk from. “Young Master Zhou, coffee doesn’t taste good once it gets cold.”
Zhou Guchuan watched her drink from the same cup, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, his gaze suddenly intensifying.
He quickly lowered his eyelids, concealing all the emotions in his eyes.
Then, under everyone’s watchful eyes, Zhou Guchuan extended his hand toward Yin Lan.
His hands were large, with prominent knuckles and clear lines across the palms.
They were not the well-maintained, delicate hands of a young master from a noble family, finer even than a woman’s. Instead, the pads of his fingers bore thin calluses—marks left by years of training with instruments.
“As you command, Young Miss.”