Entering the mother-and-baby room, Huo Shize turned and locked the door behind him. With a flick of his wrist—"whoosh"—the two brand-new heavy weapons that had just been glued to Zhu Ling's eyelids flew away in an instant. Before she could react, with another "thump," he had her encircled in his arms with lightning speed, lowering his head to study her startled face. If an ancient literatus were to describe this little face of hers, it would surely be something like "complexion like congealed cream, eyes like drops of lacquer—one of the immortals."
And a girl with such a beautiful appearance—even if she were a rebellious teenager, even if she ran with the wrong crowd—should not have such a vulgar soul, nor should she be so frivolous and wanton.
Huo Shize's expression was angry, and with the added force of his gaze, it carried an indescribable impact. One look at him sent a tremor through her heart. His breath carried a faint scent of alcohol, and since she was allergic to alcohol, she worried that even breathing in his wine-laden breath might harm her, so she turned her head away to avoid his eyes and his breath. But the next second, he grabbed her chin with one hand and turned her back.
Perhaps because he had been drinking, the warmth of his palm was a bit hot. She felt as if she'd been burned and tried to dodge, but the more she dodged, the closer he pressed, until he was almost speaking against her cheek: "Are you old enough to be discussing sex topics with a man?"
"Huh?" She was dumbfounded, her face flushing bright red. Stuttering, she said, "What are you talking about? What do you even mean? Who wants to discuss sex topics with you!"
"If you're not old enough, then why did you come to this dinner?"
"Why should I tell you that?"
"A student, attending this kind of dinner—are you an idiot?"
Whether it was what he said or his condescending, lecturing tone, it was all unpleasant and irritating. Zhu Ling wanted to ignore him, but tonight's task was worth a considerable sum, so she had to take it seriously. Besides, who knew if the spirits of her ancestors spanning five thousand years were at this very moment queuing and circling above her head, testing whether she was a worthy descendant of the Zhu family. So she forced herself to keep a smile and said calmly, "None of your business."
"If it weren't me, but anyone else—when the dinner ends, what do you think they'd ask of you, and what would you do? Don't you have any idea in that head of yours?"
"I said it's none of your business."
"Attending these messy dinners—do you even have the ability to get yourself out?"
He looked at her like she was a hard, stubborn piece of toilet stone. After the phone call that night, before going to sleep, he had sent her a text message, telling her he had to go on a business trip for two days and would meet her when he got back, and telling her not to go to the night market anymore. But in those two days, she hadn't replied to him with a single word. She ignored him, yet she came running to this kind of dinner—no sense of proportion, no appreciation for kindness.
"I do." Her face wore a completely unconcerned expression.
"How would you do it?"
After being lectured by him for so long, her rebelliousness had reached its peak. Now she was on full combat alert, every sentence a provocation: "What, you want me to teach you?"
Huo Shize was provoked by her tone, gave a faint smile, and stopped going back and forth with her. He handed over a room card: "When it's over, go to this room."
Zhu Ling was stunned and looked up at him. Even if a random stranger on the street said something like that, it would be deeply insulting—let alone coming from the man who had just confessed his feelings to her. There were differences between them in status, in standing, even in age, and she already had a boyfriend, so she had never deeply considered whether she might like him or whether they could ever be together. But one thing was certain: she didn't dislike him. In fact, at the ribbon-cutting ceremony, when she received the birthday gift, and the first time she called him, there had been moments when her heart fluttered.
"This is my room at the hotel. Keep the card—it'll be convenient for you to come by in the future."
She looked him straight in the eyes: "Are you saying you want me to sleep with you?"
"Isn't that exactly why you came to this kind of dinner?"
She let out a cold laugh: "You're not wrong. But what you don't know is that sleeping with someone is just one weapon in my arsenal—and it's not even my trump card."
Her flippant, shameless tone provoked him again. His brow arched slightly as his gaze gradually turned cold: "Oh, is that so?"
"That's right."
He couldn't hold back—he reached out and grabbed her chin, applying a bit of force, his breath heavy: "Just say it directly. Whatever you want, tell me right here."
"If I ask, will you agree to everything?"
His lips curled, a smile that was half mockery, half sarcasm: "I'll agree to everything."
So she made her request, serious and solemn: "If you're going to talk, then talk—but don't breathe on my face, don't puff your wine breath all over me. I'm allergic to alcohol. I'm about to break out in hives."
He laughed in exasperation but still stepped back slightly, though he didn't let go of her. His arms encircled her, his gaze drifting downward, landing gently on her neck. The veins beneath her skin pulsed faintly, her complexion so pale it was nearly translucent. Below her collarbone, two tiny cat paws were mostly hidden by her collar, revealing only a few cherry-blossom-pink marks—mysterious, adorable.
Some vague, gentle desire stirred within him, then faded. When he looked up again, his eyes had changed, his expression far more composed. Meeting her gaze, he asked in a low voice, "What did you drink tonight? Something citrus?"
"Huh?"
His sudden shift in attitude left her bewildered. The next second, her face flushed red as she stared at him dumbly.
He watched her quietly, waiting until her lashes began to tremble incessantly before affectionately pinching her cheek. "Why didn't you reply to my message, hm?"
Trapped in his arms, she couldn't move, so she could only widen her eyes and warn him sternly, "Keep your hands to yourself, or I'll get mad!"
"Alright, show me a mad face then."
She really did get angry, refusing to even look at him. She tried to leave, shoving at him with all her strength, but couldn't budge him an inch. Against absolute strength, her 1.7-meter frame and all her force were utterly useless. Huffing and puffing, not just her face but even the rims of her eyes turned red.
He didn't know how to describe her eyes—slightly upturned at the corners, they curved into crescent moons when she smiled, cold and alluring yet tinged with tenderness. But now, angry, eyes wide open, there was no tenderness—only a spark, a charge, and with reddened rims, she looked both pitiful and adorable. His anger hadn't fully dissipated, but after facing her for so long, accidentally getting zapped by her a few times, he thought it over and said, "Forget it. After this is over, stay behind. I have something to say to you."
Suddenly, a knock came at the door—whether it was a server or a guest wanting to use the nursing room, he couldn't tell.
Before releasing her, he leaned down slightly and planted a kiss on her lips, lingering for three seconds, then gave her a gentle bite, leaving a faint tooth mark on her lip. He chuckled lowly, "Your lips are so soft."
The heart rate monitor on her watch spiked straight into the red zone. He caught a glimpse of it, the corner of his mouth curling up in a roguish, mischievous grin. Growing a bit bolder, he buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of her hair and skin, a soft laugh rumbling in his throat. His lips pressed against her skin as he murmured, "Still smells like a little baby."
They had barely interacted—so far, just one text, one phone call, plus those two chance encounters at the night market. They'd exchanged only a few words in total, hardly familiar with each other, yet suddenly things had escalated to this point. Even a jaded, rebellious girl like her—part of the street crowd—was at a loss, still angry, her thoughts in a muddle. But she finally managed to say what she hadn't been able to voice last time in her panic: "I have a boyfriend, you know!"
"I know. That's why I'm the one pursuing you, not waiting for you to confess. All you need to do now is make one breakup call. If you don't want to, you can leave it to me."
She was utterly speechless. "Who do you think you are—my parent, or the devil himself?"
"Nonsense. I'm the kindest, most considerate man in the world. I know you like me; you just don't dare say it or admit it." He lightly tapped her lips with his thumb—the spot he'd just kissed—and chuckled softly. "I told you what I studied, didn't I?"
"So what if you studied business management? What's there to brag about with all this nonsense!"
He looked at her with amusement, then said seriously, "I never speak carelessly."
Like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, her voice shot up an octave as she cried out in annoyance, "What are you even talking about? Your ego is way too big!"
"Mm, you're right. I'm always satisfied with myself."
"Fine, as long as you're happy!"
The knocking came again, the person outside growing impatient. Before opening the door to leave, he left a parting remark by her ear: "You're quite willful, but you're cute, and it's your birthday today, so I'll forgive you for tonight. Remember to wait for me this evening."
Scolded by him for no reason, then forgiven for no reason. Utterly baffling.
Huo Shize returned to the private room in the Chinese restaurant, and Zhu Ling followed shortly after, clutching her small bag. Huo Shize's lecturing was unpleasant, and her father's sycophantic groveling was even more unbearable. She didn't want to face any of them again. She walked all the way to the door of the private room but refused to go back inside. With a curt "I'm leaving," she turned and walked away alone.
On the subway ride home, her phone rang—it was Huo Shize. "Where are you? You've disappeared."
"I went home."
"Didn't I tell you to stay? You just ran off without even saying a word?"
"I did say something. I said it before I left."
"Who did you say it to?"
"I said it, that's all."
His voice turned cold. "Why are you lying?"
"Bye." Without another word, she hung up.
Once that was settled, her father's accountability call came through. Annoyed, she switched off her phone, returned to her rented apartment, washed up, and went to sleep.
The next day, Huo Shize and his staff were making their rounds in the hotel lobby when they passed the surveillance room. On a whim, he stepped inside and pulled up the footage from the Chinese restaurant the night before. He saw Zhu Ling return from the restroom, pause at the entrance, lean against the wall for a moment, and nibble at the skin around her fingernails. After about two or three minutes, she said something to the air, then picked up her bag and left.
The surveillance audio was off, but reading her lips, she said, "I'm leaving."
The following day, he arrived at the hotel at eight in the morning and was busy with back-to-back meetings, food tastings, beverage samplings, and an employee commendation ceremony until past ten. Finally, he returned to the general manager's office, had some coffee, and took a brief rest. He took out his phone, scrolled to her WeChat, and sent her a message: "Where are you now?"
Since they had exchanged contact information, he had shown his affection and kissed her, yet he had only messaged her twice. This time, she replied quickly: "zwm."
It should mean "outside." He guessed that perhaps she hadn't noticed and her input method wasn't switched to text. He sent another message, asking: "Where exactly are you?"
This time she replied: "wt."
Only then did he realize it wasn't an input method issue—it was just her rebellious style. He called her directly and asked, "Where are you? The Bund?"
She hummed in acknowledgment, her voice sounding a bit downcast.
From Lujiazui to the Bund wasn't far. About fifteen minutes later, he found her by the Huangpu River. Today she was dressed normally, wearing a cute cream-colored baseball cap with her hair loose. She sat on a bench at a viewing platform, gazing at the river, humming a tune. Listening closely, it seemed to be a Cantonese song, "Little Star," by a Hong Kong female singer. But for some reason, she kept repeating the same two lines over and over: "Twinkle twinkle little star, a simple life for a lifetime…"