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The waitress stopped at the door of a private room on the right and opened it.
An independent pavilion, with a courtyard featuring artificial mountains and fountains.
The gentle sound of flowing water mingled with the spring night’s atmosphere. A faint chill carried a refreshing scent.
Inside, there weren’t many people. The men were deep in conversation, discussing topics that Song Zhi found uninteresting.
She gave a cursory glance around. The most obvious indicator of their status was likely the six- or seven-figure watches adorning their wrists.
These so-called “big shots” Jiang Yin had spoken of were people Jiang Yanzhou wouldn’t even glance twice at.
He was a man driven by self-interest.
Many times, Song Zhi wondered if his interest in her stemmed from something she possessed.
Later, she realized.
What he wanted was her body—her young, beautiful flesh. Men of that age couldn’t resist such allure.
Even if his name was Jiang, even if he was Jiang Yanzhou.
Song Zhi’s accusation of his cold-bloodedness wasn’t entirely baseless.
In her second month at No. 1 High School, Jiang Yanzhou and Song Luo seemed to have become friends.
As Song Zhi put it—they were kindred spirits.
One was aloof, the other hot-tempered.
Weirdos always attracted weirdos.
The second time Song Zhi encountered Jiang Yanzhou was at home.
She had just finished showering and stepped out of the bathroom wearing a silk slip dress. Her slender waist and perfectly proportioned figure exuded elegance.
Her freshly dried hair was casually tied into a messy bun, and her collarbones cast subtle shadows as she lowered her head.
Jiang Yanzhou happened to emerge from a nearby room. Seeing her, he showed no surprise.
His gaze lingered on her for a long time.
In his usually indifferent eyes, something akin to creeping vines appeared, slowly taking root.
Song Zhi froze for a moment, surprised to see him here.
Then, with a bright smile, she greeted him: “Hello.”
Her smile was radiant and unrestrained.
Jiang Yanzhou didn’t speak but shifted his gaze back to her face.
Song Luo held a basketball he had just found: “This is signed by Kobe Bryant—a priceless treasure. Back then…”
He was halfway through his boast when he spotted Song Zhi. His brows furrowed deeply.
Ignoring the basketball in his hand, he rushed over, pulling off his jacket to drape over her. “You might as well walk around naked next time.”
Song Zhi, annoyed, tugged at his jacket: “It smells like sweat.”
With rough movements, Song Luo pushed her toward her room: “Alright, alright, just go back to your room.”
Although he and Jiang Yanzhou were friends, Song Luo had repeatedly warned Song Zhi: “Stay away from him.”
Puzzled, Song Zhi asked: “Why? Isn’t he your friend?”
“We’re both men. I can tell what that look of his means.”
“What does it mean?”
Song Luo opened his mouth to explain, then frowned: “You never seem this dedicated to studying. Go back and do your homework, idiot. Don’t come crying to me later asking for help. I swear, I don’t want to admit having such a dumb sister. If you spent half the effort on studying as you do on cosmetics, you wouldn’t be at the bottom of every exam.”
Because of his words, Song Zhi had long believed that Jiang Yanzhou was interested in her.
The object of every girl’s secret crush liked her.
This inflated her sense of superiority.
Until one day during gym class, she tripped while running and fell hard on her knees, tumbling forward.
In the infirmary, the school nurse had just finished bandaging her wound.
She heard Jiang Yanzhou’s voice—he must have had a cold and came to buy medicine.
Limping slightly, Song Zhi stood up and pulled back the curtain to greet him.
The nurse was inside fetching his medication, and Jiang Yanzhou stood by the counter waiting. The movement behind him made him turn.
A young girl stood there, one leg suspended in the air.
Her track pants were pulled above her knees, wrapped in layers of gauze, making her slender legs appear bulkier.
He only glanced briefly before the nurse emerged with his cold medicine.
He thanked her and left with the medicine.
Even if he wasn’t interested in her, an ordinary person would still offer some words of comfort upon seeing a friend’s younger sister injured.
But he said nothing.
He looked at her as though she were a stranger.
Her thoughts gradually returned from distant memories.
Across the table, the bald man kept glancing her way, his eyes wandering freely across her face.
Perhaps unsatisfied with just looking, he picked up his wine glass, approached Song Zhi, and proposed a toast.
Even dressed in an ordinary hoodie, the girl exuded an alluring charm.
She raised an eyebrow, politely declining with a smile: “Sorry, I just took cephalosporins.”
Her refusal left no room for argument, effectively silencing him.
Jiang Yin suppressed a laugh. She loved Song Zhi’s feisty temperament—she appeared delicate and easy to bully, but was actually covered in thorns, ready to prick anyone who dared touch her.
After hitting a wall with her, the bald man didn’t persist further. He returned to his seat, kissing and embracing the small models who were trying to please him for resources.
Women—whenever he wanted them, they were never in short supply. No need to trouble himself over a young girl.
Song Zhi couldn’t shake the smell in the private room—it reeked of middle-aged men, a mix of stale cigarette smoke and alcohol.
Strangely, though Jiang Yanzhou smoked, he never carried this odor.
Instead, he smelled like the fresh scent of a lake after heavy rain, mingled with the tender grass of early spring.
More addictive than any artificial perfume.
________________________________________
After everyone had eaten and drunk their fill, the smell seemed to grow stronger. Song Zhi couldn’t stand it anymore.
She stood up and told Jiang Yin: “I’m going out for some fresh air.”
Jiang Yin nodded: “Alright.”
Using this flimsy excuse, she finally escaped the suffocating place.
Song Zhi realized her preference for good looks was getting worse. Staring at Jiang Yanzhou’s face all day was subtly altering her standards.
The pavilion was nearby, occasionally visited by people smoking.
Just as Song Zhi arrived, under the dim light of an ancient wooden lamp on the wall, she saw someone already standing there, a flicker of orange flame at his lips.
He must have been smoking.
She didn’t bother to examine who it was. Seeing someone there, she prepared to leave.
A familiar, lazy voice broke the silence of the night: “Song Zhi?”
It sounded familiar.
Perplexed, Song Zhi turned around.
The man stepped closer, coming into the light. His skin was almost translucent, his perpetually half-closed eyes sleepy as ever.
“He Hanyang?”
She froze for a few seconds, not expecting to run into him here. “What are you doing here?”
“Club dinner.” He extinguished his cigarette and stepped down from the platform. “What about you?”
She replied succinctly: “A business dinner.”
He nodded, his gaze suddenly fixated on her hoodie.
Only then did Song Zhi belatedly realize—she and He Hanyang were wearing the same style.
Hers was light gray; his was black.
He tapped the cigarette box against his forehead: “What a coincidence.”
Indeed, it was.
Song Zhi noticed the brand of cigarettes he held—the same as Jiang Yanzhou’s.
He didn’t smoke often, only occasionally when irritated or after releasing pent-up frustration.
She had always been curious—how could anyone enjoy such a harsh taste?
She muttered softly: “I don’t understand what’s so appealing about smoking.”
He paused upon hearing her words.
Raising his head slightly, he offered her a cigarette: “Wanna try?”
She didn’t take it, preparing to decline.
He smiled: “If you’re curious, give it a shot. If you don’t like it, just toss it. Life’s all about seeking pleasure, isn’t it?”
Song Zhi thought his words made some sense. Rather than staying curious forever, she might as well try it herself.
She reached out, gently biting her red lips.
The wind blew at night. He Hanyang took out his lighter, lighting it for her. Due to the height difference, he bent slightly, shielding the flame with his hand near her lips.
The flame licked the tip of the cigarette. Song Zhi took a drag and felt her throat constrict painfully, struggling to breathe.
She coughed, covering her mouth. He Hanyang crushed the cigarette for her: “Now that your curiosity is satisfied, don’t try it again.”
Still coughing, she questioned: “It’s so unpleasant. Why do so many people like it?”
“This smoke is too strong. Most people can’t handle it.”
Turns out, despite their vastly different personalities, He Hanyang and Jiang Yanzhou shared some similarities.
Rare indeed.
She had been out for a while now and worried that Jiang Yin might think something had happened to her if she didn’t return soon.
Coincidentally, He Hanyang was heading back too. Since their paths aligned, they walked together.
Song Zhi learned that He Hanyang hadn’t initially planned to attend the club dinner.
However, his livestream had been banned yesterday after he cursed someone, and his manager was furious.
Thus, he was firmly instructed to attend this gathering.
Though called a club dinner, it was essentially a networking event.
Song Zhi didn’t quite understand: “Why get so angry over a livestream ban?”
He Hanyang pondered for a moment: “Maybe because this is the fifth time my livestream has been banned this month.”
“How many times have you streamed this month?”
His expression remained unchanged: “Five times.”
Well, being scolded was well-deserved.
________________________________________
Today’s weather wasn’t great. The wind was strong, and the private room lacked heating.
Yet Ji Chuyan still felt nervous, her palms sweating slightly.
This opportunity was hard-earned—her agent had gone through countless connections to arrange it. Even the company’s CEO had been invited.
Before coming, her agent repeatedly reminded her: “When they discuss serious matters, don’t interrupt. Those people have seen every type of woman. You need to showcase your strengths and make them interested. Remember, hooking up with any one of them could secure your future.”
Having climbed from a mere trainee to the top idol of today, Ji Chuyan’s ambition surpassed everyone else’s.
To remain evergreen, she needed a powerful benefactor.
And among the entire Beicheng elite, only those in this private room could meet her criteria.
Most brought female companions but didn’t reject advances from other women.
By contrast, Jiang Yanzhou stood out as an anomaly.
The imported liquor on the table was potent, and though his tolerance wasn’t exceptional, he was already slightly tipsy.
His fingers rested on a half-empty glass, his eyelashes half-lowered.
His pale, slender neck bore several vivid red scratch marks, extending from his jawline and disappearing beneath his shirt collar.
Anyone could guess the origin of those marks, though they only dared speculate silently.
Even in high society, knowledge of Jiang Yanzhou’s hidden lover was limited.
All present knew that this young heir, formidable and untouchable, was currently the most dangerous man in Beicheng.
Since entering, he had been silent, his gaze distant.
Though he appeared young, his presence commanded inexplicable respect.
Even the notorious second-generation heirs spoke to him with lowered heads.
He responded, maintaining only basic courtesy.
Ji Chuyan sensed his impatience. Were it not for his impeccable upbringing suppressing his nature, he would have left within two minutes of arriving.
Such a man was dangerous yet irresistibly attractive.
Seeing him pull out a cigarette, she mustered the courage to sit beside him.
Lighting a lighter, she attentively extended it toward him.
The man paused, lowering his gaze to glance at her indifferently.
For some reason, Ji Chuyan was startled by his cold stare and nervously withdrew her hand.
Without a word, he shook out a cigarette, placed it between his lips, pushed back his chair, and left the room.
Seeing his phone left on the table, Ji Chuyan seized the opportunity to bridge the gap.
Grabbing his phone, she hurriedly followed him outside.
The others exchanged knowing smiles, their gazes suggestive.
“It seems Jiang Yanzhou will have a wild night tonight.”
“He probably has wild nights every day at home. Look at those scratch marks on his neck—imagine how intense it must have been.”
This was a Chinese restaurant with classical decor.
Paper lanterns lined the dimly lit corridors, casting weak light filtered through paper screens.
Waiters passed by carrying drinks. Song Zhi and He Hanyang paused, letting them pass first.
When the corridor fell silent, He Hanyang’s private room was next door. Just as Song Zhi was about to speak, her gaze shifted sideways.
A draft blew the lanterns, plunging the already dim light into complete darkness.
The candle must have gone out.
A man leaned in the shadows, unnoticed until now.
His deep, enigmatic gaze fell on their clothes.
Same style, same pattern—different colors.
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