HYAT - 8

She deeply suspected that Ji Qinghe’s unconventional approach of retreating to advance was an attempt to strike directly at her defenses and dismantle them.

Could she fall for it? No!

Shen Qianzhan pursed her lips, handing him a cup of Pu’er tea brought by Meng Wangzhou: “Why talk about disgust? Only children care about liking or disliking things. Adults only consider if something is useful and how it is useful.”

Her smile was bright and genuine, and if she hadn’t subtly pushed her chair back a few steps by scooting her feet, it would have been impossible to tell she was feigning politeness.

She picked up another cup of Pu’er from the tea tray, pretending to admire the workspace as she strolled around.

Fortunately, Meng Wangzhou was perceptive and withdrew in time, otherwise her public image might have been severely tarnished.

Ji Qinghe, that scoundrel, was too devious.

Shen Qianzhan muttered to herself as she ambled, and by the time she snapped out of it, her steps had stopped in front of a glass cabinet that occupied an entire wall, reaching the ceiling.

The cabinet had a solid wood frame as its base, supporting three layers of glass with pressed edges. The intersection of the cabinet corners and the glass was clearly defined, adorned with inlaid filigree lines.

The lines were faint, a delicate thread outlining a clock face. The clock face had all its hour, minute, and second hands, pointing to a specific time on a certain day.

The cabinet seemed to be for display and collection, with its interior design being very intricate. The size of each compartment varied, custom-made, meticulously displaying different types of clocks.

Shen Qianzhan’s knowledge of clocks was still shallow; she could only identify a few that resembled the collection pieces exhibited at the Shaanxi History Museum’s clock exhibition.

One was a colored lacquer and copper-inlaid clock from the Qianlong period of the Qing dynasty, another a black lacquer gilded flower and wood “lougeng” clock, and an English clock from the 18th century.

She couldn’t hide her shock and turned to Ji Qinghe: “Are these genuine?”

He had likely encountered similar scenes many times, his tone unperturbed: “Some are.”

He hadn’t removed his eyeglass loupe yet, but he easily followed the direction of her finger and clearly saw the clock displayed in the cabinet: “That one is a model. All the clocks my grandfather restored would have similar molds made, and then he’d teach me to make watches.”

“Many of the counterfeit parts are incomplete and of poor quality. We put them in the cabinet for fear of damaging them,” he said, finally taking off his loupe and walking over: “Aren’t you interested in which ones are real?”

Was “superficial” etched on her face? He didn’t even try to be subtle.

Shen Qianzhan lowered her head and took a sip of tea, then slightly raised her chin and pointed to the seemingly ancient English clock in the corner: “This one, it’s real.”

Ji Qinghe chuckled softly: “Judging by the extent of the damage?”

“Not entirely.” Shen Qianzhan blew gently on the tea surface, saying: “Did you forget we saw a similar clock at the Shaanxi Museum’s clock exhibition? Clocks from the Qianlong period of the Qing dynasty are mostly museum collections. I just figure you couldn’t get your hands on one, even with money.”

Her tone shifted, softening by a few degrees, with a hint of satisfaction: “I’ve studied Master Ji’s resume. When he was young, he was a curator at the clock museum, and even after he resigned, he continued to restore clocks voluntarily. A craftsman with such dedication probably couldn’t stand seeing collection pieces being ruined by unworthy descendants.”

Ji Qinghe was well aware of Shen Qianzhan’s subtle jabs and insinuations, but disdained to argue. He simply lowered his voice, chuckling, and asked: “You still remember the Shaanxi Museum’s clock exhibition?”

He suddenly lowered his tone and put on that half-smiling, half-unsmiling expression, instantly rendering an otherwise normal question ambiguous.

Shen Qianzhan, of course, remembered.

At that time, she had just secured the tribute drama project with Baixuan Film and Television. With a last-minute approach, she changed her planned vacation destination from Fiji to Xi’an, solely for this grand clock exhibition at the Shaanxi History Museum.

In addition to the clocks from the Shaanxi History Museum’s collection, the exhibition also featured renowned national treasure clocks from various regions.

She and Ji Qinghe met there.

To be honest, all the treasures in the room couldn’t compare to Ji Qinghe’s radiance alone.

Shen Qianzhan, having been immersed in the entertainment industry for years, a seasoned veteran who had seen all sorts of “fresh meat,” was still so utterly captivated by Ji Qinghe on the spot that she only wanted to be at his beck and call.

He was not only handsome, but he also possessed a mysterious aura, like Loulan, like a Bodhi tree whose lead had been washed away by the desert wind and sand, carrying a profound sense of having wandered from ancient times and finally settling down.

No signs of hardship, only accumulated experience.

Of course, now that she knew he dealt with time and clocks, Shen Qianzhan was no longer surprised by his aura.

But the sense of wonder Ji Qinghe brought to Shen Qianzhan at that time, even recalling it now, was still endlessly delightful and made her heart itch.

However, women are most adept at being heartless and stubborn.

Shen Qianzhan said expressionlessly: “I only remember the clocks, not the bastards.”

________________________________________

Meng Wangzhou was smoking by the courtyard’s patio.

The old house’s soundproofing wasn’t great. Ji Qinghe’s and Shen Qianzhan’s voices intermittently sounded, and although he couldn’t hear clearly, eavesdropping was technically effortless.

After finishing one cigarette, he took some fish food to the front hall to feed the fish.

When he returned, he intentionally peeked inside the door—Ji Qinghe was showing the young woman his wall of distinguished clocks.

He scoffed disdainfully, thinking to himself: There was a time when he had a collector friend who wanted to see the world, and just as he began to speak, that man coldly and ruthlessly cut off his day’s worth of prepared speech with a single word: “scram.” But when he encounters a pretty girl, all his moral boundaries disappear. What a hypocrite!

Meng Wangzhou tossed the fish food into a corner of the windowsill, picked up a watering can, and went to water the plants.

His lucky bamboo was crying out for a drink of water.

So, after watering the plants, wiping the tea set, and cleaning the association’s base, Meng Wangzhou, with nothing left to do, looked at the electric hot pot on the long table, his eyes lighting up. He happily extended an invitation: “Miss Shen, it’s getting late. Would you like to stay for hot pot tonight?”

Shen Qianzhan, who was just contemplating using her departure as an excuse to subtly ask for contact information, glanced at the unapproachable Ji Qinghe leaning against the wall beside her. She found it hard to refuse the warm invitation and accepted.

________________________________________

The hot pot ingredients were prepared by Meng Wangzhou in advance. He had originally planned to invite several clock collector friends to gather at the association’s base in the next couple of days, where they could brag, discuss life, and drown their sorrows in drink.

But things rarely go as planned.

Ji Qinghe had arrived in Beijing without a word, and by the looks of it, seemed intent on staying for a long time.

He preferred quiet over noise and detested Meng Wangzhou bringing rowdy friends to the courtyard.

In front of him, Meng Wangzhou never dared to act presumptuously, let alone cross any boundaries.

Since Shen Qianzhan happened to be there today, he quickly defrosted everything in the microwave, arranged a long table full of hot pot ingredients, and enthusiastically greeted her: “Miss Shen, please don’t be shy, eat more.”

Shen Qianzhan felt the little bit of flesh on her belly and sighed deeply... her salad lunch had been in vain.

________________________________________

The three of them weren’t very familiar with each other, and even hot pot, a communal food that can quickly warm friendships, didn’t do much to bridge the gap.

Meng Wangzhou looked from one to the other, then finally, the words he had suppressed all evening burst out: “Miss Shen, are you from Beijing?”

“A ‘Beipiao’ (Beijing drifter).” Shen Qianzhan tasted a crab roe bun and said: “We’ve already shared hot pot, just call me Qianzhan.”

Meng Wangzhou raised an eyebrow, cooking a slice of beef as he asked: “Beipiao? Do you mind if I ask where you work?”

“Qianzhan Film.” Shen Qianzhan ate another shrimp paste, too busy to speak: “I’m a producer.”

This profession was a bit far removed from Meng Wangzhou’s life. He was momentarily surprised, rambling a lot of questions that sounded rather unintelligent. Finally, he shifted the topic, glancing at his “plastic” cousin: “So, you’re looking for a clock master on Hangjia to find a consultant for your project? Since you know Qinghe, why didn’t you just ask him directly?” He even went through the trouble of calling someone like him, who only dabbled in collecting on the periphery.

Shen Qianzhan stopped her chopsticks and thought for a few seconds, saying: “We don’t really click when we talk.”

Meng Wangzhou was not surprised, and even understood perfectly. However, in front of Ji Qinghe, he didn’t dare to explicitly agree. He just nodded, showing his support.

After about a few minutes of quiet, Shen Qianzhan was full.

She slowly blew on her Pu’er tea, observing Ji Qinghe, who hadn’t spoken since they started eating.

This man outwardly appeared gentlemanly and refined, exuding an inherent noble aura. Only when eating hot pot, amidst the swirling smoke of human life, could he be pulled down from his pedestal.

She thought for a moment and asked: “Did you find me through Master Ji?”

Shen Qianzhan couldn’t sleep last night, tossing and turning, thinking for a long time.

Ji Qinghe’s attitude clearly showed he knew she urgently needed to find a clock restorer capable of restoring antique clocks to be a project consultant. If he claimed he hadn’t seen the project proposal, Shen Qianzhan would twist her head off and let that scoundrel kick it like a ball.

“Probably.” Ji Qinghe nodded, answering somewhat conservatively: “Remember Ji Lin?”

He reminded her: “The kid who said you were a spider demon from Pansidong (Spider Web Cave).”

Shen Qianzhan quickly glanced at Meng Wangzhou, whose face was flushed with suppressed laughter, then tsked and perfunctorily said: “I know, can what you know that I know be said more subtly?”

Ji Qinghe raised an eyebrow, clearly showing an expression that implied “that depends on your performance”: “He hid your proposal, then showed it to me.”

Shen Qianzhan almost burned her mouth with a sip of Pu’er: “Are you saying Master Ji didn’t see my proposal?”

Ji Qinghe asked: “Is that important? He and Ms. Meng have finalized their Europe trip and have already departed.”

Shen Qianzhan choked.

For a moment, she didn’t know how to feel.

She understood Ji Qinghe’s meaning: whether Master Ji saw the proposal or not, he wouldn’t cancel his Europe trip. But if that was the reason, she would have been willing to appropriately postpone the timing and reschedule for Master Ji.

“You might not know who Ms. Meng is,” Ji Qinghe said, slowly eating a slice of beef: “Meng Qiongchi, the founder of Buzhong Sui.”

“The two have been separated for too long, they’re looking forward to traveling and enjoying life after retirement. Even if your proposal moved them, they’d only have me substitute. Since the result is the same, why bother with the process?”

Shen Qianzhan said disdainfully: “Can your influence and Master Ji’s be on the same level? You’re just gilding the lily.”

Ji Qinghe cast a faint glance at Meng Wangzhou, who could no longer control his laughing expression. He stirred his chopsticks in the clear soup and said: “Actually, I think Ji Lin’s words weren’t quite fair.”

Shen Qianzhan had a vague feeling of foreboding.

Indeed.

The petty scoundrel retaliated the next second: “Spider demon from Pansidong isn’t accurate enough. How about the King of the Women’s Kingdom?”

Shen Qianzhan: “???”

Was he implying she acted like she hadn’t seen a man before that night?