Volume One, Chapter 8: Just Looking at Me Is Not Enough

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The sudden turn of events startled Wang Shuo so much that he plopped down on the ground. Behind him came a sneering laugh, and an overwhelming sense of suffocation washed over him.

“President Pei, please hear me out,” he said. “This was done by my assistant. I only scolded her a little during the day, and she actually dared to make up this nonsense to mess with me.”

Pei Yanchuan held a cigarette between his fingers, his gaze calm and even tinged with amusement. “I think the fortune she told you is quite accurate.”

“President Pei, I’ll bring that wretched woman here to apologize to you right away!” Wang Shuo, consumed by the rage of being tricked by Wen Yang, didn’t even understand what was said. As he was about to stand up, a firm hand pressed down on his shoulder.

“How can you be so blind as a person?” Pei Yanchuan, his patience worn thin, spoke with a careless expression that barely concealed his deep disdain.

His tone was lazy and casual, yet carried a dangerous edge: “Bad eyesight, rude mouth—do you want me to donate your tongue to someone in need?”

Fearing Pei Yanchuan might truly do such a thing in a fit of madness, Han Ting quickly released Wen Yang from his embrace and stepped forward to mediate. “Xiao Yuan, let Pei Shao get some fresh air outside. Leave this to me; I guarantee it will be handled properly.”

Xiao Yuan was the assistant in question. Upon hearing this, he moved to stand beside Pei Yanchuan.

Pei Yanchuan glanced at him indifferently and casually flicked the cigarette butt forward.

Wang Shuo felt a sudden burning sensation at his ear as the cigarette butt slid down along his earlobe, jolting him sharply.

Only after Pei Yanchuan left the private room did the oppressive aura dissipate, leaving Wang Shuo weak and slumped in exhaustion.

“Who told you to mess with someone you shouldn’t have, and to make a false love match that almost got me killed?”

Han Ting approached him, his usual slick demeanor replaced by a mischievous gleam. He seemed eager to kick him while he was down.

“He’s always had a bad temper. If you stay in Xuancheng, you probably won’t last long. Either you get trampled to death here or you’d better take your feet and get out while you still can.”

“But before you go, don’t waste anything,” Han Ting pursed his lips and pointed to the variety of beers, white wine, red wine, and yellow wine on the table.

“You have to finish all of these before you leave.”

At that moment, a few men in black, looking like bodyguards, entered from outside the private room, seemingly there to supervise in case Wang Shuo didn’t cooperate.

Wang Shuo’s face turned an ashen gray; he nearly fainted.

Finishing all those drinks would probably take half his life.

Only now did he realize the half sentence he hadn’t heard downstairs from Su Chiyu: Wen Yang actually worked for Pei Yanchuan...

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Meanwhile, Wen Yang had just come out of the restroom.

Her alcohol tolerance was poor. Since starting university, she had been able to drink a little more during frequent gatherings with classmates.

The corridor was dimly lit. She wasn’t drunk, only a little unsteady on her feet.

As she reached the corner, her phone rang. She took it out to glance at the screen, head bowed, unaware that someone was coming from around the corner.

In the blind spot of their mutual vision, something unexpected happened—she collided with a waiter.

He was about a head taller than her. His first reaction was to steady the tray in his hands, but he failed, and the brightly colored cocktails spilled in his direction.

The stains spread widely over his uniform. When Wen Yang looked up, she recognized him as the handsome bartender from their table.

“Sorry!” she apologized.

Though both were at fault, she had been focused on her phone and had escaped unscathed, so clearly the waiter suffered the greater loss.

“It’s alright,” Yin Hang said calmly, his voice clear and gentle. But the wet clothes clinging to his body, mixed with ice, caused him to shiver involuntarily from the cold.

Seeing this, Wen Yang immediately returned to the restroom and tore off several hand towels.

Noticing his hands full of the messy tray, she asked, “Want me to hold this for you? You should dry yourself first.”

Yin Hang glanced at her flushed face, made redder from drinking, even more striking than before. A thought struck him.

“In that case, thank you, senior,” he said slowly.

Wen Yang didn’t notice the honorific. She took the tray from him, and as her eyes dropped, she saw that he was completely at ease, having taken off his jacket and folded it over his elbow. Then, right in front of her, he lifted his white shirt and began wiping his waist and abdomen with the towels.

What met her eyes were dazzling eight-pack abs.

Her mind involuntarily recalled Pei Yanchuan’s waist muscles, which were even more beautifully sculpted than this man’s.

Are all men these days so disciplined?

“Senior, my name is Yin Hang,” he said leisurely as he wiped. “Actually, we go to the same school. I’ve seen you many times there.”

Wen Yang listened but didn’t respond. She cleared her throat and awkwardly turned her head, only to discover someone standing not far away, seemingly having been there for some time.

A tall figure, about 1.85 meters, stood silhouetted against the light, arms crossed with a faint, almost mocking smile.

His eyes were deep and unfathomable, like a bottomless pool. His gaze lingered on her flushed eyes before shifting to the man busily showing off his physique beside her.

He clicked his tongue lightly. “Wen Yang, isn’t just looking at me enough? Do you still have to sneak a peek at others?”

His voice was like thunder breaking across the quiet corridor.

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Wen Yang’s breath trembled slightly, and she awkwardly twisted the corner of her mouth. “President Pei, you must be joking.”

What did he mean by “Isn’t just looking at me enough?” As if she were some lecherous, desperate person.

She had guessed he might be upstairs, but hadn’t expected him to appear right in front of her like this.

Yin Hang looked up at the sound. In front of a man who was not only male but even more handsome than himself, he wisely lowered his jacket hem and glanced back and forth between the two, quietly asking, “Senior, are you two acquainted?”

After a moment’s hesitation about feigning ignorance or remaining silent, Wen Yang chose the former, coolly countering, “Are you done? Here’s your stuff back. I’ll pay for the cleaning.”

“No need to pay me for cleaning,” Yin Hang shook his head and took the tray with one hand, looking troubled. “But, could I trouble you to take my jacket to wash? Our dorm laundry machine is broken, and I don’t finish work until four in the morning. If I don’t wear my uniform tomorrow night, I’ll get docked pay.”

He implied that since he finished late, he hoped she could wash it and return it before his next shift.

Clearly overhearing their exchange, Pei Yanchuan lazily raised his chin nearby, the thick “tea” scent in the air prompting him to quip.

“What? Has every washing machine and dryer in the world died?”

To be fair, this nitpicker had a point.

But Yin Hang looked composed and sincere. Holding the dirty jacket, he seemed caught between taking it back or leaving it with her.

He could only stare blankly at her, appearing somewhat helpless. “Senior, sorry. If it’s too much trouble, never mind. I can hand-wash it after work tonight.”

She was momentarily distracted. When little Jiu did something wrong, he looked at her with this same expression.

The long-unfelt pang of guilt surged up; she always hated owing others.

Reaching out, she took the jacket. “It was my fault for not watching where I was going. I’ll wash it and return it to you tomorrow.”

That attitude, seen by a certain someone, carried a different meaning.

Pei Yanchuan clicked his tongue softly from afar, his eyes growing cold, as if watching a rather uninteresting drama with fading enthusiasm.

Yet beneath it all, a surge of anger simmered within him.