8. Find her
The private room in the club was bathed in mysterious, shifting light. He Mian sat on the sofa, loosened his tie, relaxed his limbs, and closed his eyes to rest.
Jia Yan, after singing a love song with two seductive women, stepped down and settled on the sofa diagonally across from He Mian. “Did the art exhibition end smoothly?”
“Yes.”
Jia Yan, flanked by the women, allowed one to feed him wine, drinking obligingly and then sharing the moment with her, perfectly at ease in such company.
“I bet your agent will be busy after tonight. You’re picking up the tab, right?” He Mian could sell a painting for a fortune; Jia Yan was happy to help him spend it.
Jia Yan himself was never short of money, but spending someone else’s was always sweeter than spending his own.
He Mian neither agreed nor disagreed, opening his eyes to pour himself a drink. The lady beside him, perceptive and attentive, poured him a glass and handed it over.
Finally, she had something to do. She’d been sitting here for quite a while, and the man next to her was so calm that she couldn’t find a way in.
He Mian took the glass, idly spinning it in his hand without drinking.
The lady poured herself a drink, slipped her arm around He Mian’s, and clinked glasses with him. He Mian didn’t pull away, lightly touching her glass and taking a sip.
“Are you nearly finished here? When are you returning to Mist City?” Jia Yan asked.
“In a few days.” He Mian sounded distracted, Su Yun’s face flashing through his mind.
“And you? When are you going back to the country?”
“April or May, but honestly, I don’t want to leave. I’d rather stay here with these beauties.” Jia Yan stayed serious for no more than three seconds before turning to flirt with the woman in his arms.
The lady pressed herself against Jia Yan, as if she had no bones at all.
The woman next to He Mian became bolder, her hand sliding up his chest.
He Mian caught her soft hand, his gaze a warning, but she was fearless—tonight, she meant to win him over.
He Mian turned his head, brushing a kiss against her cheek. Her eyes smoldered, ready to take the next step.
He Mian pushed her away with force, sending her sprawling onto the floor, her face wounded.
She was professionally trained, her service impeccable, but he only felt irritated.
He Mian tossed a stack of cash her way and waved her out.
She took the money and left, aggrieved—this was a humiliation to her career.
Jia Yan clicked his tongue twice. “Such a waste! How can you break a beauty’s heart like that?”
“Not everyone’s like you,” He Mian replied, taking another sip.
Jia Yan took it as a compliment. “Hey, I remember you finally gave in. If it weren’t for that time you flirted with a woman in a bar, I’d have thought you were gay.”
In Jia Yan’s memory, He Mian never sought female company, living a pure and ascetic life; he’d even worried that He Mian might take an interest in him.
“I remember she came to see you a few days ago. Her name’s Su Yun, right? How was it? Was she as sweet as she looks?” Jia Yan grinned mischievously, eager for gossip.
He Mian suddenly stood. “I’m leaving.”
“Need a ride?” Jia Yan called after him.
“No.”
“You’re hardly short of money. Why not hire a translator to keep you from getting lost?”
He Mian didn’t speak French and relied on his phone for translation, only calling for a human interpreter for official events.
“I’ll find one now,” He Mian said, leaving the room.
Jia Yan couldn’t fathom the mind of an artist, but he let it go—He Mian was grown; he wouldn’t get lost.
“Come on, let’s keep drinking.” Jia Yan returned to his revelry.
—
Ding dong, ding dong.
“Who is it?” Emma called from the doorway.
“Hello, I’m a friend of Su Yun’s.” He Mian had carefully checked the translation and spoke with difficulty.
Emma opened the door and looked at the visitor, her heart skipping a beat. An angel had descended.
“Hello, please come in.”
“Thank you. Could you tell me which room is Su Yun’s?” He Mian continued in English.
Emma blinked for a few seconds, then pointed in a direction.
He Mian smiled. “Thank you.”
Emma’s heart skipped again as she watched He Mian knock gently, then open the door and enter. Why did the angel seem familiar?
—
The lights were on. Su Yun lay on the bed, still dressed, already asleep.
The room was filled with a fragrance, a magical force that settled He Mian’s heart the moment he entered.
He walked softly to the bedside, his breath unconsciously quiet, watching Su Yun’s sleeping face in silence.
He reached out and stroked her cheek; the sensation was exquisite, smooth as silk.
Leaning closer, he gently kissed the tip of her nose.
The kiss wandered lower, about to brush her tender lips.
Su Yun frowned, mumbling, “Go away, you stink.”
He Mian paused, realizing he must have picked up some perfume scent. He sniffed his sleeve—an odd smell—his brow furrowing.
He looked around. Su Yun’s room had its own bathroom, so he went to wash up.
After a quick shower, he came out wrapped in a towel, climbed into bed, and embraced Su Yun, kissing her deeply.