Chapter Four: After All, You Can’t Afford It
1554 Words
Chapter Four: After All, You Can’t Afford It
Tianxuan Cosmetics Zone
Arms linked, Nian Yaxuan, Zheng Xiaoke, and Lin Wanying walked at the front. Behind them trudged Han Huiming and Shu Zenan, shoulders slung together, hands full of shopping bags, already tired to the bone.
At last, Han Huiming could not help himself. He patted the three girls on the shoulder.
"Ladies, during long‑distance runs I’ve never seen you put in this much effort. How come when it’s shopping, you lot suddenly don’t know the meaning of rest?"
"With stamina like that, your parents really wasted that height on you," Lin Wanying said, snatching one of the bags from his hand to lessen his burden.
Nian Yaxuan pointed toward a counter ahead.
"See? We’re here. Last stop."
Han Huiming let out a long breath and pressed his palms together in mock gratitude.
"Thank you, my three elder sisters."
"No problem. I’ll treat you later," Zheng Xiaoke said grandly, lifting the brand‑new handbag she had just splurged on as proof she was flush with cash.
Something lit up in Han Huiming’s eyes at once.
"You said it. Don’t you dare take it back."
Yuheng Tower was devoted entirely to food; the fifth floor in particular was all understated luxury and quiet refinement—in a word, high‑end.
"Anywhere you want, as long as it isn’t the fifth floor of Yuheng," Zheng Xiaoke added, shattering his fantasy in a single sentence.
The fifth floor of Yuheng consisted solely of private dining rooms. Not only was there an eye‑watering minimum charge, but whatever cuisine you craved, a professional chef would prepare it for you one‑on‑one. With a bit of luck, you might even end up served by a Michelin three‑star chef.
It was the sort of place that very few people in Yuecheng could afford to patronize.
Han Huiming let his head loll to one side, rolling his eyes and sticking out his tongue in a theatrical "I’m dead" expression.
"Save your breath. Anywhere below the fifth floor, I’ll treat you to whatever you want."
The others burst out laughing at his antics.
Nian Yaxuan clapped his shoulder.
"We’re here. There’s a sofa over there. You two go sit down and rest."
The three girls crowded around the counter, chattering away.
The sales assistant caught sight of the boxed set in Nian Yaxuan’s hands and greeted her with a bright smile.
"Hello, miss. That set is one of our best‑sellers. This is the very last one in stock. If you like it, you’ll want to seize the chance."
The last one.
Heart twisting, Nian Yaxuan stared at the price tag—129,999.
Should she buy it or not?
From his seat on the sofa, Han Huiming spoke up, exasperated.
"Brother Nian, you’re an invisible heiress who rides in cars worth seven or eight figures every day. What are you hesitating for? It’s only a little over a hundred grand. I’ll make the call for you—if you like it that much, just buy it."
Nian Yaxuan sighed.
"The cars aren’t mine. I’m only borrowing them for now."
Yes, whether seven figures or eight, every one of those cars belonged to her husband. They were not hers; she had nothing to boast about.
Just then, a commotion broke out not far away.
On reflex, she lifted her head—and nearly jumped out of her skin at what she saw.
Several people were walking in from the main entrance. The man in front wore a dark, custom‑tailored suit of impeccable cut that set off his tall, straight figure. His dark brown crocodile‑leather shoes sounded a soft rhythm on the polished marble floor.
His deep, dark eyes held not the slightest ripple of emotion. The innate dominance and chill that seeped from his bones made people instinctively step several paces aside.
This man, exuding power, coldness, and aristocratic ease in equal measure, was Huo—
Oh, no.
He was her husband.
And at his side was a breathtaking beauty with skin like porcelain and a figure that could have been carved.
There were rarely any rumors of women around Young Master Huo. For him to bring one out shopping with him in public—were they on the verge of making things official?
As though sensing her gaze, the man, still three meters away, suddenly swept his eyes across in her direction.
Their gazes met.
Nian Yaxuan’s heart gave a violent jolt. She dropped her head at once and stared fixedly at the lipsticks.
You didn’t see me. You didn’t see me.
No—what was she afraid of?
He didn’t even know her.
Clinging to that thought, she forced herself to sound casual as she asked,
"Ke‑ke, do you think this color suits me?"
But Zheng Xiaoke did not answer the question. Instead, she tugged excitedly at Nian Yaxuan’s sleeve.
"Yaxuan, Yaxuan, you and Young Master Huo really are fated to meet, huh?"
Well… it did feel that way.
"Yaxuan," Lin Wanying breathed, eyes fixed on the distant couple, "who’s the woman next to Young Master Huo?"
Nian Yaxuan wanted to know that herself.
"Brother Nian," Han Huiming chimed in, "do you think Young Master Huo came here to look for you?"
As if.
Nian Yaxuan gave the two girls, who were even more starry‑eyed than she was, a look of utter defeat.
"Zheng Xiaoke, wipe your drool."
Before Zheng Xiaoke could react, a clear, unfamiliar voice cut cleanly across the air, answering the question Nian Yaxuan had asked a moment earlier.
"I don’t think it suits you at all. After all, you can’t afford it."
Puzzled, Nian Yaxuan lifted her head.
The speaker was the woman on Huo Lingchen’s arm.
Had they met before?
With her dark brown permed hair and manicured coffee‑colored nails, Mi Jia clung lightly to Huo Lingchen’s arm as she walked up to them.
She extended a slender, jade‑white hand and, with practiced elegance, plucked the boxed lipstick set from Nian Yaxuan’s arms.
Her lips—painted in the season’s most fashionable deep wine‑red—parted languidly.
"I’ll take this. Wrap it up for me."
Having issued her command, she let her gaze roam over Nian Yaxuan from head to toe, brazenly assessing.
In the end, a trace of contempt curled her mouth.
One look was enough to tell she was just a little college girl pretending to be pure.
She truly did not understand why Young Master Huo had allowed his gaze to linger on this woman several times. Yes, she was somewhat pretty—but clearly nowhere near as pretty as herself.
Nian Yaxuan’s notorious temper flared at once.
"What kind of look is that supposed to be? How do you know I can’t afford it? Aside from being dressed up in fancy clothes, what exactly is there to admire about you?"
Her words were a resounding slap in the face, delivered in public.
Mi Jia’s expression turned instantly ugly.
"And where did this shabby little student crawl out from? Before you come to Shangyang, you should at least take a good look at yourself and see whether someone like you even belongs in a mall of this level."
A cold laugh escaped Nian Yaxuan. She let her eyes drift slowly over Mi Jia in return, from head to toe.
"Oh? So we don’t belong here, but you do? Who gave you the confidence to look down on people like some mongrel judging pedigrees? The only thing you’ve got going for you is that you’re older—old enough to carry off that dark green outfit. Girls our age wouldn’t be caught dead in such a matronly shade."
That single phrase—“dark green aunty outfit”—did not only offend Mi Jia; it managed, invisibly, to offend Huo Lingchen as well.
Because the dress on Mi Jia’s body was the one he had picked for her earlier.
He might have pointed it out casually, but he had chosen it and paid for it.
So by mocking it as old‑lady style, she was indirectly mocking his taste as old‑fashioned.
In truth, Mi Jia was only twenty‑seven and a half. And the dress itself was, objectively speaking, quite lovely.
It simply failed to reach its full effect on her.
She was pale and skinny—too skinny. The dress needed a fuller figure to truly shine, and on her narrow frame it simply hung there limply.
Put it on someone else and it might have looked several times better.
The words had well and truly enraged her.
As the most pampered princess of the Mi family, she was accustomed to hearing only what pleased her; everyone around her took care to shower her with flattering words.
No one had ever mocked her to her face the way Nian Yaxuan just had.
Remembering that she had a powerful backer by her side today, Mi Jia took a deep breath, then turned and walked back to Huo Lingchen.
She looked up at him, eyes brimming pitifully.
"President Huo, did you hear her? She called us old—and said your taste is old‑fashioned."
- Writer
