Chapter 9
755 Words
Yousijia had little interest in the weekend banquet. Even when Jiang Lingyu had sent her a photo of Meng Weiyuan from Harbor City, her enthusiasm had barely stirred.
By noon on the day itself, when You Kuiqing returned from overtime at the office and went upstairs to find her, he discovered Yousijia still sprawled across her bed, tablet in hand, sketching away.
She had majored in Fine Arts during university, though rather than confining herself to long hours in a studio, she preferred sketching lively comic-style figures or chibi-like characters on her tablet.
“You haven’t even started getting ready?” Kuiqing stepped through the doorway in surprise. “I thought you’d be off having a facial this morning.”
With her legs lifted lazily into the air, toes swaying idly, Yousijia replied without lifting her gaze, “It’s not like I’m going to meet anyone important. Why bother?”
“You’ll be seeing your future brother-in-law tonight,” Kuiqing teased.
Yousijia instantly bolted upright, cheeks flushed scarlet, and lunged to silence him. “You Kuiqing! You’re unbearable! Don’t call him that!”
He raised his brows, watching her fluster with mild amusement. Could elementary schoolers even marry? He wasn’t sure, but sometimes he worried about her.
Quickly shifting the topic, Kuiqing nodded toward her screen. “What’s this? That little fox and bear look adorable.”
“Just doodling something cute for an avatar,” she mumbled.
She had a small online account where she occasionally shared these playful sketches. The following wasn’t large, but the community was warm and supportive, and the cheerful comments always delighted her. Once, an editor had even approached her, impressed by her whimsical style, inviting her to publish a collection. But Gu Yu had dismissed it—time-consuming, unprofitable, pointless. Add to that the exhaustion of time zone differences when she moved abroad, and she had reluctantly declined.
Now, when Kuiqing cooed, “That little bear is precious—I want it for my profile picture,” Yousijia smiled softly. His current avatar, after all, was a piglet she had drawn for him. “Fine, fine. I’ll send it to you later.” Quietly, she thought: if given another chance, she would never again refuse such an invitation.
By evening, despite her lack of enthusiasm, she stepped out dressed in a Vinnie blue satin gown, a vintage thirteen-carat sapphire necklace at her throat, her pale skin luminous as snow—an image of elegance, as if she had walked out of another century.
“That’s the Yousijia I know,” Kuiqing murmured approvingly as he held open the Rolls-Royce’s door.
The banquet was hosted at Hengyuan Hotel’s rooftop restaurant, its glass walls overlooking the glittering sprawl of Nancheng and the distant coastline. Emerging from the elevator with her parents, she lifted her gaze and immediately saw him.
Meng Weiyuan.
In person, his presence was sharper than in the photo—his posture taut, his features cut with an austere precision. His eyes, narrow and dark, carried an unfathomable depth, and when they landed briefly upon her, she felt as though examined beneath a scalpel.
She bristled, unwilling to yield, and met his gaze head-on. Yet he only allowed the briefest glance before stepping forward, greeting her parents with impeccable poise.
“Miss You,” his voice was low, even. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Lost for a moment in thought, she only noticed his extended hand when it hovered before her. Stifling the urge to roll her eyes—how stiff, how old-fashioned—she nonetheless placed her hand delicately in his.
“Mr. Meng.” Her smile was flawless, her manners flawless too.
The evening unfolded with effortless courtesy, both families appearing thoroughly pleased. Yet when her mother suggested she guide him to the rooftop garden, her composure nearly cracked.
Still, she agreed.
Inside the elevator, silence pressed close. A faint resinous scent lingered about him, cool yet strangely grounding.
He had recognized her before, that day she had stumbled into him at a private restaurant. But uncertain of the alliance’s outcome, he had chosen not to reveal himself then. Now, with only the two of them enclosed together, he offered her a gift bag.
“A meeting present.”
Her surprise was genuine. “For me?”
He inclined his head.
She took it, half-skeptical, half-curious. “May I open it now?”
A hint of mischief glimmered in her eyes. What could such a meticulous, unyielding man possibly choose as a gift?
- Writer
