Chapter 11: Hong Kong Island (6)

Jiang Wanju felt this man was truly wicked to the core. His voice was calm and unhurried, spoken just loud enough for only the two of them to hear.

She had been resting her cheek on one hand, but upon hearing his voice, she lowered her hand and looked around. Seeing that no one was paying them any attention, she responded in a soft voice.

She felt a bit warm and unconsciously took a bite of something refreshing, only to hear Chen Zhouren ask, “Do you have any plans this afternoon?”

Jiang Wanju shook her head.

Chen Zhouren suggested, “How about we pick out some clothes? Consider it my apology.”

His tone was gentle and soft, and the words he chose made it hard for Jiang Wanju to refuse.

No one could easily say no to something like, “Let me take you shopping—use the card as you like.” Jiang Wanju gladly accepted the invitation. They went to Prince’s Building in Central, and Chen Zhouren fulfilled his role quite perfectly. If Jiang Wanju didn’t express a preference, he never made any stereotypical remarks like “women should wear XXX.” He simply smiled as he watched her browse through the season’s new arrivals. Only when she asked for his opinion did he offer thoughtful suggestions.

When she couldn’t decide between two different skirt suits, Chen Zhouren smiled and said, “Why not get both?”

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Kkydt Eydfw vwadle vs zssj yv bkx. “Ebyv yal usw vyzjkdt ycswv?”

“R eke pyu R’e tlv usw yp xydu yp usw oydv yp yd yrszstu,” Ubld Hbswald alrzkle. “Myjl uswa vkxl rknjkdt.”

Tl oyp vawzu tldlaswp. Bdzkjl svbla xld obs wpwyzzu oldv pvayktbv vs qkde y plyv yqvla ldvlakdt y pvsal, Ubld Hbswald pvsse dyvwayzzu cu Kkydt Eydfw’p pkel, nbyvvkdt nypwyzzu okvb vbl pyzlp yppsnkyvl. Kkydt Eydfw oypd’v pwal obyv lmynvzu oyp pyke, cwv pssd vblu olal wpblale kdvs ydsvbla assx okvb psqv psqyp yde y nsqqll vyczl. Kkydt Eydfw eked’v dlle vs tlv wr—psxlsdl oswze cakdt bla nzsvblp, sdl kvlx yqvla ydsvbla, yzz cayde dlo, qsa bla vs casopl wdvkz pbl oyp pyvkpqkle.

Mbl obszl pbsrrkdt vakr vssj yd bswa yde y byzq. Ubld Hbswald xyel y nyzz yde bye bkp yppkpvydv nsxl vs nszzlnv vbl nzsvblp yde pbslp. Mblal olal ps xydu pbsrrkdt cytp vbyv vbl yppkpvydv dlyazu nswzed’v nyaau vblx yzz. G qlo cytp okvb obkvl nyxlzzkyp sd vblx olal nyaakle cu vbl pbsr pvyqq vblxplzhlp yde rlapsdyzzu lpnsavle vs vbl nya.

Mbld Ubld Hbswald vwadle vs Kkydt Eydfw yde ypjle, “Ps usw dlle vs cwu ydu wdelatyaxldvp?”

Kkydt Eydfw’p nsvvsd rydvklp qasx ulpvlaeyu nswze ds zsdtla cl osad—vblu olal qwzz sq Ubld Hbswald’p pnldv. Fbl bye ds kely bso vbkdtp tsv vbyv xlppu, xyucl lhld bla sod pnldv bye xkmle kd, qykdvzu yde bygkzu rkdj.

Oyazkla vbyv xsadkdt, clqsal blyekdt swv, Kkydt Eydfw bye cyzzle wr vbl tyaxldvp yde vspple vblx nypwyzzu kdvs vbl vaypb.

Fbl vwadle bla qynl pzktbvzu vs zssj yv Ubld Hbswald, obs pyke, “Mbkp kp ryav sq vbl yrszstu vss.”

Jiang Wanju asked, “Are you always this generous with every woman?”

The question was slightly provocative.

Chen Zhouren smiled indulgently.

He said, “That’s a bit of a tricky question, Little Tangerine… If I were you, I wouldn’t ask it so directly.”

Jiang Wanju asked, “Then how would you ask?”

“I’d ask, ‘Are you this generous with everyone?’”

Following his lead, Jiang Wanju asked, “So, Mr. Chen, what’s your answer? Are you this generous with everyone?”

“Of course not,” Chen Zhouren replied, a faint dimple appearing on his cheek. “No matter which way you phrase it, my answer is still the same.”

Jiang Wanju pressed her hand lightly over her chest and let out a soft hum. She then heard Chen Zhouren lower his voice: “Also, don’t call me Mr. Chen—it sounds old and stiff. I don’t like it.”

He naturally took Jiang Wanju’s hand in his, engulfing it like a big fish swallowing a little fish, holding her firmly in his palm. “The way you addressed me last night was nice. ‘Sir’… or ‘Zhouren-ge.’ Which one do you prefer?”

In her heart, Jiang Wanju preferred “Sir,” but it was clear Chen Zhouren favored the latter. Perhaps it was a common quirk for men his age, or maybe he was just accustomed to playing the role of an older brother. Although he had never mentioned his family, Jiang Wanju had sensed at a previous banquet with Bai Qing that Chen Zhouren was the anchor figure among his siblings.

Originally, Jiang Wanju’s plan for Hong Kong Island was four days and three nights. After their breakup, all her earlier plans had been crossed out with bright red marks. But it didn’t matter—Chen Zhouren whisked her away for eating, drinking, and fun. Unfortunately, the suite Jiang Wanju had booked ended up barely used.

Chen Zhouren had a deep appreciation for good food. He took Jiang Wanju up to Victoria Peak via cable car, had beers while watching the horse races, admired the Victoria Harbour night view… but the most important part was still the food. He brought her to try Cantonese cuisine, joking that he was influenced by an old childhood friend.

Though he didn’t share much about his private life, Chen Zhouren did take her along to meet a business partner—the actual reason he was in Hong Kong.

Oddly enough, the partner was a blonde-haired, blue-eyed German who spoke fluent Mandarin, making communication effortless. During dinner, the partner’s companion was also present—a petite Chinese woman with a soft, sweet voice and an elegant demeanor.

Interestingly, when Jiang Wanju went to the restroom, she overheard the petite woman murmuring to the tall German man in the hallway:
“Mr. Klaus, you didn’t tell me there’d be work tonight—I need to remind you that evening social events count as overtime. I hope you understand what I mean…”

“I understand, Xiaolong,” the German man said with a smile. “Double pay and a night shift allowance for your stomach. Deal?”

The woman laughed. “Deal, my dear Mr. Klaus.”

Jiang Wanju didn’t hear the rest. She slipped away quietly, thinking the pair was rather amusing.

And Chen Zhouren himself was equally fascinating.

He truly knew how to pick food. There was the classic old fire soup: lotus root and octopus simmered with pork shank until the flavors melded richly. The finest preserved plums needed to be savored slowly; the old fire soup had to be drunk while hot. The stuffed eight-treasure duck—deboned and filled with fragrant lotus seeds, lean pork, salted egg yolk, shiitake mushrooms, chestnuts, lily bulbs, ginkgo nuts, and barley—was deep-fried until crispy and then braised until the meat fell apart tenderly.

Since they were in Hong Kong, dessert was a must. In the autumn and winter, when Jiang Wanju’s throat hurt from calling out for two consecutive nights, she was given double-boiled papaya with snow fungus and lotus seeds, with the bitter cores of the lotus seeds carefully removed using a toothpick—a sweet and soothing remedy for the throat.

On the last day, they finally had winter melon soup, nicknamed “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” The winter melon was intricately carved with auspicious patterns and stuffed with shrimp, crab meat, bamboo fungus, dried scallops, fresh lotus seeds, scallops, shredded duck, and more. The soup was delicate and flavorful, the meat tender. Around the edges, ham puree, night-blooming jasmine, and crab meat added beautiful garnishes. It really was like a dream.

But dreams have to end sometime.

On the final night in Hong Kong, Jiang Wanju was still in Chen Zhouren’s suite. She was half-lying on the bed in the LP pajamas he’d chosen for her, flipping through an art book.

Chen Zhouren sat on the other side of the sofa. He had just closed his laptop and was sipping water.

At that moment, her phone rang. Both of them looked at the screen at the same time.

Bai Qing.

Jiang Wanju calmly picked up the phone. She didn’t hide or hesitate and answered.

Chen Zhouren set his glass down, stood, and wordlessly lifted one of Jiang Wanju’s legs.

She thought he was joking and laughed, struggling a bit, but couldn’t break free. Bai Qing’s voice came through the phone, calm as always:

“Wanju, are you coming back tomorrow? I checked the time—I can pick you up.”

Jiang Wanju opened her mouth to reply, but before she could make a sound, she let out an involuntary gasp as an unexpected sensation took her by surprise. She covered her mouth, staying silent.

A flush of pink and purple—an idle caress through the thin fabric.

Jiang Wanju looked up and met Chen Zhouren’s gaze.
He looked down at her, holding her leg, and smiled faintly. Then he mouthed a word:

“Continue.”

He was telling her to keep talking.

And he continued too.