Meng Qinghuai looked up at her, “I have no opinion.”
“……”
Guan Yingtang was completely stumped by his straight-man answer.
Seriously, is it that hard to just say ‘yes’ or ‘no’?
What does ‘no opinion’ even mean?
Are you running a staff meeting here?
Guan Yingtang muttered to herself but couldn’t be bothered to ask again. With that, the matter of the dress was settled.
The waist was a bit loose, but it wasn’t a big issue. The tailor took her measurements and said they’d make minor adjustments and deliver it to the hotel.
By the time the two of them returned from the atelier, it was nearly 6 p.m. local time.
The afterglow painted the sky red, caramel mountains and the blue sea shimmering together, palm trees swaying in the light— Barcelona’s nights were intimate and romantic.
After a simple dinner at the hotel, Meng Qinghuai escorted Guan Yingtang back to her room.
They were staying at the Boat Hotel, perched on the city’s coastline. Standing by the room’s floor-to-ceiling windows, you could take in the beach, the sea, and Barcelona’s nightscape all at once.
In the hotel lobby, the Europe Branch staff had already been waiting patiently for hours.
Having heard that Meng Qinghuai’s private jet was arriving in the afternoon, the branch manager had prepared a welcome.
But then a colleague at the airport sent word: President Meng had brought a female companion and was accompanying her to pick out a dress after landing.
The news sounded almost unreal.
The branch manager still remembered the last time Meng Qinghuai visited.
The young president had worked seventy-two hours straight, crossing northern and southern Europe in five days, from Madrid to Paris.
Time, in his hands, was measured in seconds—never wasted.
Now, he’d spent a leisurely afternoon dress shopping with a companion. It was hard to believe.
“I have a meeting to attend, probably won’t be back until late.” After escorting Guan Yingtang to her room, Meng Qinghuai said.
They’d been glued together for nearly twenty-four hours; Guan Yingtang was just as happy for the break.
“It’s fine, go on with your work, you don’t need to worry about me.”
Meng Qinghuai saw her fatigue and didn’t say more, only reminding her to rest early before leaving the room.
The elevator took him straight to the hotel’s business conference room. The branch staff waiting to report were already there.
As soon as Meng Qinghuai entered, everyone stood up in unison.
Among them were employees who’d met him before.
They glanced at him respectfully, marveling at the aura of the rumored successor—he didn’t need to speak; just a single, indifferent look as he entered the room brought a subtle sense of pressure.
The financial data he’d just reviewed online that day was on the table. No one had expected Meng Qinghuai to fly across continents and personally oversee things. Everyone was cautious. When they got to a key point, Meng Qinghuai was about to check it—only to realize he’d left his laptop in his room.
A subordinate volunteered to fetch it for him, but he refused, “No need, I’ll get it myself.”
Upstairs, Guan Yingtang knew nothing of this.
She was standing by the bedroom window, gazing at the night view.
Light and shadow intertwined. On the nearby beach, the waves sparkled and crowds of young people were singing and dancing— clearly having a party.
Even through the glass, she could feel the wild, unfettered freedom of youth.
Guan Yingtang remembered, back in her first year of university, before Guan Zhiheng’s private butler had arrived, she’d attended a party like that, too.
That night, the deck was filled with revelry— champagne, dancing, nobody cared about the length of her dress, the shade of her lipstick, or whether she was perfectly poised.
All the “not allowed” rules she’d endured on Hong Kong Island were, for once, gleefully ignored.
The hotel butler now accompanied the atelier staff to deliver the dress.
The atelier’s tailor was efficient—not only had they adjusted the dress, but they’d also brought matching jewelry and shoes.
Everything was packed neatly into a leather suitcase. Guan Yingtang thanked them and returned to her bedroom to open it.
The luxury of the dress was obvious— the embroidered satin shimmered, every stitch reflecting exquisite craftsmanship.
But as Guan Yingtang ran her hand over the fabric, all she felt was a heavy, burdensome splendor.
She always wore the most expensive things— and they were always the most exhausting.
If she could really choose for herself—
Almost without thinking, Guan Yingtang suddenly remembered the dress she’d brought across the ocean.
Compared to the atelier’s gown, that backless dress was clearly less prestigious. It was from a luxury brand, but not a limited edition, and certainly not handmade.
If she were on Hong Kong Island, Guan Zhiheng would never let her wear such a dress to an event.
At best, it wasn’t “grand” enough; at worst—
It would “damage the family’s reputation.”
Guan Yingtang dug the dress out of her suitcase, looked at it for a moment, then stubbornly put it on.
In the mirror, the shoulders and neck once tightly wrapped in a Chinese gown were now exposed.
Her fair, slender neck was held by a thin strap, her entire back bare except for two crossing diamond chains.
Seeing herself like this, Guan Yingtang’s heart pounded with excitement. She turned this way and that, still feeling something was missing.
Suddenly, she pulled out the hairpin holding up her hair.
Her long, dark hair tumbled down like a waterfall.
She went on to take out the high heels and jewelry necklace from the atelier’s set and put them on.
In one smooth motion, the woman in the mirror looked unfamiliar and unreal.
But in all her fantasies, this was how she should be—unrestrained, undefined, bold, and passionate.
The wish to “wear the dress I like” was finally, briefly fulfilled.
Guan Yingtang spun left, spun right, admiring herself from every angle.
Suddenly, she thought she should take a photo as a keepsake.
Humming, she went to fetch her phone, even lifting her skirt and dancing as she walked, buoyed by her good mood.
Just as she spun around in an elegant twirl—
A figure at the bedroom door broke her out of her immersive joy.
Guan Yingtang stumbled, nearly losing her balance.
…She’d forgotten to close the bedroom door when she’d come back with her clothes.
And now, Meng Qinghuai was standing there, uncompromising, looking at her slowly from head to toe.
And at the familiar, long-unworn dress she was wearing.
Their eyes met, and Guan Yingtang’s mind went blank. She stood frozen in her dance pose for several seconds before snapping back to her senses and straightening up.
She opened her mouth, but didn’t know how to explain why she was suddenly dancing alone, exuding so much charm.
It’s not like she’d eaten any wild mushrooms tonight.
After a brief, frozen silence, it was Meng Qinghuai who spoke first.
He glanced at the leather suitcase on the bed and asked, “The atelier delivered the dress?”
Guan Yingtang forced herself to act calm. “Mm.”
Meng Qinghuai paused, taking a breath. “This doesn’t look like the one you picked this afternoon.”
“Yeah…” Guan Yingtang avoided his gaze and turned to the mirror, pretending to busy herself unclasping the necklace at her neck. “They must have… made a mistake.”
She knew it was an easily exposed lie, but at the moment, she had no better option.
No matter how awkward, she couldn’t lose her composure. Guan Yingtang kept her head down, fiddling with the necklace, but the more she tried, the more tangled it became— eventually, somehow, it got caught with the back chain of her dress.
Unable to see behind her, she fumbled with the clasp, her cheeks flushing as she grew more anxious. Suddenly, a cool touch landed on the back of her neck.
Guan Yingtang froze.
A tingling sensation swept across her nape. Realizing what was happening, her heart raced as she looked up.
In the mirror, she saw Meng Qinghuai had come over at some point.
He stood behind her, focused on unclasping the necklace, his black suit immaculate, his expression so calm it seemed utterly devoid of desire.
It made you think he was simply helping out.
But his hands—
His fingertips brushed her skin, just barely, again and again—seemingly restrained, yet blatantly intimate.
The dry warmth spread, the tips of Guan Yingtang’s ears burning, a numbness rippling through her.
She shrank back, trying to escape.
“If they sent the wrong one,” a soft click— he caught the necklace as it slid from her neck, “then just wear this one.”
Guan Yingtang’s eyes widened, thinking she’d misheard, and turned around in disbelief.
Under the gentle light, the expanse of pale skin was dazzling.
Meng Qinghuai’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly. He looked at her and said calmly:
“It looks very good, too.”
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