The turbulent plane ride brought them closer than ever, and the sudden proximity made Guan Yingtang’s breath catch.
Their bodies were pressed together, the unfamiliar heat and breath of another person instantly searing against her skin.
Guan Yingtang’s heartbeat suddenly became as chaotic as the jostling airplane.
Her body stiffened, her hand pretending to be calm as she gripped the armrest. In the silence, she stole a glance at Meng Qinghuai out of the corner of her eye.
It was an act so intimate it bordered on ambiguous, yet he looked as composed as ever—unruffled, dignified, utterly unaffected.
He even closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
As if, for the sake of safety, he’d only helped her so she wouldn’t fall during the turbulence— nothing more.
That was all.
The awkwardness that had been lingering in Guan Yingtang’s heart suddenly vanished.
What was she embarrassed about? She wasn’t sitting on her husband’s lap— just on a human cushion, that’s all.
If a dog had passed by just now, Meng Qinghuai would probably have offered his lap to the dog as well.
Thinking this, Guan Yingtang’s tense body gradually relaxed. Whenever the plane jolted, she simply sat on Meng Qinghuai’s lap, rocking left and right, perfectly at ease treating him as her personal seat.
It wasn’t until the captain’s announcement came through the speakers again, telling them the plane had passed through the turbulence zone, that Guan Yingtang finally stood up slowly and politely said, “Thank you, Mr. Meng.”
Her slender back flashed before his eyes, along with a lingering warmth in the air.
Meng Qinghuai’s chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly. After a moment, he opened his eyes calmly, and for some reason, all his sleepiness had disappeared.
Guan Yingtang returned to her seat and continued reading the magazine she hadn’t finished. At that moment, Jiang Kewei sent her a WeChat message—
“How do you want to play today? More mahjong? Or should I take you somewhere else to walk around?”
Guan Yingtang replied: “No, I’m leaving Beicheng for a few days. I’ll talk to you when I get back.”
Jiang Kewei thought their daring trip to the nursing home had been found out by Meng Qinghuai and nervously asked, “Did something happen?”
Guan Yingtang found it all a bit surreal herself: “Meng Qinghuai said he’s taking me abroad for a honeymoon.”
Jiang Kewei started gossiping again: “What, did you go home last night and count each other’s moles?”
Guan Yingtang: “…??”
–
After a twelve-hour flight, the plane finally landed at El Prat Airport in Barcelona. Local time: afternoon.
The Europe Branch of Aowan Group had sent a private car to pick up Meng Qinghuai. Guan Yingtang, wearing sunglasses the whole time, followed him quietly— very low-key.
April in Barcelona was pleasant. On the streets, you could see wandering artists everywhere, or young people lounging on the grass, reading books with ease.
As they passed by the famous Sagrada Família, a flock of pigeons flew over the car roof.
A street performer outside a graffiti shop was playing the saxophone, melodious music drifting amid colorful bubbles.
The air was filled with romance, and for a moment, Guan Yingtang thought—
It really was a honeymoon with someone you love.
Until the man beside her suddenly spoke: “We still have to go try on the dress. Do you want to rest first?”
Okay, honeymoon fantasy paused.
Guan Yingtang was pulled back to reality. Remembering her actual task on this trip, she shook her head, “No need.”
The car drove through the streets of Barcelona, winding into a quiet lane after twenty minutes, then continued on for another ten minutes before stopping in front of a low-profile building.
Guan Yingtang leaned out to look. The building didn’t seem remarkable from the outside, but her instincts, honed by a lifetime of luxury, told her this was no ordinary place.
Sure enough, when the car stopped and the staff inside greeted her respectfully and introduced themselves, Guan Yingtang realized—
This was the Royal Custom Atelier, the private haute couture workshop for the Kingdom of Spain. With a century-long history, every artisan inside served only the royal family and dukes, never opening to outsiders.
The only reason Meng Qinghuai could bring Guan Yingtang here was because of the business partnership between Aowan Group and the host bank behind this invitation— granting them the honor of being distinguished guests.
The atelier had reserved the entire afternoon just for them.
“It’s just a dress. Is all this really necessary?” Guan Yingtang quietly asked Meng Qinghuai after learning about the atelier’s history.
The atelier’s design director was showing them around.
The five-story building included a clothing section, a jewelry area, a shoe and handbag area, and the largest floor was a gallery displaying classic pieces once worn by royal princesses.
Meng Qinghuai walked slowly, pausing before replying to Guan Yingtang, “Isn’t Miss Guan always a perfectionist?”
Guan Yingtang turned to look at him, not quite sure what he meant.
Meng Qinghuai turned his head to meet her gaze, then continued looking at the dresses ahead and said lightly, “I heard that every dress Miss Guan wears to events on Hong Kong Island is handmade by a master tailor. Now that it’s my turn, I can’t be careless with you.”
Guan Yingtang was stunned, clearly surprised.
By rights, a nominal husband would do this? She paused for a second, unable to hold back and blurted out—
“Who told you that?”
She was honestly curious— under what circumstances and with whom had Meng Qinghuai discussed her?
Meng Qinghuai hadn’t expected her to focus on this point. After a brief silence, he answered calmly, “A woman with standards for dresses as high as yours.”
A woman?
Anyone familiar with her habits had to be a Hong Kong Island native. Guan Yingtang’s mind spun, and several socialite names from her circle immediately came to mind— some of whom were even her rivals, always watching her every move.
She stared at Meng Qinghuai with an unreadable look, as if silently mocking: So, you have quite the social connections, don’t you?
“JOEY CHONG,” he said, interrupting her wandering thoughts.
Guan Yingtang blinked, thinking the name sounded familiar. She turned it over in her mind for a while before suddenly realizing—
Zhuang Jiayi, the eldest daughter of philanthropist Tai Zhuang from Hong Kong Island.
And… her mother-in-law.
A faint awkwardness spread in the air.
Guan Yingtang coughed, her expression changing faster than flipping a page. She immediately changed the topic, casually pointing to a dress on a mannequin and asking Meng Qinghuai, “How about this one?”
The atelier regularly sent different styles of dresses to the royal family for selection.
This evening banquet had been arranged last minute by Meng Songnian, so with the event tomorrow, there wasn’t enough time for bespoke tailoring—they could only choose from the ready-made dresses crafted by the artisans.
Meng Qinghuai replied, “Miss Guan, just pick whichever you like.”
Guan Yingtang’s expression grew more reserved, her heart inexplicably moved.
It had been a long time since anyone had said something like that to her. Living under the constraints of a prestigious family, she was used to suppressing her own desires for the sake of tradition.
Pick what she liked?
Could she really?
Guan Yingtang still remembered, when she was very young, her mother Ho Ling was scolded by her grandfather for a long time because a photo of her in a bikini was taken while on vacation.
The Guan family had maintained its reputation on Hong Kong Island for decades— a model of scholarly refinement, proper conduct, strict hierarchy, and traditions that could not be violated.
The Meng family chose her for marriage because she was expected to succeed Zhuang Jiayi and help the Mengs maintain their reputation on both sides of the strait.
And perhaps Meng Qinghuai could say something so relaxed because—
In his eyes, she was never truly herself.
Still, no matter what, that sentence gave Guan Yingtang a fleeting sense of warmth. She pressed her lips together and, after scanning the row of exquisite dresses on display, pointed to a pale blue embroidered gown, “This one, then.”
Among the many styles, this was one of the few with an Eastern flair.
The embroidery depicted landscapes and birds, the skirt was flowing and elegant, the colors soft and refined, and the accessories were traditional Chinese tassels and folding fans.
She was accompanying Meng Qinghuai to a banquet for a royal Duke— an exalted guest. Since she had agreed to be his companion, she would treat the matter with care.
As expected, when Guan Yingtang came out after trying on the dress, the accompanying design director expressed her satisfaction without reserve, showering her with praise and even using words like “perfect muse.”
Guan Yingtang turned around and asked Meng Qinghuai again, “Does it look good?”
Her hair was pinned up with a white jade hairpin. Dressed in this gown, she truly embodied the gentle elegance of the East.