Downstairs, Meng Qinghuai unknowingly unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.
After several days in Barcelona, the backlog of work was overwhelming. He neither wanted to work overtime nor leave Guan Yingtang alone at home on the weekend, so he called the subordinates over.
But who knew Guan Yingtang would pull this stunt?
He was distracted and his work delayed, only finishing at six in the evening.
After the employees left Jinghua Mansion, Meng Qinghuai tidied the remaining documents in the living room and was about to bring them upstairs when he met Guan Yingtang emerging from a nearby room.
She leaned against the doorframe, her eyes and smile curved, “Finished working?”
Meng Qinghuai stopped, paused briefly, then said meaningfully, “Waiting for me?”
Guan Yingtang nodded and stepped closer, “I was bored.”
The two stared at each other for a moment, their eyes seemingly connected by sticky threads. After a while, Meng Qinghuai raised a finger toward the study, “I still have some finishing touches, will be quick.”
Guan Yingtang: “Okay.”
She followed him directly into the study. Seeing him sit at the desk, she moved a chair beside him and sat down.
Meng Qinghuai made no objection.
He needed to verify some data on the documents. Guan Yingtang sat quietly beside him, not disturbing.
Until—
A pair of legs suddenly stretched out onto his.
Meng Qinghuai: “?”
Looking down, Guan Yingtang’s slender calves were boldly resting on his legs.
He turned to look at her.
Guan Yingtang propped her elbow on the desk, looking part serious, part coquettish: “I did some yoga this afternoon in the room and think I might have twisted my foot.”
Meng Qinghuai: “…”
Silence for a few seconds.
He said nothing, eyes returning to the screen. One hand continued finishing work on the laptop. But the other hand slid out—
Resting on Guan Yingtang’s foot, gently massaging.
Against the black suit pants, her fair foot, and his strong, well-defined hand—
For a moment, it was unclear who was seducing whom.
Guan Yingtang hadn’t really twisted her foot; it was just an excuse. But Meng Qinghuai knew it well and tenderly rubbed her ankle at her whim.
His movements were neither fast nor slow, hands playing and pressing, slowly stirring a ticklish sensation through her body.
This peaceful scene was suddenly interrupted by a ringtone. Guan Yingtang’s phone rang on the desk. Meng Qinghuai instinctively reached over.
The caller ID showed: Peiming.
At the same moment, Guan Yingtang saw the call from Jiang Peiming. She sat up straight, quickly withdrew her legs, and stood to leave. “Wait, I need to take this call.”
“…”
The study instantly felt empty.
Meng Qinghuai breathed quietly. After a moment, he closed the laptop.
He had just finished the last piece of data, but Guan Yingtang had already left.
His palm still held the warmth of her body — smooth and slippery like water, spreading dampness.
Feeling a little irritated, Meng Qinghuai left the seats they had just occupied and stood by the window for a while. He thought the call would be brief, but five minutes passed, then ten—
Finally, he returned to the desk on the left side of the study.
He focused for a moment, expressionless, picked up a pen from the rack, dipped it in ink, and spread out paper.
When the brush tip touched the paper, he naturally wrote Guan Yingtang’s name again.
The single character “Tang” was carefully outlined stroke by stroke, as if it could sprout flesh and blood, reaching into the paper to grab his heart.
The time on his watch ticked second by second — five minutes, ten minutes, twenty minutes passed…
Meng Qinghuai had no idea what Guan Yingtang was talking about on the phone with her former prospective fiancé for so long.
The ink in his inkstone was almost used up, but her call still wasn’t over.
Listening carefully, faint laughter could still be heard from next door.
Meng Qinghuai stood quietly, expression unreadable, and silently added more ink.
Guan Yingtang, on the other side of the wall, was completely unaware.
Jiang Peiming called to say he was in Antarctica. Guan Yingtang thought he was just joking, but then Jiang Peiming sent his location and a video call.
In the video, he was bundled up in a thick down jacket, wrapped in a long cashmere scarf, and looked cold.
He said nonchalantly, “You said you were in Antarctica, so I came.”
Previously, when Jiang Peiming asked where Guan Yingtang was, she had casually said she was on a glacier in Antarctica. It turned out he actually followed through.
This made Guan Yingtang both anxious and annoyed, and she sharply retorted in Cantonese, “Are you crazy? I was joking!”
From Hong Kong to Antarctica took nearly thirty hours of flight to Buenos Aires, then a connecting flight to Ushuaia, and finally two to three days by sea.
No wonder Guan Yingtang hadn’t been able to find him earlier— he was still traveling.
“Where exactly are you?” Jiang Peiming persistently asked.
Guan Yingtang opened her mouth, then closed it. “Don’t ask. Just know I’m safe.”
At the end of the video, Jiang Peiming seemed to realize something. He pressed the side button to take a screenshot, then smiled, “Alright, I won’t ask. Let me tell you something funny.”
Afterward, Jiang Peiming shared some amusing stories from Antarctica. When he said he’d been chased by penguins pecking at his pant legs, Guan Yingtang actually laughed out loud.
She casually mentioned that childhood friends had run off to Antarctica, feeling a little guilty. So she patiently listened to his travel tales.
Time was late. She still thought about Meng Qinghuai next door, so she ended the call, using sleep as an excuse.
After hanging up, she immediately ran back to the study.
As soon as she opened the door, she saw Meng Qinghuai had finished work and was writing characters.
Guan Yingtang’s footsteps paused slightly at the doorway, reluctant to interrupt the scene.
She had seen countless artworks, from the Louvre in Paris to the Uffizi in Florence, but none calmed her heart and yet made it race with contradiction like this moment.
It was as if some physiological instinct compelled her to move closer.
Meng Qinghuai stood quietly before the desk, holding a brush, his expression cold and pure, like moonlight on a snowy mountain, untouchable.
Yet from him emanated a heat filled with desire.
“Finished the call?” Meng Qinghuai asked calmly.
“Mm.” Guan Yingtang walked in slowly.
Her gaze fell on the xuan paper filled with characters on the desk, and she was immediately surprised by Meng Qinghuai’s handwriting.
She hadn’t expected his writing to be so good—completely different from what she had imagined.
Even better than hers, the authentic Fu Shengyun Closed-Door Disciple.
She sincerely admired it, “Your handwriting is beautiful.”
After saying this, she moved to Meng Qinghuai’s side, bending slightly. “What are you writing?”
The fragrance on her body immediately surrounded him. Meng Qinghuai replied in a low voice, “Just writing casually.”
Even before Guan Yingtang entered, he had already quietly covered the previously written characters underneath.
“You have to teach me too.” Guan Yingtang unceremoniously slipped into Meng Qinghuai’s arms and said, “How do you write so well?”
She grabbed his brush, blinking at him, silently signaling for a lesson.
So close, Meng Qinghuai’s pupils flickered. He hesitated, then lowered his head and took her hand.
His broad palm covered hers, guiding her, stroke by stroke, writing on the paper.
Unexpectedly, he took the lead in teaching her. Guan Yingtang’s heart trembled. Suddenly, a current of electricity surged from her fingertips through her entire body.
The man’s chest seemed to press down without space, his warm breath flowing around her neck.
It was almost burning through the thin fabric of her clothes.
Her back burned, breath slightly quickened.
He was writing, but she didn’t know what characters.
She had only wanted to play around, but Guan Yingtang hadn’t expected things to suddenly become so intimate.
Ink blurred, the empty room silently soaked with desire. Guan Yingtang took several deep breaths.
Suddenly, Meng Qinghuai’s faint voice came beside her ear, “Whose call was that?”
His voice was so calm that Guan Yingtang didn’t notice the danger lurking beneath. Lost in their intertwined fingertips, she obediently replied, “…a friend.”
She couldn’t quite handle such closeness and put down the brush. “It’s hard. My strokes aren’t as sharp as yours.”
Then she turned toward Meng Qinghuai, trying to ease the heavy atmosphere. “Why do you write every night before bed? It’s not noisy at home, so why can’t you calm down?”
She stood in his embrace, tilting her head slightly, innocence mixed with a hint of unknowing charm.
Meng Qinghuai looked down at her.
His gaze roamed aggressively over her face, finally settling on her lips.
Cherry-red lips, slightly parted toward him, faintly revealing the soft tip of her tongue.
His eyes darkened slowly.
By the time Guan Yingtang realized the atmosphere was a little off, it was already too late.
Meng Qinghuai’s eyes revealed unrestrained desire, so intense it seemed he could devour her whole. Her heart pounded urgently.
Just as her body instinctively wanted to retreat slightly, his ink-scented hand suddenly touched the back of her neck, pulling her sharply back in front of him.
He lowered his head, a deep kiss covering her lips, boldly invading her mouth, entwining with her soft tongue.