The man was always impeccably dressed in a suit and tie when outside, appearing dignified and reserved.
His hair was styled meticulously with gel, not a strand out of place.
When he looked up coldly, no one dared to act rashly before him.
Yet now, with Li Yaru knocking on his head like she was beating a stray dog, the scene was nothing short of absurd.
What’s more, Li Yaru didn’t hold back. The rolled-up magazine thudded against his head with a resounding bang.
Zhuang Qiting’s smile froze on his face, and he looked somewhat awkward.
The little thing in front of him was turning the world upside down, utterly lawless.
It was one thing for her to hit him now and then, but now she had actually come to his office to knock him on the head.
“What’s with your temper?” His voice was hoarse, restraining the urge to lecture Li Yaru.
He sat down beside her, gently grasped the magazine, deftly diffused her force, and tossed the offending tool aside.
Seeing his attitude was still passable, Li Yaru merely gave a light humph, but she was still displeased.
She hit and pinched him a few more times before finally saying, “This is all your doing.”
As she spoke, she rubbed her reddened fingertips, grumbling in her heart about how hard the man’s muscles were.
“What did I do now?” Zhuang Qiting gave a helpless laugh, snatching her hand and rubbing it for her. “I’ve told you not to pinch me—it’s you who gets hurt.”
“Just be honest. Did you make Weiwei cry behind my back?”
Zhuang Qiting paused in his finger-rubbing, pondering for a moment whether such a thing had happened, then chuckled in disbelief, his tone tinged with the kind of disdain older people feel when the young disappoint them.
“I just gave her a few words of advice—does that count as scolding? Does that really make her cry? Young people these days are so sensitive and fragile; they can’t handle the slightest bit of adversity. Back in our day, elders reprimanding us was commonplace. If we cried every time, I might as well not take over the Group, just sell it off early and be done with it.”
Li Yaru’s eyes widened; she couldn’t hear another word he said, her mind focused on confirming he’d really scolded Weiwei!
“So you did scold her! Old dog!” Li Yaru snatched her hand back, her blood pressure skyrocketing.
“Weiwei’s done nothing to you. She’s always been good. Why did you scold her for no reason?”
“I didn’t scold her.” Zhuang Qiting’s eyebrows shot up, but in the next instant, his gaze darkened and turned cold. “She complained to you?”
That Xiao Chen!
Li Yaru was so angry her face was burning.
But she was no fool; there was no way she’d betray her source, so she said, “Weiwei isn’t the type to complain! Don’t bother asking how I know. Just tell me, why did you scold her?”
Zhuang Qiting was clearly not easy to fool. He replied offhandedly, “If it wasn’t Xiao Chen, then it’s that little troublemaker complaining behind my back. She’s finally learned how.”
Li Yaru suddenly stood up and grabbed a desk ornament, hurling it at Zhuang Qiting.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. If you mess with A Zhou, I won’t let you off, either. You must give me a clear explanation today. How did Xiao Chen offend you?”
Zhuang Qiting dodged nimbly, but regretted that the valuable ornament, symbolizing ‘rising fortunes’, fell victim and lost a corner.
“Li Yaru, slow down, don’t cut your hand.” Zhuang Qiting was truly distressed.
“All I did was advise her to stop introducing you to all those flashy men. I just didn’t want her to try so hard to please you that she lost her way. That’s all I said—how is that scolding?”
Li Yaru was stunned. Of all the things she’d guessed, this was the last she expected.
Her face abruptly flushed from angry red to an embarrassed, mortified red, the color crawling all the way to her neck.
What kind of father-in-law tells his daughter-in-law not to set up men for the mother-in-law?
He had made her lose all face in front of her daughter-in-law!
“You—you!! You’re going to drive me crazy, you really are!” Li Yaru, spinning like a top, stormed over to the desk, flinging whatever she saw.
A teapot, a pen holder, an inkstone, a desk lamp, a whisky glass, a Purple Sandalwood Box for trinkets, a pricey ornament symbolizing prosperity, three telephone landlines, all sorts of files, contracts, books…
Crash, bang, clatter—a symphony of chaos.
Zhuang Qiting’s temples pounded, but he didn’t try to stop her, letting his wife vent as she pleased. Once she’d smashed enough, she’d feel better.
Only when Li Yaru grabbed the Golden Red Fountain Pen from the center of the desk did the man finally call out anxiously, “Not that one.”
Zhuang Qiting strode over, deftly sidestepping the obstacles.
He quickly snatched the pen away and tucked it into his suit pocket. “You gave this to me for my birthday, darling. I’d be heartbroken if it broke.”
Li Yaru looked at that Python Pattern Fountain Pen, the very one that had once entered her, stirring and invading with reckless abandon. Her teeth bit down hard on her lip.
All these years, he had only ever used this pen—whether writing little cards to slip into a bouquet of roses or signing billion-yuan contracts.
Even when the nib broke, he never sent it back to the factory for repairs.
He’d have a master craftsman come and teach him, step by step, how to replace the nib and other parts.
He never let anyone else touch it.
Li Yaru stared fixedly at him, catching a subtle, teasing expression in his brow that seemed to be provoking her.
Infuriated, she reached for another object—
“Not that either.” Zhuang Qiting snatched it like a firefighter at a blaze.
A furious glare.
Zhuang Qiting’s rough fingers gently brushed over the item. “Look for yourself, darling.”
Li Yaru glanced over indifferently. It was their Wedding Photo, displayed openly on his desk.
The photo’s pixelation and style gave it a retro feel, but it was still clear.
The woman wore a tailored wedding dress, lace gloves wrapping her slender arms.
She wore a magnificent Diamond Tiara, not holding a bouquet, but rather an Ice Cream—very…
The man stood tall and upright. With his pale, stern features, he still hadn’t mastered a natural smile for the camera.
They had just come out of an ice cream shop in Paris, the groom holding the bride’s hand as she shyly raised her ice cream, inviting him to taste.
The bustling traffic all faded into the background, and in the upper right corner, the timeless Eiffel Tower could be seen.
They’d planned to shoot the wedding photos at Versailles Palace, but Li Yaru disliked how Zhuang Qiting couldn’t smile, so stern he looked like he was attending a leadership summit.
The photographer had a bright idea—why not stroll down the street, grab a coffee or eat some ice cream?
So he just followed them, snapping wherever they went.
This shot was candid, but Li Yaru loved it especially.
Looking at this photo, Li Yaru grew quiet, her gaze drifting as if returning to that day. They were so young, so passionate, so perfectly matched…
She had to admit, the couple in that photo were a perfect pair.
“Arong, this one can’t be smashed.” Zhuang Qiting smiled, setting the frame back on his desk.
Li Yaru grew awkward, her fingers tightening and loosening as she muttered, “What boss puts a wedding photo on his desk… Don’t you feel embarrassed?”
“I like looking at my own wife. What’s embarrassing about that?” Zhuang Qiting smiled, cupping her chin and kissing her right there.
Li Yaru didn’t understand how he could kiss her at a time like this.
Yet the atmosphere, from explosive rage, somehow turned warm and ambiguous; the air itself seemed to crackle like fireworks, echoing in her heart.
“Don’t get mad at me over other people—not worth it.” Zhuang Qiting started gently, his kisses turning wild as he took over.
He cupped her face, his scorching breath enveloping her, lips and tongue prying into her mouth, stirring within.
Li Yaru trembled lightly, locked in his embrace. The world spun and faded; she couldn’t even remember why she’d come.
Zhuang Qiting bit her lips, then pressed a hidden button.
The Rosewood Chilong Mosquito Cabinet spun one hundred and eighty degrees, revealing a secret world behind.
It had been six years since they’d last stolen time together in here.
Such a good opportunity—Zhuang Qiting would never let it slip by.
Still kissing her, still holding her, he coaxed her into the hidden space behind the cabinet.
Stumbling, entwined, they tugged at each other.
Li Yaru grew dizzy; her high heels faltered on the carpet until, finally, he pressed her firmly against the cool, pink Marble wall.
The cabinet swung shut again, sealing them inside. The once-serious office outside lay in ruins, but no one cared.
Only now did Li Yaru realize she’d been tricked. Yet her face and body were already soft from his kisses, her eyes wet as she panted, looking up at him.
Zhuang Qiting drew a deep breath, reached to remove his suit and tie, his sharp gaze glued to her.
His dark eyes glinted like a serpent before its prey, Adam’s apple bobbing as his heavy breath quickened.
Li Yaru dared not meet his eyes, her gaze dropping to his chest.
His rough fingers ripped off his tie, impatiently unbuttoning his shirt, his entire body radiating an intense, heated aura mingled with hormones, making it hard for her to breathe.
Waistcoat, shirt—he tossed them all aside.
The veins on his neck pulsed now and then, muscles bulging beneath his strong arms and full, tense chest.
Li Yaru turned her head away, but he caught her chin and made her face him.
Her clothes remained untouched, but he was down to just his suit pants.
He guided her hand to his wildly beating heart, then lower, to that part of him that throbbed with its own fierce pulse.
“Zhuang Qiting… Don’t be a brute…” Li Yaru’s palm was burning, but he pinned her hand down.
It felt as if she was truly sensing his anger and strength. Even in youth, she couldn’t handle how fierce, how powerful, how arrogant he was.
That deep, dark color—shameless, relentless—kept pressing into the soft pink, determined to reach the deepest point.
He even made her watch, made her see those dazzling, outrageous scenes.
Li Yaru closed her eyes. Her palm no longer felt like her own.
She couldn’t understand—she’d come to scold him, to wreck his office, so how had it come to this?
Zhuang Qiting kissed her again, leaving her lips swollen. Then, in one swift move, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom.
“Ah—” Li Yaru let out a sharp cry, her legs swinging as her heels fell away long ago.
The bed was soft. Li Yaru lay beneath him, her carefully styled curls now a wild mess around her.
Opening her eyes, she suddenly saw, hanging directly opposite the bed, a giant oil painting.
It was the one Kurt had painted of her, which Zhuang Qiting had snatched for an astronomical sum.
She hadn’t expected him to hang it here.
“Why is it here…” Li Yaru was dazed, her sharp suit already stripped away.
Zhuang Qiting tossed the dress aside, glanced back at the painting, meeting the eyes of the woman within.
He smiled, then turned to gaze at the woman beneath him—this was the real one.
“What’s wrong with hanging it here?”
His fingers peeled away the lace, sliding inside as his voice turned hoarse: “Now, whenever I nap here at noon, I can admire it—how perfect.”
Whenever he was busy, he’d nap in his office. With the painting here, he could look at her; she could look at him. It was as if she watched over him, always.
Li Yaru shuddered at the feel of his fingers inside, skimming along the velvet. She trembled, whispering, “Pervert…”
“There are even more perverted things. Want to hear them?” Zhuang Qiting knelt over her, completely caging her in.
“…………” Li Yaru glared at him, eyes wet.
He lowered his strong body atop her, skin to skin. His voice murmured low in her ear, “Sometimes, when I miss you too much, I just look at this painting…”
At those filthy words, Li Yaru began to shake. “You—!”
No wonder he’d hung the painting opposite the bed! He would look at it, and, at the same time, let himself go.
“You’re desecrating art!”
“I have no interest in desecrating art—I only want to desecrate you.” Zhuang Qiting pulled her into another kiss, their lips and tongues entwined.
The hair once fixed with gel was long disheveled, strands trailing down, brushing against the softest part of her leg.
Li Yaru closed her eyes, arching upward again and again, not knowing whether she was trying to flee or to welcome him; all she knew was that she was about to die in his hands.
“Darling… next time you come looking for me, you can smash the whole office.”
Zhuang Qiting pressed forward as he spoke, until the deep red was completely swallowed by pink.
His breathing grew heavy, his brow relaxed.
He remembered all those years of doing the things Li Yaru would scoff at, again and again before this painting.
He’d never thought she’d come back, to lie here again.
For a full half hour, he couldn’t bear to separate from her, hovering always at the edge, only to plunge in again.
Wasn’t he too an artist, blending all those shades of deep red, dark red into the pink, stirring fiercely until the colors became something new—an indescribable white.
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