Chapter 9
Hong Kong Island
Jiang Wanju remained leaning back, asking Chen Zhurén, “Do you have any cigarettes left?”
Chen Zhurén asked, “Do you want one now?”
As he spoke, he naturally reached out, took out a pack, and pulled one cigarette. Jiang Wanju leaned forward and took it. Tonight, she was wearing a rose-red dress, soft and velvety. The red velvet brushed past Chen Zhurén’s eyes as she took the cigarette.
Her perfume was light and subtle—not the usual sweet floral-fruity scent—but with a hint of oak moss, like a forest shrouded in gentle, drifting rain.
“I drank too much tonight,” Jiang Wanju said, handling the cigarette awkwardly, her tone soft. “I don’t want to keep drinking, sorry.”
Chen Zhurén was calm and composed: “That’s right. Have fun, but your health comes first.”
The interior of the car was dimly lit, and his good bone structure was highlighted perfectly in this light. No matter how one looked at him, he was a handsome, gentle-faced man. Even when Jiang Wanju refused him, he did not get angry and didn’t stop her from smoking in the car. He even took out a lighter.
Jiang Wanju didn’t take it. She held the cigarette between her lips, tasted it with her tongue, then took it out. Leaning forward again, she brought the cigarette she had just tasted to Chen Zhurén’s lips. He looked into her eyes, smiled, and took a bite.
“Now, I feel like having some tea,” Jiang Wanju asked. “Does your room have tea, Mr. Chen?”
Chen Zhurén looked at her and suddenly smiled.
—Naturally, it did.
Jiang Wanju wondered where he got so much tea. After all, this wasn’t his home country, nor his hometown—it was a foreign place. How could a traveler have collected so many teas in such a short time?
Chen Zhurén called his assistant, and by the time they returned to the hotel, the tea was already prepared.
It wasn’t the popular fruit teas or ginger teas, nor Japanese mushroom, plum, or matcha powders.
There were aged Yunnan Pu’er teas, verbena flower teas, Wang Dechuan Osmanthus Pu’er… Like an emperor in the harem selecting his favorites, the bottles and jars of tea were lined up for selection.
Jiang Wanju looked through them and noticed a simple white porcelain jar, plain and unadorned.
“What’s this?” she asked, pointing.
Chen Zhurén looked carefully: “Biluochun. I collected it from tea farmers in Xidongting Mountain and processed it with friends—though it wasn’t roasted well.”
Jiang Wanju made her choice decisively: “This one.”
Drinking tea in the middle of the night—she thought she was probably the first person to do so. And now Chen Zhurén was there to accompany her playful antics. He even brought some snacks.
The osmanthus cakes were translucent and fragrant, the red bean cakes moderately sweet, almond crisps rich and cloud-like, cashew cookies crispy and delicious, small plates holding assorted cold fruits…
Boiling water bubbled softly, steam curling like mist.
On a small glass tea table, two cushions were placed opposite each other, and they sat on the floor.
The glass jars, porcelain containers, and wooden boxes stored various teas or tea cakes. Chen Zhurén poured a cup of tea for Jiang Wanju. She cupped it in her hands, looked around the cup, and took a tentative sip.
She didn’t find it any different from what she usually drank and raised her eyes to meet Chen Zhurén’s.
“Don’t like it? I also have a camphor-scented one—”
Jiang Wanju shook her head. “I can’t tell good tea from bad, maybe my palate isn’t good.”
Perhaps the alcohol really relaxed her. Without drinking with him tonight, she wouldn’t have spoken so honestly. She usually worried about being looked down upon and wouldn’t show ignorance easily—she’d listen carefully and respond appropriately.
For some reason, being with Chen Zhurén made her feel at ease.
Chen Zhurén set down the cup and sat beside her. Jiang Wanju straightened her back, moving aside slightly.
“Maybe it’s the cup,” Chen Zhurén said.
“Cups have good and bad?” she asked in surprise.
He nodded, took the cup from her, sipped the tea, and put it on the table.
Jiang Wanju watched him curiously. Too tired from the night’s fun, she leaned sideways, half-prone on the low table, observing his face—
Chen Zhurén lowered his head and kissed her lips.
Unlike the dark alley before, here in the light, his kiss carried a gentle tenderness, unhurried. Jiang Wanju, wearing only a dress, felt her elbows slide along the table painfully; she frowned, tried to push herself up, but Chen Zhurén held her arm down.
His lips, still faintly scented with tea, brushed her cheek as he whispered, “Do you want to see my health report? All clean, no disease.”
Jiang Wanju blinked, then showed him her arm.
Chen Zhurén grabbed her elbow, kissed her: “Then let’s change it.”
He lifted Jiang Wanju. Through his black shirt, she felt the warmth of his muscles. Her legs dangled, making her anxious, while he seemed oblivious, carrying her to the floor-to-ceiling window. Below, the city lights floated in the void, and not far away, the dark sea. The cool glass of the high floor made Jiang Wanju shiver.
Her skirt flared like a blooming rose. Chen Zhurén, careful, didn’t pluck or remove it immediately, just touched it to confirm: “So fast.”
Jiang Wanju blushed at his teasing. She reached out playfully: “You’re no better.”
He inhaled and teased: “Aren’t you afraid of crushing it?”
She thought: no, nothing could be worse than him.
Jiang Wanju said nothing, her back pressed against the cold glass. Chen Zhurén was calm, simply asking her to help undo him.
She did, startling herself. Half pink, half deep purple—conflicting, symbolic. Pink for innocence, purple for corruption; together, they formed a complete whole, like god and demon in one.
She whispered his name: “Chen Zhurén.”
There was no room for retreat. He held her firmly, her body suspended, back against the cold window, fully supported by his strong hands.
Suspended, she could only cling to his neck.
“Weren’t you calling me ‘cousin’?” he whispered by her ear, laughing softly. “Why not now?”
She couldn’t tell if he was god or demon, seeming ready to tear through her. She tried to tell him she was inexperienced—
But it was already too late.
The demon disguised as a god stepped calmly into paradise, breaking clouds, crushing roses. Without hesitation.
Chen Zhurén said: “I didn’t tell you earlier—Biluochun has another name.”
Jiang Wanju exhaled, trembling.
“It’s called—”
The demon entered paradise.
“Fo Dong Xin.”
