11. Listening to Irish bagpipes on a night

When Cheng Boyan's lips pressed down, Wen Xueyan grabbed the bed sheet beneath her.

The bed sheet crumpled between her fingers, just like her conflicted state of mind at that moment.

Cheng Boyan's kiss was forceful, his cool yet soft lips pressed tightly against hers. Wen Xueyan could feel his cold masculine aura enveloping her, as if she had been plunged into a bottomless ocean.

“Cheng…” She tried to turn her head away, her voice weak.

Cheng Boyan supported the back of her neck with his palm, preventing her from escaping.

His kisses descended inch by inch, landing on her cheeks, neck, and collarbone.

Every kiss was aggressive; Wen Xueyan closed her eyes, feeling her heart pounding faster.

Reason told her she should push him away, but her body felt like it was nailed to the bed, unable to move.

"Xueyan." His deep voice rang in her ear, and his warm breath made her tremble involuntarily.

Looking at his handsome face, Wen Xueyan's body instinctively tensed, but gradually softened under his persistent kisses. When his lips brushed across her neck again, they lingered there, leaving a clear mark.

Wen Xueyan looked up, her gaze falling upon the magnificent crystal chandelier on the hotel ceiling, reflecting a dazzling light.

His large, warm hands caressed her trembling waist and abdomen. His fingertips, with an undeniable sense of control, left burning marks on her skin.

His weight pressed down on her, and his kisses ignited flames on her skin.

Wen Xueyan closed her eyes, and the image of her husband, Song Tiancheng, walking out of the building with that young girl flashed through her mind.

"I don't care about anything else, I'll just make love tonight." She thought to herself, finally loosening her grip on the sheets and raising her arms to wrap around Cheng Boyan's neck.

This gesture seemed to encourage him, and his kiss became even more passionate. Wen Xueyan responded to his kiss, trying to drown out those unpleasant memories with the feelings of the moment.

In a foreign country, in a luxurious hotel room, she temporarily forgot about her tedious marriage back home.

......

Afterwards, Cheng Boyan got up and went to the bathroom.

Wen Xueyan lay on the bed, listening to the sound of flowing water and feeling her heartbeat gradually calm down.

The soft light from the bedside lamp outlined the luxurious decor of the room, and her clothes were scattered on the carpet, intertwined with Cheng Boyan's shirt.

A pang of guilt began to seep into her consciousness, but she quickly suppressed it.

“Song Tiancheng betrayed me first,” she told herself, “and we’re getting a divorce soon.”

Shortly after the sound of water stopped, Cheng Boyan emerged from the bathroom, water droplets still clinging to his hair, wearing only a casually tied white bathrobe.

He walked straight to the window. From his bag, he took out a cigarette case and a lighter, and stood by the window smoking.

Cheng Boyan opened the window, and the warm night air of Singapore rushed into the room.

He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and the smoke slowly escaped from his lips.

Outside the window, the city lights shone brightly, casting shadows on his sharply defined face.

Wen Xueyan watched his retreating figure.

The intimacy they shared just minutes ago seemed like an illusion. Cheng Boyan was now the unapproachable company president, while she was merely an employee who hadn't yet passed her probation period.

"How are the preparations for tomorrow's technical negotiations going?" he suddenly asked, his gaze still fixed on the window.

"I feel there's no problem."

A brief conversation was followed by a long silence.

Just then, there was a knock on the door.

Both of them froze. Cheng Boyan frowned: "You ordered room service?"

Wen Xueyan shook her head.

The knocking started again, more urgent than before. Cheng Boyan stubbed out his cigarette and walked to the door.

A woman with a gentle appearance and elegant demeanor stood at the door, but her eyes were as cold as knives.

Wen Xueyan seemed to immediately understand her identity: President Cheng's wife, whom she had seen in the photo that evening.

What alarmed Wen Xueyan even more was that the person who walked out from behind the woman was none other than her husband, Song Tiancheng.

"Xueyan, explain yourself?" Song Tiancheng's voice trembled, whether from anger or pain, it was hard to tell.

Wen Xueyan wrapped herself tightly in the thin blanket. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

"Bo Yan, aren't you going to introduce him?" Mrs. Cheng's voice was calm as her gaze swept over Bo Yan's loose bathrobe before settling on Wen Xueyan on the bed.

Cheng Boyan responded, "Xianxian, about this matter..."

"When did you two start this?" Song Tiancheng interrupted him, directly asking Wen Xueyan, "Is this why you insist on living in separate rooms? Because you've climbed the social ladder?"

Wen Xueyan finally found her voice: "Song Tiancheng, what are you doing here?"

Wen Xueyan felt dizzy. Her career, her planned divorce, the dignity she had carefully maintained—everything crumbled at this moment.

Then she woke up with a start.

Wen Xueyan sat up abruptly, her forehead covered in cold sweat.

She looked around and found herself lying alone in her hotel room bed. Morning light filtered through the gaps in the curtains, reminding her that a new day had begun.

Cheng Boyan wasn't in the room, and no one knocked on the door; it was just a terrifyingly realistic dream.

The scene from the dream is still vivid in my mind, and the shame and fear of being blamed linger.

Wen Xueyan touched the empty space beside her; the cool sheets confirmed that she had indeed spent the night alone.

Morning light streamed through the gaps in the curtains, casting a thin strip of light on the floor of the guest room in this luxury hotel in Singapore.

She sat up, rubbed her temples, and the memories of last night resurfaced.

Cheng Boyan and she strolled along the beach, where the hotel's light show in the distance bloomed on the horizon, like stars falling to earth.

They later sat down on a bench.

A gentle breeze blows on a summer night, carrying the scent of the ocean and the fragrance of tropical flowers.

Just then, the strains of Bandari's "Irish Bagpipes" drifted in from afar. It's a beautiful piece; interested readers and teachers can give it a listen. It has a melancholic yet serene beauty.

The sound of bagpipes carries an ethereal sadness, the melody flowing and rising in the warm sea breeze. Every note is clear and pure, as if it can wash away the worries of the world, carrying a beauty that is both intoxicating and heartbreaking.

When Wen Xueyan asked why President Cheng didn't bring his wife to public events, he replied, "She was in a car accident five years ago and became a vegetable, remaining in a coma ever since."

Wen Xueyan was momentarily at a loss for words: "I'm sorry, Mr. Cheng."

Cheng Boyan gazed at the distant sea horizon, where moonlight painted a silver path across the water. "The doctor said the chances of him waking up are slim."

He said slowly, "The accident is very strange. The driver died on the spot, and his blood alcohol concentration was abnormal. Strangely, the driver almost never drank alcohol."

Wen Xueyan listened quietly.

“What’s even stranger is that the driver’s wife disappeared the next day and her whereabouts are still unknown.” Cheng Boyan turned his head and looked at her with deep eyes. “The police investigated for a long time and finally closed the case as an accident. But I always felt that things were not that simple. I haven’t told my colleagues about these things.”

However, Cheng Boyan, slightly drunk, actually told Wen Xueyan the truth.

Just as she was wondering how to respond, a street artist carrying a drawing board walked by, holding a sketch he had just finished.

"Good evening," the painter said, turning his canvas toward them with an air of artistic pride mixed with a touch of apology. "Please forgive my intrusion. But your silhouettes are so harmonious and moving in the night and under the lamplight, like a natural painting, that I couldn't help but start painting."

Wen Xueyan looked at the painting. On the painting, she and Cheng Boyan sat side by side on a bench, with a dreamy Singapore night view in the background.

The painter's brushstrokes were swift yet precise, capturing Cheng Boyan's slightly tilted head, as well as the complex emotions she couldn't conceal when she looked up at him—concealment, shock, and perhaps even a faint glimmer of attraction that she herself was unaware of.

"It's very well drawn," Cheng Boyan said first, his tone revealing little emotion.

“Please take them,” the painter said warmly, “as a memento of this wonderful evening. Or, I would be grateful if you would pay a little for the materials.”

The painting was so beautiful, so deeply moving, that she felt a longing to treasure it. But reason immediately kicked in; how could she bring such a clearly suggestive painting home? Although her husband, Song Tiancheng, had cheated on her first, discovering this painting would undoubtedly cause a huge uproar.

She currently needs the marriage to maintain a semblance of calm until she passes the trial period and files for divorce.

Cheng Boyan seemed to have noticed her hesitation.

He barely paused, took out a few new banknotes, and handed them to the painter, saying casually, "We'll accept the painting. Thank you, it's very good."

He took the painting, holding it carefully in his hands, without handing it to Wen Xueyan: "Keep it here for now."

Wen Xueyan was grateful for his keenness and thoughtfulness, but at the same time, a sense of indescribable loss welled up in her heart.

She knew some of her thoughts were wrong, and she knew the road ahead was shrouded in mystery, but the atmosphere that night was like the finest wine, intoxicating her.

"Thank you, Mr. Cheng," she said softly.

Cheng Boyan nodded very slightly and put the painting away: "It's getting late, let's go back."

Stepping out of last night's memories, Wen Xueyan gazed at the city gradually awakening outside the window, a ripple of emotion stirring within her.

She felt that the conversation on the bench last night, and the subtle understanding captured by the painter, must have quietly entered her subconscious. Coupled with her body's long period of loneliness, this led to that blush-inducing dream.

She got up and went to the bathroom, splashing cool water on her face, trying to wash away that unrealistic tenderness.

Water droplets slid down her cheeks. She gazed at herself in the mirror and reminded herself, "Wen Xueyan, wake up." She was married, while he was essentially married.

Over the next few days, Cheng Boyan focused on his work, returning directly to his hotel room after each meeting with clients.

Wen Xueyan told herself to quickly forget that painting and that dream.

She felt that only in her dreams could she dare to be unrestrained and let her heart roam free.

By Saturday, the negotiations had ended, and everyone returned home.

At two o'clock in the afternoon, the scorching sun beat down on the quiet driveway of the residential area. Wen Xueyan stood in front of her house, dragging her suitcase, only to find that the door was locked from the inside.

She frowned. Something was wrong.

Even at night, Song Tiancheng never locked the door.

The cicadas were chirping noisily outside the stairwell window. She tried again, but still couldn't open it.

There are people inside. Not her husband? Or, not just her husband?

Welcome all readers, teachers, and darlings to leave comments and vote! Thank you for your support.

Wow, it's so peaceful tonight.

Beautiful night, let's write more.

I like this night

The updates are too slow, please update more often...

Ahhh, I thought that part was real at the beginning, hahaha!

Good heavens! Who's in there?!

I thought their relationship was progressing rapidly, but it turns out it was all a dream~~ But dreams represent desires, so I'm looking forward to the next installment.

Thank you for your comment, reader!

Thank you for your comment, reader!