Chapter 38 A Silent Slap in the Face

The atmosphere in the private room remained subtly tense.

The chatter among the socialites gradually grew louder, shifting the topic from Fashion Week to the recent art auctions. Su Nian was clearly at the heart of this circle; she crossed her legs, swirling a champagne glass in her hand, and described to Su Wan in French a painting she had bought at Christie's in Paris last month.

“I fell in love with that small portrait of Modigliani at first sight.” Su Nian’s voice carried a deliberately crafted elegance, but her gaze intentionally or unintentionally swept over Song Zhiyi. “Although it’s only three million euros, that melancholic air… is so captivating.”

Su Wan exclaimed in agreement, "Sister Su Nian really understands art. I just can't see what's so good about those paintings."

“You need to observe and learn more.” Su Nian took a sip of champagne and added in French, lowering her voice but making sure everyone around could hear, “Just like some people, no matter how simply they dress, they can’t hide the…rustic nature in their bones.”

These words were clearly directed at Song Zhiyi.

Ji Yun raised an eyebrow and looked at Huo Yanli. Huo Yanli's expression darkened, and he was about to speak when Song Zhiyi suddenly put down the lemonade in her hand.

She looked up at Su Nian calmly and spoke in fluent, pure French with a Parisian accent: "Modigliani's 'Woman with a Black Tie' from 1918 is indeed a classic. However, if Miss Su likes his work, I suggest you pay attention to the series of portraits he painted for Jeanne Ébertère in 1917. That was the mature period of his style, with a more restrained and profound emotional expression."

Her French was so fluent that it froze the smile on Su Nian's face.

What shocked everyone even more was that after saying these words, Song Zhiyi calmly took out her phone from her briefcase and dialed a number.

The call was answered quickly.

She said in French, "Good evening, Pierre. It's me, Song Zhiyi."

A middle-aged man's enthusiastic voice came from the other end of the phone, faintly heard through the receiver: "Song! It's rare for you to call me first. Are you in Paris? Or Beijing?"

“In Beijing,” Song Zhiyi said naturally. “I have something I’d like to ask you. A friend of mine is very interested in Modigliani’s work and wants to understand his creative trajectory around 1917. I remember you published a paper on this topic in Art Review last year?”

"Haha, you still remember!" the other person said happily. "That article received a good response. How about this, I'll send your friend's email address some relevant materials I've collected and a list of a few good reference books?"

"Thank you so much," Song Zhiyi said. "Also, I might have to go to Paris next month for the preparatory meeting for the China-France Cultural Forum. I'll treat you to coffee then."

“Absolutely! Let me know in advance when you arrive, and I'll take you to a small gallery I just discovered. There are some good young painters there…”

After chatting for a few more minutes, Song Zhiyi hung up the phone.

Throughout the entire process, the private room was so quiet that you could hear the faint sound of the air conditioning vents.

Su Nian's face turned pale. She recognized the voice on the other end of the phone—it was Pierre Dupont, the cultural attaché at the French Embassy in China. The notoriously difficult-to-book, discerning descendant of French nobility who only dealt with people who truly understood art.

Last year, her father tried to arrange a dinner with Consul Pierre through connections, but after three months of trying, he was unsuccessful.

This simply dressed woman, whom she mocked as "uncool," was greeted with the warmth of an old friend when she made a phone call.

Song Zhiyi put away her phone, looked at Su Nian, and spoke calmly in Chinese: "Consul Pierre is an expert on Modigliani, and he has agreed to send you the relevant information. Give me your email address, and I'll forward it to him."

Su Nian opened her mouth, but couldn't utter a single word. Her fingers, holding the champagne glass, trembled slightly.

Su Wan and the other women were completely stunned. They looked at Song Zhiyi and then at Su Nian, and the atmosphere became extremely awkward.

Ji Yun was the first to react. He coughed, trying to break the silence: "Um... Sister-in-law, do you know Counselor Pierre?"

“We met at a conference in Paris,” Song Zhiyi said casually. “He is an active promoter of Sino-French cultural exchange, and we have collaborated on several projects.”

She said "cooperation," not "acquaintance."

This means an equal working relationship, rather than one-sided dependence.

Zhou Mubai adjusted his glasses, his eyes revealing clear admiration behind the lenses. He looked at Huo Yanli, his eyes saying, "Your wife is quite the enigma."

Shen Yu put down his wine glass and, for the first time, seriously examined Song Zhiyi. He had previously thought this woman was ordinary, but now he realized that her ordinariness was merely a facade. True strength and confidence don't need to be proven through external appearances.

Looking at Song Zhiyi's calm profile, Huo Yanli's initial irritation vanished, replaced by a complex mix of emotions—surprise, admiration, and even a hint of pride that he himself hadn't noticed.

She didn't even retaliate deliberately; she simply did what she should do in the most natural way: help her "friend" solve the problem.

But this very action silently slapped everyone present in the face.

This includes those socialites who pride themselves on being fluent in French and having refined taste.

Su Nian finally regained her voice, but her tone was completely different from before, carrying a cautious politeness: "Thank you... thank you, Miss Song. My... my email is..."

She gave him her email address, which Song Zhiyi wrote down on her phone and then sent him a message.

“It’s been sent,” Song Zhiyi said. “Consul Pierre is very efficient; we should receive it tomorrow.”

"Thank you," Su Nian said, her voice even softer.

The atmosphere completely changed.

The women stopped their loud conversations and sat quietly, occasionally exchanging a few words in hushed tones, no longer daring to glance at Song Zhiyi.

Ji Yun poured Song Zhiyi a glass of water, his tone much more sincere than before: "Sister-in-law, you're amazing. Consul Pierre is notoriously difficult to deal with, and you managed to get him to help with just one phone call. You must have a lot of influence."

Song Zhiyi took the water and shook her head: "It's not about saving face, it's about our working relationship. He's in charge of cultural affairs, and I've participated in several Sino-French cultural exchange meetings and translation work. We've had a pleasant working relationship."

She spoke calmly, but Ji Yun understood—this was a relationship built on professional competence and work performance, far more stable and noble than a friendship based solely on family background.

The conversation then turned to more practical topics. Zhou Mubai asked about the impact of the Middle East situation on international investment, and Shen Yu inquired about the prospects of Sino-European economic and trade relations. Song Zhiyi gave clear, professional, and appropriate answers to both questions.

She spoke with impeccable logic and accurate data, occasionally citing foreign media reports or academic viewpoints, but never drawing hasty conclusions. This professionalism earned the silent approval of the men present.

Even Ji Yun, who had initially been watching with amusement, gradually stopped joking and began to listen to her seriously.

At 9:30, Song Zhiyi glanced at her watch and stood up: "Sorry, I have to go now. I need to prepare materials for the meeting early tomorrow morning."

This time, no one thought she was a spoilsport.

Huo Yanli also stood up: "I'll see you out."

"No need," Song Zhiyi shook her head. "You guys continue chatting. I've called a car."

"I'll walk you downstairs," Huo Yanli insisted.

Song Zhiyi glanced at him and didn't refuse again.

The two walked out of the private room one after the other. After the door closed, the room was quiet for a few seconds.

Then Ji Yun let out a long breath and said to Zhou Mubai and Shen Yu, "Brothers, I was wrong."

"Where did we go wrong?" Zhou Mubai asked.

“The mistake was thinking she was just an ordinary woman who needed to climb the social ladder by marrying into the Huo family.” Ji Yun smiled bitterly. “This is no ordinary woman; she’s a goddess.”

Shen Yu nodded: "The data and judgments she cited in her answer to Mu Bai's question about the risks of investing in the Middle East are almost identical to the conclusions of our company's chief analyst's internal report last week. But she's not in the financial industry; she's from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs."

What this means is self-evident.

Su Nian and several other women sat in a corner, their faces flushed with embarrassment. They finally realized how ridiculous their boasting and mockery had been in the face of true strength.

“Oh, right,” Ji Yun suddenly remembered something and lowered her voice, “the French she spoke on the phone just now…did you hear it? A pure Parisian upper-class accent, even the subtle liaisons and elisions were perfect. That’s not something you can learn in a French training class.”

Zhou Mubai pushed up his glasses: "She's lived in France?"

“It’s probably more than just having lived there,” Shen Yu said calmly. “That accent and the precision of his vocabulary suggest either that he has lived in France for a long time or that he has top-notch language talent and training.”

The group remained silent for a while.

"Yanli has struck gold this time..." Ji Yun shook his head.

“But he doesn’t seem to realize it yet,” Zhou Mubai said.

"She'll realize it sooner or later." Shen Yu took a sip of his drink. "A woman like that can't be hidden."

Meanwhile, downstairs.

Huo Yanli escorted Song Zhiyi to the entrance of the club. The evening breeze was a bit chilly, so she wrapped her coat tighter around herself.

"Thank you for today," Huo Yanli said, his voice low.

"You're welcome." Song Zhiyi looked at him. "It's my pleasure."

Her ride-hailing car arrived. She opened the car door and was about to get in when she suddenly stopped and looked back at Huo Yanli.

"Drink less alcohol," she said. "You don't look well."

Then get in the car, close the door, and the car drives away.

Huo Yanli stood at the entrance of the club, watching the car disappear into the night, remaining motionless for a long time.

The wind was cool, but he felt inexplicably warm inside.

That sentence was very ordinary, but it was the first time she had ever... taken the initiative to care about him.

Although it may just be out of politeness.