Make it and bring it to my room.
Jiang Songhe filled out the delivery address at the supermarket checkout, clutched the paper bag containing the ingredients he would use to taste the dishes at Tang Dynasty later, and went to the bank on the first floor, entering the ATM booth.
He struggled to decide how much cash to withdraw. He knew the exchange rate between the Chinese Porcelain Dollar and the Manchurian Dollar, and he also knew the maximum dry cleaning fee, but he didn't know how much it would cost to restore one of only three purely handmade, one-of-a-kind robes in the world.
He mentally reviewed the relevant contacts, took out his phone, opened WeChat, scrolled down to a chat that was last seen two months ago, tapped it, and typed: "Yunhe Entertainment Jiang Songhe. Sorry to bother you, I have something I'd like to ask you."
Five minutes later, the other party sent a voice message. Jiang Songhe long-pressed the voice-to-text function: "Hey, Mr. Jiang, long time no see. I'm busy right now, but I don't mind a voice call."
Jiang Songhe was staring at the text, trying to find the right words, when the other party made a voice call.
"Excuse me, but I'm really curious what kind of questions Mr. Jiang, who is always so businesslike, would like to ask me, a designer."
The other person claimed to be curious, but his tone was slightly serious. Amidst the background noise, after saying the first sentence to Jiang Songhe, he turned away from the microphone and yelled at his subordinates: "How many times have I told you not to show me models who are as thin as dried corpses? Are you all forgetful or deaf?"
They did sound very busy, but since they had taken the initiative to call and ask a question, they must genuinely be willing to answer. So Jiang Songhe decided to get straight to the point and keep it short: "I would like to ask how much the dry cleaning fee is for your high-end custom-made clothing?"
After hearing this, the other party clicked their tongues a few times with a hint of regret, then chuckled and said, "What, is it that President Jiang is getting married soon? What a pity, I was thinking of introducing you to one of my friends who likes older women."
"..." Jiang Songhe thought that people in the fashion industry probably had such peculiar thought processes, but there was no need to talk about his private matters to outsiders. So he ignored this irrelevant question and asked more precisely, "For example, how much would it cost to completely clean a velvet robe with a stain about the size of a palm, which is extremely rare and unique, to restore it to its original condition?"
"That depends on the specific stain. Extremely rare, one-of-a-kind pieces are usually handmade haute couture. Velvet fabric is very delicate and prone to staining. If it's an oil stain, I can only suggest trying to clean it first. If that doesn't work, it's ruined, what a waste..."
The other person analyzed the situation from a professional perspective, their tone filled with regret. Jiang Songhe didn't understand basic fashion knowledge, but he was certain the stain wasn't oil contamination, but rather… He cleared his throat, adding ambiguously, “To be precise, it's a semi-gelatinous, transparent liquid…”
"Oh, phew~" The other party was clearly relieved for the poor red velvet robe and finally gave a clear answer, "If you own such a robe, the owner must have a professional team that works with you regularly. We can usually solve this kind of situation for 1,000 porcelain coins. As for whether your 'creditor' is willing to agree to that amount, I can't help you with that."
"Understood." These words reminded Jiang Songhe, who unplugged the ATM from the booth and walked towards the teller counter. "Thank you for your explanation. Consider this a favor I owe you."
After being handed over by the teller, Jiang Songhe withdrew 3,000 Mandalays, rounded up to ten times the dry cleaning fee.
He kept the withdrawal slip, asked the teller for an envelope, stuffed 30 bills into it, took a pen from the counter and scribbled a few words on it, then put the envelope in his inner pocket and got up to leave.
-
"A bathrobe? It was sent to be washed, why?"
Jonathan, wearing sunglasses and holding a large bouquet of orange roses, appeared from the elevator door with a phone in his arms.
"Nothing much. A friend just happened to ask me about cleaning velvet robes, and I suddenly remembered to call you and ask how it went, Janus. Did the robe I went to great lengths to get for you from my older sister, a high-ranking executive at Divan, help you win that person over?"
"What a coincidence? Are you sure that bathrobe is one of only three in the world? You didn't just trick me into wearing a WANTON WU dress and swapped the labels, did you?" Jonathan joked with Wu Fangsi as he walked towards the door. "Almost there. I guess I still have to rely on my personal charm..."
An envelope was stuck in the gap at the bottom of the door of room A. Jonathan picked it up with the hand that had been holding his phone. The envelope had several bold, strong characters on it: "Ten times the dry cleaning fee, we're even."
Jonathan silently recited the words a few times, then opened the seal with one hand and roughly twisted the banknotes inside with two fingers. He looked at the silently closed door next door and whispered, "So eager to 'settle things' with me, it seems the person has already escaped."
“Three thousand Manchurian dollars, which is equivalent to twelve thousand porcelain coins, is quite a generous sum.” He smiled with a complicated expression. “He won’t listen to the truth, but he can hear everything I’m saying. It’s just a nightgown, no matter how precious it is, does it really need to be cleaned for over a thousand? And he even said I have no common sense.”
On the phone, Wu Fangsi's dismissive self-justification abruptly stopped. After a moment of silence, he suddenly asked in shock, "The one you're trying to take down isn't Jiang Songhe, is it?"
Jonah paused, then put the phone back to his ear with the envelope still between his fingers: "I didn't hear you clearly. Who did you just say?"
“Jiang Songhe…do you remember on Christmas Day, I mentioned to you that 17-year-old actor who did the lookbook for WANTON WU menswear line? He has a brother who is enlarged to the same size. I was even thinking of giving him his contact information to introduce you two.”
"You were talking about him back then?!" Jonathan quickly recalled the events and his eyes lit up.
This was such a coincidence, it was almost like... a preordained arrangement. An indescribable emotion surged in his chest. Jonah instinctively felt joy, yet it also made his throat feel tight, and he even felt a slight urge to vomit.
“Well, it’s not too late to push it now.” Jonathan swallowed, his fingertips trembling slightly. “Give me his private contact information.”
“You don’t use WeChat, right? Then I’ll send you his phone number via text message… Okay.” Wu Fangsi seemed to remember something and changed the subject, “But don’t go too far, he might be getting married soon.”
The hand that was storing the number suddenly stopped, and Jonah asked in a hoarse voice, "Is that what he told you?"
“I guessed, because I asked him if ‘good things were coming soon,’ and he didn’t deny it. You’ve been working in Maner for a long time, so you might not know much about it, but Chinese men, especially the kind with straight eyes and very traditional looks, usually plan to get married after they’re over 25. People in the film industry might wait a few years, but looking at his age, it should be about time.”
“Jiang Songyun is your model, so he should sign a contract, right? As far as I know, he’s his brother’s agent, and the contract should have his details.” Jonathan clutched the ribbon of the orange rose, the wrapping paper rustling as it broke. “I need you to do me another favor.”
“You said that as long as it’s within my ability, I’m happy to help you.”
"Could you check if his marriage partner is named Tao Nian?"
"It's not difficult, it's easy to follow the clues. But are you in a hurry? I've been busy expanding the brand's LGBT clientele lately, preparing for a show. If you're not in a rush, wait for me..."
“Just deal with this sh*t as I ask, please!” Jonathan suddenly snapped in English, clearly annoyed.
Upon hearing this, Wu Fangsi immediately flew into a rage and retorted in kind: "Jesus, J?! Are you out of your mind? I'm your friend, not the f*cking servant!"
The two voices clashed and exploded at opposite ends of the line. After expressing their emotions, no one spoke for a long time, and only two heavy, hissing breaths could be heard through the receiver.
"I'm sorry, it was my fault." Jonathan closed his eyes tightly, then opened them again, letting out a sigh of relief. "What I mean is, I don't want to play games with a married man, so I'm in a hurry. Can you help me confirm whether he's really involved with a woman named Tao Nian?"
"Okay, I know." Wu Fangsi's attitude softened after hearing Jonathan's apology, and she sighed. "How about this, I'll find out some things and tell you as soon as possible, don't worry."
"Okay, thank you, Fang Si." Jonathan's voice was still a little unsteady as he thanked her.
"But are you really alright? Although I shouldn't have crossed the line, I sincerely want to remind you that, based on my assessment of Jiang Songhe over the past few meetings, he's not one of us. Apart from his brother, he won't care about anyone else. Don't go too far and get yourself into trouble."
"Don't worry, I just want to make sure this game doesn't waste time. He's not the only one with OCD; in a way, I am too."
...
-
Just as Jonathan was about to throw the bouquet of orange roses into the trash can after hanging up the phone, the hissing sound of a stove frying food suddenly came from room B.
Soon, the aroma of home-style porcelain dishes wafted out from under the door. Jonathan was startled, withdrew his hand from throwing the flowers, took a step to the door of room B, and knocked three times.
Hearing the increasingly loud sizzling sounds from inside the room, with no sign of turning off the stove, Jonathan clutched the bouquet tightly with one hand and pounded on the door with even greater force and frequency with the other, until his palm burned from the pounding, the hissing sound stopped, and approaching footsteps could be heard from inside the room…
He only stopped when the door opened.
The person in the room was wearing the same pajamas he had seen on New Year's Eve and had personally untied. A very incongruous apron was hanging in front of the pajamas. The lower part of the body looked like a homely person, but the upper part of the body had an annoying expression that said "keep away."
This is probably what a person looks like after marriage, right? No, their face should have a very gentle and happy expression.
"What is it?" the person in the room asked coldly.
Jonathan suppressed the stinging moisture in his eyes, pushed his sunglasses up to his head to reveal his playboy look, smiled, and handed the orange roses inside: "Maner etiquette, to give flowers to the new neighbor."
The person inside was still holding a shovel. Their gaze swept back and forth between the top of the stream and the bouquet, and they raised an eyebrow in confusion, asking, "You guys in Maner gave your neighbor roses?"
"Actually, it was a gift from a fan waiting downstairs. It wasn't just roses, but roses that happen to be calming and help you sleep." Jonathan winked mischievously. "I was afraid my new neighbor would cry in the middle of the night because he doesn't like sleeping in the same bed, so I gave them to him as a comfort."
The person in the room twitched twice, then his face turned ashen, and he retorted sarcastically, "Is it appropriate to casually pass on the fans' good intentions to others? Thank you for your kindness, but it's unnecessary."
Jonathan's expression froze for a moment, but then he smiled even more and threw the flowers directly into the trash can: "What can I do? I have so many people who like me. If I were to keep every single one of their sentiments, the whole hotel probably wouldn't be able to hold them all."
“Oh, right, this.” Jonathan pulled out an envelope containing a huge amount of dry cleaning fees and stuffed it into the apron pocket of the person in the room, then shook his index finger. “I’m sorry, I don’t accept this kind of vulgar compensation.”
"What else do you want? Ha, I'm sorry to say, but I don't accept the way you can accept it."
"Aren't you overthinking this?" Jonathan took a step back. "Don't worry, after your tireless efforts, your initial excitement about me has completely worn off. I just got back from a shoot and haven't eaten yet, so you can make up for it with a meal you cooked yourself."
After saying that, he returned to his room, swiped his card, and opened the door.
"Make it ready and bring it to my room."
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