Xi Wanrong sat on the sofa in her rental apartment, her fingertips tapping lightly on the coffee table. Her phone screen lit up, displaying the balance on her bank app—100,000.00.
This is the money Chen Wanshan gave her last night.
She picked up her bag, took out the recorder from the compartment, and pressed the play button.
Chen Wanshan's greasy voice immediately came out from the loudspeaker:
"As long as you listen, you can have whatever you want."
"Fifty thousand! I want fifty thousand tonight!"
"Okay! I like you being so direct!"
"Honey, my wife's checking up on me. You have to go through the fire escape."
A sneer appeared on Xi Wanrong's lips.
———That’s enough.
These recordings are enough to ruin Chen Wanshan's reputation.
She opened WeChat, found Chen Wanshan's chat box, and typed quickly:
"Mr. Chen, I backed up last night's recording."
send.
Three seconds later, Chen Wanshan called directly.
Xi Wanrong picked up the phone slowly, deliberately letting her voice carry a lazy smile: "Hello? Mr. Chen, are you in such a hurry?"
On the other end of the phone, Chen Wanshan's breathing was heavy, and his voice was very low: "Xi Wanrong, what do you mean?"
"Nothing." She chuckled. "I just think fifty thousand is too little."
"...How much do you want?"
"Three hundred thousand," she said decisively. "Buy out the recording, or I'll send it to your wife and then post it online."
There was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds, and then Chen Wanshan's gnashing voice came: "How dare you fucking threaten me?"
"It's not a threat, it's a deal." Xi Wanrong's voice cooled. "Mr. Chen, you've slept with quite a few anchors, right? Tell me, if these recordings were to get out, how much would the company's stock price drop? Would your wife kick you out?"
Chen Wanshan was silent.
Xi Wanrong knew that he was afraid.
"Tomorrow at noon, 2808 at the Hyatt Hotel, cash." He finally gave in. "Don't play tricks."
The phone was hung up.
Xi Wanrong put the recorder back into her bag, leaned back on the sofa, and let out a long breath.
-------Three hundred thousand, got it.
At ten o'clock in the evening, Zhao Pingchi pushed open the door of his home, smelling of cigarette smoke from the Internet cafe and the greasy smell of instant noodles.
"Are you back?" Xi Wanrong didn't even raise her head and continued to browse her phone.
Zhao Pingchi stared at her for a few seconds and suddenly asked, "What are you busy with recently?"
"Nothing busy?" She smiled nonchalantly.
—————————————————————
The gilded banquet hall on the 68th floor of the financial center looks like a crystal palace suspended in the clouds, with twelve Baroque-style crystal chandeliers casting champagne-colored halos into every inch of air.
Zhou Hui stood in front of a 270-degree floor-to-ceiling window, holding a crystal glass filled with 1982 Dom Perignon. Bubbles burst in the amber liquor, making the platinum ring on his ring finger flicker.
The custom-made Zegna suit was ironed neatly around the shoulders, the three hand-sewn mother-of-pearl buttons on the cuffs shone with a pearly luster under the light, and the trouser legs just revealed the gilded buckles of his Italian handmade leather shoes - a detail he had asked the butler to polish seven times with soft cloth this morning.
As the secretary led the Tianchen Advertising team through the rotating screen decorated with Swarovski crystals, Zhou Hui's gaze followed the water marks on the glass to the Chehe River downstairs.
The gilded sunset glow just passed over the hair tips of the last young man, turning his slightly curly chestnut hair into melted toffee.
The collar of Li Zhou's white shirt was turned up too neatly, the over-starched cotton fabric had worn into extremely fine frayed edges at his collarbone, and the plastic strap of his cheap fashion watch was stuck below his wrist bone.
The light brown calluses on the base of his thumb, which were left by years of holding the pen, are visible - that is the mark left by long-term use of Winsor & Newton watercolor pens, a mark between an artist and an apprentice.
"Mr. Zhou, this is Li Zhou, our new employee in the design department. He's in charge of the visual aspect of this proposal." The department head's leather heels tapped out a flattering rhythm on the carpet.
Li Zhou hurriedly took half a step forward, and the cuff of his shirt slipped down two inches, revealing the pale blue veins on his wrist bones, like the claws of a baby bird frozen in the snow.
When Zhou Hui extended his hand, he deliberately curled his fingertips slightly, allowing the calluses on his palm (left over from playing polo in his early years) to just brush against the powder particles on the other person's fingertips - a rough texture mixed with Windsor blue and cadmium red, with the unique astringency of cheap acrylic paint.
The young man's hands were small, but his knuckles were surprisingly strong. When the calluses on his knuckles rubbed against his palms, Zhou Hui heard his heart skip a beat - just like the thrill he felt when he first saw those long-necked girls painted by Modigliani at the Sotheby's auction twenty years ago.
The tips of Li Zhou's ears quickly turned light red, his Adam's apple rolled under his tense collarbone, and the second button of his shirt broke 0.5 centimeters due to the excessive movement, revealing a light brown mole above his butterfly bone, like a drop of accidentally splashed coffee.
The pages of the proposal booklet had a matte texture. When Zhou Hui turned to the page that Li Zhou was responsible for, his fingertips left light fingerprints on the cobalt blue block where the ink had not yet dried.
The so-called "bold use of color" is nothing more than the diagonal collision of cobalt blue and orange-red, but in the lower right corner is a tiny robin - outlined with gold powder, wings half-folded, claws tightly clasped on the edge of the color block, as if it will fall into darkness at any time.
He remembered this detail, just as he remembered the butterfly shadows cast by the other person's eyelashes under the eyes, and the slight accent of the tip of the tongue occasionally touching the upper teeth when speaking.
"The treatment of this robin is very interesting." Zhou Hui tapped the paper with his fingertips, and Li Zhou's pupils suddenly contracted. "In Norse legend, the robin's breast was dyed red with the blood of Jesus. You used gold powder to outline it. Are you trying to express divinity or redemption?"
This chapter is not finished yet, please click on the next page to continue reading the exciting content!
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
