Downstairs, Zhang Yao brought hot milk and gently pushed open her son's half-open door. Looking at the figure sleeping soundly on the bed, she finally just sighed and placed the milk on the bedside table.
The morning light pierced the purple curtains of the Meng family villa. Father Meng slammed the newspaper on the walnut dining table. The headline of the society page, which was not yet dry, was almost pierced by him: "Shuang'er, don't think about Mu Siwen anymore! I heard that the parents of both Mu and Lin have agreed. This matter is set in stone!"
The Longjing tea in the porcelain cup rippled, reflecting the wrinkles between his brows.
Meng Shuang'er's hand holding the silver dinner knife suddenly tightened, and her red nails scratched on the handle, making a harsh sound.
The light from the crystal chandelier made her eyes sore, but her ears kept ringing with her sister's phone call last night: "You don't know yet? The whole military compound is talking about it..."
"I don't believe it!"
She stood up suddenly, her silk nightgown swept the sugar jar off the table, and the mints rolled onto the Persian carpet. "Aunt Zhang once praised the fine stitches of my knitted sweaters."
Her memory suddenly flashed back to the afternoon half a month ago, when Zhang Yao held her hand and taught her how to identify the tea specially supplied by the military region. The sunlight shone through the carved window lattices, overlapping their shadows into an intimate shape.
Father Meng looked at his daughter's back as she ran out of the door and let out a sigh.
He reached out and picked up the mint candy that had rolled to his feet, the candy wrapper reflecting a cold light between his fingers.
As a middle-level cadre in the military region's logistics department, he was well aware of the trade-offs behind this marriage.
The Mu family is an old family. If they can form an alliance...
He stroked the ungiven gift box of expensive tea, and finally just turned the newspaper to the financial page, letting the smell of ink fill his nostrils.
The sound of the carved iron gate being slammed shut startled the white pigeons in the yard.
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