Banquet 1.3
The sound of water pattering.
Jiang Zhaoyan leaned against the frosted glass door, listening to the rhythmic sound of running water inside. He lightly tapped the door frame with his finger, his voice tinged with amusement: "Dr. Fan, the shower gel is finished."
The sound of water inside stopped for a moment.
The door opened a crack, and a wet hand handed out the bottle—the pale blue veins on the inside of the wrist were particularly clear in the steam.
As Jiang Zhaoyan took the bottle, he deliberately ran his fingertips across Jiang's palm.
"Thank you... Madam."
The door slammed shut with a bang, so hard that it knocked the toothbrush cup off the side.
"Jiang Zhaoyan, just say you want to die."
Jiang Zhaoyan lowered his head and smiled.
At 3:40 a.m., Fan Jinci noticed that the mattress next to him had sunk slightly in his sleep.
He is a light sleeper and wakes up almost the instant the other person gets close, but without opening his eyes—his professional habit makes him choose to assess the threat level first.
Warm breath landed on his brow, then on the bridge of his nose, and finally stopped at the corner of his lips.
Jiang Zhaoyan's kiss was very light, like a snowflake falling on the skin, leaving only a burning aftertaste after the fleeting coolness.
“The eyelashes of someone pretending to be asleep will flutter.” Jiang Zhaoyan chuckled, his thumb brushing against the tightly pursed lips. “...Like right now.”
Fan Jinci opened his eyes, his gray-blue pupils as cold as knives in the night.
Jiang Zhaoyan had already gotten up and tucked the blanket around him, saying, "Goodnight."
"Mrs. Jiang."
He walked towards the door, his long, slender shadow stretched out by the moonlight.
The door closed so softly it was almost inaudible.
.
When Fan Jinci came downstairs, Jiang Zhaoyan was fiddling with an old-fashioned gramophone in the dining room. The vinyl record was spinning, playing "Adagio in G minor," the notes spreading like mist in the morning light.
"Coffee or tea?" Jiang Zhaoyan asked without looking up.
Fan Jinci looked at the dining table—two breakfasts, Chinese congee with German sausage, clearly separated like the Chu River and Han border on a chessboard.
He pulled out a chair: "You last night—"
"Mr. Jiang!" The butler suddenly rushed in. "The police found this among Richard's belongings."
A photo slipped out of the brown paper bag: a group photo from the Lane Labs in 1993, with a young Jiang Zhaoyan standing in the front row, and Yabin wearing a mask behind him.
In the corner of the photo, a little boy with gray-blue eyes is being led away by a man in a white coat.
Fan Jinci's fingertips tightened unconsciously.
.
Before the dinner - Jiang's private residence
Fan Jinci stood in front of the full-length mirror in the dressing room, adjusting the tightness of his tie with his fingertips.
Today he wore a well-tailored black suit with a matte finish, adorned only with a silver scalpel-shaped cufflink.
The shirt collar was buttoned up meticulously to the top, making the neck appear long and slender with a cool demeanor.
Jiang Zhaoyan leaned against the door frame, his gaze sliding from the back of the man's tense neck down to his waistline, a slight smile playing on his lips: "Old Master Jin likes a lively atmosphere, so there will probably be a lot of boring pleasantries tonight."
Fan Jinci didn't even turn his head: "You can go by yourself."
“How can that be?” Jiang Zhaoyan chuckled, slowly approaching and gently placing her fingers on his shoulder. “The Jin family specifically instructed me to bring ‘Madam Jiang’ with me.”
Fan Jinci glanced sideways, his gray-blue pupils reflecting Jiang Zhaoyan's image—Jiang Zhaoyan, standing at 187 cm, was a head taller than him, and when he looked down at him, there was a hint of a playful smile in his eyes.
"Don't call me that," Fan Jinci said coldly.
Jiang Zhaoyan had already reached out and straightened his tie, his fingertips lightly brushing against his Adam's apple: "What's his name? Dr. Fan? Jinci? Or..."
He leaned down, his breath brushing against Fan Jinci's ear, his voice extremely low: "...Wife?"
Fan Jinci raised his hand and used his elbow to press against his chest, "Don't be a fool."
She pushed him half a step away: "Let's go."
Jiang Zhaoyan chuckled and casually took out a lapel pin from a velvet box beside him—a silver butterfly with tiny sapphires adorning its wings, exactly like the brand under his collarbone.
"Wear this." He pinned it to Fan Jinci's collar without further ado. "It matches me."
Fan Jinci glanced down at him but did not refuse.
.
The Jin family's banquet hall was resplendent with gold and silver, and the shimmering light from the crystal chandeliers fell on the champagne tower. Guests gathered in twos and threes, clinking glasses and exchanging toasts.
As soon as Jiang Zhaoyan entered, many people came up to greet him.
"Young Master Jiang, long time no see!" The second young master of the Jin family raised his glass with a smile, his gaze lingering on Fan Jinci for a moment. "And this gentleman is?"
Jiang Zhaoyan smiled slightly and casually put his arm around Fan Jinci's lower back: "My family's forensic doctor."
Young Master Jin was taken aback for a moment, then suddenly realized and said with a smile in heavily accented Chinese, "So it's Mrs. Jiang! I've heard so much about you!"
Fan Jinci: "..."
Jiang Zhaoyan chuckled softly, gently pinching his waist with his fingers, as if soothing a cat about to explode.
But that's not all.
A French jeweler approached, holding a glass of champagne, with a knowing smile: "Mr. Jiang and your partner are a perfect match. I wish you a long and happy marriage."
Immediately afterwards, the Italian shipping magnate also joked in his native language: "Such a beautiful 'lady,' Young Master Jiang is very lucky (In italiano: Che bella coppia)."
One Russian oligarch even patted Jiang Zhaoyan on the shoulder and said generously, "When are you going to have the wedding? I'll give you a yacht!"
Fan Jinci's brows furrowed more and more, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the rim of the wine glass, his knuckles turning slightly white.
Those around him misunderstood his reaction and laughed, saying, "Madam Jiang is shy!"
Seeing this, Jiang Zhaoyan suddenly reached out and pulled Fan Jinci into his arms, placing his palm firmly on Fan Jinci's lower back. He lowered his head and chuckled softly in Fan Jinci's ear, "Sorry, my wife is a little shy."
Fan Jinci coldly raised his eyes, his gaze conveying the message, "Do you want to die?"
Jiang Zhaoyan ignored them, instead tightening his arms and raising his glass to the crowd: "Thank you all for your blessings."
.
Fan Jinci pushed open the glass door to the terrace, and the night breeze brushed against his hair, slightly dispelling his restlessness.
Jiang Zhaoyan followed him out, carrying a suit jacket, which he gently draped over his shoulders: "Are you cold?"
Fan Jinci didn't reply, but coldly asked, "Have you had enough fun?"
Jiang Zhaoyan leaned against the railing, the moonlight tracing the contours of his profile, highlighting the depth of his features. He chuckled softly, "What, Dr. Fan, don't like being called 'Madam'?"
Fan Jinci glanced at him, his gray-blue pupils reflecting the moonlight, cold and clear: "You know what I'm talking about."
Jiang Zhaoyan was silent for a moment, then suddenly reached out and gently stroked the butterfly brooch on Fan Jinci's collar with his fingertips, his voice lowered: "I just think it's pretty good like this."
Fan Jinci was slightly taken aback.
Jiang Zhaoyan had already withdrawn his hand and resumed his lazy smile: "Let's go, Grandpa Jin is about to cut the cake. If we don't go soon, he'll suspect we eloped."
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