Little Ye Cousin.
Liang Jiasong hung up the phone. From the subtle, sticky sounds coming through the line, he knew that was the sound of a deep kiss during an intimate, lingering moment.
He lowered his eyes, his expression flat, showing no emotion on his face—as if he had always been this indifferent. But Jiang Zhizhu saw his knuckles turn white as he tightly gripped the phone. After a moment, his hand relaxed.
The man had just finished his shower. A black velvet robe hung loosely and lazily over him. He stood straight with his back to her, broad shoulders and narrow waist.
Just like the first time they met on campus that year. She had just returned from an outdoor sketching trip, and the sunset that day was the most beautiful she had ever seen.
Liang Jiasong stood in a suit among a group of gray-haired directors, surrounded, in a position of authority. He occasionally half-closed his eyes and nodded, then turned his face and squinted at the sunset, hands in his pockets, looking casual. She could tell he wasn't listening to what these people were saying at all; his gaze wandered far away, with a fleeting smile at the corners of his lips—so faint that Jiang Zhizhu almost missed it.
This man was really handsome, she thought at that time.
The sunset in New York draped over the man like a golden ribbon. Only then did he notice someone sizing him up. He turned his head indifferently and met a pair of beautiful eyes that were full of the image of Liang Jiasong.
Liang Jiasong's eyes held no anger, but that was exactly what made her infatuated.
She was an art student. The first time she saw Liang Jiasong, she was drawn to his demeanor of indifference toward life and death. Later, when Liang Jiasong realized her feelings and proposed an agreement with her, she didn't have to do anything—just occasionally stay by his side.
Sometimes, Jiang Zhizhu thought: if only she had returned to school later that day, she wouldn't have met Liang Jiasong, and they wouldn't have developed this relationship. But there was no "if." No matter when or where, she would still meet him at some point.
Apart from his emotional indifference, his upbringing, character, and moral foundation were perfect. Jiang Zhizhu was still willing to be his hidden lover, and he was truly good to her.
The figure in front of her moved. Jiang Zhizhu snapped back to reality and looked at him. His hair was wet, with damp strands falling over his distant eyes and brows. Droplets of water at the tips of his hair fell onto his high nose bridge. His skin had turned pale from being steamed by the water vapor, only his lips were a rosy color.
Jiang Zhizhu was quietly curled up on the bed where they had reveled all night yesterday. The bed still held Liang Jiasong's residual warmth and his sandalwood scent.
Those lips of his had kissed every inch of her body tenderly last night, calling her "Zhuzhu" over and over again. It was only at these moments that he seemed alive, his body no longer so cold, burning for her.
But Jiang Zhizhu knew that the person he was talking about wasn't her. He had been upfront with her from the start.
Bitterness surged in her heart, but she still had to play her role as his lover well.
Thinking of the incense, she suddenly smiled and asked, "Jiasong Ge, how was the sandalwood incense I recommended last time? Does she like it?" Her voice was slightly hoarse, the most intense when emotions were strongest; at the peak of pleasure, she had clung to his suddenly tensed shoulder blades and called him "Liang Jiasong" instead of "Jiasong Ge."
Hearing her voice, Liang Jiasong turned his head sideways, his eyes dark and heavy as he looked at Jiang Zhizhu lying on the bed covered in love marks. His brows relaxed slightly, and he gave her a faint smile. "Mm, she likes it very much. Thank you."
"I'm glad she likes it. It helps with insomnia—it'll be good for the one in your heart." Her tone was gentle, without any fluctuation.
Liang Jiasong's brow tightened slightly as he quietly looked at her.
Jiang Zhizhu was beautiful and very smart. A graduate of the top art school, he had met her two years ago when he was invited back to his alma mater for a ribbon-cutting ceremony. They encountered each other on the playground.
Over the years, Liang Jiasong had donated many libraries, teaching buildings, dormitory buildings, and named scholarships to his alma mater. He also established a youth dream entrepreneurship fund to help underprivileged students reduce their academic burden and realize their dreams. As long as proposals came to him and he saw no issues, if the plan was feasible, after his approval, funds would be in place.
She actually didn't resemble Song Guanyu at all, Liang Jiasong thought.
Only these almond-shaped eyes were somewhat similar, the depths untouched by the filth of society. He liked eyes full of vitality.
Especially when he was intimate with her, her eyes were full of him. During their entwined moments, he particularly favored the face-to-face position.
Liang Jiasong withdrew his gaze, paused briefly, and suppressed the emotions in his eyes.
He casually threw his phone aside. Her words just now had stirred a faint emotional ripple in his heart.
He took a cigarette from the box on the table, lit it, took a puff, and exhaled smoke. His cold face was instantly shrouded in white mist. His fingers pinched the cigarette holder as he spoke to her: "Zhuzhu, have you thought about furthering your studies? I can—"
"Liang Jiasong." Jiang Zhizhu interrupted him, walking towards him naked from the bed. Without the blanket covering her, her body curves were like translucent porcelain jade in the sunlight—perfect. She straddled his waist, her back covered in red marks, and the marks on her waist were very ambiguous.
Jiang Zhizhu snatched the cigarette from his cool fingers and put it into her own mouth. She took a fierce drag and then kissed Liang Jiasong.
He lowered his eyes, slightly opened his mouth, allowing her to transfer the smoke into his mouth. After making a fuss, Jiang Zhizhu released him, threw away the cigarette butt, wrapped her arms around his neck, and brushed her lips against the contour of his ear bone, whispering softly: "Don't even think about making me leave. Even if I have to leave in the end, it will be me who says it first, not you." She finished by moving to the back of his ear, which was his sensitive spot.
Sure enough, she felt his pause and his abnormal reaction. She let out a light laugh: "Liang Jiasong, you can't do without me now." One hand slowly traced across his chest, seeking warmth, and she infected him with her heat.
Liang Jiasong suddenly grasped her waist tightly, looked up at her, his voice slightly hoarse: "I'm not making you leave. I just want you to learn more."
Slight sensations, slight friction—fusing with him.
They were the closest people at this moment.
Jiang Zhizhu wrapped her arms around his neck, trembling and curling into his embrace, feeling his rising temperature. She said, "Liang Jiasong, I want you to love me now. I am Zhuzhu."
The man's brows furrowed, his dark eyes sharpened, and his actions turned from tender to fierce.
She pressed against him, her head tilted onto his tense shoulder, looking at his slightly expressive profile, smiled, and then hugged him tightly in pain, closing her eyes to feel everything about him.
...
Ye Yansheng had gone to the meeting. After washing up, Song Guanyu was now eating the breakfast the hotel had sent. Ye Yansheng had opened the door and wheeled the cart in before leaving.
Before leaving, he reminded her not to open the door casually, as it wouldn't be good if someone photographed her.
Song Guanyu smiled and nodded, reluctantly hooking her finger around Ye Yansheng's finger. She raised her lips and said softly to him, "I know, Dr. Ye. Go to work. I'll be here waiting for you to come back."
Song Guanyu was fully experiencing the feeling of being in love. But their love model was different from others—others went from dating to marriage, while she and Ye Yansheng went from marriage to dating.
It was a very strange feeling. She suddenly breathed a sigh of relief and secretly thought in her heart:
Fortunately, it was Ye Yansheng. Only now did she realize how impulsive her original marriage had been. It was a very irresponsible act toward marriage and also irresponsible toward Ye Yansheng.
Last time, he asked her, "Why did you marry me?"
At that time, she couldn't answer and brushed it off. Ye Yansheng must have seen through her evasion but didn't press further. But now she could answer.
In the entertainment industry, she had seen many good-looking people. In fact, many were even better-looking than Ye Yansheng, but none of them sparked any impulse in her. When she went on blind dates, she was prepared to go on many and eventually fail.
Inspiration would come eventually. If she couldn't write love songs, she could write about other things.