The realization made Zhu Yan's throat tighten involuntarily.
It meant tonight she would step into Jiang Cheng's most private territory.
When the car door opened, a gust of wind carrying snowflakes swept in.
Before Zhu Yan could adjust to the sudden light, a cool female voice said, "Young Master Jiang, are you all right?"
She instinctively lifted her head and met a pair of sharp eyes.
The woman looked about twenty-seven or twenty-eight.
Her black tailored suit emphasized her tall, slender figure.
She stood ramrod-straight like an unsheathed sword, radiating battle-honed sharpness.
Even from a distance Zhu Yan could feel that overpowering pressure.
Jiang Cheng shook his head lightly. "Just a little scrape."
He turned to Zhu Yan and introduced her. "This is Xia Li, my personal assistant.
Seeing Zhu Yan still in the car.
Xia Li's expression flickered with surprise before quickly cooling again.
She gave Zhu Yan a slight, stiff, perfunctory nod in greeting.
Although it was Xia Li's first sight of Zhu Yan.
As a member of the Security Team with an eidetic memory, she already knew Zhu Yan's identity.
Xia Li greeted her formally: "Miss Zhu.
Noting that even Jiang Cheng's personal assistant had such high charm, Zhu Yan couldn't help staring a moment longer. "Hello."
After getting out, Jiang Cheng told Xia Li, "Arrange a room for her next to mine.
Zhu Yan caught the subtle ripple that crossed Xia Li's eyes at those words.
"Understood."
Zhu Yan followed Jiang Cheng across the courtyard; snowflakes clung to her lashes, blurring her vision.
The Courtyard House was a world of its own, modern and traditional fused to flaunt wealth and taste.
What struck her most were the omnipresent security details.
Cameras hidden behind carved rails, bronze ornaments that doubled as alarms.
And at every corner those obviously trained "staff.
He had meant to drop off the luggage and take her out.
But seeing her stifle yawn after yawn, clearly exhausted.
Afraid of spoiling his mood, Zhu Yan apologized.
"I didn't sleep a wink last night; maybe Shanghai's fireworks were too loud, or the firecrackers too close, I couldn't rest at all. Then Mom woke me at dawn for the New-Year meal, and relatives kept arriving, peppering me with questions—I had no chance to rest."
Jiang Cheng smiled faintly.
"No firecrackers in Beijing; you can rest well. I'll have food brought; fill your stomach and then sleep."
Zhu Yan waved it off. "No need, I ate on the plane; I'm not hungry."
He checked the time and suggested, "Then after you wake I'll have dinner prepared."
She shook her head again. "It's fine; I won't eat tonight."
She spoke as a matter of habit, not politeness.
Seriously? Is this how beauties stay in shape?
Jiang Cheng was floored.
Turns out not just anyone can be a beauty.
He mused: Girl, with that self-control you'd succeed at anything.
After Zhu Yan retired, Jiang Cheng drove to Great-Grandfather's Courtyard House for dinner.
When the meal ended his parents had already slipped away faster than he had.
He took the pagani five kilometres to a teahouse.
Reading his wechat message, Jiang Cheng lifted a brow.
The place was called "Yunque," hidden deep in a hutong.
Its quiet surroundings felt serene and auspicious.
A vermilion gate bore gilt-bipy knockers, solemn and antique.
Above the lintel hung a plaque carved from whole Hetian white jade, glowing softly through the snow.
Eight palace lanterns stood before the door, their Xiang-embroidered shades turning drifting snowflakes golden in the candlelight.
Four attendants in mandarin-collar jackets flanked the entrance, ramrod-straight and alert.
"Sir, do you have a reservation?" A greeter in a moon-white cheongsam approached beneath an oil-paper umbrella.
Snowflakes dotted her immaculate coiffure like silver stars, setting off her delicate beauty.
A high-end teahouse indeed—its very doorman was beautiful.
Jiang Cheng nodded and gave the private-room number Shen An had sent.
She smiled and said, "Please follow me."
Pushing open the door, the scent of agarwood mixed with snowy air greeted him.
The floor was a single slab of Burmese golden nanmu, its grain inlaid with silver wire.
On closer look that silver wire formed a miniature "Along the River at Qingming" panorama.
In the centre of the foyer hovered a glass tea-pavilion.
Inside, a tea master knelt on Song-brocade tatami, performing an intricate tea ritual.
In his hand a Song-dynasty Jianyao hare-fur bowl seemed to bear a thousand years as he poured Wuyi Da-hong-pao.
The amber liquor streamed down a transparent table like a golden brook, misting against the bronze basin below.
Upstairs the greeter led him to a room on the left.
Calling it a private room was generous; it was an alcove partitioned by a curtain.
That curtain was woven of mottled bamboo threads laced with silver; a gentle push set tiny copper bells chiming.
The furniture was Ming-style rosewood.
A Xu Wei ink-bamboo painting hung on the wall, its washes vivid, leaves alive.
On the table an Xuande censer exhaled faint fragrance, its wisps curling round winter-plum in a cracked-ice vase, lending quiet elegance.
From upstairs, through that curtain, one could clearly watch the central glass-pavilion performance below.
Seeing Jiang Cheng enter, Shen An, Fu Yang and Lü Chengwen rose.
"Brother Cheng, you're here."
Jiang Cheng quipped, "When you invited me for tea I thought it was some club—didn't expect this place; clearly over-thought it."
Fu Yang laughed: "Knew it—told you Brother Cheng would say that."
Shen An and Lü Chengwen burst into laughter.
Jiang Cheng grinned and teased, "When you asked me out for tea I really thought it was some high-end club—turns out I was overthinking."
Fu Yang chuckled, "See? Told you Brother Cheng would think that.
"Hey, Brother Cheng, you don't know—last time we hit a bar there was a big raid. My old man somehow got word, and because one of the Atmosphere Group Girls at our table was busted, he thought I was messing around. Now he's banned me, told me to cultivate myself—so I can only come to classy places like this."