Su Qingwen also carried a small, elegant leather purse — no doubt holding the blindfold she'd need tonight.
That outfit clashed hard with her innocent, slightly timid face.
Pure‑girl looks mixed with straight‑up sex appeal — the combo instantly sucked in nearly every guy in the lobby. Some even stopped mid‑conversation, eyes locked on her like lasers.
Clearly her first time in a five‑star palace hotel, and she froze for a second, dazzled by the glittering opulence. A flicker of panic crossed her eyes.
But she forced herself to stay cool, clutching the strap of her purse and walking in stiff, measured steps to the front desk.
Taking a deep breath, she said in a voice barely louder than a whisper, "H-Hello… I'd like the room card for… Room 1808."
The receptionist kept her professional smile and checked the info. "May I have your surname, please?"
"I-I'm Su."
"Alright, Miss Su, here's your key card."
Su Qingwen practically snatched it, fingers ice‑cold but palms sweating.
Clutching the card like it weighed a ton, she bolted for the elevator.
Moments after she stepped inside, Lin Feng's phone screen lit up with his video feed.
First darkness, then a click — the suite lights came on.
There stood Su Qingwen in her sexy high‑school uniform, right in the frame.
The moment she entered the luxury suite, her little mouth parted in surprise — clearly blown away by the opulence.
She looked around, eyes darting with nervousness, tension, and a curiosity she couldn't hide.
Up close onscreen, the "school uniform" was even more tempting.
The white short‑sleeve shirt hugged her frame, outlining the curves of a girl whose figure was just right — the swell of her chest proudly lifting, the top edge of her bra visible beneath the fabric.
Under the plaid mini‑skirt, her black‑stockinged legs were long, straight, not a speck of extra fat, lines graceful as sculpture.
She walked to the bed and tentatively sat down. The soft mattress swallowed her in.
That position lined her up perfectly with Lin Feng's hidden camera.
Her legs naturally parted, the hem of her skirt teasing glimpses of what lay beneath — Lin Feng could even make out the color of her panties: a cute pastel pink.
Ssshh! Lin Feng inhaled sharply.
He knew in a little while he'd be there in person, could even peel that tiny piece of fabric off her himself.
But right now, this peek‑through‑the‑screen, half‑hidden view had his heart racing and his mouth dry.
On-screen, Su Qingwen reached out a smooth, pale hand, trailing her fingers over the soft bedding.
Just the thought of a strange man pinning her to this bed in a few minutes, spreading her legs, pounding into her — her heart thumped like a drum, cheeks flushed with a feverish blush.
After a few seconds of spiraling thoughts, she remembered something and grabbed her old phone, tapping quickly.
At the same moment, Lin Feng's new phone buzzed.
Message from Little Raindrop: I'm here. When will you be here?
Lin Feng's lips curled into a cold smirk — didn't reply.
Instead, he switched to his regular WeChat and sent Su Qingwen a message:
Senior Sister, I miss you. What are you up to? (shy.jpg)
In the monitor, Su Qingwen's phone buzzed.
She picked it up, saw it was from "Lin Feng," and instantly broke into a smug smile — not sweet, but victory smug.
She typed back fast:
I'm in the dorm. Had tons of classes today, kinda tired. Junior, sis misses you too! Yesterday, your kiss was so sudden, it left me flustered — that was my first kiss, you have to take responsibility! (shy.jpg)
Lin Feng's smirk deepened.
Nice.
Here she was, sitting on a five‑star hotel bed waiting to get pounded by some guy, and still managed to string him along as the "backup plan."
Textbook‑level move.
He shot back: Senior Sister, can you send a photo? I wanna see you.
The second that sent, he switched to Ferry Me, Not Her and fired off another:
Phone's on the table by the window. Brand‑new. It's yours.
Both messages arrived at nearly the same time.
In the video, Su Qingwen's phone buzzed twice.
When she saw the note from Ferry Me, Not Her, her heart lurched — she practically leapt off the bed and sprinted to the window.
Sure enough, there lay a shiny, still‑sealed fruit‑brand phone. Next to it, the receipt plus two‑year screen‑insurance, total price boldly listed: ¥18,000.
Her breath caught.
Eighteen grand?!
That was a fortune. She'd slave away all summer doing part‑time jobs and barely scrape together two grand.
Four years of college, skipping holidays, eating nothing — she still couldn't afford a top‑spec phone like this.
But now? Lie on this bed, let Ferry Me, Not Her go wild on her for one night, and she'd get it easy?
The idea of being played by a stranger all night made her feel slick between the legs — fear mixed with an urge she couldn't suppress.
Then she thought — her dorm mates who knew "stuff" always said guys love to brag.
Eight times a night, an hour each time? All lies. From kissing to undressing, half an hour max, real action maybe five minutes.
Two or three rounds and they're out like dead pigs.
So, a few minutes of being used in exchange for a ¥18,000 phone?
Totally worth it.
Her mood soared, nerves and worry vanishing.
Humming a tune, she gleefully unwrapped the phone like she wasn't getting a device, but a jackpot.
Soon, the brand‑new pastel‑pink phone was in her hands.
Its metal surface gleamed, sleek lines and cool touch screamed luxury and exclusivity.
She powered it on, stared at the crisp, gorgeous startup animation, and felt like she was floating.
Already she was imagining tomorrow back in the dorm — casually whipping out this just‑released top‑spec model, watching the envy and jealousy twist the faces of the girls who usually looked down on her.