"Will there come a day when I see your name in the papers for sold out shows?"
Eyes followed the source of that wistful sigh from within the mirror. She slid a teardrop-shaped pearl earring into place. "What nonsense you speak of. Our venue probably seats fifty at most."
Xianxian bristled. "Jiejie." Springing up from the couch, her short bob bounced in emphatic tandem with huffed stride. Both palm and folded newspaper planted down on the vanity. "I'm not speaking of this place, of course. Think bigger! Think..." Leaning in, her words trailed off meaningfully.
Without pausing in preparations, she skimmed the article and accompanying photo. "Ah, that." Red painted lips twitched with the ghost of a smile as the young waitress looked dumbstruck at her tepid response. One would be hard-pressed to not recognize the latest darling starlet and headlining act of the city's glitziest, multistory club - Miss Lulu. Her face was only slapped over all manner of advertisement within department stores and magazines, her intoxicating voice only filling popular radio slots, and her name the talk of many. Entertainers clenching onto piles of stardust dreamt of becoming the diamond Lulu was. To have what she had.
Rosalind, however, was not necessarily one of them.
"Imagine. A larger-than-life banner, your name, all framed in marquee lights..." Xian persisted in trying to sell that golden millet dream. Yet the songstress only laughed while powdering her face.
"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves. I've only had this position for a week, after all."
"Bah, you're no fun." The server girl sulked before heeding the calls outside their shared dressing room door for the evening shift to begin. Yet she perked up enough to wish the woman luck before departing.
Modest. That precious blend of star-studded talent and charming humility was precisely what caught Madam Xu's eye and catapulted Wanmei to an advantageous position within their establishment. Well, that and her timely covering of another performer who suddenly fell ill. She recalled how that silver-tongued devil radiated delight when hearing this latest development. "Well done. To think my little songbird sings sweetly not just beneath me, but on stage too... It sickened her. Both his praises and the increasingly tangled threads she found herself bound by. Not to mention, she failed to see how a slightly more glamorous, albeit distant presence would draw in her intended target more successfully than convenient happenstance encounter. Yet the devil seemed utterly convinced his plans would unfold accordingly. "Xu Wenhong naturally wants what I have. Trust me. He'll be drawn to you."
And so, Rosalind debuted. Perhaps not a figure destined to ascend the highest peak of entertainment or catch the eye of thousands of admirers. That was fine. She only needed to climb high enough to secure her future and she only needed to catch the eye of one admirer. Even so, there was no denying how she was steadily making waves with her poise and talent. A gem by her own right. Evident by how the little waitress earlier could be seen clinging to her skirts often these days, as if too vying for chance to curry favor by basking in the run-off glow of Rosalind's presence.
If they only knew her true circumstances. The cycling masks she was made to don. Would anyone find her enviable?
Wanmei faced the visage of a beautiful young woman reflected in the mirror and framed by golden light as that of a stranger. It felt that way sometimes. Round, doe eyes, glossy like perfect little marbles, certainly blinked back at her whenever she blinked. Plush lips that spun lyrics and speech alike with a certain inflection that charmed others with its slightly exotic flavor seemed the same. There were vestiges of girlish innocence and frolic found within soft features painted alluring with the latest cosmetics and framed by elegantly curled hair. Yet something seemed amiss. The question of Who is Shen Wanmei truly? taunted her with its riddle, an answer remaining perpetually out of reach.
She was a woman of walking contradictions. That was all she knew. But it mattered not. The show must go on, as they say.
Rosalind, the budding performer took to the humble stage for her routine. Sets consisted of only a small handful of songs. Just as well. In all likelihood, her polished presence could be considered merely ornamental and mellifluous voice only background pleasantry to conversations, of deals both illicit and not, which took place among their tables and quiet corners. However, that didn't dim Rosalind's singing in the slightest.
Initially it was intoxicating. Both the acknowledgement and manner in which it was lining her pockets. But on the nights it became too much, on the nights that had Wanmei questioning whether her original intentions remained whole or wholly distorted from the city's tainting grime, she liked to imagine simpler times. On some nights, she could delude herself. She'd pretend she was singing to familiar friendly faces as a record spun on the phonograph. If she closed her eyes, she could even picture her darling Jiaping, head resting on lap with a dreamy look as she hummed songs of their youth. "You'll be the one to sing our future children lullabies, yes? I'll only give them nightmares if I tried."
However, these instances offered more thorns than comforts lately. Reality was inescapable. A gripping reminder of the fact when her gaze happened to alight upon...him.
Not perfectly discernible between distance and the brighter stage lighting and ambient-dimmed shadows of the venue, but identifiable just the same. It was the presence he easily commanded, the rippling effect of others around them as if a stone were suddenly cast into a pond. Her heart stirred into a wild crescendo. Fortunately, Wanmei never missed a beat in her performance, gestures and sways of her body accompanying every sweetly lilting note. Nor did she openly stare at Xu Wenhong. It was only when her medley reached its finale, fading into a smattering of applause that those dark eyes slid his way.
For a tiny eternity, her lips curved into a smile. Something not to be interpreted as solely for him. Her attention was only fleeting before sweeping back over the audience at large. Rosalind lightly bowed, dark lashes sweeping the crests of fair cheeks in lower eyed gesture of demure gratitude. Satin glove adorned hands caressed down the microphone stand, as if fondly bidding farewell to a stage partner before taking her leave.
Her talent. Her beauty. Her charms. Would these be enough? Only time would tell.
The task of stealing hearts was a game of chess between them.
And Wanmei had made her first move on the board for her unknowing opponent.
Friday nights had always been arguably, his favourite time of the week in recent months. Not because it was the obvious time of the week to wind down as they were heading towards the end of it, since his job had no fixed hours given the nature of his trade. Rather, it was one of the few moments of respite he was afforded, as his wife, Xu Sufen (née Hong) - had defaulted Friday evenings as the window for gossips over tea, supper, and a full round of mahjong, with her three other childhood girl friends that had cemented their places into her heart, coming only second place behind the love of her life, Xu Wenhong - or alternatively known as Michael - and her quaint establishment, 玫瑰村 (méi guī cūn - Rose village), which shared the top spot on her podium of priorities dearest to her.
Wenhong and 玫瑰村 were the two most important pillars of her life that defined who she was as a person, and in the latter, she took much pride in having built something right up from scratch.
Sufen toiled and self-funded 玫瑰村 from the very first cent. She always believed it shouldn't have been that way. Her father was filthy rich, and could have sponsored her with a seed fund. But he refused to do so.
玫瑰村 ended up being a statement of defiance against her mogul father, who long had the traditional patriarchal mentality that women should be stay home wives. And most pertinent to him, to bare him grandson - grandsons - that can continue upholding the legacy of the Hong family. Sufen was the fifth and last child, and the only daughter. She was by far, the most successful sibling amongst her other brothers. Yet, her father always had an apparent bias, favouring the four older brothers of hers. This was despite the fact that three of the four turned out to be good for nothings, tainted and proverbially decapitated by sloth, greed and lust respectively. Yet, Sufen was never afforded the full admiration and compliment that she rightly deserved.
Sufen's mother passed on early when she was eight due to a severe case of pneumonia. Since then, she had been living in a testosterone fueled environment, that held a certain set of unhealthy and anarchic beliefs. It was in this lifelong psychological ill-treatment that made her resent her family with a passion, and made her the steel of a woman that she was today. She had resigned to the notion that the world was unfair.
But rather than surrendering to the terms dictated by the world, she had come to a clarity that if she was going to make it out alive and even thrive in the unforgiving society, she could rely on no one else, but herself. The irony, was that she was who she was today, because she inherited the grit and willpower that was most similar and characteristic of her dad.
Sufen hated her father. But deep down, perhaps even to an unconscious extent, she had an inexplicable want to be Daddy's girl, needed to be Daddy's girl. Despite all the injustice she endured, she would go through mindless lengths just to try to please her dad, and try to prove and make him see that she was all that he ever wanted - if only she was a boy, his son. That yearn for fatherly affection was the sole reason why she hadn't already broken off contact with her family, holding onto that faint hope that maybe, just maybe, one day she would earn the respect that she deserved from the man that helped bring her into this world.
For a long time, Sufen was all about that - until she met Wenhong.
It started with a chanced meeting, him stopping by 玫瑰村 to receive some hospitality, as he needed a place to talk business. By the end of that night, Sufen managed to captivate Wenhong into wanting to be a regular patron, as much as he had captivated her with his debonair. Wenhong's paradoxical tasteful brashness reminded her of her father. And in Wenhong, she was able to get lost in a fantasy of what it could have been like to have a man like that that would shower her with the kind of affection that she had longed to receive since she was a baby girl, to be able to constantly coax and pamper her in his strong, protective arms, drowning her in whispers that everything was going to be alright.
Sufen might seemed like a hardy beacon of grace, beauty and independence, much to the envy of many women who admired, or even aspired to be a woman of power in their otherwise, gender misguided society. But at the end of the day, she really was just a girl, who needed someone to lean on. Sufen wouldn't be the woman that she became, if her father had given her what a girl needed.
Shortly after a year since Wenhong was acquainted to Sufen, they tied the knot.
For a while, their relationship was intense and ever-sizzling. At times, too intense. Wenhong was attracted to Sufen's unyielding confidence. She always seemed so sure of what she wanted, and know just what to do. But with that confidence and string of successes, came an air of arrogance that had on numerous occasions, had Wenhong feeling increasingly perplexed and suffocated.
Perhaps Sufen was playing catch up, seeking to enforce dominance over the life of Wenhong as her form of coping mechanism, a means of placating her ever existing inner anxiety of losing whatever fragile grip of control she had over the important aspects of her life. It was one thing to be running her business establishment in the way that she wanted, because she owned it. But Wenhong wasn't her property, but rather, a living being who had his own thoughts, intentions and desire for agency. She even wished to dictate the days of the week she'd prefer that he stuck around town, which was absurd given that he was running a business of his own that required a level of mobility and flexibility that was nothing like running 玫瑰村. Most recently, she suggested that he should consider dropping his trade, as she was confident that she could provide for them.
Wenhong was not having it, as she was literally asking for him to drop his livelihood, all because she was felt a compulsive need to dictate - and for what? He wasn't even sure if her obsession stemmed from her hunger for power, or that she was just simply being insecure. He knew about Sufen's relationship with her family, knew she abhor being treated as second rate, and most recently, he pointed out the irony of her trying to stamp her authority over him in the same way that her dad did to her.
The prideful Sufen did not take it well, irate by the association her husband drew, even though he wasn't wrong at all, and went on a toxic tirade in classic Scorpio fashion, going off tangent at times just to desperately prove and even detract, that she was nothing like her father.
Because as the saying goes, the wife is always right.
Wenhong loved Sufen, admired her remarkable achievements that few women could replicate. At the same time, she had been progressively driving him up against the wall with her princess attitude that had gotten worse of late, along with her knack for being unreasonable. She was taking the notion of a husband should pander to his wife all too literally, and it annoyed and infuriated the hell out of the man, who was himself, a fiercely opinionated Taurus.
Their most recent heated argument happened only just over an hour back, before she left the establishment for her weekly girl's night. Again, she left them hanging on a sour note, fond of using the cold shoulder treatment as her way of getting back at her husband. Sufen knew he hated being ignored, and was probably by far, the most effective method of making him feel pain.
Perhaps that would teach him a lesson and wear him down into submission.
For the rest of the evening, Michael indulged himself more than he would typically do. And by more, it was a modest stick of cigar, and no more than two shots of Gao Liang. He wasn't an abuser of either substances, and generally only consumed them predominantly in times of networking and, or deal making. That night however, he knew he needed the both of them to help dull the ache that his heart and mind was feeling.
The consumption of Gao Liang in particular, had forced him to be less aware of his surroundings, and in an inexplicable fashion, caused his attention to be narrowed, but hyper vigilant towards the female performer on stage. For the man drinking alone by himself, nothing else within vicinity demanded his attention more than the voice of an angel, coming from the Rose of the night, which was essentially what all the performers associated with 玫瑰村 were called - Roses (玫瑰).
Having self taught himself music for a pastime, he was scrutinizing every single note that the lady was pitching and enunciating, as if he was qualified to do so. But he could not even find a single fault with her flawless performance. She was so good - too good to be stuck around wasting her talent at 玫瑰村, he reckoned. Her vocal style wasn't exactly traditional Chinese, as the manner in which she jazzed up her notes, which were much more akin to the western interpretation - of which, he was familiar with, and had previously been exposed to on numerous occasions when he had been abroad to Europe during his trade runs. He then gazed around the vicinity, and scoffed at most other patrons' lack of culture, for not appreciating the work of art that was being played out live right in front of their eyes and ears, and were much more concerned about their own private matters.
Michael felt so sorry for the Rose on stage, that by the end of her set, he led the charge, the first to elicit thunderous claps the moment he smacked his two hands together, both of them arched to form a hollow space between the heart of his palms for maximal acoustic integrity. And just like that, he kickstarted a loud, persisting flurry of applause, even though at least half the crowd blindly followed the commotion. There was a reason why Xu Wenhong was able to ascend and assume a position of power - the man was well liked by many. He understood the nuances of interpersonal relationships, and the greater society at large, and mastered the art of manipulating the phenomenon of social conformity to use it to his own advantage. He could not be classed as a criminal for being a puppeteer of many peoples' mind. But one could not deny the fact that there was something beneath his charm that made him seem like he was not so much as altruistic a person, as he was morally grey, in spite of him being a charitable presence to a few fortunate recipients of his generosity. After all, part of his trade involved stealth imports of opium, despite knowing the harmful effects it could present to a person's body.
As far as he was concerned, money always talked in any day and age. And like many young men, he was simply looking to build a comfortable life for himself in the cutthroat dog-eat-dog world that they lived in. Especially in a rapidly evolving Shanghai, where the authorities could not keep pace with the growth spurt, it was the perfect breeding ground for greed and illicit activities to flourish. Men seeked to harvest the equivalence of a new goldmine unearthed. Like the Californian Gold Rush, it was every man for himself to reap and exploit the opportunities that was presented up for grasp.
His eyes never left the Rose of the night, as he watched her make her way off stage. He had heard in passing that his wife had recently talent scouted a new performer. At that time, he didn't really pay attention. That changed however, when he actually got the chance to listen in on this new recruit, and saw for himself, the beauty that beheld. He supposed the Rose who had just performed was likely the girl that was the latest talk of the inn, as he didn't recognise her from before.
Sufen would normally be livid if he ever tried to start a conversation with any of her Roses, even if his intentions were nothing more than platonic. Socialising was the equivalence of breathing air for the man, who feeds off the energy of others in his external environment. Michael was a highly atypical extrovert, whose usual calm and somewhat cold and stern demeanour had him looking like he was too intimidating to approach for many. He couldn't help it that he was born with a resting bitch bastard face - a very handsome bastard, for that matter.
But that evening, Sufen was out of town. And he had a rare free night to himself, in which otherwise, he would be working his socks off. He found no reason not to look after his own sanity, to give himself an opportunity to live for himself - not like he wouldn't do the same even if his wife was around, for Sufen had already gotten used to the fact that Wenhong was a wild stallion that no mortality crafted leash could keep him in check. Sufen was not anywhere close to yielding, of course. But that night, her absence made things a lot easier for a moment of respite.
Wenhong would justify to himself that he was merely interested in getting to know a new face. Although, he would be lying if he said he wasn't in part, motivated to do so because of her beauty, and of course, talent. He got up from his seat, and made his way over to a narrow corridor that would lead to the back stage. He knew where the dressing room was. But he had enough decorum to allow the Rose of the night some time to herself after her exquisite performance. Instead, he took the back door and drove his black Ford right up until it was by the doorstep.
It was his smart guess that eventually, the Rose of the night would take the back exit once she was ready to officially knock off from work for the night, like how the other Roses would typically prefer to avoid the front crowd and needing to deal with potential creepers, ironically, like himself.
And so Michael waited, and waited. Hands both tucked into his pockets, eyes avoiding the glare of the bright lit facade of the establishment casting onto him and the moonlit floor. It was perhaps, the only time of the night that his sun glasses truly served a meaningful purpose.
Wanmei had found Rose Village itself disorienting initially. Its business front was the idyllic offering of leisurely comforts for travelers and locals alike. Not reflecting the glamorous excess of Shanghai's more luxurious hotels, it instead masterfully stood on the precipice of two worlds - polished and homely. While behind the scenes presented a different picture. Bustling, borderline chaotic at times. It seemed downright miracle that employees required to bring alive Rose Village's welcoming atmosphere didn't crash into one another in the kitchens or backstage, or that order didn't slip through the cracks as to make them seem sloppy. Yet that was only to the uninitiated. Once one truly stepped foot into Xu Sufen's domain, they would learn. This establishment was not run on some shoestring budget or barely contained chaos, it was ruled with silk-iron fist.
Their inn ran with the clockwork precision of a well-crafted musicbox. Their employees were ballerinas spinning to the orchestrated tune of the one who wound the box. Such that even in Sufen's absences, they still turned perfectly.
This was the business acumen and respect Madam Xu commanded. Doubly so by the women under her employ, who enjoyed courtesy not otherwise granted to the fairer sex by male-run establishments. Here, they received fairly generous compensation for their work. Here, they were not paraded as cabaret showgirls, expected to hang off the arms of affluent men and take shot after shot until pressure or distorted judgement saw to them becoming a tangle of limbs and writhing bodies in the beds upstairs. They may have ultimately been on Madam Xu's leash, but these girls were afforded slivers of empowerment which made them revere her.
Wanmei naturally admired her as well. So much so, she nearly wished she could have met Sufen first, of her own accord. Perhaps then she could have carved out the Shanghai success story she had dreamed of, without puppeteer-influence of any man. Instead, Wanmei was destined to bite the hand that seemingly fed her. ...Not an enviable position to be in when she considered how formidable and fearsome the woman was. Wanmei was no country bumpkin that couldn't read between lines or recognize honey-daggered smiles for what they were. No. It wasn't lost on her at all that even her gifted name - Rosalind - was both one which uplifted her to celebrated status while also relegating her to being just another Rose within Sufen's carefully cultivated garden. With it, the message was clear:
Enjoy yourself, but never forget the status-quo.
How fortunate, Rosalind fell into line well.
How unfortunate, that tonight marked an inevitable shift in that.
Slight nods and briefly courteous exchanges in passing acknowledged anyone who addressed her. Heels clicked along polished wood in steady stride rhythm. Internally, she was a bundle of nerves. It wasn't until she entered the dressing room, alone, that the mask of Rosalind the performer fell. She half slunk, bracing against the vanity with a series of trembling breaths. She lifted her gaze to the mirror. The woman who faced her now seemed a proper reflection of herself. Expression wane and uncertain. He had been staring at her.
Of course, he had. Everyone looked her way at least once. But it wasn't only during the performance. She swore she felt his attention linger on her afterwards. Well until she disappeared into the shadows. Or had she only imagined it? Those shade-covered eyes made it impossible to tell.
As the door burst open, Wanmei righted herself and made room for the girls seeking to fix their hair. "Did you hear?" One spoke while reaching for gel. "There was an intense argument coming from Madam Xu's office earlier. She left like a breeze and a little while later...Mr. Xu emerged."
"Eh, her husband?" Dramatic note of surprise hadn't been feigned. It was well-known, in the eyes of the public, how close the power couple appeared. How supportive the husband. Such that some speculated Sufen also ruled her homelife with an iron-silk grip.
"Yes! I swear it's true. Er, at least Mingyue who was cleaning nearby and overheard swears it's true."
Wanmei didn't contribute to the gossip, but she absorbed it with interest while retrieving handbag and coat. It seemed no marriage was exempt from woes or troubles. Should she strike before they become a broken mirror remade then?
Rather than take her immediate leave, she hung back. Tucked around the bend which spilled out onto the main floor, she could safely survey the area. Wanmei contemplated her options. She could venture out under the guise of getting a drink. And if really needed - as she fidgeted with the faulty loose clasp of her earring - a timely slip could further invite cause for approach. Yet none of it mattered. She couldn't glimpse Mr. Xu anywhere.
Just as well. Truthfully, she felt a weight lift from her chest. Pure relief at the notion no further plans could commence tonight. And so it was with decided comfortably elegant stride, Wanmei took the usual back exit.
A slightly strong breeze grazed fingertips, caressed cheeks, and tousled hair like the touches of a playful lover. Yet it carried enough of Shanghai's autumnal chill that Wanmei tugged the jacket tighter around her frame. That evening's dress could be seen peeking beneath a worn-looking hem. Dress gloves had been left behind, leaving her slender hands bare. The prized little Rose appeared like she stood at the twilight of glamorous and ordinary. But this hazy armor suited her well. It was ill-advised to wander streets with potential pickpockets appearing as if one were draped in many precious jewels. Only the feathered hairpin and earrings adorned the woman now. Of which she intended to remove shortly.
She hadn't noticed him straightaway. She took the short steps staring at her shoes, until a shinier pair entered her periphery and Wanmei staggered to a halt. Her head snapped up with a sharp gasp. "Oh my!," a hand flew to her mouth, "you frightened me." A little vapor cloud accompanied her soft laugh, aiming to soften in turn the startle of this unexpected encounter. In truth, his presence had beyond rattled her.
Who would've thought that the fly would come to the spider so readily, and so soon?
It wouldn't be unreasonable to presume a man of Xu Wenhong's status would be with entourage, if not for the sake of posturing and security. But that he enjoyed the show alone and now stood before her alone, spoke of another reality. The young woman took a second to let her gaze rake over him.
His casual posture said easygoing. His suit with its dapper finery and well-fitting layers said meticulous. His eyes...well. Those sunglasses invited no insight as to his inner world. And perhaps that concerned Wanmei most of all. For regardless of the expression he wore upon his handsome face, she would not know exactly how he regarded her. Whether he was assessing her as deeply as she had been attempting to assess him.
Even so, they were strangers. And so, she should play the part well by not letting recognition color her features as easily as a neighboring light washed them in flickering neon-red. She shouldn't presume he'd been standing around for her.
"Are you waiting for someone?" Still faintly clutching her jacket shut, Wanmei half-turned to glance back at the door. Then, in twisting mockery of her earlier planned artless bait, an earring slid from her lobe. The pearl bounced from shoulder, to arm, onto the ground between them.
Wenhong found the initial contact mildly amusing. So much so, that it elicited the faintest, briefest of a lob-sided smirk off the left of his lips.
"For a lady who had managed to compose herself so well on stage, it is almost sinfully delightful that I have successfully wrecked her nerves, even if for a fleeting moment." The man teased in the most nonchalance of manner. It was that stingiest of emotional affordance he could spare, barely giving her a grin - that same cold front that would have made many wonder if he was actually attempting to be playful in that instance, or if he was being condescendingly sarcastic. "I enjoyed that. Both your show, and the start of this little meet and greet."He casually added on. His posture, ever so relaxed, yet not sluggishly slouching, with his elbows still leaning against the hood of his car. For a man who had traversed along the precipice of death on numerous occasions, not many things in the world seemed to faze him anymore.
Or perhaps it was through those experiences, that he had gained a certain clarity about the meaning of life, and how best to live one.
Keep calm. Only with a clear mind, would you be fit to take on what the world has in store for you.
Evidently, you're doing it right if you've lasted this long and are still alive.
If you're meant to go, you're meant to go.
What have you got to lose, really?
Your trade empire? Your family?
If Wenhong were to be honest, he wasn't as hard pressed or obsessed about holding onto power in the way most lords seemed to be. He was one to think of Emperor Qin Shiwang's obsession with immortality, and by extension, his grip onto his power and legacy, absurd. If it does come to a point in which he is going to be staring at the face of death, knowing that he is going to lose all that he had built, he would take full comfort in knowing that he had made the most of his years, and had lived a good life.
Would he fear that harm would befall on his family one day? His only family, was Sufen. Wenhong grew up an orphan who never stood a chance in being able to trace his biological roots, not when there wasn't any proper documentation done when he was homed into a makeshift orphanage that no longer existed, aged three years old. Sufen was daughter to one of the most influential figures in Shanghai. He knew she hated her father. He also knew, that her dad was a man who had a compulsive need to maintain the face value and integrity of his family, the Hong legacy. He knew her father would do everything in his power to keep his daughter safe, in the event if he himself was called to depart the world by god's will. Call it complacency. But Wenhong truly believed he had nothing to lose.
His reckless confidence had seeped into every aspect of his life. His youth, coupled with a lack of experience encountering and dealing with traumas, poisoned the purity of his confidence, transforming it into a double edged sword named arrogance.
He appeared without an entourage, because the man himself grew up on the streets. He learnt their ways. It was literally his entire childhood. That was how he got to where he was - the lifelong practice of soft and hard skills key to maintaining his survival, and the network to reach out to the right people which served as a comfortable buffer, allowing him to hold onto his status. Call him foolish. But he honestly believed he had known and seen it all, had himself a solid nexus of an empire that possessed a bird's eye view of the system that he lived in, and that he was invulnerable.
Then again, he had only been dealing with men in his profession, men who acted and thought like him. Years of falling into routine had him formed presumptions that had turned procedurally automated and at times, unconscious. That had made him oblivious to the possibility of the threat of seemingly innocuous women, which might well turn out to be unsuspecting, invasive species of weed that could devastate his flourishing crop field and ecosystem.
"Are you waiting for someone?"
"I am, actually." Before he could elaborate, he watched her earring bounced off her form, and onto the tarmac ground the separated their feet. The odds were stacked against him. Stances and circumstances had all aligned in place, convincing the man that the only right thing to do, was to move himself away from his beloved drive, and be a gent. He got down on a squat which looked to have stretched his tailored thigh hugging pants, that seemed like it could potentially test the integrity of the sew work desperately keeping his fabric intact. Thankfully, his pants did not split after he managed to get back up on his feet, with her accessory at hand.
But instead of just handing over the milky white pearl, he took it upon himself to refit the jewelry back onto her ear on her behalf.
The man closed in, with his beefy firm hard chest encroaching into her space, gently pressing against the side profile of her bicep. Clearly, he wasn't afraid of any potential backlash. He acted on his spontaneous intention with blatant disregard for fear, a signature characteristic of him that constituted a part of his reputation. Act first, think later.
His fingers felt a little calloused, but his touch was nimble. Going beyond the call of chivalry and duty, he even applied further pressure to bend and reshape the metal hook into a deeper curve, so as to ensure that it will not fall off again as easily, at least, in the near future. In the midst of all that he was doing, his thumbs and indexes massaged against her earlobe, her pinna, tenderly, in stark contrast to his resting aura of danger, packed with a sense of ominosity.
"You." Wenhong only completed his full sentence, after ensuring that her earring was latched back in place. "I have been told a new rose arrived at Rose Village no longer than a fortnight ago. I wanted to see for myself."
"You don't belong here." He then released his fingers off from her auricle, but only added on later with an unnecessary long pause, which involved him moving away, and over to the passenger side of his Ford. "I mean it in a good way."
"My wife is not exactly a personable figure. There is no doubt the women of Rose Village hail her for providing them with opportunities with fair dignity that no other places could offer."
"Still, I don't really agree with how she treats her employees as if they are all strictly business associates. Call it a difference in styles of leadership, if you may. I would, on my part as a stakeholder, like you to feel like you're part of our family."
"Do you by any chance, happen to be one for supper? I suspect you might be famished, if you hadn't already gotten yourself something to tide you through your performance." Wenhong said that, with his hand already opening the door to the passenger seat. There wasn't an explicit invitation for her to hop on. But the non-verbal gestures were clear as day about his intention.
Misplaced flash of white on dark pavement had her returning gaze drop. Wanmei's heart followed suit. For just as she made to retrieve the earring, he did so in her stead. A protest formed and died on her lips. Bereft of voice at the sight of one of Shanghai's elite deigning himself in this manner. For her - a common girl playing at one more glamorous. Yet how becoming he looked while doing so. Just as she stood at a twilight of contradictions, Wenhong seemingly stood at his own. He wore it well. Not only crisp suit finery straining along a body strongly honed by who-knows-what manner of struggle and violence, but the modesty that came with crouching in gentlemanly instinct.
He rose at last and her eyes rose with him. She reflexively held her hand out for the pearl with a fitting, "Thank you", only for him to ignore it completely. Wenhong encroached upon her personal space in such a way that had her breath hitch and the little hairs on her body stand on end. Was he really-? Her palm came to gently grasp at his wrist. "You don't have to do that." But just as her touch yielded no convincing force in prying him away, his own brooked no argument in slipping on and adjusting the little gem. And now poor Wanmei was effectively...trapped.
No matter how her mind begged, she simply could not remove her hand from him. And so she was resigned to feel every minute twitch of his wrist as he worked. And not only this. Evening chill nipping at her left contended with the bodily warmth at her right. Close enough to invite guesses as to what firmness lied beneath fine wool or tweed. Close enough that his very scent tickled her nose. Just as Wanmei's perfume likely tickled his own, adorning her pulse points like hidden intimate secret with its notes of rose, jasmine, sandalwood, and geranium. Bared further to him with the slightest neck tilt as the woman slid into accommodating obedience. Every brush of fingertips along her soft lobe sent minute electric tingles through her, warming Wanmei from within. With every ticklish endurance, a faint blush formed and spread like watercolor along ivory canvas. From ear, to neck, to apples of cheeks.
Wenhong's very nearness paralyzed her with indescribably hypnotic effectiveness. It shamed her to the core.
To think the one who should have been netted by her had netted her instead.
She had wanted to fix her attention elsewhere. Yet Wanmei found herself seeking his attractive profile. Taking in closely the sharper angles of his face as best she could in current position. She once again lamented the shades concealing him. Not only for disadvantages given, but because she simply wanted to know. What did his eyes look like? How did they look especially right then?
"You."
"Me?" She echoed in daze. Achingly tortuous tenderness came to pass and now she regarded Wenhong with intrigue and faint confusion. Ah. Right. He had more or less confirmed the suspected obvious by coming to see her. Wanmei's pout curved into a gracious smile. "Is that so? I'm honored then. I was told Mr. Xu does not often come view our shows." She had suspected reasons for that too. Certainly it wouldn't reflect well if Madame Xu's husband made regular habit of admiring her Roses. He was a treasure solely her own and those flowers were not his for the picking.
"You don't belong here."
The dainty palm curled along his wrist twitched. Oh, how Wanmei's practiced smile faded and eyes widened with poor practice honesty. Alarm bells once muffled by molasses-heavy captivation now rang with shrill clarity. Had he somehow known? Her touch withdrew, miraculously slowly and not in burning recoil. She kept her voice leveled though uncertainty still bled through. "How do you mean?"
"I mean it in a good way."
"My wife is not exactly a personable figure. There is no doubt the women of Rose Village hail her for providing them with opportunities with fair dignity that no other places could offer."
She relaxed. Handbag shifting to rest before her stance in a light, comfortable grip as Wanmei chimed, "What you say is not terribly surprising. However, I've come to see this city to not only be a land of plentiful opportunity, but one of carefully protected interests as well. So I take no offense and am immensely grateful for Madam Xu just the same." Indeed. The respect threading her tone was genuine.
"Still, I don't really agree with how she treats her employees as if they are all strictly business associates. Call it a difference in styles of leadership, if you may. I would, on my part as a stakeholder, like you to feel like you're part of our family."
Family? How endearingly intimate. How deviously ensnaring. She had spent time enough in Shanghai to know perfectly wrapped kindness to often be illusion.
"Do you by any chance, happen to be one for supper?"
Wry amusement danced across her countenance at his phrasing, on the cusp of slipping into laugh. "I do indulge every now and then. Chenghuangmiao's food stalls can be especially tempting when passing through."
"I suspect you might be famished, if you hadn't already gotten yourself something to tide you through your performance."
Men could be such assured creatures, resting comfortably on their cleverness and laurels. How comically easy rationale sometimes flew out the window when a pretty woman was involved. When they instead chased after baser wants. He really didn't know. An irony wasn't lost on Wanmei. That if a revolver resided within her purse, this job could end in a flash. Yet the Devil she was bound to didn't simply want Xu Wenhong dead. No. What he wanted was a most unamicable ruining for all that he possessed and all he desired before leaving behind the mortal world. ...Whatever bad blood existed between these men perhaps ran deeper than merely rivaling gangs.
She glanced to the car's cushy leather interior. Invitingly warm. Another irony wasn't lost on her that many of the girls inside would swoon with envy at the proposition currently before her.
He had opened the door for her. It was effortless. Both the charm he exhibited to sweep Wanmei away and the automatic ease in which she placed her hand delicately in his as if allowing him to do so. Her warmth rested in his palm, a barely there weight akin to a perched butterfly which might take flight at a moment's notice. She could leave with Wenhong. She could see wherever this night's company would take them while working to encompass him in a hazy net of her own.
But she hadn't hopped in. Instead, she turned to him at the last threshold, hand still on his, and with the door between them. A symbolic boundary between propriety and impropriety not yet crossed.
"Your offer is a tempting one. However, I fear it would cost me greatly." She hadn't assumed she would be paying for dinner, of course. Wanmei continued after pause, "That is, I don't wish to breed misunderstanding or be seen as a thieving cat." Although it was more apt to say he could be considered a cat that cannot stop stealing fish. The way she carefully addressed Wenhong and regarded him with knowing twinge rang with implicit meaning.
Gossip traveled fast at Rose Village. Of course she vaguely knew that he and his wife fought. So of course, if anyone were to glimpse them together, alone, it would do neither any favors.
"You are perhaps hurt." She spoke softer still, eyes seeking his sympathetically through shaded cover. Fruitless as it was. "If I can now be considered your family, might I speak frankly, Mr. Xu?" By now her fingertips grazed against the lines of his rougher palm. Exceedingly delicate, idle traces that felt vaguely consolatory for whatever frustrated him prior. "I cannot presume to understand married life, but I expect none are without their woes. Still, one shouldn't act reckless in love." Oh how easily lies poured forth when mingled with truth. "Don't do something you will regret. Let your sinful delights tread no further than enjoying my show and startling me." Referring to his earlier tease, faint humor softened her rejection. "Although..."
Wanmei glanced down. As if realizing for the first time that she had been lightly caressing his palm in the entirety of that discussion. Those motions ceased as a thoughtful look befell her. She recalled how boisterously those hands clapped for her in the lounge with a small smile. "You cheered for my songs so wonderfully. More than any other has. I would like very much to see you in my audience again."
With that, her warmth would recede from Wenhong. And the woman would turn away, considering her sentiment final. To leave behind only the ghost of her presence and not even the trinket of her name for the affluent man to hold onto.
The entire time that Wenhong decided to humble himself by getting down on one knee, there were various intentions. It was unintended, but it wasn't a far fetched idea to assume that the coincidental romantic gesture may well be preordained, that the gesture, which was one diamond ring short of a proposal, was some sort of a precedence that could resurface as déjà vu some time later down their paths ahead, which had just got intertwined, tangling as one. He could not deny the fact that there was a rather strong appeal to the enigmatic rose of the night. At best, he could concur that even though their exchange had been brief, he was already getting good vibes about them. At worst, he could call it the cliche love at first sight.
What the fuck are you thinking?
But Wenhong could never suppress such voices in his head that would often sound out of no where, taking backstabs at his consciousness. He had reasons to believe everyone else would have their own voices of the devil living rent free in their heads. It had to be. That was how he made himself feel better - that everyone else had a mind as despicable as his.
More pertinently, the man was dipping his toes into unchartered waters. He wanted to push boundaries. He wanted to see how the rose reacted. He wanted to see what she was all about. He didn't need words, because he believed the body speaks thousands and it doesn't lie, as with how he had trusted, and used it as vital cues to guide him in his decision-makings, that was core to his everyday work. He had gotten so accustomed to that, it had become an instinctive behaviour, sometimes, even unconscious. And what better way to know a person deep down under, by stressing her up within the confines of her own personal turf?
The firm yet gentle grazing of his fingers against her earlobe was deliberate. The slight lean of his head downwards with his deep, warm breaths gushing against her scalp was deliberate. His chest against her bicep was deliberate. She smelt like a bouquet. In return, he drowned her in his mix of earthly cologne, that was surprisingly overshadowed by his own natural, muskier body pheromones that smelt mind bogglingly masculine, for a lack of a better descriptive for a scent like that. The strength of his scent was the result of the whole day's cumulation of his own bodily secretion. And he smelt fucking good.
But most riveting of all, was her action in response to him consuming her pawn with his own, in their little mental game of chess. She held her breath and froze on the spot. Her dainty fingers blindly and desperately reaching for his wrist like it needed something, anything, to hold on to her dear life, needing comfort and support to deal with whatever spike of endorphins that had transiently flooded her body like a natural disaster. She was shaken at the lost of her pawn. The first blood was drawn. It was early days. But boy it felt so good with that little victory.
She likes me.
Cheap thrills, which felt very much like butterflies in the stomach that was most characteristic during an innocent, flirtatious chase of cat and mouse. 'Like' might, or might not be an overstatement. But it didn't matter. His arrogant self refused to believe anything less otherwise. He truly believed the manner in which her body unconsciously pulled him in, and the soft but vibrant pink that increasingly flushed across her face, painted the story he preferred to hear, period.
And then, her neck tilted. It was the first time he truly understood what it might feel like to be Dracula, the mythical spawn of darkness he had read about in passing from the western literature, which he thought it to be absurd. It was fiction. Yet, he could empathise. He felt an urge to want to sink his teeth into her neck, right then and there. It was spurred by the combination of many things arousing - beauty from sight, aromatic perfume from olfaction, her soft porcelain skin from touch. In that moment, suddenly he craved the full package, wanting to know how she tastes like. And then perhaps when he had sunk his teeth, may he be able to cap the complete sensory experience - by coaxing her sweet, sweet sound of lust, of which he could only rely on imagination at that moment in time.
Following which, they were engaged in a verbal stalemate, and Wenhong was none the wiser about Wanmei’s ploy and cruel intention behind all her pleasantries and willingness to indulge him. He was blinded by beauty, and his heart was at two distinct places. That led to that fleeting, uncharacteristic moment, in which he missed that hint of sudden anxiety in her tone and demeanour, when he told her that ‘she didn’t belong here.’
"Your offer is a tempting one. However, I fear it would cost me greatly." "That is, I don't wish to breed misunderstanding or be seen as a thieving cat."
Shame. But he knew she had every right to be cautious and wary. It was difficult for him to conjure a response when he himself was caught at a crossroad. Should he pursue the matter? But he was aware of the consequences that might befall on her, on them, but more so on her. His indecision to press stemmed from not wanting to drag the rose into trouble. As for himself? He wasn’t as concerned. Sure, he might get a severe tongue lashing, and probably more. But for a man who had cheated death before, he wasn’t afraid of what may follow. There was always going to be some way around any mess that his level of wit would guide and inspire him to skirt around any predicament he might encounter with finesse.
"You are perhaps hurt."
What?
If he wasn’t already gobsmacked enough, Wanmei caught him completely off guard. It took her mentioning about his marriage that he realised what she was referring to. If he were to be honest, he hadn’t been aware that he was hurt until she reminded him that he was in fact, hurt. Wanmei was that potent of a distraction, so much so that he found comfort in her, which made him forgot all that had happened to him only earlier that evening.
He had so many things he wanted to say. However, his thoughts were all in a jumbled mess, as he had too much to unpack. But before he could utter even a single one of it, she bid him welfare and left.
He really wanted to speak his mind, but found his words clogged within his throat, refusing to come through. The rose spoke the truth, which was why his conscience prevented him from speaking. But his ego would not rest, after being bruised by her successful attempt at unlocking his mind. He felt utterly vulnerable, that she could read his thoughts like that. No one has ever quite managed to do so with him in a while, because he was so good at keeping his emotions in check, which made him unpredictable to his adversaries. Had he exposed his state of mind too much in the presence of this rose? How very reckless, he chastised himself.
But he couldn't help it.
There was something about this lady that had managed to weaken his resolve and defences. He could not pin point exactly what and why, could not put them into words at that moment in time. All he knew, was that Wanmei was something. Wanmei gave him something fluttery that he hadn't felt in a long time. And it felt right.
He was driving homebound, one hand on the steering wheel. There was a growing sense of unease and discontent, and that something didn’t sit right about how the rose of the night had turned him down, despite the build up of palpable tension between them during their earlier interaction.
It was in that moment of solitude, that he was able to replay in mind their interaction and reanalyse her responses, verbal and non-verbal, with greater scrutiny. It was only then he had the clarity to conclude that her mind and body were in two complete separate realms the entire time. The physical tension was unmistakable. The way she clung onto him like he was her safety float amidst a sinking ship not once, but twice, convinced him that she was feeling what he was feeling.
What on earth was she playing at? If she genuinely meant what she said about not wanting to stir the hornet's nest, then what was all that physicality about? 狐狸精 (hú li jīng). He scoffed at the revelation. Or at least, he interpreted all that had transpired that way.
The more he thought about it, the more he was fuelled to give Wanmei a piece of his mind. He wanted to have the opportunity to throw back his flurry of punches after she had resoundingly brought him down to his proverbial knees. His pride would not let him resign to the idea that he had been on her hook the whole time.
He wanted a rematch. He knew he wasn't going to sleep well that night if he let the matter go unaddressed. If a game of chess was what she wanted to play, he would bring it to her.
So he turned his drive around. Chenghuangmiao's Food stalls, she said? Chenghuangmiao's food stalls he went.
Chenghuangmiao's stalls were essentially situated at a massive, bustling plaza that ran deep into the night. It was one long street, straddled by rows of restaurants, with a few gambling and entertainment venues in the surrounding periphery. At first, it felt like a monumental task if his intention was to attempt locating the rose of the night in a sea of grey.
So he relied on his gut instincts, which rarely ever failed him.
A crowded place was probably the last thing she wanted to be in. She hinted that she hadn't had dinner, and with it being so late into the night, she probably would wish to settle down somewhere and get a bite immediately. She did not come across as someone who splurges, judging from her choice of apparels and accessories, which weren't overdone like most, if not, all other roses that were not just drawn, but all too eager to flaunt their material things. So, a quaint, affordable restaurant. That would narrow down the plausible options by a lot. Truth be told, he was making massive assumptions. But his instincts were what that defined him, and was one of his key attributes that made him the success story that he was. That evening, he hoped it was one of those instances again, which he was accurately tracing her line of thoughts. Failing which, it could well be a sign that they did not possess any 缘分 (yuán fèn), which might effectively convince him to drop the subject, thinking heaven’s willed that they were never meant to be.
As it turned out, the stars insisted on aligning.
After squeezing his Ford through the crowded street for a good quarter of an hour, his eagle eyes very fortuitously spotted her out of the crowd from a certain distance, due to her standout apparels that looked a class above common rags, which was comparably flashy and stood out from the common plebeians. The bad news, was that Wenhong's drive was stuck at the heart of the painfully slow moving traffic. The good news, was that the rose sauntered into a certain eatery, which meant she might well be there for a while.
It took him at least another good fifteen minutes to park his drive by a more secluded alley some streets away. Eventually however, he managed to return to the target eatery. Upon entering, he treaded lightly and tried to avoid as many patrons and staff of the establishment as possible, weaving strategically and taking the longer corridors. He scanned the main dining hall. And when she could not be found, he ascended the stairs and scoured every private dining room, on the next level, until he eventually found the rose by one far end of the eastern corridor. Her back was facing against him, as he stealth his way into the nondescript room that she was in. His deep, sensual voice suddenly pierced through the air from behind the lady, breaking the serenity of the room.
"You asked me to not do something I will regret."
Wenhong paused, closing the sliding door with a latticed window, panelled by sheets of paper, behind him, before he made his way to one side of the wooden square table perpendicular to her spot, then settled himself down. Laid out in front of them, was a modestly sumptuous spread of bamboo steamers containing a selection of dim sum, and a pot of Pu Er tea.
"I’m here to tell you, that letting you get away by ditching me the way you did without allowing me to speak brought me deep regret." He paused. Seeing that there was a spare empty cup on his side, he helped himself to a serving of tea, but not before he helped to replenish hers. In that moment of null talking, the sound of pouring liquid was the only line of defense against awkward silence. His motion was slow and composed, perhaps even lethargic, as there was no intend on his part to rush anything.
"How bold of you to assume I had underlying intentions." Of course he did. But no way in hell was he ever going to admit his intentions. And it was almost convincing in his act, that he felt wronged. Yet, every single word that he spoke, and proceeded to speak, was specially curated to be ambiguous, guised under sprinkles of truth, right before they came out of his lips. He did not admit to anything, nor did he lie.
"I was extending you a dinner treat, because it is the human thing to do, knowing you hadn't already eaten."
"Do you actually think every man that walked up to you had no other intention than to get into your panties? Placing yourself high up on the pedestal, are you?" He was blunt, possibly even crude. But he said it with such calmness; his tone, eerily tender; that it blunted the edge of his words and attenuated any effect to humiliate her. Wenhong thought the lady deserved a little bit of a humble pie. He meant no malice. But by the gods did he feel the inexplicable urge to pull her leg after what she had put him through.
Why? The stars aligned perfectly so to guide the path ahead. So why did Wanmei let him go so easily? With unwarranted advice and well-intention no less.
...No. She wasn't nearly noble enough for the latter to ring more than hollow gesture. At least to herself. It might not be so difficult for a smitten man to think otherwise. Women at their core should be chaste and virtuous. And these ideals were rather digestible when paired with the mannerisms of a gentler woman, shy and cautious in her reservations. They complemented well deceptively virgin-like blush and bright doe eyes not yet dimmed or sharpened by life's adversities. As if pieces of who Wanmei once was remained untouched, not trafficked to dreams that bore monstrously sharp teeth instead of imagined cloud-soft bliss. As if she were pure-hearted enough to afford a man her concern who most certainly didn't need it and was possibly vile to his core.
The answer to her puzzling question lie within inextricable reach. Somewhere beneath beautifully wrapped veneer in the recesses of her mind. It was reflected in a shallow puddle from yesterday's rain not yet evaporated. In the distorted ripples of her own troubled reflection as the descent of her heel hadn't entirely missed.
Xu Wenhong bewildered her.
He left her shaken and at ill-ease by her own innate reactions to his physical presence and sentiments cloaked in palatable charm.
And why was this? Wanmei was no shrinking violet. No naive maiden fool enough to believe for even a second that he merely wished her to go far with talent and to spend time together out of the goodness in his heart. Nor was she so weak as to feel faint and aflutter before any attractive man gracing her presence. The fact that she could perceive Wenhong's intentions with laughable ease meant she should be able to cast aside his charm entirely with similar ease. Unfortunately, sensibility sometimes overpowered rationale.
Attraction existed between them. Potent and palpable. Alarmingly so for the meager few minutes they actually spent before one another. Wenhong had invaded her personal space, her senses, and he likely aimed to invade further. With tragic little effort, he wrested the control she had of the situation at hand. He threatened to make the girl produce a clumsy move on the chessboard. So rather than risk doing so, she withdrew. She put the match on pause so that she might puzzle the current set-up and how best to proceed. And so that she might harden her defenses next they met.
He would not catch her off-guard again.
Sumptuous aromas and mingling chatter floated through the air. Stalls beckoned to Wanmei with their tantalizing array of food. Quality and affordability backed by those that crowded around them dining heartily. The glow from hanging lanterns bathing them all and further invoking a sense of togetherness no matter how the patchwork quilt of the city's denizens differed. Any other evening, Wanmei might've found herself nestled among them. She had made a game of sampling their offerings and in the process, discovering new favorites or drawing associations. The cu chao mian there? Why, she imagined Jiaping would love them and made a mental note to bring him when next he visited. And the ci fan tuan over there? They vaguely reminded her of a similar treat back home, but the mingling flavor profiles and textures rendered it uniquely Shanghai's own. Tonight, however?
She wandered past them all in listless daze. Lively, bustling sounds dampened to faint din from the buzz of her thoughts. Wanmei's inner world had been knocked off-kilter and what she sought now was a warm, quiet place to be alone in proper. Somehow she had found it within a restaurant. Not one previously unknown to her. And so she knew to ask if a specific dining space was available. Its privacy came with the disadvantage of costing a bit more, but for current circumstances she was willing to forgo coin pinching this once. She handed off her coat so the servant may hang it nearby and slid into a lacquered chair with a sigh.
There was tragic little relief in solitude. Before her, dumplings and buns meant to sate hunger instead made her stomach knot. Wanmei set down her chopsticks to instead let the tea soothe. But even its normally smooth flavor turned bitter on her tongue. Ah, was she was too hasty? What if she deterred him from seeking her permanently, what then? She grimaced to consider how her unsavory benefactor might take the news. Yet he was partly to blame for failing to provide adequate advice on how to go about this game. She was not as masterful at weaponizing seduction as he. With concentrated effort, she shoved a dumpling into her mouth. If only Wenhong—
"You asked me to not do something I will regret."
Poised chopsticks froze in air. That voice... Was this illusion? Or had her turmoil made him manifest? She resisted the urge to quickly whirl around and verify. She barely needed to. A mere turning glance revealed it not to be ghost or figment, but man in flesh. He found her? Wanmei's wide eyes faintly trembled. As if feebly daring him to not move. To not come any closer. Casually slow and methodical steps carried Xu Wenhong to her side anyway. Heavy thumps of her heart resonated with each muted thump of finely polished shoes.
"I’m here to tell you, that letting you get away by ditching me the way you did without allowing me to speak brought me deep regret."
All she could do was watch as he topped off her brew and then helped himself. Speechlessness had a way of transferring like airborne infection between them. Now it seemed her turn to again be afflicted. ...At least she possessed excuse of a full mouth. Wanmei chewed slowly, brows knitted in such a way to voice her bewilderment and caution. The breath she took after swallowing was deep. Visible in the rise of her chest as if bracing for anything and everything.
"How bold of you to assume I had underlying intentions." Utensils were set down. With what was to be a gentle clink, but rang somewhat harshly in contrast to the irksomely eloquent way he carried himself.
"So you say. Yet how easily you found me." Wanmei was all too conscious of shifting tides. Tides he commanded which could stir her into profuse blush or apology. Instead, she shifted into an appraising, narrowed stare that volleyed an accusation his way - had he followed her? Palms smoothed over the front of her dress before coming to rest in her lap. It was then, shame-faced, she realized that she herself laid the breadcrumbs to present predicament. That it was that, and perhaps machinations of fate, strokes of luck, and Wenhong's own prowess that brought him here. She knew better but he still made her feel a tad foolish. Her gaze fell to the table. Immersed in ribbons of steam rising from their respective, adjacent cups. Swirling in the air, they brushed against one another and nearly merged into one.
"I was extending you a dinner treat, because it is the human thing to do, knowing you hadn't already eaten."
"Ahh." A drawn lilt in response, vaguely dismissive of Wenhong's claims. She retrieved her cup, and with palm placed beneath and lowered gaze poise, lifted it to her lips.
"Do you actually think every man that walked up to you had no other intention than to get into your panties?"
Cough! Wanmei scrambled to set the cup down, lest the brew spill over its edges from her shake. The expression which cut his direction was the most guileless of hers yet - scandalized sulk and as if the little rose had concealed thorns in the way of some choice words for him. High-rolling gangster be damned. He was spared by her needing to lightly pat the base of her throat and hold a napkin to her mouth. She however, was not spared. He continued as her coughing fit petered out. "Placing yourself high up on the pedestal, are you?"
"Well...no." Her tone took on a slightly huskier quality in its hoarseness. Soon remedied as Wanmei took a long sip of tea. This time, without incident. "But Mr. Xu, you must recognize that it is the extraordinariness of it all which makes it not difficult to conceive. That you should have waited outside for a while, in the chill, for me. And that you then wished to invite me out, alone, when, as far as my knowledge, you have not done so for any other Rose in the villa prior. Can I be blamed?" One by one, in gentle-patient cadence, she drew attention to the inarguable fact that Xu Wenhong had waited for and then ultimately chased her down. She had done this rather than feigning grace and letting his prideful feathers go unruffled. However, just as he cut her down to smaller size in crude-tender tease, something in that exchange remained airily light as to prevent it from sinking deeply into his skin like sharp barbs.
Somehow, this banter did not feel like their first. A peculiar camaraderie. As if this man had needled her in a past life and she was obliged to bristle with a wry candidness only afforded to long-time companions.
"What's more, you're failing to consider another possibility." Hands wrapping around her cup, she leaned forward slightly to hold his shielded gaze. Her own enigmatically smiling features reflected in those tinted glasses. She waited with pregnant pause for Wenhong to motion for his drink. "That it is I you should be wary of. Maybe I would've taken advantage to get into your pants."
Poor counterattack in the vain hopes of seeing an unruffled man ruffle as she had?
Naturally.
Whether he provided a satisfactory reaction or not, it signified another shift. One in the form of Wanmei's expression crinkling with amusement no longer able to be kept at bay and the sound of her bell-like laugh shattering the last of an ambiguous tension surrounding his unexpected intrusion on her dining.
She was much more relaxed as she sat back with a decisive exhale. "Alright."Let us pretend like a couple of fools, then."I have painted you unfairly. Your vast humanity is impressive and has touched me deeply. So, go on and join me, Mr. Xu. It's dreadfully boring to eat alone anyway. Although, I do have a couple of requests, if I may. Since I am no longer on stage, feel free to just call me Wanmei." The notion gave off an air of casual intimacy, although as far as the woman was concerned—
—she was merely donning another metaphorical mask. That of a performer playing at not performing. Troublesome, really. She preferred music and not treacherous improv.
"And the second..."
With this request, her voice was especially soft. Barely audible over the muted sound of the chair leg scraping along floor as Wanmei rose. A mere step and a half placed her right before Wenhong. Not exactly towering over his figure, but looking down upon him nonetheless. Doubtlessly, his lap would make a fine perch. But she merely stood at the precarious border of too close and not close enough. The curve of her satin-soft cheongsam adorned hip came to lightly nestle against the table's ledge as she shifted her weight to rest at a slight, casual slant. Then, she reached for him. More specifically - his sunglasses. With restrained breath and great care, she slowly removed them. The process a measured one more so due to apprehension of this gambled risk not penning out favorably. Yet it too bore an intimacy, not terribly dissimilar to how he fixed her earring. Especially when her fingertips skirted with prolonged graze along his temples.
"There. If I reveal myself to you, then it is only fair that you shouldn't improperly conceal yourself before me, don't you think?" Wanmei smiled and bade the wild flutter in her chest to settle while carefully folding and setting aside the glasses. "Indeed. It should be a crime to hide such a charming gaze."
At last his eyes were revealed. Clear, but dark. Pupils akin to deeply enigmatic vortices that threatened to swallow her whole the longer she gazed at him. Or had it been that encompassing presence of his, hints of masculine warmth and scent keeping her momentarily rooted instead of retreating into her seat.
Even when the sliding door opened, allowing some neighborly dinning cacophony to pour into their space as the server checked in, Wanmei couldn't move. She startled, but didn't move. "Another set, if you please." She requested, doe gaze unable to leave him. Coincidentally, her current stance eclipsed Wenhong's more identifiable features, allowing her gentleman companion remain unknown as the server left for more bamboo steamers and dishes.
The door closed and again shut off the world. And there was the notion that with it, she should shut off whatever manner of strangeness made her forget herself and throat go dry. Fingers brushed almost self-consciously along the embellishments of her high collar, suddenly feeling as if they were too constricting. "What else brings you to seek your wife's employee's company tonight? Are you reluctant to go home?" She asked suddenly, turning around to return to her space. An attempt at conversation directed away from herself and tension-rife atmosphere. Squarely at him.
One of the first things he paid attention to, was not so much her mesmerising face - as much as it was supremely tempting to indulge and savour the eye candy -, but that of her body and facial reaction. He had already previously been rehearsing the tongue lash that he was dying to mete out to her, and the anticipated reactions that will likely come from her when he was weaving his way around corridors. And sure enough, much of it happened as he predicted - the sudden tenseness of her body that betrayed her grace; the display of subtle fear in her dilated eyes that mocked the facade of composure she held the entire time up until that moment; the elaborate manner in which she heaved her chest after swallowing her food, like he was stealing her every breath away.
Strangely enough, despite having already experienced countless of it as a serial winner, he could not explain why, but victory never tasted so sweet. Tormenting the rose felt especially satisfying. Perhaps it was that nonchalant smugness on her face that he felt she wasn’t worthy of donning, at least, not with her showing so far. Wenhong was a very competitive individual. And Wanmei was igniting the spirit of contest in him.
"So you say. Yet how easily you found me."
"I never had the intention to find you, until you gave me a reason to do so." "I'm sorry that you have the ability to haunt my mind."
Then, she went on to try to justify her presumptions. He went quiet, not because he could of think of any rebut, but because his eyes were drawn to the distinctive cherry red lips of hers, elegantly moving in speech. They bewitched him, as he watched them fidget and dance along with her tongue ever so sensually. Inevitably, his wild male mind wandered into the realms of the dark side, as it was all so humanly natural for a healthy heterosexual and testosterone fuelled man.
Her lips look good. Does it feel good as well? Uughh. Get a grip of yourself.
He needed the persistent yapping of her voice pelting against his consciousness, to drag him out of the frying pan of his transiently prisoned mind, only to land right into the line of fire of her accusations. The lady simply would not allow him to rest in his laurels. And that stirred him to life.
"Please. Call me Wenhong. It is because of the little subtleties, such as this formality, that gives the impression that we are distance apart in two separate realms. I may be your boss, in the broadest sense. But I did not ask you out in that context, rather, as your friendly colleague of equal stature. Can't a colleague have a meal with a colleague? The female mind has a way of overthinking things, don't they?" Wanmei might be right with her interpretation of his intentions. That didn't mean he needed to admit that she was right. Instead, his cards were still well concealed in his hands, and she was blind to them. As such, there was no reason why he should not attempt a bluff, play a little gaslight even maybe. After all, the man wasn't exactly a white horse. Wenhong then could not resist pausing for a chuckle, as her subsequently presented arguments were weak, if not, absurd to him, given that he had encountered countless predicaments that were far worst than the features of autumn. "And do you honestly think the chill would ever bother me?" He supposed he could give her the benefit of the doubt for being none the wiser about his shrouded life.
"Also, perhaps you've been disappointed before to the point that chivalry is dead to you. But can't a man wait for a woman regardless of his intent, simply because he should do so, as a man?"
Wenhong then poured himself a second serving of tea after he was done with the first, which he had consumed in a single gulp."Lastly… you seem quite informed about me, considering that you have only been around at Rose Village for two, three weeks tops - and we hadn't personally spoken prior -, to know that I hadn't ask any of the other roses out for a meal before."
"Are you stalking me?"
Wenhong thought Wanmei was going on the defence, after her recent tea choke had presumably shaken her core. He felt like he was on a roll and was having too much fun. He certainly wasn't ready to give up capitalising on the opportunity to tease-taunt her further. She started the game. He was then motivated to drag her through the mud. Maybe she'll then understand that she had messed with the wrong man.
"Maybe I would've taken advantage to get into your pants."
The man burst out laughing. If not for the fact that he was close to being done swallowing the whole of his second serving of tea, it would be more than just a trickle of caffeine, streaming out of his mouth unceremoniously.
"You're funny." "One moment, you preach fidelity. And the next, you're willing to put your life on the line to do that?"
Come think of it? That actually flatters.
I certainly hope so.
"If that's the case, you have balls of steel." "Perhaps we have much more in common than I ever anticipated coming from a songbird, whose features resemble more of immaculate, delicate porcelain."
"In any case, your story is already crumbling apart spectacularly. You're going to have to up your A game if you ever wish to compete, Little Miss Fumbler."
"if I may. Since I am no longer on stage, feel free to just call me Wanmei."
The first baby steps into intimacy, reciprocated. Wanmei. Perfect, in translation. How often do kids ever grow up to live up to the aspirations of their parents for them? As it stood, there wasn't much of a flaw on first impression that he could pin point out of the enigmatic lady that supposedly arrived mysteriously from the other side of the vast country, as much as he would hate to admit. If he really needed to think of one, perhaps her flaw laid in how she had this natural propensity to get smart and let her mouth run free rein with him a couple of times, within their very limited minutes of interaction already? But was it really a flaw, if he actually relished the fight that she was bringing to him? Wanmei was doing a hell of a job stoking his inner flame. He felt stimulated, alive, as he hadn't felt so in recent past.
Wenhong did not respond immediately, for he hadn't got anything intelligent to say at the moment in time, nor did he feel like he was ready to indulge in her proposition to address her by her name so soon. Instead, his eyes followed her with elevated interest, as she set the scene prior to revealing her second request, which must be important, considering that she actually made the effort to get up on her feet just to speak with him. She gained a little bit of height over his head. But her petite and lithe form coupled with her poise of grace just wouldn't cooperate with any remote intent to appear intimidating, deliberate or not.
Very intrusively, the first abrupt imagery that encroached its way into his mind in relation to their standoff, was...
Wenhong chuckled to himself. No, he was certainly not a red panda by attribute. But Wanmei on the other hand...
Cute.
He entertained her effort to step forth, by tilting himself to an angle that would receive the lady better and meet her in the middle. His breath slowed down considerably, when he felt her silky digits brushed against his skin as she did the unexpected. It was then at that moment that he knew what she was playing, giving him a piece of her own like she had a vengeful spirit, that couldn't let go of what transpired earlier just right outside Rose Village. Oh how he wish it was the prelude to a round of scalp massage, tended by the woman who had managed to captivate his undivided attention for the evening. Instead, he had to make do with the teasing scent of her giddy mix of timber and floral, which was fast becoming highly intoxicating and addictive.
But unlike her earlier reaction, the man of grey managed to hold his composure quite a lot better. As it stood, their unbroken gaze held out to a stalemate.
"There. If I reveal myself to you, then it is only fair that you shouldn't improperly conceal yourself before me, don't you think?"
"Is that it? You preach fairness and reciprocation?" Very calmly, the man took off his hat, and began to peel off his suit, then folded it neatly, stacking his apparels on a pile and had it placed on the vacant chair on the other side of him. But he didn't just stop there. His fingers reached to his top.. no.. top two buttons, and unworked them. What was then exposed, was a hint of his very, very deep chest valley. His skin, looking flawless, and naturally tanned as if he was healthily sun baked. If the depth of his cleavage was a taster of his physique, it wouldn't be difficult to imagine the washboard ridges that very likely resided further down south. "Hope you don't mind if I reveal myself a little more. It is particularly hot in here right now, don't you reckon?" The piping hot tea that they had consumed was certainly enough to keep their bodies comfortable amidst the autumn chill. But to add further heat into the mix through their relentless exchange of proverbial gun fire? Wenhong could well drip a sweat if Wanmei decided to push their battle for any longer. More pertinently, he went on a two prong assault, attempting to corner two of her pieces along two ends of the chessboard, by turning her word against her. To sacrifice pride, or modesty? She had to choose.
Also, the fact that Wanmei had decided to return her very own physical gesture, was a salient albeit implicit greenlight to him that she was very much willing to engage in their game of cat and mouse, despite her initial protest about 'not wanting to cross the line', that was increasingly looking to Wenhong like it was done in pretence, rather than out of actual concern. The vixen was playing hard to get. That conclusion that he arrived at, pretty much established his stance in regards to their rapidly blossoming dynamic - dance on precarious thin ice and let the thrill of the moment sweep them away. Act now, and only worry about the consequences later, that is, if they would ever even encounter any in the first place by treading lightly. It was a non-option for the man who could never resist going against the grain, and had lived on the edge for pretty much his entire life.
"Indeed. It should be a crime to hide such a charming gaze."
"It is a crime that a lady as fine as yourself would have had to spend the night alone. You don't deserve this."
Whilst he had proved himself to be more than happy to get down and dirty with the banters, he actually showed through actual words and actions, that he was a man who reciprocated in kind, doubly so. His eyes did wander immediately down to her left hand to give it a check. No ring. That's a good start, even though he should not even be wondering about the matter as such in the first place. Yet, for the highly emotional Wenhong - despite his cold facade -, it was something he simply could not restrain his mind from venturing into. The man was drawn to the allures of anything that sparked his spirit of adventure. And in Wanmei, he resonated with. He still could not be certain if Wanmei might have gone more traditionally Chinese when it came to indicators of being betrothed, or enroute to being betrothed. For a man who hated beating around the bush, probing her the matter directly was the surest way of getting the answers that he needed. "I heard that you're not from around here. Where is your family?"
***
"What else brings you to seek your wife's employee's company tonight? Are you reluctant to go home?"
The man was on the verge of responding, but found himself putting his words on hold, for there was a matter of greater urgency that had been niggling at him for a while now. Wenhong shuffled his seat over to the sharp bend of the table to shift himself closer to the lady, before he pulled out his handkerchief from the inner pocket of his suit. The man took the liberty to pull Wanmei in towards him by her wrist. With his left elbow on the table and his chest leaning forward to meet her at point blank, he started to wipe off a prominent dark spot of tea stain by the side of her cheek, and another one by the corner of her lips.
Very conveniently as a pitstop, his thumb decided spontaneously why not, making use of the opportunity to graze around those lusciousness, so soft, it tickled. He drew a full circle, then a second, painfully slow. His eyes, focused on nothing else, but her lips the entire time. Once the round trips were completed, his fingers then slipped down and pinched her chin softly, pulling her in even more, almost looking like he might well be preparing to plant a kiss. His warm breath could already be felt gushing against her face - that was how dangerously close he was. But just when he looked like he was going to intrude into the red zone of her personal boundary, he tilted her face to the side, and then brushed away the last of stain mark that somehow managed to find its way to the far bottom side of her facial periphery.
"There. Back to your pretty self."
The man then pulled himself away.
"I am reluctant to go home. And you already know why." Wenhong reminded her that it was she who first made the hinted presumption that he had been involved with a matter of marital woes just earlier. "Shanghai for all its glitz and glamour, is a cesspool of snakes at every corner. Everyone has got their own selfish agenda around here, and are not afraid to do whatever it takes to attain what they want." Wenhong then picked up a pair of chopsticks, and went for a piece of siew mai, dipped it in chilli sauce, before popping it into his mouth.
"You however."
"I feel an air of innocence about in you. Different. Compassion, maybe? Too early to say. Or at least, you were brought up with those virtues in you. And despite your vexing presumptuousness, you're in fact, one with a heart of gold. Actions don't lie." He spoke whilst chewing on his food, but still managed to articulate fairly well.
"Why did you come to Shanghai, Wanmei?" His eyes had for the most part, been more focused on the assorted platter in front of him. But at the mention of her name, his eyes darted to hers, his gaze, earnest, piercing.
"Can't a colleague have a meal with a colleague? The female mind has a way of overthinking things, don't they?"
"He certainly can. But if a woman fails to not consider all manner of intent, she would find herself devoured whole in this city."
"And do you honestly think the chill would ever bother me?"
"Mm. I do not mean to imply you are a spoiled man, weak of heart. But beneath it all you are a man just the same. Susceptible to catching cold like any other."
"Also, perhaps you've been disappointed before to the point that chivalry is dead to you. But can't a man wait for a woman regardless of his intent, simply because he should do so, as a man?"
"Going without is no bother to me. Chivalry is charming. Yet increasingly unnecessary in a time where women can make it on their own."
"Lastly… you seem quite informed about me-"
"Are you stalking me?"
"Oh my. It seems the male mind is capable of overthinking things as well. This might not satisfy your ego, but I am simply unable to shut my ears to workplace gossip." Wanmei was a darling little contrarian through and through. Indulging him in repartee while shooting arrows from the mouth.
Their verbal spar became fast-paced sport. Scalpel-tongued lashings draped in relaxed banter that aimed to trip up or deflate the other. She would be lying to say she hadn't been enjoying herself. Amusement thrilled in her heart like a bird flapping its wings. Her companion seemed to be particularly enjoying himself as well. When he broke into laughter, it made those flapping wings descend with ticklish flutter to the pit of her stomach.
How richly melodious the sound. Even when at her expense. How charming was he with that roguish yet unguarded smile that lit up his features. Enough that she was compelled to prop her chin on curled palm and savor it with softened glimmer. As rumbling baritone faded and Wenhong went on to commend her however, she caught herself. It mattered not how effortless and natural their chemistry. None of it was real. They were not a destined match. Due to her station and lot in life, they would never be equals in any capacity either.
In the end, she wasn't a bird flapping wings in delighted flight. She was a caged pet that this man enjoyed toying with through gilded bars. A fleeting fancy for him. A matter of life and financial stability for her.
Wanmei reconsidered the board. He was on her hook. But he had also advanced considerably. It shamed her to admit she was outmatched - truly a Little Miss Fumbler as Wenhong so humorously declared. Her opponent was a cultivated man clearly well-versed in clever, personable exchanges from his business dealings. It wasn't difficult to imagine him acquiring valuable partners and conquering competitors with impeccable ease thanks to that innate charm of his. Particularly when she herself felt enchanted by him. But she mustn't grow passive. It was time to switch strategy. Words alone were not enough in springing to reasonable defense. She must consider an offense. Physicality was a potent maneuver. An alluring woman's nearness was enough to plant all manner of disruptive thought. To stir the waters in her favor, so to speak.
...
She hadn't counted on this. Any of this. The way his gaze penetrated and beheld her own intimately after undoing its shield. With traces of mockery no less, as if he found her more cute than seductive. Nor the way Wenhong was kindly pliant to her whims while retaining that upper hand with a quiet confidence. He stirred her up instead. "Is that it? You preach fairness and reciprocation?" Rather unfair how the mild timbre of his voice sent a profound shiver through Wanmei. Palpable with their proximity. He made a painfully seductive art in removing his outerwear. Such that the woman became spellbound. She was meant to be the temptress. But her eyes moved in captivated, nonplussed tandem with his every motion. They drank in the sheen of his hair beneath the restaurant's traditional lighting, strands seeming downy soft despite its crop-shaved style. They took in the carve of broader, strong shoulders, and hint of turned back. Muscles which subtly flexed beneath neatly pressed shirt with every shift. And when he dared to slowly undo buttons baring himself further-
Wanmei's hand darted out to prevent the possible undoing of a third button.
"What are you doing?" She hissed. After checking ensure they were alone, she fixed a wildly flustered look upon him that begged the question - Are you out of your mind? Surely he recalled they were very much in a public space. Wenhong perhaps never forgot, but simply didn't care.
"Hope you don't mind if I reveal myself a little more. It is particularly hot in here right now, don't you reckon?"
Indeed. She recoiled from him as if he suddenly burned to the touch and straightened. Now his gaze seemed to follow with keen interest the restless dance of her fingers. As if daring her to follow suit. Tit for tat. Skin for skin. If only undoing a few collared-buttons could soothe her flush. Wanmei glanced to the side at a cracked window with an indignant little sniff. "Just a bit. Fortunately, just as you are unbothered by the chill. I can endure a little heat."
...How artless of her. Wanmei's pride and composure lay in shattered fragments at her feet. Along with her clumsy mask. She had gravely underestimated Xu Wenhong. Something becoming abundantly clear in their evening together.
"It is a crime that a lady as fine as yourself would have had to spend the night alone. You don't deserve this."
He likely hadn't intended it as such. But that sugar-spun remark had been his cruelest yet. An invisible barbed-vine constricted her chest. Rare emotion flashed across that doll-like countenance then. Raw and vulnerable. Something which had no place in the realm of their flirtatious banter.
Wanmei recovered. Barely. Retreated into the comfortable shadows of feminine poise upon taking her seat. Yet their following dance of words could only be described as a touch...aggressive.
Ask a personal question.
Evade.
Repeat. Until one of them caved. She prodded restlessly at the bao she'd only managed to take a single bite from. Wanmei would much rather relinquish the pawn that was her body than let him near the pieces closest to matters of the heart. But she possessed the vexing sense it would be herself. Like most powerful men, Wenhong was likely not a man accustomed to being denied what he wanted. He would dare corner both. Likely presuming that getting to know her personally would grant him access to more. However, just as she agonized over this, Wenhong, yet again, surprised her.
Both in his readiness of heart-baring defeat and seizing a decisive opportunity by seizing her.
Wanmei gasped. In that lurch forward, she ended up bracing against not the table, but his thigh. Firm, much like the unyielding man himself who went about dabbing at some unseen mess. Wafts of his warm skin came tantalizingly close. The cheek beneath his handkerchief grew flush and the bodice of her dress heaved with strained little breaths as if she was determined in not indulging too much in his nearness. She yanked her wrist. But his masculine hand was a gently commanding vice, keeping her in place. Curiously, as Wenhong neared her mouth, the notion of flight left the woman.
His avarice had been fully unmasked then. She felt it in the weight of his darkened stare. In the press of his thumb which sampled just how supple her lips were. Lips which tingled in his tortuously intoxicating trace. He planted all manner of disruptive thought in her head.
What if it were his lips tracing hers instead?
How would the rougher callous of his touch feel caressing the softness of her bared skin?
Would those fathomless eyes grow warmly or become distantly dim in the aftermath of a climax?
There was the fleeting urge to draw the tip of that digit into the welcoming heat of her mouth just to see his reaction. Instead, Wanmei remained woefully transfixed. Woefully under his spell. Such that when he adjusted his grip and tea-tainted breaths gradually melded with her own, she reflexively closed her eyes.
"There. Back to your pretty self."
...
It wasn't until Wenhong cleaned the last smudge and casually retreated that the girl realized.
Her gaze had been fixed upon him just as heavily. Laden with want. In his retreat it became obvious then, how her dainty palm had inadvertently crept a fraction up his thigh. How the little rose practically strained towards him like a flower seeking the sun of his intimacy.
She blinked and straightened in her seat, delicately crossing her legs. The noise which escaped Wanmei an amalgamation of sigh and scoff. Of disappointment and disbelief.
"But now you've been changed." She gestured with a glance to his hand, thumb tainted with lipstick, and smirked. "For you've been dyed in my color, Mr. Xu." Her final bastion. Stubbornly not giving him the satisfaction of uttering the syllables to his first name. Although, she had to admit, he looked good in her shade of red. Glimpsing again hints of his chest and neck, she wondered how it might look along the rest of him.
It took a moment to register he was at last indulging her evasive-curiosity. "Shanghai for all its glitz and glamour, is a cesspool of snakes at every corner. Everyone has got their own selfish agenda around here, and are not afraid to do whatever it takes to attain what they want." Wanmei gave a gentle hum of agreement while carefully adding sauce to her bun. "You however." Her gaze lifted. "I feel an air of innocence about in you. Different. Compassion, maybe? Too early to say. Or at least, you were brought up with those virtues in you. And despite your vexing presumptuousness, you're in fact, one with a heart of gold. Actions don't lie."
She chewed along with Wenhong in a moment of silence as his assessment soaked in. Then declared wryly, "You presume a lot of me in turn. Shanghai has a way of overtaking others. I could very well be another snake lurking in the shadows, masquerading as kind-hearted girl." Yet he seemed confident. Rightfully so. That most rattled her. Xu Wenhong had shamelessly tugged on the cage of her heart.
"Why did you come to Shanghai, Wanmei?"
"To sing, of course." Laconic in her response. His penetrating gaze said he was hardly satisfied. She swallowed with difficulty. "Your curiosity will bring trouble, Mr. Xu." Wanmei wiped her fingers on cloth napkin and continued.
"My parents are no longer on Earth and I have no siblings. So in a sense, I am unhindered in pursuing my dreams. Although living on my own here isn't without struggle or burden, it comes with perks. Such as...being one less mouth to feed for the family who helped care for me." Hands lowered to her lap, she looked to Wenhong somberly. "I'm uncertain if your business matters extend to this, but perhaps you're not unfamiliar with how foreign influence has disrupted the Chinese cotton yarn industry in recent years. Especially in Tianjin and Qingdao." She flashed a wan smile that naturally didn't reach her eyes. "My foster family's farm and our village, they too suffered greatly in this. And so..."
The young woman closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Composing herself with a quiet dignity. A fragile, albeit hopeful smile alighted on her features. "If fulfilling my greedy wish by chasing Shanghai's starlight also allows me to help support them from afar, why, doesn't it make that little dream of mine shine all the brighter?"
In the end, the deception she bestowed Xu Wenhong with was hardly one at all. Frayed threads of her past laid bare for his consumption. With only a few key omissions.
Would he pity her now? She certainly hoped not. Shen Wanmei was a proud woman who loathed the very idea. And there were those far worse off than she. So she ate, spoke, and acted with decisiveness, lest an awkward air fester.
"The greatest crime of all would be letting this delicious food go to waste. Here. Help me finish." One more shumai remained and she hadn't hesitated in sliding it in the man's direction with her chopsticks. After a thoughtful side glance, she softly added,
"Even in a city fraught with dangers and rife with too much noise, people can still find their own little safe spaces. Ways to catch one's breath. Ways to rest and recharge. I hope you have your own as well."
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