Chapter 135: Devout Believers

The sales clerks carefully prepared desserts and cakes for them. Zhong Huayan sat on the sofa, clad in a high-end white and yellow dress, draped in a cashmere coat.

Before her, models paced back and forth carrying Chanel bags, their expressions blank, serving as perfect, soulless mannequins. Zhong Huayan was nonchalant; such occasions were merely routine for her. She suddenly set her sights on a sky-blue, ethereal mermaid-cut dress. Without hesitation and without glancing at the price tag, she casually ordered it.

Fu Yanyan followed behind, quiet and composed. During the process, he took no fewer than ten phone calls, handling each with brief efficiency before returning his undivided attention to pampering his wife.

"We look forward to your next visit."

The sales clerks bowed in unison, secretly snapping photos of the man’s back, their hearts racing.

"He’s so handsome. I didn't even dare to speak to him; his aura is so cold, I felt I wasn't worthy."

"Right? He’s so natural and polite, yet completely unreachable."

"It’s clearly because he has very strong boundaries. That woman must be his wife, which is why he keeps his distance from others. He’s so 'husband-material'—he seems like a man who truly honors his marital vows."

Zhong Huayan wandered into a novelty shop filled with odd trinkets. Behind her, Fu Yanyan picked up a bottle of exquisite mouthwash and approached her. He looked stern, his brow furrowing with displeasure as he recalled something, and he commanded in a firm tone, "Open your mouth."

She paused, then obediently parted her lips, only for the man to spray lemon-kiwi flavored mouthwash into her mouth.

"This mouthwash is so sour..."

"We’re buying this one."

Before Zhong Huayan could react, she felt it was all rather inexplicable. She turned to see Fu Yanyan gripping the bottle tightly, his eyes filled with raw, dark gloom. Yet, the moment he looked up at her, he reverted to the image of a gentle, refined nobleman. He lightly pinched her oval face and whispered softly, "Ah-Hua, I like this flavor."

In truth, the moment the woman nodded and turned away, Fu Yanyan nearly crushed the bottle in his hand. He remembered that they had eaten horse meat together that evening.

He grew increasingly restless, muttering to himself, "Guan Yuqing... what a wretched man! A wretched man! Just die already!"

Externally, however, he remained as calm as a breeze, though his eyes leaked a bloody jealousy and resentment, sharp as poisoned arrows.

Zhong Huayan watched Fu Yanyan purchase a large supply of mouthwash and wondered if her breath could really be that bad. Suddenly, it dawned on her: could it be that he had smelled the pungent odor of the horse meat she had eaten yesterday, causing this uncharacteristic behavior?

She walked out of the International Trade Center and lit a cigarette nearby.

The woman stood there, draped in the white and yellow dress, its hem inlaid with diamonds that glittered brilliantly in the sunlight. Her slender ankles, exposed to the autumn breeze, were flushed a faint red. Her pointed-toe flats were also adorned with petal designs. Despite her soft, rounded, and opulent beauty, she stood at the entrance smoking.

Amidst the swirling smoke, a passing boy stopped in his tracks. He looked young and was holding a basketball.

"Are... are you that live-streamer who does antique appraisals? You look just like her!"

Zhong Huayan took a deep drag of her cigarette. Caught off guard, she nodded hesitantly. Her appearance and attire seemed grand and effortless. She had never expected someone to recognize her, especially since she was only wearing light makeup and didn't look exactly as she did on screen. Still, she was generous toward her fans.

"It really is you! Could we take a photo together? My mom loves watching your streams; she even booked an appraisal slot for next week, just waiting for you to appraise her items!"

"Thank you for the support. Let’s take a picture."

Zhong Huayan set her cigarette aside, stood with the boy, and posed for the camera.

"I have to go now; I have other business to attend to." She found a casual excuse to slip away.

The boy wasn't pushy. As he watched her leave, he couldn't help but marvel at her temperament and beauty. It felt like such a waste for a beauty of her caliber to be an internet celebrity.

He turned and walked toward the plaza of the International Trade Center. Before he had even emerged from the dark corridor leading to the elevators, he saw a group of imposing bodyguards in black suits emerging, carrying bags of luxury goods. The man in the lead had a tall, upright frame and wore a black mask, his eyes permeated with a profound, dark gloom. His entire being radiated a sense of noble arrogance and disdain for the world.

As he passed the boy, he mercilessly and uncontrollably swatted the basketball right out of the boy's hands.

The ball rolled into a lonely corner. The boy looked up at the perpetrator in disbelief, but the insults died on his lips. Even though this man had intentionally knocked away his ball, why did he still have an expression colder and darker than anyone else?

The man cast a sideways glance, treating others as if they didn't exist, and walked past with composure, not even offering a word of apology. The darkness in his eyes was truly terrifying. The boy simply muttered, "Psychopath," before running over to retrieve his ball. Privately, he posted the photo with the famous streamer to his social media feed.

Since antique appraisal streams were mostly watched by men, many in his social circle recognized the type of streamer she was. The younger generation, who were tech-savvy, spotted the internet celebrity immediately. In their view, within the appraisal community, this streamer—Li Yanyan—was a genius-level appraiser. Although her popularity was slightly lower than others and her background less extensive, that didn't change the fact that she had gained three million followers in less than half a year of streaming.

Fu Yanyan sat in the back of the car as the bodyguards closed the door. He removed his mask and looked at the woman beside him with a hint of grievance.

"Ah-Hua... Ah-Hua... Ah-Hua..."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm lacking love. Severely lacking love."

Fu Yanyan was like a jilted socialite; the moment he saw her, it was as if he had found his life's anchor. He wrapped his arms around her waist. Looking down, she could see his cold, exquisite features, shielded from the world, his eyes slightly reddened as if he were suppressing tears.

He nuzzled against her clothes, greedily inhaling her scent. Like the woman herself, the fragrance was like gardenias blooming in the underworld, a heart of purity growing amidst the ashes.

Fu Yanyan, like a devout believer, traced the scent along her dress, inch by inch. He had done such shameful things often enough that the original shame and shyness he felt before her had gradually faded away.

"Ah-Hua, pet my hair."

She couldn't help but smile, reaching out to stroke his hair, ruffling it into a mess.