Shi Jingjing

Leh Ying found herself acquainted with the higher echelons she should not aspire to, and when the profligate young master Liu Huaiying pursued her relentlessly, she had no escape.
A fleeting glimpse of Young Master Xu, Xu Jingxi's appearance, had her heart fluttering, and her spirit moved; the Xu family was the center of power within Forty-Nine City, and only he could change the game.
On a snowy night, by the door of the Mercedes Benz G Class, she tiptoed and gently cupped her palm to light a cigarette for Xu Jingxi.
The man’s lips leisurely wrapped around the cigarette, and he leaned slightly towards her. His clear-cut face partially lowered into the backlight’s shadow, the flame at the tip of the cigarette flickered faintly between them. When he finally looked up, his eyes were calm and indifferent, and he asked in a rising inflection, “What do you want?”
Leh Ying, “Only what you can give.”
Others quickly realized, “That Xu Jingxi, born into high chambers, his flesh and bones saturated with a profound desire for power. For someone like him, even feelings are superfluous. What do you have to gamble your status with him?”
Keeping her by his side was merely Xu Jingxi’s pastime for his loneliness.
He was accustomed to acting out scenes, she never sought status, and turned to leave the capital to hold an art exhibition.
Just as she packed and entered the elevator, Xu Jingxi stood tall in the center, his index finger slowly hooking the fine bone necklace at the front of her neck and gently pulling her back as she moved to step out.
**
That Valentine's Day night, within the Third Ring, luxury hotels were fully booked, and some witnessed the entire BVG Hotel being reserved by Young Master Xu.
What left the deepest impression on Leh Ying was the man half-kneeling on the bed, wearing a loosely tied bathrobe, biting on a pen cap, and picking up a Thin Gold Calligraphy Style brush to inscribe three characters along the edge of her collarbone—Xu Jingxi.

Extreme Addiction

I couldn't tell what she was painting at first, two delicate white fingers parted to enlarge the detail, sketching the feathers in light to deep tones, and then, retracting the pattern with a flick of her fingers.


Upon closer inspection, it was a painting of a crane.


Her painting looked as easy as drinking water, casual but precise with every stroke and outline, crisp and efficient.


Truly, these hands were meant for artistry.


The details of the crane's feathers were exquisitely rendered by her, most expressively the crane's eyes, which looked as real as life. She bowed her head, picking up an almond and bit into it, chewing slowly and deliberately, oblivious to how many she had consumed, becoming more addicted with each bite, sharp and pointed in her enjoyment.


Every so often, she would sip her floral tea, her mind completely absorbed in her craft.


You weren't with me last night either.