The unadorned girl wore no makeup, her simplicity punctuated only by a pair of decent pearl earrings. Clearly not an invited guest to the opulent gala.
At such high-society events, Yan Wangshu had encountered countless gatecrashers—social climbers seeking connections, interns angling for favors. Yet this girl's brazen display of ingenuous charm struck him as refreshingly uncalculated. Perhaps it's her porcelain-doll innocence? he mused.
Yan arched an eyebrow. "How old are you?""???" Startled, Wen Ran averted her gaze from his chest pin. "Twenty."
Twenty? Scarcely out of school. His frown deepened. "Attending university in M Country?""No." She shook her head bluntly. "I'm not in school."
Her candid admission surprised him. Lightning flashed, illuminating her face. Startled, she recoiled, blinking rapidly as thunder rattled the pavilion. Raindrops pattered against the roof—typical weather for this season.
Wen Ran sprang up, slender fingers clutching her chest. "Wait here," she declared before dashing into the downpour.
She returned moments later, umbrella tilted awkwardly against her slight frame. Water beaded on her arms as she extended the umbrella with a determined tilt of her chin. "Let me escort you."
Yan Wangshu didn't protest. As they walked, her wrist ached from hours of carving practice, making the umbrella feel unwieldy. He smoothly relieved her of the burden.
"No gentleman lets a lady bear the burden," he murmured, angling the umbrella to shield her.
The stone path wound through fragrant jasmine beds. His trouser cuffs brushed against damp foliage, his right shoulder bared to the rain. Wen Ran seized the opportunity to study his chest pin—a bird-of-paradise motif crafted from tiny diamonds, perched atop a black stone she recognized as a natural black diamond.
65-68 carats. Opaque. No cleavage.Black diamonds were inherently rare, and coupled with many considering the color inauspicious, few used them in jewelry. Thus, the black diamond brooch of such quality on his chest could be deemed extraordinary.
Wen Ran pressed her lips together. The design, the cutting technique—oh, how she longed to touch it. Her hand moved faster than her mind. Already lifting her arm instinctively, she snapped back to reality when the man tilted his head to glance her way.
Realizing her impropriety—she ought to have sought permission first—Wen Ran sheepishly curled her fingers inward and withdrew her arm, not daring to overstep.
The eaves lantern, wrought from iron, flickered with a flame-like glow. The distant moon had vanished behind clouds, and rain fell in silken threads. Yan Wangshu closed his umbrella, leaned it against the wall, and brushed rainwater from his right shoulder.
WenRan watched guiltily. "I'm sorry. I should've brought two umbrellas."
"Were there two available?"
"There were," she admitted truthfully.
Such harmless scheming, once done, hardly warranted post-facto honesty. Perhaps this was her tactic?
Yan Wangshu studied her delicate face, unperturbed. Mockingly, he said, "Then remember next time: one umbrella can't shelter two."
Wen Ran nodded, then stepped closer, her voice soft: "I just wanted you to feel that I helped you."
"Is that so?" He smirked. "I felt it. What now?"
Her proximity allowed his towering gaze to press down on her. His hair, a natural flaxen hue, framed a broad forehead, pronounced brow ridges, deep-set eyes, and irises of an unusual light amber.
Wen Ran mentally assessed: he must be a businessman. Though his tone carried no weight, there was an air of strategic command, an innate dominance. His gaze reminded her of the male lead from a romance film she'd watched—a Western protagonist with similarly light eyes, profoundly devoted to his beloved, yet equally tender toward the next.
Elegant yet rakish, yet fickle—that was the essence of his gaze. As Zhai Xinyi would say: A playboy. A top-tier one.
Recalling Xinyi's warning—Stay away from such men, or you'll regret it—Wen Ran cut to the chase: "Sir, since you acknowledge my help, may I make an impertinent request—"
Before she finished, glass doors swung open nearby, casting a parallelogram of warm light. Zhai Xinyi peeked out, waving urgently: "Ranran! Hurry!"
Weighing priorities, WenRan moved toward the door but glanced back longingly at his chest. "Please wait for me."
Only after the doors closed did Yan Wangshu look away. His phone buzzed—Qin Xiao, his assistant, calling for urgent matters.
Minutes later, Qin Xiao arrived with an umbrella. A black sedan waited at the gate. Yan Wangshu smoothed his lapel and slid into the car.
As Qin Xiao, half-drenched, moved to enter the passenger seat, the window descended. Yan Wangshu extended his hand through the rain, holding the black diamond brooch: "Tell Mr. Bai I offer this apology for damaging his jasmine."
Qin Xiao paused, then accepted it.
"Deliver it personally," Yan Wangshu ordered as the window rose.
**
Zhai Xinyi informed Wen Ran that Zhai Chengjing awaited her in the studio. There, Zhai Chengjing—immaculate in a tailored suit—leaned back, reviewing her design sketches for a men's ring.
The triangular design featured an irregular white-blue jade, its flowing colors evoking ink-wash landscapes.
Wen Ran hurried over. "What do you think, Senior?"
"Exquisite. I adore it." He pointed to the band. "But make this matte, not polished."
"Done, then?"
"Mm. My thanks for this birthday gift."
Wen Ran fetched a ring sizer. "Let me measure you."
By the time she returned downstairs, the crowd had thinned. Outside, a lone umbrella dripped by the wall. Rain battered the garden jasmine.
The man was gone.
Wen Ran circled the hall, disappointment evident.
Post-event, Zhai Xinyi found her brooding in the studio. "Another creative block?"
Wen Ran shook her head.
"What's wrong?"
"I saw a guest tonight with a black diamond brooch. The cut was extraordinary... I barely glimpsed it."
"With a bird motif?" Xinyi's eyes lit up. "I saw it too! Master Bai had it. He told my brother to return it."
Wen Ran bolted up. "I'll find Senior!"
In the corridor, she intercepted Zhai Chengjing and finally examined the brooch.
After prolonged study, she removed her gloves. "The craftsmanship—stunning. Deceptively simple yet intricate."
Zhai Chengjing snapped the case shut. "I'll return this to 'Carllyle.' They sent it as apology for ruined flowers."
As they walked, Wen Ran inquired: "Who sent it?"
"'Carllyle'—China's premier bespoke jeweler, founded 60+ years ago by a Franco-Chinese couple. The current head is their grandson. Tonight's guest was their CMO, Yan Wangshu. This brooch is his olive branch."
Yan Wangshu.
Wen Ran recalled her classical tutor's lesson: 'Wangshu'—the moon-charioteer deity, a poetic synonym for the moon.
"Master Bai won't collaborate with them?"
"He's launching his own brand domestically."
Later, in their room, Xinyi sobbed over the film's "playboy" lead until Wen Ran mentioned his subsequent affairs.
"Scumbag! Top-tier scumbag!" Xinyi raged before passing out.
The next morning, Wen Ran found two withered jasmine stems and a charred matchbox by the pavilion—its gilded corners marred by ash.
A faint whiff of cedar lingered. Online searches revealed these were luxury aromatic matches, priced at ~$15 each.
Tossing the box, she spotted a pencil in the grass.
"Ah. Here you are."