High society?

Indeed, this was the elite echelon of Jiangzhou. The cars pulling in were, at best, a Mini Cooper or some other quirky Beetle; occasionally, a Hummer would appear, but only of the ostentatiously customized variety. Everyone else drove two-seater convertibles or luxury sedans; even an extended Mercedes would blend in without notice here.

Settle into a bar, and the neighboring patrons debated venture capital and IPOs. Go for a run at the gym, and the trainers were former television anchors.

Wang Zhuo was adaptable, but he had no desire to force his way into this circle. Yet, every person he met seemed engrossed in conversations that held zero interest for him. When this pattern repeated itself one too many times, he decisively dropped the keys onto Guan Yingying's desk.

“What’s this?” Guan Yingying looked up from balancing a ledger when she saw the keys.

“I can’t get used to it,” Wang Zhuo managed a wry smile. “There isn’t even a decent place to run in the morning. If I want a bowl of tofu pudding, I have to drive for half an hour. There’s no barbecue downstairs, no halal noodles or Chongqing duck blood vermicelli soup that I actually enjoy. If I walk downstairs in flip-flops, people look at me like I’m some kind of freak.”

Guan Yingying let out a sharp snort that quickly escalated into booming laughter. Pointing at Wang Zhuo, she laughed so hard tears began to well up.

“I’m being serious,” Wang Zhuo said, both exasperated and amused, pointing at the keys on the desk. “You and Qi Fei should move in. I’ll go back to my dusty old shack.”

“Oh, you,” Guan Yingying chuckled, her frame shaking slightly. “A nouveau riche is a nouveau riche. It takes three generations to become an official before one learns how to truly dress and eat; your level of understanding is still miles away.”

“Hmph, what right do you have to mock me?” Wang Zhuo sank onto the sofa, teasing her. “Cold noodles, spicy gluten strips, and hot and sour vermicelli—aren't those your absolute favorites? You can’t find them anywhere nearby.”

Guan Yingying scoffed, retorting, “What do you know? People sitting in a Western restaurant eating pizza and drinking wine? That’s being a faux petit bourgeois. The ones who drive a hundred kilometers specifically to eat at a street stall barbecue? Those are the people who truly know how to enjoy life.”

The term petit bourgeois specifically refers to young people who pursue inner fulfillment, along with material and spiritual gratification—a group with a certain social standing and wealth, striving for refined tastes in life. But genuine petit bourgeois are rare; those merely posturing as such are legion.

Once one reaches the realm of true affluence, the pursuit is no longer about the concept of the petit bourgeois. It's about what Guan Yingying described: driving a hundred kilometers just for street food—acting on impulse, living purely by whim. That is the true, carefree state of living by one’s own rules and letting others hail cabs to follow.

“I don’t want to spend my days driving an hour just for barbecue or cold noodles,” Wang Zhuo waved his hand dismissively. “If I have that kind of free time, I’d rather spend it reading.”

“Since you are too blessed not to enjoy it, I won’t refuse your offer,” Guan Yingying chirped. She snatched the keys from the desk, clicked the remote a few times, and cheerfully tucked them into her purse.

Wang Zhuo grinned mischievously. “You go enjoy yourself. Later, I’ll come and enjoy you.”

She shot him a coquettish glance, rose, and walked to the water dispenser to pour a glass. As she walked back past Wang Zhuo, she casually flicked his nose.

Wang Zhuo caught her retracting hand, planted a loud kiss on her delicate, slender fingers, and pulled her into his embrace.

“Stop messing around,” Guan Yingying whispered urgently. “Someone might walk in.”

Wang Zhuo kicked his foot out, nudging the ajar door shut. His hands were already slipping inside her form-fitting pencil skirt, pushing upward to reveal the alluring peach of her buttocks encased in sheer black stockings.

“Are you crazy?” she cried softly, even as a fiery wave of passion rapidly heated her mind.

“Shhh…” Wang Zhuo made a silencing gesture. He stood up, hoisting her easily, and walked to the door, pressing the deadbolt mechanism.

This guy is truly insane. Guan Yingying, with a mixture of annoyance and arousal, grabbed his hardened form and pressed down firmly.

Wang Zhuo chuckled, deliberately shifting his weight, and carried her over to the office desk, sweeping aside clutter. He picked up the desk phone and dialed the outer office secretary.

“Sister Li, CEO Guan and I need to discuss something important. If there are any calls, please do not transfer them in.”

By the time he hung up, Guan Yingying was impatiently working on his belt buckle. He lifted her chin, first indulging in the sweet, fragrant softness of her tongue, then, with a surge of strength in his arms, he flipped her over until she was draped across the desk.

He yanked the black stockings all the way up, quickly dipped his fingers in his mouth for lubrication, smoothed it over that spot, and then thrust forward, entering her in one smooth motion…

…

Afterward, Wang Zhuo sat on the sofa, sipping bottled water to rehydrate. Guan Yingying knelt before him, examining the few millimeters of stubble growing back on his shaved head.

“Doesn’t that feel cool?” she asked.

“It’s comfortable, I admit. No wonder foreigners shave it all off,” Wang Zhuo nodded, smiling. “But once it grows back, it gets a bit prickly and might chafe the skin when I walk.”

“Then shave mine too?” Guan Yingying looked eager to try.

Wang Zhuo laughed heartily and agreed, supporting his 250—his erection—with his hand and giving it a gentle rock.

Guan Yingying immediately understood. Gazing at him with affectionate eyes, she slightly parted her delicate lips and lowered her head…

Wang Zhuo leaned back comfortably, draining his mineral water. His peripheral vision caught sight of the statuesque Qi Fei passing by the floor-to-ceiling window and entering the ground-floor reception area.

Startled, he gave a huge jolt, throwing off the gentle ministrations of Sister Yingying, who rolled her eyes. He quickly twisted his head away, erupting into violent coughing.

Wang Zhuo was mortified. He paid no mind to the dampness of his 250, roughly shoved it back into his trousers, and quickly pulled them up. Then, he pulled the kneeling, coughing Guan Yingying to her feet, smoothed down her rolled-up pencil skirt, and tugged it straight.

Guan Yingying was about to kick him, but he quickly whispered, “I saw Qi Fei. She just entered the lobby.”

Guan Yingying instantly panicked too, frantically tidying her appearance. Wang Zhuo said, “Let’s pretend we didn’t see her. I’ll go out and intercept her.”

“Okay,” Guan Yingying relaxed significantly. Wang Zhuo was an expert at handling such situations; if he dealt with it, she wouldn't worry about giving anything away.

Confirming there were no immediate flaws, Wang Zhuo left Guan Yingying’s office, wandered upstairs casually for a moment, and then, aided by his X-ray vision, "coincidentally" ran into Qi Fei by the staircase.

One stood above, the other below. From Wang Zhuo’s perspective looking down, he could clearly see the deep, captivating cleavage within Qi Fei's collar, the soft lines of her collarbones, her swan-like, graceful neck, and her composed, naturally beautiful features.

From Qi Fei’s perspective looking up, the most striking thing wasn't Wang Zhuo's imposing build or calm smile, but a faint, damp stain visible near the zipper of his dress slacks.

Wang Zhuo never imagined that despite having the sharpest eyesight in the world, he only paid attention to others and forgot to check himself. He smiled at Qi Fei. “How did the meeting with the head of Cheng Xin go?”

“It was alright,” Qi Fei hurried up the steps, glanced left and right, and whispered, “Come with me quickly.”

Without another word, she tugged lightly on the sleeve of Wang Zhuo’s T-shirt and hurried toward the nearest storage room.

Pushing Wang Zhuo’s arm to stop him from looking back, Qi Fei took out a key, opened the storage room door, shoved Wang Zhuo inside, and quickly turned to close it.

“How could you be so careless?” she chided. “Look at yourself! What kind of image do you have as Chairman?”

She pointed to the zipper of Wang Zhuo’s slacks.

Wang Zhuo looked down and froze. There was a faint watermark on his trousers, a few shades darker than the fabric, shaped somewhat like the map of Japan.

“Did you splash water on yourself?” She touched the spot; it felt slightly damp.

A misunderstanding. A beautiful misunderstanding. Wang Zhuo scratched his head wryly. “Maybe it splashed when I was washing my hands in the restroom; I didn’t notice.”

Qi Fei looked at him, caught between laughter and exasperation. “What is this mess? Go dry it before you come out.”

“How am I supposed to dry it?” Wang Zhuo spread his hands helplessly. The storage room held only safes and similar items; there were no useful tools.

Qi Fei also noticed the situation. Frowning thoughtfully, an idea struck her. She pulled a folding fan from her handbag and began fanning vigorously toward the area.

Gusts of cool air permeated the thin fabric of his trousers, bringing Wang Zhuo a wave of relief. He promptly sat down on a table behind him, hands clasped behind his head, and simply enjoyed the sensation.

As Qi Fei fanned, her full chest swayed gently with the movement of her arm, exposing a patch of fair skin at the low neckline.

Watching this, his 250 began to stir restlessly. Qi Fei quickly noticed the change, shot Wang Zhuo a look, and tossed the fan into his lap. “Fan it yourself. I’m going to find Yingying.”

She knew how roguish Wang Zhuo could be. If she stayed any longer, he might very well lock the door and make improper demands of her. Elsewhere, her resolve might soften, but here, within the company, with employees passing just meters away, how could she face it?

Qi Fei fled as if chased, leaving Wang Zhuo grinning slyly as he slowly fanned himself with the fragrant, scented folding fan.

Before long, the water stain was dry, though a faint outline remained visible only if scrutinized closely. Wang Zhuo rubbed the surrounding fabric with his hand; now, unless someone looked very intently, it was completely unnoticeable.

Satisfied, he closed the fan and locked the storage room door behind him as he headed back toward the office.

He chuckled inwardly, resolving not to repeat his previous mistake. He needed to wash his pants immediately upon getting home, otherwise the scent from the fan might make Gan Lin suspicious again.

Back in the office, the two beautiful sisters were discussing cooperation matters with Cheng Xin Group. Seeing Wang Zhuo enter, both women instinctively glanced toward a certain crucial area.

It’s fine, no flaw. Both women let out a silent sigh of relief and returned to their previous conversation.

Wang Zhuo sat on the sofa without interrupting, glancing from one woman to the other. He suddenly recalled a famous historical anecdote: Emperor Cheng of Han had Empress Feiyan and Consort Yuhuan. The slender Guan Yingying was like Zhao Feiyan, while the voluptuous Qi Fei resembled Yang Yuhuan. Each possessed a unique allure. Had he somehow become the debauched Emperor Liu Ao?