The Cinnabar Mole of a Beijing Circle Tycoon

Meng Jiangyu stood up and walked out of the attic.

Zhou Yanqiu saw through the situation and whispered in Lu Linchuan's ear, "He's done for."

Lu Linchuan nodded slightly, his gaze fixed on the distant corridor, seemingly lost in thought.

In the side room, Shen Qingyao finally finished mixing the last drink on the menu.

She breathed a sigh of relief, rubbed her sore wrists, and noticed a thin layer of sweat on her forehead.

Looking at the mostly empty bottles on the bar, she felt a small sense of accomplishment.

These drinks are carefully crafted by her, and the fact that they are appreciated by the guests here is the greatest affirmation of her talent.

Meng Jiangyu arrived here led by a waiter, who then silently withdrew.

Shen Qingyao was tidying up her bartending equipment, her fingertips brushing against the cool shaker, wondering if the unfamiliar customers she had just met really liked her cocktails, when she suddenly heard soft footsteps outside the door.

She mistook him for Supervisor Zhou, and with a smile still lingering on her face, said, "Supervisor Zhou, is there anything else..."

She slowly raised her head, meeting a pair of deep eyes, and her words stopped abruptly when she saw who it was.

Meng Jiangyu stood at the door, his dark suit perfectly pressed, with a few unmelted snowflakes on his shoulders, making his skin appear even paler.

His collar was slightly open, revealing his well-defined collarbone. His imposing aura was even stronger than when they first met, yet strangely, it was less distant.

He walked in, the light falling on his face, outlining his three-dimensional features. His eyes, like deep pools, were staring intently at her.

It's him.

Shen Qingyao's heart skipped a beat, and the bar spoon in her hand fell onto the table with a clatter, sounding particularly abrupt in the quiet side room.

She hurriedly bent down to pick it up, but her fingertips accidentally touched the cold countertop, sending a shiver down her spine.

"I've seen you before! In the main hall of Lingyin Temple!" Her voice was a little tight, not understanding why he was there. "Thank you for coming on the first day of school!"

Meng Jiangyu didn't speak, his gaze falling on her reddened ear tips, then sweeping over her black dress stained with wine, and finally settling on her hand holding the bar spoon.

Those hands were slender and clean, with knuckles slightly white from exertion—just as he had imagined.

He walked slowly closer, his leather shoes making no sound on the carpet, yet it felt as if he were stepping on Shen Qingyao's heart.

The air was filled with a faint smell of alcohol and the subtle scent of soap wafting from her body, which blended together in an indescribable harmony.

"Your drink is very well mixed." He said, his voice lower than when he was at the ancient pavilion, carrying a hint of the crispness after the snow.

Shen Qingyao looked up and met his deep eyes. Those eyes, like ink that could not be dissolved, clearly reflected her image, making her look away in a flustered manner: "Thank you... thank you for your recognition, sir."

"How long have you been learning?" He walked to the bar and tapped the smooth countertop lightly with his fingertips.

"It's almost been a semester."

"Very talented."

The praise came suddenly, and Shen Qingyao's cheeks burned even hotter. She lowered her head and looked at the tips of her shoes: "I'm just... a bit more hardworking."

Seeing her embarrassed yet earnest expression, Meng Jiangyu's frustration from trying to control himself suddenly dissipated.

He had seen too many sycophants and pretentious people. She was the only one who was like him, who would get nervous when he looked at her, blush when he praised her, and yet refused to show her weakness easily.

"That 'Snow-Topped Red Plum' drink," he suddenly said, "was it specially made by you?"

Shen Qingyao paused for a moment, then nodded: "Yes, seeing the snow and plum blossoms outside, I thought I'd make a drink to match the occasion."

"It's a perfect description, and it tastes great too."

Shen Qingyao didn't know what to say, so she remained silent.

The side room was so quiet that she could hear the sound of snow falling outside the window, as well as his steady breathing, which made her feel a little suffocated.

She could feel his gaze fixed on her, from her hair to the hem of her skirt, scrutinizing her as if she were a rare treasure, making her feel uncomfortable, yet she couldn't feel any disgust.

Meng Jiangyu didn't really have anything to say; he just wanted to see her.

Seeing her true self, seeing her when she's not surrounded by crowds or pressured by drinking parties, she's clean and vibrant, like a green plant striving to grow in the snow, full of vitality.

He suddenly realized that those days of deliberately filling his life with work, and those struggles he tried to forget, had all become a joke.

Some things, the more suppressed they are, the stronger the rebound. "Could you make me a drink?"

Shen Qingyao's heart skipped a beat, and her fingers gripping the shaker tightened slightly, but she tried her best to remain calm: "Okay, please wait a moment."

She lowered her head, not daring to look at him anymore, and began to prepare the materials with trembling fingertips.

Ice cubes, bourbon whiskey, sugar cubes, Angostura bitters... everything is so familiar, yet handling them feels incredibly stiff at this moment.

Meng Jiangyu looked at her lowered eyes, his gaze falling on the section of her fair neck exposed by her tied-up hair, and then moving to the hand holding the bar spoon.

Her fingers were slender, her nails were neatly trimmed, and she had some thin calluses, which was obviously due to frequent practice.

She has changed a bit in the six months since I last saw her.

She has shed the awkwardness and naivety of our first meeting, and now possesses a more composed and serene demeanor.

Wearing a simple black dress, she exuded a clean and detached aura in this antique setting, like a clear spring that unexpectedly crashed into the clamor in his eyes.

He actually knew she would come, but when he actually saw her, Meng Jiangyu realized that the emotions he had been deliberately suppressing were far more turbulent than he had imagined.

"Will you still come here part-time in the future?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of probing.

Shen Qingyao was stunned, and looked up at him: "I don't know, it depends on whether the teacher has made a recommendation."

Meng Jiangyu hummed in agreement and didn't press further, quietly watching her mix drinks.

He took a black card out of his pocket, placed it on the bar counter, and pushed it in front of her: "If you're looking for part-time work, you can call this number."

The card has a cool feel to it, and only has a string of gold-stamped numbers on it, without any other markings.

Shen Qingyao looked at the card, hesitant, knowing what it meant.

She developed a deeper connection with this man who lived in another world.

The words of refusal were on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't bring myself to say them.

"This is……"

"It's my personal assistant's phone number," Meng Jiangyu explained. "He'll arrange suitable work."

Shen Qingyao bit her lip, but finally reached out and picked up the card, carefully putting it into her bag: "Thank you, Mr. Meng."

"No need." Meng Jiangyu watched her put the card away, a hint of satisfaction flashing in his eyes. "It's snowing heavily outside, I'll have someone take you home."

"No need to trouble you, I can go back by myself."

Meng Jiangyu didn't say anything more, turned around and walked out, "Sir, your wine."

As he reached the door, he suddenly stopped, turned back to look at her, and said, "Next time!"

Shen Qingyao was standing behind the bar, the light falling on her and giving her a soft halo.

Her cheeks were still flushed, and her eyes were filled with confusion and helplessness, like a frightened fawn. Next time?

Meng Jiangyu remembered that glance.

He turned and left, his steps lighter than when he arrived.

Shen Qingyao watched his figure disappear through the door before letting out a long sigh of relief and touching her burning cheeks.

The black card in her bag felt like a branding iron, making her feel extremely unsettled.