The Cinnabar Mole of a Beijing Circle Tycoon

As dusk settled over the upturned eaves of Yu Garden, Meng Jiangyu led Shen Qingyao by the hand as they stepped through the gate.

The warm, pungent aroma of mutton soup lingered in the evening breeze, but the touch of fingertips ignited a fire before it even dissipated.

The copper lamp in the entryway cast a halo of amber light. He closed the door behind him and, before Shen Qingyao could even stand up straight, leaned down and kissed her.

It wasn't the usual measured, fleeting kiss; it was an aggressive, deep kiss mingled with the night and the warmth of everyday life.

Shen Qingyao's breathing became erratic, and her back bumped into the carved wooden door. The coldness seeped in through her clothes, but it couldn't compare to the warmth of his palm pressed against her waist.

Meng Jiangyu's kiss was forceful and irresistible, moving from her lips to her chin and down her neck, causing her to tremble slightly and unconsciously tighten her grip on his suit collar.

He scooped her up in his arms, and Shen Qingyao's gasp was swallowed by his kiss.

Footsteps made a soft sound as they stomped across the ground.

The crystal chandelier in the living room was off, with only a few wall lamps on, casting a soft, honey-like glow.

Meng Jiangyu placed her on the rosewood couch. As he leaned over her, his suit jacket slipped off his shoulder, revealing her smooth shoulder blades.

Shen Qingyao lay on her back looking at him, her eyes filled with shimmering light, her eyelashes fluttering gently like butterflies about to take flight.

His fingertips traced her eyebrows and eyes, the calloused texture brushing against her skin, stimulating a subtle itch. Then he leaned down and kissed the corner of her eye with tender affection.

The wind outside the window had stopped at some point, leaving only the sound of our breathing, intertwined and gradually becoming rapid.

The incense burner beside the long couch emitted a faint fragrance, which, mixed with the warmth spreading in the air, created a beautiful atmosphere in the room.

His kisses traveled down, brushing past her collarbone, sending a shiver down her spine. Shen Qingyao's fingers, gripping the brocade on the couch, turned white, and soft moans escaped her throat.

Meng Jiangyu paused, looked up at her, his eyes dark and unfathomable, like a deep sea tempered with starlight. He chuckled softly, his voice hoarse: "Shen Qingyao..."

The last syllable of his voice was cut off by her tiptoe. She raised her hand, hooked it around his neck, and kissed him.

This is roughly what happens when dry wood meets a raging fire.

The brocade folds of the carved couch were piled up, and the halo of the wall lamp gently enveloped the embracing couple. The moonlight from outside the window flowed in and fell on their intertwined wrists, flowing quietly.

The brocade on the sandalwood couch was still wrinkled. When Shen Qingyao's consciousness rose from a hot and drowsy state, her fingertips touched his burning abdominal muscles.

She breathed softly, raised her hand and patted Meng Jiangyu's arm, her voice hoarse from crying, the last syllable trembling: "Back...back to the room."

These words brushed against his heart like a feather. Meng Jiangyu chuckled softly, not loosening his grip on her waist, but instead tightening it, pulling her completely into his embrace.

He didn't get up, but simply turned his head, his lips brushing against her sweaty temples, his voice deep and sweet: "Whatever you say."

As soon as he finished speaking, he lifted her up with a strong pull.

Shen Qingyao gasped softly, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek against his warm neck, the faint scent of cedar lingering around her nose, mixed with the sandalwood fragrance that had just wafted out, making her feel slightly dizzy.

The stairs were made of solid wood, and made a slight sound when stepped on. Shen Qingyao wrapped her legs around Meng Jiangyu's waist and abdomen.

The lanterns under the eaves swayed gently with each step, casting flickering light and shadow on the two people.

Meng Jiangyu carried her upstairs, his steps slow but steady.

He wasn't still; his chin rested on her collarbone, and his lips occasionally brushed against her earlobe, causing her to tremble slightly, and her fingers gripping his shirt tightened even more.

As he reached the bedroom door, he freed one hand, hooked his fingertips on the doorknob, and gently turned it.

The door clicked open, and the warm yellow light from the dormitory lamp spilled out, bathing everything in the room in a soft glow.

He didn't rush to put her down. Instead, he carried her to the bedside, bent down, and gently placed her on the soft bedding.

The quilt sank in a bit, and Shen Qingyao looked up at him, her eyes still filled with lingering moisture, her eyelashes wet.

Meng Jiangyu looked down at her, his dark eyes surging with an intense, overwhelming passion. He leaned down and kissed her, a kiss that was deeper and more tender than the one he had given her downstairs.

His hand slowly traced her waistline, carrying a burning heat that sent shivers down her spine wherever it touched.

The moonlight streamed through the windowpane, into the room, and onto the edge of the bed, casting long, long shadows of the couple embracing.

Amidst the churning of the bedding, soft humming and deep, hoarse laughter intertwined, permeating the night outside the window and filling the room with a sense of sensuality.

As the steam rose, Meng Jiangyu was carrying Shen Qingyao as they stepped into the misty bathroom.

He didn't rush to put her down; instead, he supported her knees with his warm palms, pressing her against the cold tile wall.

The warm water from the showerhead dripped down, wetting the ends of their hair and flowing down the curve of their collarbones, spreading out a wet, red hue.

Shen Qingyao's fingertips rested on his chest, and she could clearly feel the steady and powerful heartbeat in his chest cavity, which was completely different from her own chaotic and rapid heartbeat.

"Meng Jiangyu..." Her voice was broken by the sound of water, carrying a softness she was unaware of.

He chuckled softly, lowered his head and kissed the corner of her reddened lips, his tongue wiping away the moisture clinging to them.

Warm water dripped from his hair onto the nape of her neck, causing a slight itch.

Shen Qingyao turned her head away to avoid him, but he grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her even deeper.

The fragrance in the bathroom mingled with the steam, a crisp cedar scent that enveloped the warmth emanating from the two of them, creating an exceptionally tender atmosphere.

His hand moved down the water, and the place where his fingertips touched made her tremble slightly.

Shen Qingyao gripped his arm tightly, her fingertips sinking into his well-defined flesh, and soft sobs escaped her throat.

Meng Jiangyu looked down at her, the darkness in his eyes becoming even more intense as the steam from the showerhead blurred the view. He raised his hand and turned off the shower, leaving only the sounds of their intertwined breathing and the occasional, suppressed moan in the bathroom.

The coolness of the tiles seeped through my thin skin, but it couldn't compare to the comforting warmth of his palm.

The mist blurred the reflection in the mirror, the overlapping contours swaying in the haze, and the warm yellow light fell down, gilding every inch of the tangled skin with a soft, warm golden edge.

Meng Jiangyu turned off the shower, but warm water droplets were still dripping from their hair.

He wrapped Shen Qingyao tightly in a bath towel, bent down and picked her up horizontally, his bare feet stepping across the bathroom's non-slip mat, leaving a trail of wet footprints.

The bedroom light was still on, its warm yellow glow spilling over the soft plush of the bed.

He gently placed her in the bedding, then took a clean, dry towel and used it to wipe her wet hair.

The movement of his fingertips through her hair was very light, with a coaxing patience. Shen Qingyao leaned against him, the faint scent of cedar lingering around her nose, mixed with the freshness after her bath, and a sense of drowsiness gradually crept in.

After drying her hair, Meng Jiangyu picked up the hairdryer and set it to the lowest heat setting.

With a buzzing sound, his palm rested on the top of her hair, the temperature just right.

Shen Qingyao squinted, reached out and hooked her arm around his waist, buried her face in his warm belly, and let out a comfortable sigh.

After drying her hair, Meng Jiangyu turned off the hairdryer, lifted the blanket and lay down, pulling her into his arms so that her cheek was pressed against his chest, listening to his steady and powerful heartbeat.