The Art of Teasing - Chapter 44
Chapter 44
Her gaze drifted skyward. Perhaps because of the torrential downpour that afternoon, the night sky was exceptionally clear, dotted with stars, set off by the crescent moon and unpredictable clouds. It was as beautiful as a mysterious maiden of exotic charm, her features veiled by a light gauze, revealing only her enchanting silhouette.
A gentle breeze stirred, bearing the coolness of a post-rain summer night. Against this nocturnal backdrop, it carried a distinctive atmosphere—a quietude tinged with a hint of tenderness.
Neither she nor Ye Ling were loquacious individuals. Even for this birthday dinner, the two of them dined quietly, only occasionally clinking their glasses gently for a sip of wine.
Even without a single word spoken, Wen Zhengyu could discern Ye Ling's excellent mood. There was a smile in her eyes, and her brow radiated bright allure.
She had never known Ye Ling possessed such a soft, gentle side. She thought it was probably because Ye Ling was in high spirits and completely relaxed.
As the sole guest, Wen Zhengyu felt it was her duty to ensure Ye Ling enjoyed a pleasant birthday.
Wen Zhengyu's alcohol tolerance was not particularly high. After the two of them had finished a bottle of red wine, she felt slightly tipsy.
She had already dined with the old gentleman before coming to this dinner. Having eaten another meal with Ye Ling, she was now rather overstuffed. Yet, there was still a cake of seemingly considerable size to deal with.
Wen Zhengyu leaned back in her chair and rubbed her stomach with a touch of helplessness. "A bit stuffed," she said.
Ye Ling swept her gaze over Wen Zhengyu with a smile. "It's not far to the lake. Let's take a walk and digest a little before cutting the cake." She added, "Eating cake by the lake wouldn't be bad either."
Today was Ye Ling's birthday; what Ye Ling said, went. Wen Zhengyu had no objections.
Ye Ling stood up, carefully lifting the cake. She smiled at Wen Zhengyu, "Let's go, then." Noticing the high heels on Wen Zhengyu's feet, she asked, "Can you walk okay?"
Wen Zhengyu made an "OK" gesture and descended the stairs with Ye Ling. She noticed that Ye Ling had handed all her personal belongings to her assistant but kept a firm grip on the cake, showing not the slightest intention of letting the assistant carry it. Wen Zhengyu wondered if Ye Ling would be furious enough to devour anyone who prevented her from eating cake tonight.
Places with lakes and water are always breeding grounds for mosquitoes. Wen Zhengyu often had mosquitoes in her office, so she kept mosquito repellent incense there and also carried repellent spray in her handbag.
She fished the repellent spray out of the bag Wen Jing was carrying. After they both had sprayed themselves, they headed toward the lake.
It was close to the lake, but not too close; driving still took a few minutes.
Before nine o'clock, the lakefront was bustling. Almost everywhere with streetlights, small squares, or seating was occupied.
In the open spaces, groups of matronly women in matching outfits performed square dances with fans and various props. Where chairs existed, corridors and pavilions became the territory of performers—erhus, flutes, and saxophones played in clusters, each musician performing independently. Nearby, a trumpet player produced sounds akin to ghostly wails and divine howls, crushing the other performers underfoot.
In a gazebo by the willow grove, a young couple enjoyed beer and braised snacks. With their greasy mouths, they began kissing as if no one else were present.
Wen Zhengyu guessed that Ye Ling had perhaps intended a touch of romance. She stole a glance at Ye Ling and discovered that Ye Ling was completely unbothered by the surrounding cacophony, strolling leisurely. Wen Zhengyu smiled inwardly. She really does look like she's just here for a digestive walk. If Ye Ling weren't clutching the cake so tightly, she thought it would seem even more so.
In the night breeze, strands of Ye Ling's gently curled hair were playfully lifted by the wind. Perhaps it was the quality of Ye Ling's hair, or maybe her striking features, but to Wen Zhengyu, it felt like a breeze teasing playfully.
Looking at Ye Ling from her vantage point, she could just see Ye Ling's nose, lips, and her curled, fluttering eyelashes. In terms of looks, Ye Ling actually fit the current aesthetic perfectly. Many people underwent surgeries to augment their noses, shave their jaws, or alter their cheekbones; even if the procedures were remarkably successful, the results might not match Ye Ling's natural beauty.
She was beautiful, and having shed her business attire for a loose, casual open-neck shirt, she exuded a certain charm absent in her daily life. At the open collar, her delicate collarbone resembled jade carvings.
A thin necklace hung around her neck, its small pendant inlaid with diamond chips resting perfectly in the hollow of her throat. Slightly alluring.
Ye Ling suddenly turned her head, her gaze meeting Wen Zhengyu's directly. Ye Ling smiled. "Is Zhengyu stealing glances at me?"
Wen Zhengyu: "..." She averted her gaze. She suddenly felt that Ye Ling was best when silent. Whenever Ye Ling spoke, she either rendered one speechless or ruined the atmosphere.
Ye Ling laughed. "Zhengyu may look at me openly. I don't mind."
Wen Zhengyu retorted inwardly, I'm not some lovesick fool. But then she suddenly realized her own staring at Ye Ling just now had indeed been somewhat lovesick. Instantly, her face burned.
Ye Ling's smile deepened.
Wen Zhengyu felt a strong urge to punch Ye Ling squarely in the face, flattening that radiant, flower-like smile into a large, flat pancake. She felt some people existed solely to test the composure of others.
After nine o'clock, the crowd gradually dispersed. The surroundings slowly quieted down.
They strolled along the lakeshore, walking until they reached a pavilion built directly over the water. There were no streetlights in the pavilion; only its faint outline was revealed in the bright moonlight, set against the fading lotuses past their bloom in the lake and the crescent moon and stars in the sky, lending a rather secluded and tranquil aura.
Ye Ling gestured toward it. "Shall we go into the pavilion?"
Wen Zhengyu answered, "Alright."
Wen Jing and one of Ye Ling's bodyguards went ahead to clear away the litter left by tourists in the pavilion, then silently retreated to the covered corridor outside.
Ye Ling and Wen Zhengyu sat down at the stone table inside the pavilion. With the moonlight, the pavilion was not completely dark; the surrounding scenery and the outlines of people were still discernible.
Perhaps because of the profound silence and dim light, the senses were heightened. The warmth and aura radiating from a person beside one differed entirely from being alone; the feeling that only the two of them were here was exceptionally strong. The faint fragrance of Ye Ling's perfume drifted on the wind, entering Wen Zhengyu's lungs with each breath, causing her heart to palpitate with disarray.
Ye Ling untied the ribbon from the cake box and removed the outer packaging, revealing the cake's shape. The cake's size was not proportional to the box. It was only a small cake, slightly larger than a palm, but the decorative elements standing on top made it tall, necessitating a larger box.
Ye Ling took out a lighter, flicked it on with a "click," and lit the candles. Only with the candlelight could Wen Zhengyu clearly see the decorations standing on the cake—Her gaze fixed on the cake, and for a moment, she was speechless. On the exquisitely delicate little cake stood two small, ugly dough figurines, side by side, holding hands.
Wen Zhengyu had cherished sugar and dough figurines since childhood. But in her twenty-plus years, among all the dough figurines she had seen and eaten, these two before her were the ugliest.
Yet, despite their ugliness, the artistic conception and character traits were captured incredibly well—they were ugly with a distinctive charm. The small dough figurine with long, slightly curled hair was a little taller; the one with straight hair was a bit shorter.
The straight-haired figurine wore a floor-length dress, with even the tiny folds of the skirt meticulously sculpted. The curly-haired one was donned in a shirt and trousers.
The shirt's style was similar to the one Ye Ling wore today, though the effect compared as bespoke tailoring does to a cheap knockoff. As for the trousers, Wen Zhengyu could only deduce the curly-haired figurine wore them because they were merely two thin cylindrical strips of dough. On its feet were high heels, the heels smaller than grains of rice—truly rare for the modeler, with such poor skill, to still manage to shape the heels.
Ye Ling watched Wen Zhengyu, whose eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the figurines, with a smile. "Though the craftsmanship of these two little dough figurines isn't great, they are a labor of love. I hope Zhengyu won't laugh at them."
Wen Zhengyu dared not laugh. She offered insincere praise, "The artistic conception and character traits are captured exceptionally well.
The intent is clear, the emotional conveyance precise. CEO Ye has sculpted them very well." After speaking, she felt her ability to lie smoothly had ascended another level.
Ye Ling critiqued, "When Zhengyu praises me, if only her expression held a little more sincerity, I would be even happier. As long as Zhengyu is praising me, even if it's false, I love hearing it."
Wen Zhengyu: "..." She looked at Ye Ling silently, very much disinclined to speak further, not even false words.
Ye Ling gestured toward the burning candle on the cake. "The candle has already burned halfway," she said.
"Zhengyu, sing me a birthday song. I want to make a wish."
Sing? Her!
Wen Zhengyu was stunned. She suddenly wanted to say, "Bring a zither, a pipa will do, a flute is fine, a xiao too, and I'll play a piece for you." She was tone-deaf; asking her to sing was pure torment.
Under the expectant gaze of Ye Ling, with no one else here to rescue her, Wen Zhengyu could only brace herself and sing "Happy Birthday" to Ye Ling in a voice as low as a mosquito's hum. Though Wen Zhengyu's voice was soft, the quiet surroundings made it clearly audible. That gentle, slow voice carried the unique cadence of Wu-dialect softness, like spring mist and rain or a summer's cool veil brushing across the heart.
After Wen Zhengyu finished singing, her ears burned and her face reddened slightly. She looked toward Ye Ling, deeply embarrassed, only to find Ye Ling with her eyes closed, making a wish.
That devout expression struck an unexpected chord in Wen Zhengyu's heart. She stared blankly at Ye Ling's wish-making demeanor and suddenly felt a twinge of envy—envy that Ye Ling had a wish to make, envy that she was someone with aspirations.
Wen Zhengyu never made wishes. She had nothing she particularly wanted, nor had she ever yearned for anything.
Things she desired and could achieve, she strove to obtain; that was enough. Things she wanted but couldn't accomplish were merely fantasies, utterly meaningless.
Most of the time, when she encountered something, she considered not whether she wanted it or not, but whether it was possible or impossible. Just like when they sold the family mansion back then—regardless of what she or her grandfather wanted or didn't want, they had no choice but to sell.
Regardless of whether she now wanted to buy it back, her current earning power was barely enough to maintain daily expenses; she lacked the ability to repurchase it. She vaguely harbored this as a notion or a goal.
As for whether she could earn enough money to buy back the house, and whether its current owner would even be willing to sell then, it could only be left to fate and destiny. What was lost, was lost. As for what one might gain again, that was another matter entirely.
Ye Ling was different from her. It was evident from Ye Ling's daily actions and style.
Ye Ling did not accept fate. She possessed a fierce determination that her life was her own, not heaven's to command.
Such a person lived authentically, with fervent intensity. Her life might not be stable, but it was certainly brilliant. Unlike her own—her life was like a clear spring, predictable from source to end, its only color residing entirely within her paintings.
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