Chapter Eight
She strongly suspected that Ji Qinghe’s unconventional tactic of retreating to advance was an attempt to strike directly at the heart of the matter and break down her defenses.
Could she fall for it? Absolutely not!
Shen Qianzhan pursed her lips and handed him a cup of Pu’er tea brought by Meng Wangzhou: “What’s all this talk about dislike? Only kids care about likes and dislikes. Adults only think about whether something is useful and how it can be used.”
Her smile was bright and genuine. If not for the fact that she had pushed off the ground with her toes and slid her chair back a few steps, no one would have guessed she was putting on a polite facade.
She picked up another cup of Pu’er from the tea tray and, pretending to admire the workshop, took a leisurely stroll.
Fortunately, Meng Wangzhou had the sense to retreat in time, or her personal image might have suffered immeasurable damage.
That scoundrel Ji Qinghe was truly cunning.
As Shen Qianzhan grumbled inwardly and wandered around, she suddenly found herself standing before a floor-to-ceiling glass cabinet that occupied an entire wall.
The cabinet had a solid wooden frame as its base, with three layers of beveled glass as shelves. The joints between the cabinet corners and the glass were sharply defined, adorned with delicate inlaid filigree lines.
The lines were faint in color, thin and delicate, tracing the shape of a clock face. The face was complete with hour, minute, and second hands, all pointing to a specific moment on a certain day.
The cabinet was likely used for displaying collections, as the interior design of the display pieces was exceptionally intricate. Each compartment varied in size, custom-made to meticulously house different types of clocks.
Shen Qianzhan’s knowledge of clocks was still limited, but she recognized a few pieces similar to those exhibited at the Shaanxi Museum’s clock exhibition.
One was a color-lacquered copper-dial clock from the Qianlong era of the Qing Dynasty, another was a black-lacquered gilded floral wooden tower clock, and there was also an 18th-century English clock.
Unable to hide her astonishment, she turned to ask Ji Qinghe: “Are these genuine?”
The latter, having likely encountered similar situations many times before, replied calmly: “Some of them are.”
Without removing his magnifying glasses, he easily followed the direction of her finger and identified the clock displayed in the cabinet: “That one is a model. My grandfather would craft similar molds for every clock he restored and then teach me watchmaking using them.”
“Many of the counterfeit parts are incomplete, and the quality is too poor. I keep them in the cabinet to avoid damage.” He removed his magnifying glasses and walked over: “Aren’t you curious about which ones are real?”
Did she have the word “superficial” written all over her face? Couldn’t she be a bit more tactful?
Shen Qianzhan lowered her head to take a sip of tea, then tilted her chin slightly toward the corner where an English clock that looked quite aged was displayed: “This one, genuine.”
Ji Qinghe chuckled softly: “Judging by the extent of the damage?”
“Not exactly.” Shen Qianzhan blew gently on the surface of her tea and said: “Did you forget we saw a similar clock at the Shaanxi Museum’s clock exhibition? Most of the Qianlong-era Qing Dynasty clocks are now museum collections. I just think you’re not rich enough to acquire them.”
Her tone shifted slightly, tinged with a hint of smugness: “I’ve studied Elder Ji’s background. He was the director of the Clock Museum when he was younger, and even after resigning, he continued to restore clocks for free. Someone with such dedication to craftsmanship probably wouldn’t stand by and watch his collection be ruined by unworthy descendants.”
Ji Qinghe was well aware of Shen Qianzhan’s roundabout insinuations but couldn’t be bothered to engage. Instead, he lowered his voice and asked with a soft laugh: “Do you still remember the Shaanxi Museum’s clock exhibition?”
His sudden change in tone, coupled with that half-smiling expression, instantly infused an otherwise ordinary question with a hint of ambiguity.
Of course Shen Qianzhan remembered.Back then, she had just secured the tribute drama project in collaboration with Boxuan Film and Television. With a last-minute cramming mentality, she changed her vacation destination from Fiji to Xi’an, all for the grand clock exhibition at the Shaanxi History Museum.
In addition to the collection from the museum’s Clock Gallery, the exhibition also featured renowned national treasure-level clocks from various regions.
That was where she and Ji Qinghe first met.
To be honest, not a single treasure in that entire room could outshine Ji Qinghe alone.
Shen Qianzhan, a seasoned veteran who had spent years navigating the entertainment industry and seen it all, had encountered countless fresh-faced heartthrobs. Yet, in that moment, she was so utterly captivated by Ji Qinghe that she could only think of becoming his devoted follower.
He wasn’t just good-looking; he carried an enigmatic aura about him—like Loulan, like a bodhi tree cleansed of worldly dust amidst desert storms, bearing the weight of drifting through time, now finally settled.
No trace of weariness, only the richness of experience.
Of course, now that she knew he worked with time and clocks, Shen Qianzhan wasn’t surprised he possessed such a temperament.
But the awe Ji Qinghe had inspired in her back then remained unforgettable even now, leaving her with an itch she couldn’t scratch.
Still, women are experts at feigning indifference and talking tough.
Shen Qianzhan said expressionlessly, “I only remember the clocks, not the watches.”
—
Meng Wangzhou was smoking by the courtyard’s skylight.
The soundproofing of the old house wasn’t great, and the intermittent voices of Ji Qinghe and Shen Qianzhan drifted over from time to time. Aside from being unable to make out the words, eavesdropping here required no skill at all.
After finishing his cigarette, he grabbed some fish food and went to the front hall to feed the fish.
On his way back, he deliberately passed by the door and glanced inside—Ji Qinghe was showing the girl his wall of clocks, each with its own illustrious history.
He snorted disdainfully, grumbling inwardly: Back when a fellow collector friend of his wanted to broaden his horizons, the man had coldly and ruthlessly cut him off with a single “get lost,” interrupting the speech he’d spent a whole day preparing. But now, faced with a pretty girl, all moral principles went out the window. What a hypocrite!
Meng Wangzhou tossed the fish food into a corner of the windowsill, picked up a watering can, and went to water the plants.
His lucky bamboo was thirsting for a drink, clamoring for some hydration.
After watering the plants, wiping down the tea table, and tidying up the association’s base, Meng Wangzhou, with nothing left to do, spotted the electric hotpot on the long table. His eyes lit up, and he happily extended an invitation: “Miss Shen, it’s getting late. Why not stay for hotpot tonight?”
Shen Qianzhan, who had been contemplating using her departure as an excuse to ask for contact information, glanced at the unapproachable Ji Qinghe leaning against the wall beside her. Unable to refuse such hospitality, she agreed.
—
The hotpot ingredients had been prepared in advance by Meng Wangzhou. His original plan was to invite several fellow clock collectors to the association’s base for a gathering over the next couple of days, where they could boast a little, talk about life, and drown their sorrows in drink.
But life is unpredictable.
Ji Qinghe had arrived in Beijing without a word, and by the looks of it, he seemed intent on staying long-term.
He preferred quiet over noise and couldn’t stand Meng Wangzhou bringing his dubious friends into the courtyard.
In his presence, Meng Wangzhou never dared to act out of line, let alone cross any boundaries.
Fortunately, he’d run into Shen Qianzhan today. After quickly thawing the ingredients in the microwave, he laid out a long table full of hotpot fixings and warmly urged, “Miss Shen, don’t be shy. Eat up.”
Shen Qianzhan patted the little roll of fat on her stomach and sighed deeply inside… Her salad lunch had been for nothing.
—
None of the three were particularly familiar with one another, and even a social catalyst like hotpot, which can quickly warm up friendships, didn’t manage to work its magic this time.Meng Wangzhou glanced from one to the other, and the words he had held back all evening burst forth through a crack: "Ms. Shen, are you from Beijing?"
"Beijing drifter." Shen Qianzhan took a bite of crab roe bun and said, "We're already on hotpot-sharing terms, just call me Qianzhan."
Meng Wangzhou raised an eyebrow, swishing beef into the pot as he asked, "Beijing drifter? Mind if I ask where you work?"
"Thousand Lights." Shen Qianzhan ate another shrimp ball, too busy chewing to speak properly: "I'm a producer."
This profession was rather distant from Meng Wangzhou's life, and he was momentarily astonished, chattering away with a series of questions that sounded rather unintelligent. Finally, he shifted the topic, glancing at his plastic cousin: "So when you sought out a watchmaker in the trade, was it to find a consultant for your project? Since you know Qinghe, why not just ask him directly?" He even went to great lengths, calling to chat with someone like him who only dabbles in collecting on the fringes.
Shen Qianzhan paused her chopsticks to think for a few seconds, then said, "We just don't click."
Meng Wangzhou was unfazed and even quite understanding. However, in front of Ji Qinghe, he didn't dare to openly agree, so he simply nodded to show his support.
After a quiet few minutes, Shen Qianzhan had eaten her fill.
She blew softly on her pu'er tea, sizing up Ji Qinghe, who hadn't spoken a word since the meal began.
The man appeared gentlemanly and refined, exuding an innate air of nobility. Only during a hotpot meal could he be dragged down from his pedestal by the smoky, bustling atmosphere of mortal life.
After a moment's thought, she asked, "Did you find me through Old Ji?"
Shen Qianzhan had tossed and turned sleeplessly last night, thinking it over for a long time.
Ji Qinghe's attitude clearly indicated he knew she urgently needed to find a watch restorer capable of repairing antique clocks as a project consultant. If he hadn't seen the project proposal, Shen Qianzhan would gladly twist her own head off and kick it like a ball for this dog of a man.
"Probably." Ji Qinghe nodded, answering cautiously: "Remember Ji Lin?"
He reminded her: "The kid who called you a spider demon from the Cobweb Cave."
Shen Qianzhan shot a quick glance at Meng Wangzhou, whose face was flushed, and clicked her tongue, brushing it off: "I know, but can you be a bit more subtle about things only you and I understand?"
Ji Qinghe raised an eyebrow, clearly wearing an expression that said, "That depends on your performance": "After he hid your proposal, he showed it to me."
Shen Qianzhan nearly scalded her mouth with a sip of pu'er: "Are you saying Old Ji never saw my proposal?"
Ji Qinghe asked, "Is that important? He and Ms. Meng have already finalized their European tour itinerary and set off."
Shen Qianzhan choked up.
For a moment, she wasn't sure what she was feeling inside.
She understood Ji Qinghe's meaning—whether Old Ji saw the proposal or not, he wouldn't cancel the European tour. But if that were the case, she would have been willing to adjust the timing for Old Ji's sake.
"You might not know who Ms. Meng is." Ji Qinghe leisurely ate a slice of beef and said, "Meng Qiongzhi, the founder of Endless Year."
"The two of them have been apart for too long and are counting on traveling and enjoying life after retirement. Even if they were moved by your proposal, they would only ask me to step in. Since the outcome is the same, why fuss over the process?"
Shen Qianzhan scoffed, "Are you and Old Ji on the same level of influence? Don't flatter yourself."Ji Qinghe cast a faint glance at Meng Wangzhou, who could no longer control his mocking expression, stirred his chopsticks in the clear soup, and said, "Actually, I think Ji Lin isn't being fair enough with his words."
Shen Qianzhan had a vague sense of foreboding.
Sure enough.
The petty man immediately struck back in the next second: "The spider spirits of the Cobweb Cave aren't quite fitting. What do you think about the Queen of the Women's Kingdom?"
Shen Qianzhan: "???"
Was he implying that she had acted like she'd never seen a man that night?
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