pjbooks Chapter 132 Ancient Costume!
Chapter 132 Ancient Costume!
The snow on Changbai Mountain is still too cold.
Although the underground "Mo Family Beiming" base was warm and comfortable, the hundred-meter-long bronze serpent was indeed quite intimidating.
But for a woman like Nie Qingcheng who treats skincare as a lifelong career, dryness and cold wind are her natural enemies.
Under the gaze of Manager Qian, who almost knelt down and called her "living ancestor," Nie Qingcheng signed a stack of documents with swift and decisive action.
Aside from leaving behind two trusted team members and an astronomical sum of maintenance funds, she didn't even glance at the mechanical snake that Zhang Yan had "tamed."
They simply dumped the rest of the mess... no, the grand business development plan, entirely on the newly arrived deputy general manager of the engineering department.
In her words, "Now that the snake has stopped biting, all that's left is figuring out how to sell tickets and make money. Do I really need to personally oversee this kind of menial work?"
So, four hours later.
The Boeing BBJ business jet once again pierced the clouds, plunging from the snow-covered north into the misty, rain-swept south of the Yangtze River.
……
Yunshuiyao Inn in Nanxun Ancient Town.
This is a rather unremarkable private property under Nie Qingcheng's name, but that doesn't stop it from having the best viewpoint and the most expensive rosewood furniture in the entire ancient town.
A light drizzle was falling outside the window, and the bluestone pavement shone with the rainwater. The awning boat swayed and rocked as it passed under the stone arch bridge, leaving ripples in its wake.
Zhang Yan had just finished showering and was sitting on a riverside lounge chair wrapped in a bathrobe, holding a cup of pre-Qingming Longjing tea, staring blankly at the scenery outside the window.
This is life.
Compared to the harsh weather of Changbai Mountain, where temperatures frequently drop to minus thirty degrees Celsius and you have to fight to the death against mechanical monsters from thousands of years ago, this is simply paradise.
"Click".
The carved wooden door to the inner room was pushed open.
"Zhang Yan, come help me."
Nie Qingcheng's voice came from inside, tinged with frustration, "Why is this ribbon so hard to tie?"
"They're here."
Zhang Yan put down his teacup, got up lazily, and went inside.
He stopped in his tracks as soon as he entered the room.
The lights in the room were set to a warm tone, emitting an ambiguous orange hue.
Nie Qingcheng stood in front of the huge bronze mirror. Her business attire was nowhere to be found. In its place was a set of exquisitely crafted high-waisted ruqun (a type of traditional Chinese dress).
The light blue gauze outer garment concealed a bodice embroidered with large white magnolias, and the skirt was layered, as if she were wearing the misty rain of Jiangnan.
The worst part is that the design of this Hanfu is extremely figure-hugging.
The strapless top was pulled very tight, exposing large swathes of her fair skin to the air, and beneath her delicate collarbone was a deep cleavage that was impossible to look away from.
Her hair wasn't fully styled yet, with a few strands hanging down beside her ears, and the beauty mark at the corner of her eye looked even more alluring under the light.
"Are you stunned?"
Looking at Zhang Yan's fixed gaze through the bronze mirror, Nie Qingcheng smiled smugly, turned around and handed him a ribbon, "What are you still standing there for? Tie it."
Zhang Yan took a deep breath, walked over, and took the ribbon.
This is not a tie.
This is clearly a test of the cadres' resolve.
His hand circled around Nie Qingcheng's slender waist, his fingertips inevitably touching the soft warmth beneath the thin veil.
Nie Qingcheng seemed to be doing it on purpose, leaning back slightly, almost pressed against his chest, her warm breath spraying onto his neck, carrying the scent of roses from her recent bath.
"Wife."
Zhang Yan tightened his grip slightly, tying a knot in the ribbon. His voice was a little hoarse. "Dressed like this, are you planning some kind of husband-murder drama in this ancient town?"
"Is it pretty?"
Nie Qingcheng twirled around, her skirt billowing in the air.
"It looks good."
Zhang Yan nodded honestly, "It's just a bit hard on my back."
"screw you."
Nie Qingcheng gave him a playful glare, then pointed to another set of clothes on the bed, "You should change into that too."
Zhang Yan looked in the direction she was pointing.
His face turned green instantly.
It was a men's round-necked robe, commonly known as a scholar's attire.
The dress has a moon-white background with a subtle bamboo embroidery pattern, and is accompanied by a folding fan and a wig.
"Can I not wear it?"
Zhang Yan tried to argue, "I'm a grown man, 1.85 meters tall, and I look like an opera singer dressed like this."
"no."
Nie Qingcheng put her hands on her hips, her domineering CEO persona returning, "I've already put it on, so you have to stay with me."
"These are our matching outfits for today."
"We'll see."
She walked over and poked Zhang Yan's chest muscles. "You're such a clothes hanger, you'd look good in a burlap sack. Stop talking nonsense and hurry up."
Zhang Yan sighed.
The price of being a kept man.
……
Half an hour later.
A new awning boat has appeared on the waterway of the ancient town.
The rain had stopped a little, but a thin layer of mist still lingered in the air.
Zhang Yan sat at the bow of the boat, dressed in a moon-white long robe, waving a folding fan in his hand. Surprisingly, the wig fit him perfectly, and with his handsome face and lazy scholarly air, he looked exactly like a talented scholar from Jiangnan who had stepped out of a painting.
Nie Qingcheng sat opposite him, holding an oil-paper umbrella in her hand, her peach blossom eyes never leaving Zhang Yan.
"Tsk tsk, so handsome."
Nie Qingcheng took out her phone and started snapping photos of Zhang Yan. "It's such a waste that this face isn't in the entertainment industry. If you were to act in historical dramas, all those popular young actors would be out of a job."
"Mr. Nie, tone it down."
Zhang Yan helplessly covered half of his face with a folding fan, "You're practically drooling."
"So what if it drips? Is it illegal for me to drool over my own husband?"
Nie Qingcheng was perfectly justified, and even went so far as to stick her foot out and gently rub Zhang Yan's calf under the table.
The boatman, an old man in his sixties, was rowing at the stern. Listening to the conversation between the two men, his old face beamed with joy.
"Are you two celebrities here to film a movie?"
The old man, speaking in a soft Wu dialect, said, "He's really handsome, much better looking than those on TV."
"Sir, you have excellent taste."
Nie Qingcheng replied with a smile, "But we're not filming a movie. I'm this scholar's creditor. He owes me money, and I've brought him here to pay off his debt."
The old man paused for a moment, then burst into laughter: "Young lady, you're quite the joker. This young man has an air of nobility about him; he doesn't look like someone in debt. He looks more like a top scholar from some family."
The boat sailed to the foot of a stone arch bridge.
The bridge was crowded with tourists, many of whom were taking pictures of the scenery.
As the awning boat slowly emerged from the bridge arch, a sudden commotion arose among the crowd.
"Look! That ship down there!"
"Holy crap, is that a film crew shooting a movie? That guy is so handsome!"
"That woman is so beautiful! Her aura is amazing! Which top actress is she?"
"I've never seen her before. Is she a newcomer?"
The sound of camera shutters clicking incessantly, and flashes going off everywhere.
Zhang Yan frowned and turned slightly to the side, not wanting his face to be photographed.
Nie Qingcheng, however, became interested.
She set the oil-paper umbrella aside and took out a set of writing brush, ink, paper and inkstone from her bag—props she had prepared in advance, originally intending to take some photos of "a beautiful woman adding fragrance to the room" to post on her WeChat Moments.
"Zhang, the great scholar."
Nie Qingcheng laid a blank sheet of Xuan paper on the small table, ground the ink, and said, "Since everyone is watching, why don't you show off your skills?"
"Could you draw my portrait?"