6. Gift 2.0

Life returned to its usual calm.

On Friday evening, Su Yun sat alone at home, reviewing materials for the next day’s meeting. Li Ruocheng had just sent her the speech draft. After a quick read, Su Yun understood the main points and highlighted the technical terms.

Ding dong—the doorbell rang.

It was the deliveryman, asking for Ms. Su Yun.

Su Yun was puzzled. She hadn’t ordered anything. Was it something from her parents? She signed for the package and took the rectangular box in her hands. It wasn’t heavy, the surface was impeccably clean, with no sender’s address or contact information.

She shook the box—no sound.

Su Yun placed it on the floor, took a small knife to cut through the tape, and opened the box. The sight shocked her so much she fell back onto the floor.

A nude portrait of a woman!

The woman in the painting was herself, in the very same pose—only this time, rendered in oils.

Su Yun leaned closer. The painting was sixty centimeters long and forty wide, framed, with foam corners for protection.

Sick pervert!

She pulled the painting out, wishing she could smash it. Beneath it lay a folded card. Su Yun picked it up and read:

"Su Yun, do you like this gift? If not, I have other versions."

Her phone rang, and her heart seized.

An unfamiliar number, but she answered without hesitation.

“Bonjour,” came a cheerful voice.

“What on earth do you want?” Su Yun forced down her anger.

“I’ll give you thirty minutes,” He Mian said, then hung up.

—

An hour later, Su Yun knocked on He Mian’s door, breathless—she was thirty minutes late.

“Miss Su, as a student, you seem to have no sense of time,” He Mian said, opening the door. He had just showered, dressed in a bathrobe, hair half-dry, swirling a glass of red wine in his hand.

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked inside.

Su Yun followed. He Mian stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, sipping his wine. The night view was beautiful. As Su Yun drew closer, her reflection appeared on the glass.

“There was traffic,” she said, watching her own lips move.

In truth, there hadn’t been. It took only thirty minutes to get from her place to He Mian’s apartment. After he hung up, she’d battled with herself for half an hour. She’d thought about calling the police, but the man’s background seemed formidable—he knew her number, her address. If he twisted the truth, she’d lose her reputation and be exposed to the public.

She had thought herself safe, but he had been monitoring her every move, mocking her self-assurance.

She was like a marionette, her strings held by He Mian.

She couldn’t let that painting be made public. She had no artistic ambition, she wasn’t Venus, nor the Madonna, and she certainly wasn’t open enough to let the world admire her body.

At least, not yet.

—

“As a fellow countryman, Miss Su, you don’t seem very friendly to me,” He Mian said, meeting her gaze through the glass.

Su Yun forced a smile. “How could that be? Mr. He, perhaps you’re mistaken?”

He Mian turned around, staring straight at her as he slowly approached. “Why so distant? Call me He Mian, or Mian. Or, as you did last time, call me ‘brother.’” The last word, “brother,” he whispered into her ear.

Su Yun felt the warmth of his breath against her skin, her ears flushing crimson. She froze, unable and unwilling to move, turning her face aside as He Mian drew near. That single word brought back memories of their wild entanglement in bed.

He Mian’s body carried the fresh scent of a recent shower. Su Yun caught the fragrance with a faint sniff.

—

After that, He Mian retreated and strolled to the sofa, sitting down.

“What do you want, He Mian?” Su Yun asked, watching him closely.

It was nothing more than lust, she thought. There were plenty of women vying for a man like him—why did he keep coming back to trouble her?

“Your heart,” He Mian declared, each word clear and heavy.

Su Yun was startled, dismissing it as nonsense.

Men’s words—nothing but lies.

—

“Aren’t you tired standing there? Come, sit down,” He Mian said, patting the seat beside him.

Su Yun didn’t budge. “Where did that painting come from? Do you have other photos?”

He Mian chuckled softly, pressing his left index and middle fingers together to his temple. “Su Yun, my memory cells have recorded you. Painting a picture isn’t hard for me—it just took a bit of time, two whole days.”

He could paint from memory—his recall was almost supernatural.

—

“Let me go,” Su Yun said weakly.

He Mian burst out laughing. “Su Yun, I like conquest and challenge.”

Which meant, plainly, he enjoyed chasing his prey and savoring the thrill of triumph. And Su Yun was the target he had chosen.

In her heart, Su Yun cursed his entire family.

“If you want to curse, do it out loud. Bottling it up will only make you sick,” He Mian advised, in a tone of utmost concern.

Su Yun was momentarily stunned. Was he a man, or a demon?