novelraw Chapter 765: Secretary Jin’s Mark
Chapter 765: Secretary Jin’s Mark
Floor 101, The Peak.
At this moment the restaurant seemed to be floating above Manhattan’s dazzling galaxy.
Outside the windows, a silent, grand tableau stretched on.
Inside, music wove a dream.
Under the lights, Tang Song tilted his body slightly.
His suit carved clean, sharp lines, and his long fingers rose and fell across the black-and-white keys as if caressing a lover’s skin.
The mysterious aura granted by the Mist Gentleman effect was amplified now, radiating an irresistible charm.
Elegant, passionate, commanding.
Not far away,
Lin Muxue gripped her champagne flute tightly, a strange hot surge roaring up inside her.She had to bite her lower lip to stop herself from shouting.
On the other side, Shen Yuyan held her breath, almost forgetting to think, her soul’s tremor hotter than any physical reaction.
They were utterly vanquished by that play of light and shadow.
The final chord was gently held by Tang Song’s fingertips.
The music slowly fell silent.
The lingering sound did not stop abruptly.
It was like a drop of water falling into boundless night, sending ripple after ripple across the dark.
Until it dissolved in the air.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
A few seconds later, applause rose like a tide.
This time it wasn’t the perfunctory clapping of a business event, but true, uncontrollable admiration and amazement.
All the guests present were genuine high society.
They had heard soloists at Carnegie Hall and attended Vienna’s New Year concerts.
They were connoisseurs.
Precisely because they understood, they were shaken.
Tang Song’s performance, in both technical precision and emotional delivery, had already reached a professional musician’s level.
Add to that his extraordinary looks and charisma, and the venue and atmosphere right now—
it was a nearly perfect audiovisual feast.
In the shadow by the floor-to-ceiling window,
Secretary Jin stood quietly, hands resting at her sides, and from start to finish she had not clapped.
All she could hear was her heart.
Thump, thump, each beat sharp and unmistakable.
She had actually heard Tang Song play before.
It was on the sixth anniversary of their acquaintance, when he got drunk for the first time.
In the foyer of that suite, buoyed by wine, he had improvised a piece for her.
It left a warm memory.
Now reunited in New York, hearing him play Liebestraum No.3 for her alone,
the feeling was more like an open, blatant favor and confession in front of everyone.
The shock to her heart was indescribable.
It threw her usually calm, rational self into unprecedented breathless disorder.
...
At center stage,
Tang Song rose from the piano.
The lights shifted with his movement, gilding his outline in a thin rim of gold.
Faced with the swell of applause and praise, he showed no excessive excitement or false humility.
He simply hooked one hand into his suit button and bowed slightly with a gentle smile,
graceful, composed.
After a few casual exchanges with guests who approached him,
Tang Song picked up two freshly poured glasses of champagne from a waiter’s silver tray.
In the midst of the crowd, he returned to the shadow by the window.
The distance was perfect.
Their gazes met.
Tang Song handed one glass to Secretary Jin.
The motion was natural and intimate, as if the rest of the world did not exist.
Secretary Jin took it.
They clinked glasses.
A crisp ding echoed between them.
“Did you feel it?” he asked softly.
“Feel what?”
“That line I just said—whoever stands beside him now is his true world.”
“Mm.” Secretary Jin’s lips moved; she lowered her head to sip the cold champagne, trying to tamp down the heat in her chest.
A faint flush on her face was obscured by the dim lighting.
“Do you have anything to say?” Tang Song pressed.
She turned, looking at Tang Song’s reflection in the window.
After a moment of silence, she smiled, “That performance just now… was very handsome.”
“Do you like it?”
Secretary Jin swirled the wine in her glass, watching the golden bubbles rise.
“This Liebestraum No.3 is beautiful. I like it a lot.”
“Director Jin, you’re so aloof. It seems you’ve never directly said your opinion about me.”
“Oh? President Tang, do you care about what others think?”
“You’re not others.”
“Emm…”
A flicker of emotion passed through Secretary Jin’s eyes, then she composed herself.
She tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear and stared out into the deep black sky, then suddenly and out of nowhere said, “The forecast says it will snow in New York tomorrow.”
“Yes, I know.”
“After we finish at the Family Office headquarters, want to go to Central Park and see the snow?”
“Director Jin, are you asking me out?”
“Of course.”
“Then… I might have to give that careful consideration.”
“Is President Tang angry?”
“No, only that I also have my own reserve.”
“Very well, I’ll await good news.”
Secretary Jin smiled knowingly, tapped her glass gently against his, then elegantly tilted her head back and finished the champagne.
The way she swallowed in the dim light was intoxicatingly sexy.
“Let’s go, President Tang. We’ve spent too long alone in the corner.”
“Mm.”
They turned and walked side by side out of the quiet viewing area and back into the bright, bustling arena of fame and fortune.
Their figures were quickly swallowed by the eager crowd.
France, Paris time, December 21.
3:00 a.m.
Le Bourget Airport.
This top-tier European airport serving private jets was shrouded in a bleak, cold rain.
A black-painted Gulfstream G650ER cut through the downpour and came to a steady stop on the tarmac.
The cabin door slowly opened.
Wet, cold air rushed in, carrying the piercing bite of a Parisian winter night.
Su Yu stepped down.
Her black oversized coat cinched tightly at the waist outlined her graceful silhouette.
Though it was the middle of the night, she still wore oversized sunglasses that covered most of her face, revealing only a pale, nearly translucent chin and blood-red lips.
Before an assistant could open a black umbrella and move to meet her,
Su Yu stepped out in her high-heeled ankle boots and walked straight into the rain.
Icy droplets landed on her hair tips, cheeks, and neck, but she seemed oblivious, tilting her head back to greedily inhale the cold foreign air.
The bodyguards and security exchanged glances and prudently fell back, heads down.
No one dared disturb this mercurial diva.
After a moment,
Su Yu finally bent and slid into a waiting black Rolls-Royce Phantom.
Only then did everyone exhale and quickly get in.
...
The motorcade left the airport and threaded through empty Paris streets at dawn.
Wipers beat rhythmically, stretching the Haussmann facades into strange shadows under the dull streetlights.
The car’s interior was warm and springlike, filled with a faint aroma.
Su Yu curled lazily in the backseat, kicked off her expensive boots, and placed her feet on the thick plush carpet.
Her gaze was vacant as she stared out the window.
Buzz—buzz—buzz— the phone’s vibration broke the silence.
Cheng Xiaoxi, the life assistant in the front seat, glanced at the caller ID and murmured, “Sister Yu, it’s Assistant Zhen Yu’s call.”
“Put her through.”
Su Yu took the phone and tapped to answer without speaking, listening quietly.
On the other end, Assistant Zhen’s voice was low and carried a hint of excitement, “Sister Yu, I have confirmed news! Smile Holdings’ shareholders’ meeting ended one day early. It’s evening in New York right now, and they’re holding a celebration dinner at 30 Hudson Yards’ The Peak.”
Like a doll given a soul, Su Yu straightened as if electrified.
She sat up abruptly, her eyes erupting with a fierce light. “Ended early?”
“Yes, definitely. The official release has been issued.”
“Good, very good…” Su Yu drew a deep breath and let a brilliant smile curl at the corner of her mouth.
She had made such a big move this time, even using public pressure to force the issue.
Her greatest fear was that the extremely possessive Jin Meixiao would find a way to stall.
If New York’s four-day schedule ended on the 22nd domestic date, that would be only two days before her birthday.
If Jin Meixiao used any excuse—“blizzard delay,” “business holdover”—to detain Tang Song,
Su Yu’s birthday would be ruined.
And it was about to snow in New York.
Such a heart-wrenching, calculated move was exactly the sort of thing that ruthless She-devil would do.
It seemed she had hesitated for some reason.
Was she worried about damaging Tang Song’s perfect impression of her?
Or… because of Ouyang Xianyue?
She hung up and leaned back, looking at rainy Paris. Even the annoying raindrops now felt like a romantic prelude to this reunion.
Half an hour later.
Paris’s 16th Arrondissement.
An ostentatious Haussmann private mansion beside Place du Trocadéro.
This was the heart of the real wealthy district.
Open a window and you could see the Eiffel Tower’s twinkling tip like something within reach.
Su Yu walked into the foyer and flung her coat on the floor.
Cheng Xiaoxi hurried over with a cup of hot ginger tea prepared by the housekeeper. “Sister Yu, drink this to warm up.”
Su Yu sipped a few mouthfuls and set it aside.
She began asking about final details for the birthday party setup.
Ring—ring—ring— her private phone rang.
Mo Xiangwan.
Su Yu raised an eyebrow and answered with a bright tone, “Hello? Xiangwan.”
“Xiao Yu, landed yet?”
“Yes, I’m at the house.” She nonchalantly wandered to the wine cabinet, letting her fingers skim rows of expensive bottles.
“Has Tang Song... been in contact with you recently?”
“No. Why?”
“There’s big news.” Mo Xiangwan paused, seeming to weigh her words. “Ms. Ouyang says she’ll tell you after clarifying some details, but I thought I should notify you quickly.”
“What is it?”
“Just last night, all the core members of the Family Office received an encrypted notice. President Tang has officially joined the Family Office. His external identity now is Global Strategic Partner, and he sits on the executive committee.”
Su Yu’s hand froze in midair. Her amber eyes trembled intensely. “I see.”
“Xiao Yu… are you alright? President Tang is currently with Director Jin, so I can’t ask too much. I’ll contact him when he’s free.”
“No need.” Su Yu’s voice trembled a little as she inhaled deeply. “I’m fine. He’ll come to Paris anyway—he must come to Paris. I’ll ask him in person.”
She hung up, staring at the rain-blurred Eiffel Tower outside.
She knew exactly what this meant.
Tang Song was moving from behind-the-scenes to center stage.
By joining the Family Office, he would inevitably stand beside Jin Meixiao, at that dazzling center of power.
According to Tang Song’s usual “rules,”
if he allowed someone back into his life, he would actively send signals first.
Mo Xiangwan, Luo Bin, Zheng Qiudong—none of them approached him without first receiving his direction or contact.
Yet so far, he had not reached out to her at all.
Not a WeChat message, not a single phone call.
Only one conclusion could be drawn.
I’m being isolated.
Does he not care about me?
Or is he deliberately distancing himself to respect Jin Meixiao?
What should I do?
A flood of dark, paranoid thoughts erupted in Su Yu’s mind.
Years of disappointment, rejection, and neglect rose like a tide.
Standing alone in the empty living room, staring at the Eiffel Tower shining through mist and rain, a crushing loneliness made her shiver.
After a long time she turned, voice hoarse, “Pour me a glass of wine.”
Cheng Xiaoxi worriedly said, “Sister Yu, you just drank ginger tea to warm up, and you have a fitting tomorrow…”
“I said, pour me wine!”
Cheng’s body trembled. She dared not argue, fumbling a bottle out of the climate-controlled cabinet, opening it and pouring half a glass to hand over.
Su Yu snatched the goblet and drained it in one tilt.
She drank too quickly; red wine spilled at the corner of her mouth, ran down her white chin, and dripped onto her delicate, pale clavicle.
Red on white. Striking, tragic, and exquisite.
A single glass went straight to her head.
Her eyes blurred, but the wild fire inside her burned even hotter.
She fixed Cheng with a stare and threw the studio phone at her, ordering:
“Tang Song is the grand prize draw winner for my birthday, right?”
“Now, call him immediately on the studio’s official line!”
“Confirm his itinerary, confirm his flight! I must know the exact time!”
Cheng Xiaoxi clutched the phone and whispered, “Sister Yu, it’s only about nine o’clock in New York now.”
“Call!”
Cheng forced herself and, trembling, found the number saved under [Song] and dialed.
Beep—beep—
The waiting tone played, and Su Yu’s abrupt agitation vanished like a frightened fawn. She hit speaker at once but dared not speak.
Her entire body tensed; she even held her breath.
The call connected.
“Hello.” The familiar voice came through.
The background was quiet and Tang Song’s timbre was soothingly magnetic.
Su Yu bit her lip hard enough to taste blood.
Tears welled but she swallowed them down without a sound.
Cheng pushed on, voice steady, “Mr. Tang, hello. I’m Cheng Xiaoxi, Su Yu Studio’s assistant.”
“Mm, Xiaoxi. What is it?” Tang Song’s voice was calm, as if the international call did not surprise him.
“Um…” Cheng stammered for an excuse, “We’re finalizing the guest list and schedule for the birthday party the day after tomorrow. We wanted to confirm your flight and lodging arrangements… Do you need us to arrange pickup at the airport?”
There was a two-second pause on the other end.
For Su Yu, those two seconds stretched into a century.
Tang Song: “This… should remain confidential for now.”
The light in Su Yu’s eyes dimmed instantly.
Cheng cautiously asked, “So you will come, right?”
“Of course.” Tang Song’s voice was firm and clear. “Absolutely.”
Cheng breathed out in relief.
It was the first time Tang Song had given such an unequivocal promise; it steadied her.
She looked up to see Su Yu’s tear-blurred eyes full of longing and unwillingness.
Cheng gritted her teeth and added, “Mr. Tang, any lodging arrangements in Paris?”
She knew how desperate Su Yu was to stay with him, but this was a sensitive question she had never dared to ask directly.
Su Yu stared at the phone, her heart in her throat.
“For lodging, don’t worry. I already have plans.” Tang Song’s reply carried a faint smile through the line.
“Where?”
“Let me think…” His voice seemed to cross oceans and whisper into her ear: “The 16th Arrondissement, that Haussmann-style apartment by Place du Trocadéro.”
Su Yu’s pupils contracted, and her heart skipped a beat before pounding wildly.
He knew where she was.
He had already designated this place as his Paris lodgings.
The call ended.
Silence filled the room.
Only the rain’s patter remained outside.
Cheng looked up and found Su Yu both crying and smiling.
It was a unique beauty, only Su Yu’s—like a red rose blooming alone in the stormy night, tragic with dew yet blazing with life.
...
New York, The Plaza Hotel, The T.J. Suite.
After ending the call,
Tang Song stood at the corner of the staircase, fingertips unconsciously rubbing the edge of his phone.
He adjusted his mood and returned to the domed library.
The room was quiet.
Secretary Jin remained in the deep green armchair, legs crossed, a thick original-language book spread across her knees.
Hearing his footsteps, she raised her head. Through the intellectual gold-rimmed glasses on her nose, she regarded him calmly.
Her gaze was clear and untroubled.
Tang Song pointed at the book in her hand, trying to resume the topic they’d been interrupted on: “We were just discussing the non-linear feedback model of global capital flows.”
Softly, Secretary Jin closed the book and glanced at the antique wall clock. “President Tang, it’s already 10 p.m. Whether macroeconomics or your private affairs, it’s time to wrap up.”
She stood, smoothed her skirt, tall and elegant. “Rest early. Tomorrow you need to go to the Family Office headquarters.”
“All right, good night.”
“Good night.” Secretary Jin took two steps and paused, tilting her head slightly. “By the way, President Tang.”
“Yes?”
“I probably won’t dream of you again tonight, will I?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, her step light as she turned toward the master bedroom corridor.
She left a back view that sparked imagination yet remained out of reach, disappearing around the corner.
Tang Song exhaled softly and shook his head in helpless amusement.
He went downstairs.
In the guest bedroom on the lower floor he washed and changed into pajamas,
handled some work emails, and replied to unread messages.
Then habitually he opened the system interface.
He looked at the golden-shimmering UR card.
A gentle smile curved his lips.
At least he’d reached Charm 90 and unlocked part of Secretary Jin’s permissions.
That meant, even after the shareholders’ meeting ended, they could still communicate normally.
The only pity was that Dream Link still hadn’t fully unlocked; it would require more interactive tasks between characters.
Just as he was drifting into idle thoughts,
his phone buzzed unexpectedly.
Upguan Qiuyas.
Tang Song raised his brow and answered.
“Hello, Shangguan?”
“President Tang, sorry to disturb your rest.” On the line, Shangguan Qiuyas sounded anxious, even a little flustered. “There’s an urgent situation with Director Jin.”
“What happened?”
“She’s suddenly unwell. With the recent shareholders’ preparation and late nights, plus jet lag, she’s developed a low fever and neuralgia. She asked me to prepare a calming tonic, but when I tried to deliver it I couldn’t reach her. I’m worried she might have taken medicine and gone to sleep, or something has changed. Could you bring the medicine in and keep an eye on her?”
Tang Song paused.
His gaze flicked to the golden UR card on the system interface.
[Status: Mentally and physically pleased... Anticipating]
Secretary Jin, you really know how to play this game!
“No problem. Where are you?” Tang Song asked, already throwing off the covers and getting up.
“I’m outside the suite door.”
“Wait for me.”
Tang Song slipped on slippers and strode down.
He opened the door to find Shangguan Qiuyas in professional attire, expression serious and respectful, holding an exquisite insulated bag.
She looked relieved when she saw him. “President Tang, this is the calming tonic at just the right temperature. Please watch her drink it.”
“All right, leave it to me.” Tang Song took the heavy bag.
“Okay, I won’t detain you. Contact me if needed.” Shangguan Qiuyas bowed slightly and left quickly, quietly collecting credit.
The door closed softly.
Tang Song’s eyes shone keen and bright.
Since Secretary Jin had gone to the trouble to set the stage, he would cooperate.
Besides, the shareholders’ meeting was over.
Secretary Jin would soon depart, and he was heading to Paris for Su Yu’s birthday.
He also needed an opportunity to break through their relationship.
Tang Song climbed the spiral staircase and ascended to the 19th floor, his steps silent on the thick carpet.
He walked the long corridor and stood at the heavy master bedroom door.
He tested the handle, giving it a gentle twist.
Click.
The lock released, leaving a crack.
It wasn’t bolted.
Tang Song knocked lightly on the door.
“Secretary Jin?”
After a few seconds, a lazy, slightly husky voice answered from inside, “Yes? President Tang…”
“I heard you weren’t feeling well. I came with the medicine.”
“Mm, come in.”
Tang Song entered. A warm scent greeted him and wrapped around him at once.
It was her unique fragrance, a blend of white tea and iris.
The master bedroom was dim, only a crystal bedside lamp casting warm light.
The massive floor-length curtains weren’t completely closed, giving a sliver of Manhattan night.
Secretary Jin reclined against the padded headboard.
She had changed into a pale blue silk slip. The fabric was thin and clung to her skin.
Her cascade of brown hair was loose across her shoulders, hiding part of her sculpted clavicle but not the hint of pale skin beneath.
Her hand rested lightly on her forehead; a crease between her brows suggested a headache.
When she saw Tang Song, she simply raised her eyes.
They looked moist and dreamy in the low light, fragile in a way that made the heart ache.
“Thank you for coming so late.” Her voice was soft, nasal.
Were it not for that large [Anticipating] status on the system, Tang Song might have believed her.
He walked to the bed and opened the insulated bag, taking out a delicate ceramic bottle.
He unscrewed the cap and handed it over.
“Here, drink the medicine.”
Secretary Jin took it obediently, lips parting as she sipped small mouthfuls.
When she finished, she handed the empty bottle back and smoothed her brow.
“How do you feel?” Tang Song asked with concern.
Secretary Jin rolled her eyes gently. “You don’t get better that fast. It’s herbal medicine, not painkillers.”
“What about now? Still uncomfortable?” he asked, knowing full well the answer.
“Mm, my head hurts, and my neck is stiff.” She shifted into a more comfortable position. “Can you massage it for me?”
“All right.” Tang Song answered decisively.
Secretary Jin lay back, the slip sliding sensuously along her curves.
Her hands rested at her sides; her chest rose and fell with breath, trembling slightly.
Her skin glowed with ivory softness in the dim light.
Tang Song reached out, pressing warm fingertips to her temples, applying moderate, circular pressure.
Secretary Jin parted her lips and closed her eyes.
After a while, his fingers traced down her cheek, kneading her graceful neck and taut shoulder line.
He worked for a long time.
Secretary Jin opened her eyes slowly. “Much better. I feel like I can sleep. Thank you.”
Tang Song’s hand remained on her shoulder. “I’ll stay here with you tonight.”
“That’s not appropriate, is it?” Secretary Jin’s look was ambiguous, half-smile playing across her face.
“What could be inappropriate?”
“I remember President Tang saying that our relationship still follows the rules.”
“Emm… of course. I’m only worried about your health.” Tang Song’s expression was sincere.
Constrained by system limits, he couldn’t go too far even if he wanted to.
This restrained dance made the situation all the more intoxicating.
Their gazes lingered, sparks quietly flying.
Finally, Secretary Jin tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “All right. But first, you mustn’t get handsy.”
“Don’t worry. I keep my word.”
She smiled and shifted deeper into the bed, opening a broad space.
Tang Song slipped off his shoes and lay down beside her.
He turned off the bedside lamp, leaving only a nightlight’s faint glow.
In the dark, their breathing was loud and clear.
Her enticing scent filled Tang Song’s nostrils.
He turned his head and, in the dim light, watched Secretary Jin close enough to touch.
Her eyelashes fluttered and that exquisite face looked both ethereal and, with her tousled hair, deeply seductive.
Thump—thump—his heartbeat wouldn’t slow.
He was finally lying in the same bed with her.
Even if nothing more happened, such close proximity and warmth were enough to make him content.
Just as he sank into that peaceful bliss,
she suddenly opened her eyes.
Without a warning.
Their eyes locked.
“Still can’t sleep?” Tang Song asked softly.
“Mm, uncomfortable.” Secretary Jin’s voice was languid and sultry.
“Shall I massage you some more?”
“No.” She shook her head and her fresh, bright eyes were unabashedly luminous in the night. “I think... there’s a better way.”
“What way?”
She didn’t answer. She only laughed softly, turned onto her side facing him,
the rustle of fabric loud in the quiet.
As she moved, the curves pressed against his chest.
The sensation was astonishing, hot and real.
Like a flame, it ignited every nerve in Tang Song’s body.
She looked into his eyes and suddenly asked, “Are you going to Central Park to see the snow tomorrow?”
“Yes.” He answered almost without thought.
In the next moment her face in the weak light moved closer.
Warm breath landed on his neck, mingled with a faint herbal bitterness and her natural sweetness.
Her long hair brushed his skin, sending tiny shivers running through him.
Tang Song held his breath, eyes full of expectation.
This was the first time she’d been so proactively close.
But the anticipated touch didn’t reach his lips.
Her red mouth trailed down, moist and cool, along his jaw and past his Adam’s apple.
She stopped at his clavicle.
Wet, warm, trembling.
Each second stretched long.
Tang Song gasped.
She revealed pearly teeth and bit a small patch of skin without hesitation,
then began to suck hard.
The force was strong, very strong, with a clear sting.
That exquisite blend of pain and pleasure sent goosebumps across Tang Song’s scalp.
She leaned half atop him, her movements steady and assured.
For a full thirty seconds.
Secretary Jin released him and looked at the crimson mark with satisfaction, eyes narrowing into a pleased squint.
Before Tang Song could speak, she leaned in again.
Her long fingers opened the front of his pajama shirt.
She went lower.
Her lips covered him again.
This time she targeted his chest.
The night was soundless.
The room filled only with the sound of her sucking and Tang Song’s quick breaths.