Chapter 12 : Coquetry

A beach buggy whisked them to the resort area, a bustling hub with oceanfront hotels and seaside restaurants.
The scenic construction impressed, drawing more crowds than the dock.
At the hotel entrance, a man greeted them; Zhou Weichuan tilted his head, “This is Fang Tianhan, the Island Project’s lead.”
Fang Tianhan, in a black suit with a middle part, exuded courtesy, slightly older than Zhou Weichuan, calling Qi Yuanhan “little sister.”

He was chatty, insisting Qi Yuanhan and Zhou Weichuan were a perfect match.
Qi Yuanhan, in a simple blue dress, shoulder-length hair freshly cut, and minimal earrings, eyed Zhou Weichuan, saying flatly, “Match? He’s unworthy.”
Both men laughed, Zhou Weichuan grinning broadly, mistaking her jab for flirtation.
Upstairs, the restaurant’s floor-to-ceiling windows framed blue skies, white clouds, and a vast sea.

Qi Yuanhan noticed a woman on the sofa, toying with her phone, in a white chiffon dress—a striking beauty with ear-length short hair, exuding commanding presence.
Fang Tianhan introduced, “My wife, Qin Jialan.”
Qin Jialan looked up, her gaze lingering on Qi Yuanhan, then stood to shake hands, “Hello.”
They’d met months ago in elite social circles but, with separate networks, never spoke.

Seated, the table brimmed with exquisite seafood.
Fang Tianhan poured wine; Zhou Weichuan snatched Qi Yuanhan’s glass, “She’s allergic to alcohol.”
He peeled a massive lobster, dipping the meat in sauce to feed her.
Qi Yuanhan pushed his hand, glancing across, “Stop.”
Opposite, Fang Tianhan and Qin Jialan ate separately, faces blank—no warmth.

Fang Tianhan once served Qin Jialan food; her brow twitched, but she ate it.
Post-meal, Qin Jialan rose first, heading to the balcony.
Qi Yuanhan told Zhou Weichuan, “I’ll check on her.”
“Go ahead,” he said, clinking glasses with Fang Tianhan.

On the balcony, Qin Jialan smoked, flicking ash, “Here to plead for your husband?” She scoffed, “I won’t agree.”
“Why not? Selling the project puts the money in your hands,” Qi Yuanhan said, gazing at the sea, feeling a vertiginous pull.
Qin Jialan fell silent, her cigarette trembling in the breeze.
Recalling Ye Qinghe’s tip, Qi Yuanhan ventured, “You still love your husband, can’t let go?”

Qin Jialan turned, short hair tousled by the wind, licking her lips around the cigarette, “Don’t you love yours? Would a woman marry a man she doesn’t love?” Her voice dropped, “Don’t trust your husband’s lobbying. He’s cheated—not just once or twice.”
Qi Yuanhan stayed mute.
Strangers often flagged Zhou Weichuan’s infidelity, their kindness leaving her floundering.

Without Ye Qinghe’s buffer, she felt exposed.
Qin Jialan smiled, self-mocking, “How do you love like that?”
Qi Yuanhan had no reply—others saw her and Zhou Weichuan as devoted, assuming she adored him.
Qin Jialan thought she’d relate.
“Think it over,” Qi Yuanhan said. “Selling’s only good for you.”

She re-entered, leaving the balcony door ajar.
Zhou Weichuan glanced out, “Babe, you and Mrs. Fang hit it off?”
“Decent,” Qi Yuanhan said.
“Stay here this afternoon,” he said. “I’ll have your things moved over, and we’ll stay a few days.”

Qi Yuanhan paused, her mind flashing to Ye Qinghe—her windswept hair, her plea to be hidden, their beachside meal, the hundred calls.
“I’ll pack my stuff myself tonight,” she said. “I don’t want others touching it.”
“That’s a hassle,” Zhou Weichuan said, squeezing her fingers. “Hang with Mrs. Fang, explore, don’t mope.”

Qin Jialan returned, cigarette in mouth, bluntly muttering, “Meddling in every damn thing.”
Her target was unclear, but Zhou Weichuan’s face stiffened.
Fang Tianhan rose, confronting Qin Jialan; their argument erupted nearby—Fang Tianhan accused her of embarrassing him, she snapped he’d disrespected her by bringing Zhou’s team.

Zhou Weichuan whispered to Qi Yuanhan, “We don’t bicker like them.” Softly, “Babe, what’s on your mind?”
“Whatever,” she said.
Love or not, she definitely didn’t love Zhou Weichuan.
He smiled, pleased, leading her to the sofa to lounge, then dialed a secretive call.

Within half an hour, his sneaky glance at Qi Yuanhan turned troubled.
She sipped juice, waiting for the quarreling couple.
Qin Jialan approached, her smile strained, “Let’s go downstairs, I’ll show you around.”
“Honey?” Zhou Weichuan played doting, avoiding public spats—scandals tarnished reputations, and neither wanted that yet.

“I’ll take a look,” Qi Yuanhan said.
“Come back soon,” he urged.
She nodded.
Zhou Weichuan checked his phone—he’d sent someone to inspect Qi Yuanhan’s room.

No one was there, but a spilled lotion bottle on the floor nagged him.
Hadn’t Ye Qinghe mentioned a dropped bottle that morning?
Was his memory off—did Qi Yuanhan drop it?
Or was his mistress’s room hiding his wife?

Downstairs with Qin Jialan
Qi Yuanhan followed Qin Jialan down.
“Got a swimsuit?” Qin Jialan asked.
Qi Yuanhan shook her head, “My stuff’s at the other hotel.”

“There’s a clothing store nearby,” Qin Jialan said. “I’ll go with you.”
“Is it your business?” Qi Yuanhan asked.
“No, outsourced.”
Qin’s funds were tied to the island, drained—outsourced ventures fetched rock-bottom prices, and Qin Jialan faced steep losses post-operation.

Qi Yuanhan’s probing hit a sore spot; Qin Jialan’s face darkened.
“I’ll check it out myself later,” Qi Yuanhan said. “You go ahead. I’m not up for swimming today.”
“Fine. Call if you need me,” Qin Jialan said, uninterested in bonding, leaving her number and departing.
Qi Yuanhan wandered downstairs to a private pool.

As the heat rose, people lounged in the water.
She claimed a chair; a server offered a menu.
She ordered a takeout meal, asking, “Where’s the changing room?”
The server pointed, “Swimsuits are available for purchase via QR code. There’s a private changing room too.”

Qi Yuanhan thanked them, carrying her order.
Pushing open the changing room door, an arm encircled her waist.
She struggled, hissing, “Let go.”
The figure yawned, pressing closer, voice sleepy, “When can we sleep? I’m exhausted.”

Qi Yuanhan shoved again, tone icy, “Now.”
Ye Qinghe tightened her grip, nuzzling her neck, “You promised to stay, then made me hide here for two hours. Can’t I be a little grumpy?”
Qi Yuanhan froze, cursing her lapse—why had she brought this siren here that morning?