Chapter 2
So this was Cheng Jiayang.
In my mind, I had sketched him as a gentle gentleman, a wise scholar, a seasoned literatus, or perhaps a handsome young man. However, he still took me by surprise.
Standing at the podium was a very young boy, tall, thin, dressed casually in soft attire of a white top and black pants, yet he carried an air of elegance, his face pale. From my distance, I couldn't clearly see his features, but his eyes, shining black and slightly smiling, and his black curly hair caught my attention. There was a somewhat soft, gentle quality about him.
Like most of the girls in the lecture hall, I couldn't blink, my heart wandered far.
Then I heard him ask, "Should I speak Chinese, or French?"
His voice was deep and cool as water in a deep pool.
I heard someone murmur, "Whatever you prefer, young man," in a tone low and dejected, with a poor sense of self.
It was me, Qiao Fei, seeing Cheng Jiayang for the first time.
At that presentation, upon request from a different department, Cheng Jiayang ended up giving his talk in Chinese. He discussed his study experiences at the prestigious universities in Paris, the intense curriculum, exams, extracurricular etiquette training, diplomatic skills, and his internship experiences in simultaneous interpretation at several major conferences in Brussels and Strasbourg. In the following Q&A session, the students initially stuck to routine questions about the curriculum in Paris, pathways to study abroad, and translation techniques. But soon, under the instigation of some infatuated girls, the topics changed. With ulterior motives, they began asking about life in Paris and then cultural customs—topics chewed over by travel shows—and finally, amidst the uproar, someone's voice emerged from the crowd: "So, senior, did you ever take the chance to have a French girlfriend?" I felt truly annoyed yet extremely curious, thinking, Cheng Jiayang, you better not leave that unanswered.
Cheng Jiayang smiled and switched the microphone to his other hand, his fingers long and elegant.
Finally, in French, he said, "If I said no, wouldn't that be too disappointing for the City of Love?"
The crowd erupted into laughter and whispers. The girl next to me, who was learning Spanish, asked, "What did he say? What did he say?"
I looked at this curious person and said irritably, "Why should I tell you?"
Later, I thought about Cheng Jiayang, a man of noble birth and elegant demeanor, pure and fresh like the snow and spring onions, and truly desirable.
As I reflected on him, I was sitting in front of a large mirror, applying makeup.
My face painted snow-white, eyebrows drawn long, stretching almost to my temples on my small face, Luscious red smeared on my lips making my hair appear almost bluish-black, hair piled high exposing my neck. This was the look that foreigners loved on an Eastern woman.
I changed into a golden dress that tightly enveloped my youthful body. Facing the mirror, I smiled, and then smiled again, looking charming.
I pushed open the door and immediately saw the glitzy, glamorous lights, the fleeting reflections.
This was the city's hottest nightclub, Allure, and I was one of the many enchanting ladies here, known as Feifei.
In a private room named "Casablanca," guests requested the company of ladies to drink with, and as I pushed the door open with a graceful sway, about five men, around thirty years old, sat inside, including a blond, blue-eyed foreigner. Seeing me, he seemed quite pleased and gestured for me to come over. I felt quite lucky that day; I preferred young customers who were refined and not sleazy, fancied themselves lovers without overly vulgar moves.
(End of Chapter)
This book is first published by Xiaoxiang Academy and is not to be reprinted!