Song Shijing's eyes, deep and slightly red, flashed a hint of an enigmatic smile. He spoke in a low voice, murky with an indistinct huskiness, "There's a need."
Sang Qian glanced into the private room, noticing a row of princesses seated, each heavily made up and seductively postured, yet all seemed somewhat trepidatious.
Ji Yuanhang was being plied with drinks by Song Shijing's assistant, and the atmosphere in the room seemed a bit off.
"Are you done looking?"
Sang Qian quickly averted her gaze, looking towards Song Shijing. His long eyelashes slightly lowered, he leaned lazily against the doorframe, appearing drunk, "Do you need hangover soup?"
Song Shijing pinched the bridge of his nose with his elegantly boned hand, "Take me to the 12th floor to rest."
Zundian was a club that integrated entertainment, relaxation, and a hotel; the floors above the seventh were dedicated to guest rest areas, and the entire 12th floor consisted of top-tier presidential suites.
A glimmer of joy sparkled in Sang Qian's heart; she had been worried about not finding a chance to approach him alone. It seemed like a gift from heaven. Yet, her face showed no change as she moved to support him, "This way, please."
The two quickly took the elevator to the 12th floor.
Sang Qian, "May I ask which room you have reserved?"
Song Shijing did not respond, walking to room 1209 and stopping. He took out his phone and swiped it over the door card reader.
With a beep, the door opened.
Using the phone to unlock, he must have long-term reservations for this room.
Indeed extravagant, to reserve a presidential suite costing several thousand per night for the long term.
Sang Qian supported Song Shijing inside, just about to reach for the light switch when suddenly, Song Shijing pressed her against the door.
The door shut, cutting off the corridor's light and plunging the room into darkness.
Her heart suddenly leaped. Could he be intending to play a drunkard's prank on her? Yet, recalling the rumors about Song Shijing's disinterest in women, she quickly calmed down, "Mr. Song, you are drunk."
Song Shijing slightly lowered his head, the scent of faint alcohol brushing across Sang Qian's face, "How do you know my surname is Song?"
Sang Qian turned her head away, avoiding his somewhat bewildering scent, "No secrets, Mr. Song. I came specifically for you tonight. Are you considering a partnership with Ji Yuanhang?"
"Whether I am or not, what does it matter to you?"
"Ji Yuanhang is not a good person. If you plan to partner with him, I suggest you think it over carefully before deciding."
"Do you have a grudge against him?"
Before Sang Qian could decide how to answer, he spoke again, "I can choose not to partner with him, but you must help me with one thing."
Sang Qian was puzzled, such a request coming from the president of Jing Sheng Group, "What is it?"
Song Shijing moved closer to her ear, his voice husky and slightly breathless, "I've been plotted against, you help me."
The man's breath was intensely hot, as if enfolded in fire, making Sang Qian feel like the skin by her ear was almost burning. Her body involuntarily trembled slightly.
She then realized that something was wrong with him.
She vaguely guessed what kind of plot he was talking about and what sort of help he meant.
Sang Qian was about to refuse when his cool yet burning kiss unexpectedly pressed down out of nowhere.
The room was pitch-black. Stunned for a moment, Sang Qian then realized what was pressing against her lips.
Her eyes widened in shock, her heart uncontrollably skipping a beat. As she regained her composure, she lifted her right foot and fiercely aimed it at Song Shijing's groin.
Unexpectedly, Song Shijing easily caught her knee.
His reaction was fast, his strength formidable.
His skill was not inferior to hers.
Realizing this, Sang Qian felt slightly panicked and began to struggle.
Song Shijing forced her leg back, advancing closer, his entire body pressing against hers, fitting tightly.
He held her hands above her head, firmly restraining her, "If you don't help me, I'll help him."
Sang Qian's struggling paused briefly, regretting that she had revealed her thoughts too soon. She could only feign indifference, "Do as you please, let me go."
Song Shijing compromised, "You help me, and I owe you a favor."
"I'm not interested."
Song Shijing rested his head on Sang Qian's shoulder, his breath growing heavier; in the dark, his usually calm eyes turned progressively blood-red, "Think carefully... if I assist him... the Ji Family might never have a place for you again..."
With each word he spoke, he took a breath, and the grip on her wrists tightened progressively.
Sang Qian knew that Song Shijing was on the verge of losing control, and his words just then had startled her deeply, "Do you know who I am?"