In the hotel's luxury suite, Qin Qian sat propped against the bed with Wang Yan, a cigarette between her lips. She held the blanket over her chest.
The flush had yet to fade from her cheeks, and the exposed skin of her body was still rosy with surging blood.
She held the cigarette between her fingers and took drag after drag, her gaze vacant as she stared blankly into the empty space ahead. Tears misted her eyes before finally rolling slowly down her face.
Wang Yan knowingly asked, "What are you crying for?"
"Nothing." Qin Qian did not want to say.
"He's dead. What's there to feel you've wronged him over?" Wang Yan wrapped an arm around her, naturally cupping her ample breast. "It's not like you fell for someone else and started loving me instead. You're using me, so you should have a clear conscience. It's a new era now—there are no chastity arches anymore. And even back when there were, who knew how many of those women were genuine and how many were fakes?"
Wang Yan understood very well that Qin Qian might not dislike him, but she definitely did not like him either. That was perfectly normal. In business, Wang Yan stood among the wealthiest people at the very top of the mainland. Politically, he was also a representative involved in public affairs, with connections to officials at every level.
Moreover, to this day, he had always done what he said he would. He served the broad consumer base, worked to improve the lives of ordinary people, gave profits back to consumers, and drove development in impoverished regions.
Other than those whose interests he had harmed, and the petty people who envied and hated him, no one disliked him.
To put it bluntly, even his farts smelled