Chapter 8: Miss Jiang, Read Fewer Novels

This was Jiang Mian’s first time visiting Qingjiang Rose Garden.

She had heard from her father before that only those who had their assets verified could live in Rose Garden.

It was easy to imagine that no one living here was incompetent.

The grand entrance of Rose Garden was a huge arched gate, with pillars on both sides intricately carved with climbing roses.

She stopped at the barrier and saw a security guard walking out.

The car window rolled down. Before Jiang Mian could speak, Wen Jinhai leaned forward slightly, looking out from her car window.

The security guard bowed slightly upon seeing Wen Jinhai, his expression relaxing immediately.

“Mr. Wen.”

“Mm,” he replied indifferently, then leaned back against the seat.

The barrier lifted, and Jiang Mian pressed the accelerator to enter.

“Turn left, then right at the first intersection, it’s at the end.”

She nodded and drove in the direction Wen Jinhai had indicated.

Her eyes involuntarily glanced at the other standalone houses nearby, and she couldn’t help but marvel inwardly.

Even without fully entering, the vast courtyards alone already shocked her.

When the car stopped, Jiang Mian looked outside—it was number sixteen.

Wen Jinhai didn’t move, still seated in the passenger seat.

She withdrew her gaze. “Mr. Wen?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as if reluctant. “Miss Jiang, please help me inside.”

“Huh?”

Jiang Mian was slightly startled but got out of the car.

Still wearing her flat shoes, she went around to open the passenger door and saw the man loosening his seatbelt weakly.

As she reached out her hand, her wrist was firmly grasped—Wen Jinhai’s strength was considerable, making her wrist ache slightly.

“Careful!”

Seeing him stagger, she instinctively supported him.

“Sorry, I drank too much.”

Wen Jinhai said, rubbing his brow.

Usually, few dared to drink so much with him, except Principal Cheng, who took advantage of their teacher-student relationship to always drink heartily with him.

But recently, a minor cold had left him feeling somewhat unwell.

The courtyard gate was secured with a smart lock. Wen Jinhai pressed his fingerprint, and with a click, the door opened.

Entering the courtyard, Jiang Mian truly grasped what it meant to be wealthy.

By estimation, the courtyard was about two hundred square meters, and looking deeper to the left, there was even a glass greenhouse.

That was probably built by Wen Jinhai himself.

In front of the greenhouse stood a pavilion entwined with green vines.

The sky was dim, making it hard for Jiang Mian to see clearly.

At the main door, she glanced up at the more than two-meter-high gate and silently calculated in her mind.

The outer layer of this gate was carved with hollow floral patterns.

It was designed a few years ago by a popular foreign designer, whose target clientele were those with money beyond measure.

Her rough estimate was that Wen Jinhai’s gate alone probably cost over a million.

The man raised his hand to open the door, and Jiang Mian helped support him inside.

On the left side of the foyer was a long shoe cabinet.

Wen Jinhai relaxed slightly, resting his hand on the cabinet and leaning against it.

The room was pitch black until he raised his hand, and the foyer lights flickered on.

Then, the entire house lit up in succession.

With the brightness now revealed, Wen Jinhai bent down to retrieve slippers from the cabinet. Seizing the moment, Jiang Mian began to openly take in her surroundings.

The villa was decorated in a light luxury style.

At the far end was a spiral staircase in black and white piano key tones, with a potted plant placed in the corner beneath.

Looking left, she could only see half the living room.

The TV wall seemed to be adorned with carved wallpaper in a beige tone, not very conspicuous.

If not for the small crystal ornament on the TV cabinet, Jiang Mian might have thought the wallpaper wasn’t that expensive.

Unfortunately, she had seen that ornament before.

She had once joked about who would spend over a million just on wallpaper to obtain such a limited-edition trinket.

Well, apparently, some people would.

And now, that person stood right before her.

As she withdrew her gaze, Wen Jinhai straightened up and had already released her hand.

“Miss Jiang, change your shoes.”

“Huh?” Jiang Mian was puzzled.

Looking down, she saw a pair of white cotton slippers in front of her.

“No need, Mr. Wen, I…”

Before she could finish, Wen Jinhai cast a sharp glance her way.

“Miss Jiang, the housekeeper only comes during meal times. Now, I need you to help me cook a bowl of hangover soup.”

“Isn’t your housekeeper live-in?”

She murmured, feeling a little embarrassed under his gaze, her voice growing softer.

There was no choice; Jiang Mian bent down to change her shoes.

The gray slippers she was offered had their owner step back and turn away, only to return shortly after.

“Miss Jiang, you should read fewer novels. Even live-in housekeepers cannot be woken up at this hour.”

Jiang Mian pursed her lips, momentarily at a loss for words.

It seemed the one poisoned by novels was not little Li, but herself.

Why did novels always have those domineering CEOs making their assistants and housekeepers do things anytime, anywhere?

That simply didn’t happen here!

Look at Wen Jinhai—he said even his assistant needed weekends off and that the housekeeper couldn’t be disturbed too late.

Such refinement and respect—this was truly the demeanor of a scion raised by a prominent family!

By the time she finished changing shoes, Wen Jinhai was already seated on the sofa.

His head tilted against the backrest, looking utterly exhausted.

Jiang Mian wanted to ask where the kitchen was but realized it was on the right as she walked forward.

She hadn’t noticed earlier because the kitchen entrance was recessed inward.

The kitchen was semi-open.

Stepping inside, she saw a large marble countertop in the center, even larger than her bed.

Opening the fridge, all the ingredients were neatly arranged.

While rummaging through the fridge, she wondered whether Wen Jinhai wasn’t worried she couldn’t cook.

Yet, that question remained unanswered.

Her phone showed the time—11:41 p.m.

Jiang Mian ignored everything else and focused on preparing the hangover soup.

The phone on the coffee table seemed to have rung several times, but since it wasn’t her call, she didn’t dare disturb Wen Jinhai’s rest.

In her understanding, though he might not decide life or death with a single word, at the very least, one word from him could make her life difficult in the capital.

With a sigh, Jiang Mian suppressed the chaotic thoughts in her mind and faintly heard someone outside answering the phone.

The man’s Adam’s apple moved as his eyes casually glanced toward the kitchen.

The person on the other end babbled on, and he interrupted impatiently.

“Jiang Zimu, if you’re too idle, I can speak to your old man for you.”

“No need, Brother Huai, you rest early, I won’t disturb you.”

The voice on the line was apologetic, about to hang up, but suddenly he spoke again.

“Bring those design drafts to me tomorrow.”