Chapter 23: Wang Manni

The two arrived at the restaurant, ordered a few signature dishes, and chatted casually for a while.

The food came quickly, and before long, everything was on the table.

"Tastes good, eat more," Wang Yan took a bite, found it quite pleasant, and said to Wang Manni.

"Mm-hmm, it's really delicious," Wang Manni said, picking up a bite of food.

With his salary, eating at this level was a stretch. Sure, people sometimes invited her out, but you couldn't be invited every day, every meal.

With Wang Yan guiding the conversation, the atmosphere was relaxed, and Wang Manni became very talkative. No matter what she said, Wang Yan always had a reply; the more she talked, the happier she became.

Wang Yan didn't believe a word of what Wang Manni said. Blindly chasing a lifestyle beyond her means without striving to improve herself enough to deserve it—everything she said was basically bullshit.

The mood was right, so they had to drink a bit.

Under the influence of alcohol, Wang Manni let loose, recounting how hard life had been in Shanghai, moving herself deeply.

Though she'd drunk quite a bit, Wang Manni remained very sober—her alcohol tolerance was excellent. Besides, they weren't kids; drinking themselves into oblivion on their first meeting would be insane.

They'd eaten their fill, drunk their fill, and talked until they were satisfied. It was late, so they tidied up, paid the bill, and left.

Outside, Wang Yan looked across at a hotel and said to Wang Manni: "Want to go there and chat properly?"

Wang Yan's directness wasn't an insult or advance. Let alone anything else, just in the years he'd been selling houses, he'd seen plenty.

Rumors always spread fast, no matter when.

You'd constantly hear about some real estate agent here, some sales consultant there, who'd closed a deal on their own. Even people around him had become brazen about it—everyone knew, but no one said anything.

After all, one fuck could earn you tens of thousands—way more valuable than streetwalking.

You could understand it. Some people couldn't even sell if they tried; after all, your body is a form of capital too.

In this materialistic society, struggling to survive ultimately comes down to money.

You can't deny or condemn someone just because their method isn't socially accepted—it's irrational and brainless. After all, they earned their money through labor; the only difference is the type of labor.

Besides, supply and demand determine that where there's a market, there's supply.

When you're running the whole operation, it's pretty satisfying too.

Making money? No shame in that.

This attitude toward men and women, this social atmosphere—can't really say whether it's good or bad. Those who play freely think it's great; those who can't play freely think it's terrible. It's just impossible to clearly define.

As for Wang Manni, after years in luxury sales, she was still chasing higher status. Not out of malice, but logically speaking, over her eight years in the industry, given her looks, such things must have happened to her plenty.

Of course, she might truly have remained pure—but based on her behavior in the story, that possibility was vanishingly small.

Wang Manni followed his gaze and instantly understood.

When she agreed to have dinner with Wang Yan, she'd already anticipated this. They were both lonely urban men and women; after all, everyone needs a little love sometimes.

Wang Yan was witty and carried himself with natural grace. Even with an ordinary appearance, he had a unique charm.

Unlike most people, he didn't treat her like a streetwalker who could be bought with money.

She had a good impression of Wang Yan; their conversation had gone well, and she didn't dislike him.

She couldn't say she was experienced, but she'd certainly had her share of encounters. Add in the alcohol, and she simply nodded, offering no objection.

Seeing her nod, Wang Yan directly wrapped his arm around her and walked toward the opposite hotel.

Wang Yan never shortchanged himself—he booked a presidential suite.

Inside the room, Wang Yan didn't bother with ceremony—he got right to it. He'd eaten, drunk, and talked enough; why waste time on pointless preliminaries? Since returning from the Netherworld to the real world, he hadn't touched a woman. His physique was naturally strong, his energy abundant, and he'd been holding back for too long.

One night of passion—passed over.

The next morning, Wang Manni woke up, looked around, and didn't see Wang Yan—she assumed he'd left. A fleeting pleasure, a transient liaison—she didn't care much. This was mostly thanks to Old Wang being genuinely kind—he'd truly spoken to her heart.

She wasn't stupid; she'd realized Wang Yan had come solely to sleep with her.

But she hadn't expected him to just vanish—leaving her empty-handed. She didn't need anything, but you still had to give something. Shouldn't you at least buy her something, or at least give her some money as a token?

She casually slipped on her robe, got out of bed, and poured herself a glass of water.

Wang Yan had truly gotten under her skin. She'd been worn out yesterday, exhausted, and still hadn't recovered after a full night's sleep.

The hotel was nice—definitely a star-rated one. A skyscraper, standard in a big city; this suite was on the top floor, offering an especially stunning view outside.

She walked to the large balcony with her glass, gazing at the rising morning sun, lost in thought.

At that moment, Wang Yan opened the door and walked in—he was used to waking early. The hotel had a gym and a pool; he'd worked out all morning, stretching and keeping his body in shape.

Wang Yan took off his clothes as soon as he entered—he'd sweated a bit from exercise and needed a shower.

Hearing the noise, Wang Manni came in from the balcony and caught him undressing.

Seeing his sculpted, naturally flowing physique, Wang Manni recalled the pleasure of last night and shifted uncomfortably.

Wang Manni hadn't tied her robe tightly—a large expanse of skin was exposed, and her legs were slightly apart. For a man like Wang Yan, brimming with energy, it was extremely alluring.

"You haven't brushed your teeth yet? Perfect—let's shower together."

Wang Yan casually tossed his clothes aside, then lifted Wang Manni up in one motion, carrying her toward the bathroom as she cried out, "Ah!"

For a while, the bathroom was filled with warmth and passion.

Long after, Wang Yan carried Wang Manni, still trembling with aftershocks and limp with exhaustion, out of the bathroom.

He laid her on the bed, tidied up, then pulled out his phone and transferred her fifty thousand.

"I sent you fifty thousand. Buy yourself something you like. I'm leaving."

He didn't wait for her to say any useless words—they both got what they wanted. Why waste time on pointless stuff?

Wang Yan got up coldly, didn't even glance back, and turned to leave.

Limp and powerless, Wang Manni watched Wang Yan's back, her heart a tangle of emotions.

Nothing else—just her body being conquered. Add in Wang Yan's wealth, his character, his unique aura,

and her favorability toward him right now was surely above ninety.

Women are sensual too; who among ordinary people wouldn't enjoy male-female pleasure?

Even though she'd anticipated this before coming, she still felt a twinge of regret.

Things easily obtained are never cherished or valued.

Wang Manni wondered: if only she had played hard to get back then, hiding her true strength, revealing her years of cultivation gradually through daily interaction—would he have become her perfect match? Would her lifelong wish have been fulfilled?

Unfortunately, her thoughts were destined to be a joke. Not only did Wang Yan know the plot and understand what kind of player she was, but even his decade-plus of life experience across two prior worlds was enough for him to judge exactly what she was.

Wang Yan had no time to care about Wang Manni's thoughts—he was busy poaching talent.

After driving back to Junyue Mansion, Wang Yan was about to take the elevator upstairs when he happened to see Gu Jia walking out.

Wang Yan said to Gu Jia as she approached: "Miss Gu, what a coincidence! Where are you off to?"

Gu Jia smiled warmly at Wang Yan: "It's quite a coincidence, Mr. Wang. I'm stepping out for a bit."

Classic Chinese small talk—totally off-topic.

"Mm." Wang Yan nodded, acknowledging her.

Then he added: "By the way, yesterday you mentioned inviting your whole family to dinner."

"You just moved in, so you must be busy. Do you have time tonight? I'll treat you all—let's chat and get to know each other better."

Seeing Wang Yan so enthusiastic, Gu Jia couldn't refuse. Besides, as someone with strong ambition, she would never pass up an opportunity to expand her network.

She'd already checked: Wang Yan was at least somewhat higher in status than they were, and he worked in finance—his connections must far surpass hers.

After thinking for a moment, Gu Jia said: "I'm not sure if my husband has time today."

"How about this—I'll ask him, and if he's free, I'll contact you."

Wang Yan readily accepted: "Alright, let's add WeChat. I'll wait for your message."

After exchanging WeChat, they politely took their leave.

Back home, Wang Yan changed clothes and went to his company.

Selling off his previously held stocks wasn't a simple matter—it was tens of millions in capital.

That capital could still stir up waves; if he pulled it all out at once, it would cause turmoil. Not only might he make enemies, but he'd also lose out on massive profits.

So this required time—no rushing.

He handled some matters, gave his subordinate a few tips on U. S. stocks, and instructed him to take charge.

Due to the time zone difference, he adjusted the employee's work hours: rest during the day, monitor from home at night, and report any developments immediately.

Wang Yan had no concerns about the employee having ulterior motives.

He wasn't likely to flee with the money—he was a native, with parents, wife, and children all settled locally. In a country where filial piety had been passed down for millennia, no sane person would risk it.

Besides, he could just follow Wang Yan's tips—Wang Yan didn't care. If you've got the guts, buy. The opportunity's given; whether you seize it is up to you. It's money from a free society—what's the harm?

Wang Yan guessed the employee wouldn't dare buy his first few recommendations. People always fear failure—they want to make money but dread risk, hesitating and overthinking. By the time they see others profiting, it's already too late to follow.

After giving his instructions, Wang Yan drove back to Junyue Mansion.

He hadn't yet experienced the system's study room.

He glanced over the bookshelf—books spanned every conceivable category. With his spirit now at eighteen, his thinking ability and mental processing speed had improved significantly, so he read extremely fast. Whether he remembered it was secondary—he could definitely understand and penetrate the essence of every book.

His memory had also improved considerably—not quite photographic, but if he focused, he could retain information for long periods.

Wang Yan always aimed to deeply comprehend books, not memorize them. His mind was already cluttered enough; memorizing too much would only make it worse.

These books would keep him occupied for a long time.

After browsing, he walked to the large desk. The desk and chair were both wooden, exuding ancient charm—he didn't know the material, nor had he studied such things.

On the desk sat a complete set of the Four Treasures of the Study.

Though Wang Yan had seen many antiques, he'd never formally studied them, so he couldn't tell whether this set was genuine or not.

But Wang Yan suspected the desk, chair, and Four Treasures were no ordinary items. After all, the system had given him hundreds of millions in assets—it wouldn't be so stingy.

As for calligraphy, Wang Yan had some prior exposure.

In the World of Inception, Wang Yan learned from numerous Confucian masters and Daoist sages—all of whom wrote with brush and ink. After all, it was basic in their circles, and their skills were quite high, with several true masters among them.

Wang Yan's own handwriting—like a dog's scratch—was utterly unworthy of display; letting them teach him would've been as humiliating for them as for him.

Unable to bear it, they gave him a few casual pointers—mainly basic fundamentals. Anything too advanced was beyond his comprehension; his level was too low.

With enough guidance and consistent self-practice, his writing had improved somewhat—it was passable, at least.

Regular script, seal script, running script, cursive script, clerical script.

What Wang Yan truly loved was Emperor Huizong's Slender Gold Style—this old fellow, aside from his other merits, was undeniably brilliant at calligraphy and painting. No arguing that.

But he practiced Regular Script—the foundation of calligraphy, which Emperor Huizong himself had mastered first.

If you can't even get strokes straight and lines level, how could you dream of flying dragons and silver hooks? It's like a child who can't walk yet trying to run.

He had nothing but time. Like training in martial arts, he copied the styles of masters like Yan Zhenqing, Liu Gongquan, and Chu Suiliang—every school, every style. With enough time, skill naturally emerged.

After fiddling around, Wang Yan picked up the brush and wrote several large Regular Script characters. He glanced at them, crumpled them up, and tossed them in the trash. "Passable" was only what the untrained thought—he himself found them painful to look at.

With a sigh of "The Dao is long and obstructed," Wang Yan picked up the brush again and began writing "If you walk, you will arrive," standing quietly and attentively at the desk, practicing calligraphy.

He became absorbed, unaware of time passing—until it was nearly afternoon.

Wang Yan put down the brush, stretched, and checked the time—it was nearly four.

He picked up his phone and scrolled through messages.

One was from Gu Jia: Xu Huanshan had no objections; they could meet for dinner tonight.

Another was from Wang Manni: roughly, she hoped for future contact. Familiarity breeds desire—understandable. Wang Yan ignored her. He'd consider her again when he needed her.

The rest were messages from friends—after all, a billionaire wouldn't lack a few acquaintances.

For messages that were decent and substantive, he replied. For nonsense, he ignored them—why waste time on empty words?

After replying, Wang Yan booked a table at a well-reviewed private kitchen.

Not a top-tier place—that would require weeks of advance booking. He didn't have time; a place of sufficient quality would do.

He replied to Gu Jia and sent her the address, confirming their evening meeting.