Chapter 64

A man in his late thirties, with slightly long hair and a short beard, stepped out of the train station, crossed the road, walked south along Zhongyangdajie, then stopped in front of a dumpling shop—just as he was about to enter, he noticed a crowd gathered around a nearby noodle shop, and out of curiosity, turned and walked over.

“This young man who wrote such an unusual marriage notice must be humorous and talented,” said an older woman with a smile. “Ladies here, the opportunity is right before you—once you miss this chance, you won’t find it again. Seize it now.”

Her words sparked a burst of giggles from the young women, while several men snorted in disdain and pulled their girlfriends or wives away: “Showing off for attention—what’s so interesting about this?”

Jian Qiu stepped out of a clothing boutique across the street, carrying a bag; soon after, another girl emerged—shorter than Jian Qiu, but not by much, with very fair skin, large eyes, exceptionally beautiful eyebrows, and bright red lips that contrasted sharply against her pale complexion.

Unlike Jian Qiu’s elegant, aloof aura, this girl radiated a classical, scholarly grace. “Inner cultivation manifests in one’s bearing”—this phrase perfectly described her demeanor.

“Huh!” Jian Qiu noticed the crowd gathered outside the noodle shop across the street: “An Jing, let’s go see what’s happening.”

An Jing sighed helplessly but nodded: “Alright, let’s go.”

“Huh!” An Jing exclaimed in surprise: “Qiuqiu, this guy is from your factory!”

Jian Qiu’s expression remained blank: “I’m a bit hungry. Let’s have some noodles here.”

An Jing glanced at Jian Qiu’s stomach: “We had breakfast right when I got off the train—less than two hours have passed. You’re already hungry again?”

“Mm.” Jian Qiu nodded, pulling An Jing into the noodle shop: “Boss, two bowls of noodles.”

“One!” An Jing grumbled. “I’m not hungry.”

The seat by the window had remained unoccupied—after all, with a crowd constantly watching outside, no one would feel comfortable eating under so many eyes.

“Let’s sit here,” Jian Qiu plopped down at the window. An Jing widened her eyes, then followed, sitting down with a strange expression.

Two women, different in aura but equally beautiful, suddenly sitting by the window triggered a commotion outside—though only the men were stirred.

An Jing smiled faintly and whispered: “What exactly are you trying to do?”

Jian Qiu didn’t answer. Instead, she casually tore the notice off the window, gave a cold glance at the crowd outside, then ignored them entirely.

If this were over a decade later, such a marriage notice would draw no attention at all—even if seen, people would glance once and walk away. But in this era, just opening up, with limited information and entertainment, this piece of paper, this humorous notice, was genuinely novel and sparked lively discussion.

An Jing looked at Jian Qiu, her eyes gleaming with insight: “Qiuqiu, what’s your relationship with the person who wrote this notice?”

Jian Qiu replied calmly: “I do know Zhou Andong—he’s just an ordinary colleague.”

At that moment, the young man brought the noodles. An Jing took them, placed them before Jian Qiu, and spoke softly: “Just now you said you were hungry and wanted noodles. Now they’re here—eat them, and I’ll believe you. If you don’t finish them, you’re lying.”

Jian Qiu’s expression remained unreadable. She let out a soft hum: “Little An An, are you feeling itchy again?”

“Looks like you’ve got something to hide,” An Jing winked one eye, then suddenly reached for the notice.

“Snap!” Jian Qiu’s hand moved faster, snatching it away.

“Heh!” An Jing grinned triumphantly: “I was right—you’ve got something going on with Zhou Andong.”

Jian Qiu’s face remained expressionless: “No.”

“Then eat it,” An Jing pointed at the bowl.

Jian Qiu said: “I’m not hungry anymore. I don’t want to eat.”

An Jing wrinkled her small nose: “After all these years, you still won’t give up your stubbornness.”

“Miss Jian?” A man’s voice suddenly came from beside them.

Jian Qiu looked up, surprised: “Reporter Guan? What are you doing here?”

Guan Shengjie—the man with the short beard and travel bag—replied: “Gu, there’s a big story here, so I came to see what kind of big news could make him return to Beijing just to meet me.”

Jian Qiu asked: “When did you get off the train?”

“Just got off. I’ve been on a visit with my superiors these past few days—I didn’t even return to Beijing, just bought a ticket straight here.” As he spoke, Guan Shengjie glanced at An Jing sitting beside him, and his calm heart gave an abrupt, strong thump.

The first glance had stunned him; the second made his heart beat faster uncontrollably.

Jian Qiu noticed Guan Shengjie’s expression, her heart stirred slightly, then she gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

Guan Shengjie’s family background was no less impressive than hers. Compared to the second-generation heirs of other families, he was a true breath of fresh air. Most importantly, every achievement he’d gained was earned through his own effort—he had never relied on his family’s status.

In other words, the position of Chief Reporter at Renbao wasn’t something you could get just by having status or connections. Last year’s Gulf War—he was the first and only war correspondent to enter the combat zone.

Just now, Jian Qiu had indeed considered introducing her good friend to Guan Shengjie. But she quickly abandoned the idea—she knew An Jing too well. If she clumsily pushed them together, it would only make the little woman resentful. Better to let things unfold naturally, and give Guan Shengjie more opportunities.

“This is my good friend An Jing, here to visit me,” Jian Qiu introduced briefly, saying no more.

“Hello, Miss An. I’m Guan Shengjie—a plain, ordinary reporter.” Guan Shengjie extended his hand.

An Jing shook his hand: “Hello.”

Jian Qiu stood up: “Good. We should be heading back. Come with me to the distillery?”

Guan Shengjie nodded vigorously: “Sure!”

A figure wrapped head to toe in a military overcoat, cotton hat, and scarf appeared at the distillery gate. The man crept around nervously, lingering for a long time until no one was entering or leaving, then quickly approached the mailbox, pulled out a thick stack of envelopes from his chest, shoved them inside, and bolted away.