The first clue Jiang Fengmian had, that something was wrong, was the suddenly delighted glint in Wen Ruohan’s eyes as they chatted over a glass of wine in the Düsseldorf International Airport. A moment later that his own wife took a seat in one of the spare chairs.
“Yu Ziyuan, as I live and breathe,” Wen Ruohan said, inclining his head in appreciation. “You become more beautiful every time I see you.”
She gave him a disdainful, professional smile, and turned to her husband. “Fengmian.”
He eyed her warily. “My lady.”
“There’s a situation at home. It would be wise to reschedule the next leg of your tour so we can tend to it.”
“My lady, that simply can’t be done,” he felt his brow furrow in bewilderment and wondered what Wen Ruohan thought of his wife being so assertive as to interrupt their
Jiang Cheng pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply. Wei Wuxian's wheedling voice was like silverware against ceramic. He desperately wanted chopsticks to stab his brother with.
"Come on, A-Cheng! Don't be like this. Give us a chance."
"A-Cheng, please, we just want an opportunity to apologize," Jiang Yanli murmured, eyes wide with unshed tears. "Can't you spare a minute to hear us out?"
"I don't know how many times I have to say this," Jiang Cheng said. "I am at work. This is my job. I don't have the time."
Wei Wuxian pulled his best pout but dropped it immediately, when he saw Jiang Cheng wasn't budging.
"A-Cheng -"
"Jiang Cheng to you, Wei Wuxian," Jiang Cheng retorted. He glared at them both. "You need to leave."
"A-Cheng," Jiang Yanli said, putting a hand on Wei Wuxian's arm.