My girlfriend with whom I have a deep and unwavering love

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-23

Wen Yusi liked this place most because it was a place where wealthy businessmen and politicians kept mistresses, and everyone kept to themselves.

Wen Yusi stopped in front of the last floor, pressed the electric remote control in his hand, and the garage door opened automatically. He drove in and parked.

The Wen Yusi who emerged from the garage had a full beard and a hooked nose, a completely different appearance.

As a professor at Jiangcheng University, Wen Yusi lived two completely different lives.

Every week, he would come here several times at irregular intervals to water the flowers and feed the hungry goldfish.

Wen Yusi took out his key, opened the door, and entered his other home. He liked its rustic style; after his careful arrangement, the furnishings were elegant and orderly.

The ground floor had a foyer, a magnificent library, and a music room. The rest consisted of a living room, a large dining room, and a kitchen and pantry adjacent to it. All the furniture and furnishings in the rooms were properly placed and pleasing to the eye. Outside the dining room was a long terrace facing a lush garden. Behind the house was an indoor swimming pool, along with a sauna, steam room, and changing rooms.

Wen Yusi rapidly pressed several numbers on the digital buttons on the wall. A series of cracking sounds followed, and a crack suddenly appeared in the ceiling, widening gradually before a long ladder slowly descended. He climbed the stairs to the second floor, his private domain. Only here could he sleep peacefully, feeling a true sense of home.

Wen Yusi opened a door, went to the sideboard, poured himself a glass of chilled wine, took a sip, leaned his elbow against the sideboard, and leisurely surveyed his house.

After a short rest, he suddenly had a whim to see his treasured paintings, the culmination of years of hard work.

He walked along a long corridor and turned into his art gallery. Wen Yusi had spent six months painstakingly renovating and installing oil panels on the walls, using his evenings. These panels came from a palace built during the Italian Renaissance, but he had acquired them from a Saudi Arabian oil tycoon.

He casually locked the door and turned on the wall lamp. The walls were adorned with a dazzling array of masterpieces by renowned artists, including Monet, Cézanne, Van Gogh, Manet, Degas, Lenoir, and Cassatt, but the majority were also famous domestic oil paintings and calligraphy works.

Wen Yusi always possessed an instinctive love for art, and an incredible ability to discern quality in paintings, which often allowed him to acquire relatively reasonably priced oil paintings from certain individuals.

Of course, sometimes when he fell in love with a piece but lacked the funds, he resorted to other extreme measures—either by clever means or by force. He consoled himself that it was a last resort, and that it was better for him to have it than for someone else.

Next month, he was flying to Beijing for a major international oil painting exhibition, and he thought the trip would be fruitful.

But before that, he had a mission: to kill someone from across the ocean.

The thought of this aroused him. He closed the door and walked to the telescope under the window. His gaze fell upon a villa about two hundred meters away, its red walls covered in lush greenery, giving it an unusually fresh appearance. But this wasn't what he wanted to see; he wanted to see the young woman in purple who spent all her time in her room, her slender waist graceful and alluring.

Whose woman was this?

The dragon had fiery red eyes with golden rims. A blood-red tongue extended from its golden teeth, gently licking Ju Jie's left nipple. The dragon's body was composed of countless blue and green scales that undulated between its shoulders, its tail curled beneath its left shoulder blade.

Zhu Quanlin traced the dragon's spine with her slender fingers.

"Does it hurt?" she asked curiously.

“It doesn’t hurt now,” Ju Jie said, a slightly dazed look in his eyes. “It hurt terribly when I first got the tattoo. My whole body was numb, and I lost all feeling in my muscles.”

“It must have taken a long time, right?”

“For several days, I remained numb.”

“When? Where?” Zhu Quanlin opened her large eyes, her long eyelashes trembling.

“When? Where?…Hehe, it’s been a long, long time, in that faraway place…” Ju Jie murmured, “Seven of us were ambushed on Hill Four, and we died…we all died…”

His eyes flashed with pain and confusion again. His hand on Zhu Quanlin’s buttocks suddenly tightened, and she cried out in pain.

“Ah, your story must be full of wonders. Tell me about it sometime.” Zhu Quanlin’s fingers playfully traced the long curve of his spine, her small, pointed fingers gently stroking the soft black hair on his chest.

Ju Jie suddenly rolled over, lying on his back, grabbed her arm, pulled her onto himself, and pressed her into his suddenly passionate embrace.

She straddled his muscular body, her long legs spread wide, her pubic bone pressing against his erect penis. Her previously limp, dormant erection, like a hibernating snake, lay flat on his stomach. She began rubbing her pubic bone against his gradually hardening penis, writhing against him with her entire body weight, letting him feel her full thighs and firm buttocks.

Ju Jie reached behind her, ripping off her thin silk nightgown, and slapped her bare back hard. She screamed, trying to break free, but he held her firmly. His hand rained down on her bare buttocks, tears welling in her eyes from the pain. She felt a sharp sting, but accompanying the pain and humiliation was an even more alluring and wondrous sensation—a tingling warmth spreading from her buttocks throughout her body, reaching the depths of her soul.

Because of the constant hitting, Zhu Quanlin's lust surged. Her vulva became hot and burning, almost on fire. Her clitoris swelled into a radiant bud, throbbing with the arrival of lust. Pain and anger vanished. She stopped struggling, her rapid breathing causing her to collapse onto him.

Zhu Quanlin slid one hand between their bodies, grabbing his burning penis. She slid off him, kneeling between his thighs.

She bent down, sucking his penis greedily, making it harder and longer. It tasted slightly salty, like a marine mammal, freshly pulled from the sea by a fisherman.

She was somewhat intoxicated, imagining that indescribable night not long ago, when he forcefully threw her onto the floor of the Jiangcheng Hotel, roughly spreading her round buttocks, and mercilessly plunging into her body like a sharp knife. She screamed, welcoming that fiery, wondrous sensation; she discovered that for the first time in her prostitution career, she had released excited fluids for a client.

The more Zhu Quanlin thought about it, the more she felt she had fallen in love with this mysterious man. At this moment, he was very gently opening her parted labia, his thick

glans aimed at the entrance of her wet vulva. With a soft "plop," he was already inside her beautiful body. She heard his heavy breathing, and she moaned, arching her hips high, anticipating his deeper penetration.

She lightly scratched and clawed at his bare scales with her fingers, trying to further stimulate his already overflowing passion. As Ju Jie's thick penis slid in and out of her vagina, she imagined herself as a little lamb in the forest being ridden by a hungry wolf, the long and hot penis so powerful, with no feigned tenderness during penetration.

He roared, engaging in the purest and most direct communication between man and woman with primal movements and passion. His hands kneaded her large, full breasts tightly, his waist thrusting relentlessly until he was utterly exhausted.

"I have to go out for a while," Ju Jie said, kissing her bright forehead after they finished. "

Okay," she replied, turning her face to the window, her radiant expression turning somber.

If he could have stayed a little longer, she would have redecorated her little room. She would have cleaned the windows spotless, washed the sheets, and even gone to the "Violet" beauty salon to perm her soft, beautiful hair.

She would have dressed herself up for him, looking poignant and graceful. But he was leaving, and in the inner pocket of his black jacket, she found a one-way plane ticket for tomorrow.
“I’ll be back soon, just two hours. You stay in bed and wait for me. We’ll do some things we want to do…”

Ju Jie opened his left hand, carefully examining the lines on it. His smile was somewhat ambiguous, mixed with lewd thoughts.

In this world, no one knew his origins, who he was.

Ju Jie couldn’t help but feel melancholy and sorrow.

During the Sino-Vietnamese War, his company was ambushed. When he awoke, all his comrades had perished. The cold moon was silent, its light bathing the ground, surrounded by the incoherent chatter of Vietnamese soldiers. He knew he had inadvertently broken into enemy territory and was surrounded by the Vietnamese army.

When he finally returned to China and saw his name on the monument to heroes, he realized that he, now unrecognizable, was a glorious martyr.

From then on, he vanished from the face of the earth. Now his name was Ju Jie.

He warned himself to exercise restraint with this girl.

If he let her do as she pleased, she would send a man to a sanatorium within two weeks.

She could reach orgasm quickly and frequently, but was never satisfied. For her, sex wasn't a tender process of achieving a goal, but an endless pursuit from one frenzied climax to another.

And if her partner's penis shrank, she would ingeniously change her tactics to reignite his desire.

"It's time to stop." Ju Jie closed his eyes in thought. The astonished and pained expression on the man's face on Boning Street was still vivid in his mind. He couldn't remember how many partners he had slept with; as long as there was money, he would do anything.

He opened his palm again, it was bloodshot, faintly reeking of blood and money.

His heart was bleeding. His family and comrades, his childhood and ideals, had all vanished with the smoke of war.

When Ju Jie walked onto the street, it was midday. There were few pedestrians. People in Jiangcheng had a habit of taking a nap at noon, and besides, the autumn rain was drizzling and quite chilly.

He walked to a public phone booth and dialed a number. "The goods have been sold. Why haven't you transferred the remaining payment yet?"

He usually wouldn't take on a small job like killing an ordinary government official like Lei Huandong, but the other party had somehow found out about him and was offering a high price—30,000 yuan upfront, with a promise to pay another 20,000 yuan after the job was done. Ju Jie couldn't resist the temptation.

"I have another job that I need you to do. I'll settle the payment after that."

The other party's voice was low, clearly trying to conceal his identity, but he never cared who his employer was.

"No, please give it to me immediately, to the same account." The other party wasn't an acquaintance, and he didn't want to cause any trouble. Over the years, he had relied on his keen intuition and agility to survive in this ancient trade, never failing, mostly due to his extreme caution.

"Then please wait two more days. I won't break my promise, please don't worry."

Without needing further explanation, Ju Jie sensed the man's evasiveness. He had dealt with this kind of person before.

He knew what to do.

He put down the phone, took a deep breath, tightened his collar, and walked out of the phone booth.
Although he had lived in Jiangcheng for a long time, this was Wen Yusi's first time visiting the city's most famous skyscraper—the Chunhui Hotel.

The towering white tower and the spacious, bright glass lobby, with its lush trees and flowing water, clearly featured the scenery of the South China Sea, planted with palm trees and surrounded by a lagoon.

A young woman in white was sitting among the green trees, playing a piano piece. The melody was beautiful and melodious; Wen Yusi immediately recognized it as Haydn's London Symphony No. 101,

a piece that seamlessly blended rondo and variations. Remarkably, she could single-handedly express the complex emotions Haydn felt at that moment.

Wen Yusi couldn't help but glance at her again. Despite performing in this commercial setting, she seemed untouched by worldly concerns. Her black hair cascaded down her gently swaying shoulders, and her waist was slender and graceful.

Unfortunately, he wouldn't be coming back after this trip, because his target lived here.

Wen Yusi walked through the lobby, turned a corner, and entered through a small door next to the spare elevator.

He then took the elevator on the third floor, reaching the 27th floor. He quickly opened the door to room 20 and went inside; his target lived in room 18.

His nickname was "Silver Fox."

As a veteran agent of the United States of America, Frank had twenty years of overseas experience. In his tumultuous and thrilling career, he had earned the nickname "Silver Fox" for never failing, and had been awarded the Presidential Medal three times for his outstanding achievements.

This was Frank's first time in distant mainland China, an ancient China with thousands of years of history that remained a mystery to many Americans.

Frank had just bought some silk fabrics and Chinese tea from an antique market. He had two daughters, the youngest, Sally, only twelve years old, and was his favorite. So he had specially bought her a crystal pendant engraved with mysterious symbols, supposedly for protection.

Frank arrived at the door of room 2018. He crouched down and gently removed a thin strand of hair that had stuck to the doorknob when he left. "Better safe than sorry," a Chinese proverb, he thought with a slight smile, pushed open the door, and closed it behind him, taking off his shoes and placing them beside the door.

After putting his things down, Frank opened the refrigerator and took out a can of Coca-Cola. "This is the result of American cultural invasion," he thought smugly.

Just then, Frank had a strange feeling. It seemed like there was someone else in the room. Suddenly, the lights came on, and a young man in a suit leaned against the door, holding a pistol. He had a half-smile, but his eyes held only one expression: coldness.

"This is a modified Colt pistol from Israel. The silencer is American-made,"

Frank said calmly. In this situation, composure was paramount.

"Not bad, worthy of being a veteran agent." The man's fluent English, especially with a slight Californian accent, surprised Frank.

"What do you want?"

The assassin didn't waste words; this man clearly had an ulterior motive.

"That depends on what you've gotten, Frank."

According to intelligence, the American had already obtained what he wanted, and reclaiming it was Wen Yusi's true purpose for this trip.

"I don't understand, young man,"

Frank said, standing on tiptoe, his lean, muscular frame supported by the weight.

"Trying to stall for time? No use, Frank."

Wen Yusi smiled, the composure of a hunter with a captured prey. "You killed Lei Huandong and seized the military data from the Jiangcheng base from him. I suspect it's either a disk or film, isn't it?"

"I didn't kill Lei Huandong. I didn't kill him. I entered his residence after he died."

Frank was surprised to find himself under surveillance; he had a sense of impending doom.

Wen Yusi didn't speak further. He picked up the Colt, the orange light shining on Frank's face. He squinted, his pupils shrinking to tiny black pinholes. Wen Yusi read death in his eyes!

“I’ve already sent the information back to America. Even if you kill me, it won’t change anything.” Frank stared intently into his opponent’s dark eyes. “Give me an explanation: how did you know my whereabouts?”

“What do you think, Frank?”

Wen Yusi smiled and pulled the trigger. A soft “thud” came from his hand—the last sound Frank heard in this world.

Mu Rong sat on the sofa in Lei Huandong’s residence as dusk fell, but he felt no hunger. He was deep in thought.

[The End]

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