Chapter 4: Casting the Hook  

The International Peace Hotel was upscale, formal, and exorbitantly expensive.  

So before heading out today, Shen Simo had deliberately chosen a modest yet playful sleeveless maxi dress paired with low-heeled black leather shoes. Her makeup and styling were kept simple and conservative, yet they accentuated her understated elegance to perfection.  

She arrived at their meeting spot ten minutes ahead of schedule. Before stepping out of the taxi, she carefully checked her reflection in the mirror to ensure she didn’t look disheveled, then entered the hotel.  

To her surprise, Lu HuaiChuan was already seated by the window, waiting for her. A striking bouquet of red roses adorned the table.  

Today, Lu HuaiChuan looked different—clearly having put effort into his appearance. He wore a formal silver-gray suit woven with golden threads that shimmered like scattered starlight under the warm yellow lighting.  

Clothes make the man, and with that suit and his handsome face, Lu HuaiChuan was practically magnetic.  

He lounged casually in his wheelchair, his index finger resting against his temple acupoint as he gazed expressionlessly at the nightscape outside.  

Guided by the waiter, Shen Simo approached the table at a leisurely pace. The moment Lu HuaiChuan spotted her, his face lit up with a smile. He picked up the roses and handed them to her with both hands.  

“Thank you,” Shen Simo said, cradling the bouquet and inhaling its delicate fragrance. “Lu-laoshi, how romantic.”  

“Don’t call me Lu-laoshi from now on. Use my name.”  

“Alright, Lu HuaiChuan.”  

He slid the menu toward her. “See if there’s anything else you’d like to order.”  

To strictly maintain her weight, Shen Simo usually skipped dinner, drinking only water after six in the evening. She flipped through the menu halfheartedly. “This is plenty.”  

Busy with work, she hadn’t visited a high-end restaurant in ages. Before she could even settle into the novelty of it, Lu HuaiChuan pushed a jewelry box toward her. “Open it.”  

The sight of the Dior box left her momentarily stunned. When she lifted the lid and saw the pair of earrings—likely worth around five thousand—her heart skipped a beat.  

*Is he into me? Or is this too much…? Does he want something from me? Maybe introductions to more beautiful models?*  

With these thoughts swirling, she teased lightly, “Wow, Lu HuaiChuan, you’re not trying to court me, are you? I just did a small good deed—no need to be so grateful.”  

“One doesn’t invite a lady to dinner and send her home empty-handed.”  

“How thoughtful. If only all men were like you.”  

“Do you like them?” he asked.  

“Of course. Would you help me put them on?”  

Shen Simo swept the hair from her temples behind her ears and leaned slightly toward Lu HuaiChuan, offering her earlobes. His cool fingertips brushed against the soft skin as he threaded the silver posts through her piercings and secured the backs.  

With a knuckle under her jaw, he tilted her chin up, studying her with the satisfaction of an artist admiring his work. “Just as I imagined. They suit you perfectly.”  

The look in his eyes, initially expectant, gradually turned predatory. His gaze was so intense it made her ears burn.  

Shen Simo knew when to retreat. Before Lu HuaiChuan could reach to adjust her hair, she straightened up and returned to her seat.

When he let her go, his neatly trimmed nails seemed to brush faintly against her hair. The man smiled even more broadly as he raised his wine glass for a sip and asked, “Don’t you have anything to ask me? Like why I’ve been so persistent in inviting you to dinner.”

“Why? Because I kindly helped you?”

“Partially.” His gaze, venomous as a snake’s, locked onto Shen Simo’s eyes as he continued, “The other part is because you’re beautiful—your features, the contours of your muscles, everything is perfect. I’d like to paint an oil portrait of you.”

Shen Simo’s ears buzzed, her mind flooded with thoughts of Duan Yu’s oil painting. Instinctively, she turned her head, searching for Duan Yu’s presence. “By the way, why isn’t Xiao Duan here? I thought she’d be joining us for dinner tonight.”

“Duan Yu is just my assistant. My legs aren’t very convenient, so she usually helps out in the studio. Right now is my private time.”

With that, Lu HuaiChuan pursed his lips—whether from excitement or savoring the wine, it was unclear.

But Shen Simo couldn’t care less about what he said. They had barely met a few times, knew almost nothing about each other, and his personal life had nothing to do with her.

Even if Lu HuaiChuan were dating eighty women at once, Shen Simo could only praise him with, “Young master, what stamina! Despite your frail health, you manage to juggle so many women and still balance work. Truly impressive.”

His explanation, however, gave her peace of mind about accepting those expensive gifts. It turned out Lu HuaiChuan didn’t need a favor from her—he simply wanted to win her over.

Whether he succeeded or not, her immediate priority was steering the conversation away from the oil painting.

She touched her new earrings, and her flattering words flowed effortlessly. “Being your assistant must be amazing! A handsome boss, minimal work, and generous too. On top of that, getting immortalized in paintings by a renowned artist—ordinary people could never dream of such an experience. Ah, I’m so envious. It almost makes me want to take up a part-time job with you. How about letting me and Xiao Duan take shifts as your assistant?”

“Sure. But being my assistant isn’t easy. You’ve seen the works exhibited at the gallery—most are large-scale paintings. Handling canvases means climbing up and down, getting covered in paint. Besides, my legs aren’t convenient, so my assistant has to manage both my work and personal life. Living at my place would make things easier.”

Shen Simo nodded cheerfully, only to realize she’d steered the conversation into another trap. Undeterred, she shamelessly redirected the topic to herself. “Lu HuaiChuan, are all painters good at photography? That photo you took of me at the gallery was on par with a professional’s work.”

“I suppose so. We had photography classes in university, and the principles of composition overlap. What kind of work do you usually take on? Portraits?”

“Makeup and portraits.” She showed him her most outstanding works. “Which style do you think suits me best?”

“I think portraits suit you better, but pure portrait modeling lacks a mainstream market domestically. Your face is at its best with minimal embellishment—makeup and fashion shoots don’t highlight your strengths. Have you considered modeling while building a personal brand? It could increase your exposure.”

Lu HuaiChuan’s words were nothing Shen Simo hadn’t heard five years ago.

Her appearance was that of an elegant and pure beauty, the type that should naturally suit the neo-Chinese style. Yet, her features were sharp enough to make the trial makeup look awkward and out of place.  

After several attempts, outdoor portraits turned out to be the best at capturing her lively charm. However, there was simply no profitable market for portrait magazines in China. Instead, Shen Simo had managed to build a small but solid fanbase in Japan.  

Truth be told, Shen Simo had no interest in becoming a content creator. She had her own ambitions, which was why she never even showed her face while streaming games.  

Her dream had always been to establish her own modeling studio, ideally growing it into a full-fledged agency. Over the years, she had worked tirelessly toward this goal, even if she hadn’t made any major breakthroughs. Lately, there were even signs of regression, but she refused to give up.  

Lu HuaiChuan continued, “But you’re still young, and there are plenty of job opportunities. If you ever get tired of this industry, you can always consider content creation later—it might even give you an extra edge. Don’t worry, our fields overlap in many ways. If you ever run into trouble, you can always reach out to me.”