C1 Chapter 1

On the streets of France, you’ll always find a few wandering artists showing off their craft. From a distance, Su Mengxin spotted a painter flicking ink across paper, washing in the shapes of lotus blossoms. But the artist was blond and blue-eyed—not someone she’d expected to see working in that style.

Curious, Mengxin drifted closer without even realizing it, until she was in the middle of the crowd, standing about six feet from the painter, quietly watching him work.

“That’s really good,” she said, genuinely impressed.

The crowd around the painter slowly thickened. Someone jostled her, and she stepped aside with practiced patience.

She didn’t expect the person next to her to suddenly clamp down on her wrist, flashing a sly grin.

Mengxin snapped back to her senses, tightened her grip on her crossbody bag, and barked in French, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Two young guys looked her over, shrugged with open contempt, then shoved her hard to the ground. In one clean motion, they yanked her Chanel bag away and took off down the street at a dead sprint.

When you’re having a bad day, you can get robbed just walking outside.

Someone nearby helped Mengxin to her feet. She tossed out a quick thank-you, then watched helplessly as the two thieves disappeared farther and farther into the distance.

The nerve.

Not caring whether she could catch them or not, Mengxin sucked in a breath and sprinted after them in her heels.

Her passport, ID, wallet, and a hard drive full of important files were all in that bag!

Just as the two thieves were about to vanish around a corner, a dark-haired man appeared. He drove a kick into one of them, frowning. “Robbing someone in broad daylight? You’ve got some nerve.”

Hearing that tone, Mengxin couldn’t tell whether she should rush in and grab her bag back—or thank him.

Why did he sound like he was scolding them?

He wasn’t with them… right?

She gave him a quick once-over. He was dressed sharply, with an upright, no-nonsense air about him. Those bright eyes were filled with irritation; beneath a high, straight nose, his lips were pressed into a hard line. His features were striking, and the presence he gave off was intense. No matter how she looked at him, he didn’t seem like the type to help criminals.

The other mugger tried to take off with the bag, but Loong Yufan grabbed his wrist, slammed him against the wall, and landed a few hard punches.

Su Mengxin had chased them the whole way, her cheeks flushed and her breathing a little ragged. Beads of sweat dotted the bridge of her nose as she watched, stunned and relieved, while the man held her shoulder bag out in front of her.

“Thank you... thank you, sir...”

The two muggers exchanged a look and, the moment Loong Yufan wasn’t paying attention, bolted.

Su Mengxin finally let herself relax—she was this close to collapsing. Sprinting in high heels was seriously pushing her limits.

She reached for the bag, but the man pulled his hand back, wearing a smile that was hard to read.

Her hand closed on empty air. She looked up at him, shocked. “Sir, what is that supposed to mean?”

“There’s a gala tomorrow night in Paris. I happen to be short a date,” Loong Yufan said, lifting an eyebrow, his expression softening just a touch. “How about you do me the honor of coming with me?”

“And if I say no?” Su Mengxin’s color returned a little. She didn’t like people who helped just to cash it in later. A stranger helping her was kindness; asking for something in return wasn’t unheard of—but she still didn’t have to like it.

Loong Yufan rubbed his chin, said nothing, and turned as if to leave—her bag still in his hand.

He’s seriously just going to walk off? Su Mengxin stared after him, dumbfounded. Had she run into a good guy or a bad one?

“Hey—you're just leaving? Can you give me my bag back? I’ll pay you,” Su Mengxin hurried after him, tugging at the hem of his jacket, pleading.

Loong Yufan seemed to weigh the offer. A faint smile flickered across his face as he said, “I’m not hurting for money.”

Su Mengxin hesitated. She could tell—plain as day—that if she didn’t agree to the gala, this man would turn around, toss her bag into the nearest trash can, and never give it back.

“Fine. I’ll do it!” Su Mengxin worked up her courage, eyes wide.

Loong Yufan brushed her hand away. “What’s your name?”

“Su Mengxin.”

“I’m Loong Yufan.”

There was a hard edge to his voice—when he said his own name, it carried equal parts pride and superiority, as if he were looking down at her from above.

Even after she agreed, Yufan still showed no intention of giving the purse back. Su Mengxin’s chest tightened with anger, but she didn’t know where to put it.

“Now you’ll give my purse back, right?” she demanded.

Yufan didn’t answer. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward a few steps. After a long pause, he said, “You look familiar. Come with me to the banquet, and I’ll return the purse afterward. I’ll give you your phone back first—consider it a deposit.”

If she’d been surprised before, now she was stunned. Su Mengxin could only pity herself—what kind of weirdo had she run into?

“Then how am I supposed to get back to the hotel tonight?”

Yufan was about to respond when her phone suddenly rang.

She glanced at the caller ID, and her face went pale.