"Hmm…" With the warm sunlight spilling onto his face, Jiang Hai held the rosy-cheeked Qi Ya in his arms, unwilling to open his eyes.
Though Jiang Hai treated all his women fairly, he had his own private preferences.
For instance, he liked sleeping on his side—perhaps a lingering habit from years of insecurity. In the past, he'd always hugged a pillow or quilt between his legs to feel grounded. Now, that role had been taken over by the women in his life.
Among them, there were two he particularly liked to cuddle with: Qi Ya and Ai Xiaoxi.
Qi Ya, with her porcelain-like skin and delicate constitution, had always reminded him of a snow elf. Sensitive to sunlight, she'd grown up calcium-deficient and frail. Even though Jiang Hai's spiritual energy had long since restored her health, her body remained incredibly soft—like a plush bundle of cotton, warm and fragrant. Holding her was a pleasure beyond words. Even during intimate moments, Jiang Hai rarely let go of her.
Qi Ya enjoyed this clinginess too, often wrapping herself around him like a cat seeking warmth. That intimacy comforted her deeply.
Ai Xiaoxi, on the other hand, was born with a naturally cold constitution. When she had fevers as a child, they would spike dangerously. Though Jiang Hai's spiritual energy had healed her, her body still retained a coolness that felt especially soothing in summer or during sleep. It made holding her an absolute delight.
Both women, in turn, adored the security of Jiang Hai's embrace. It made them feel cherished, protected... and quite convenient in certain other ways. But if we go into too much detail, the editor might come knocking again.
"Bang, bang, bang…" Just as Jiang Hai was enjoying his restful slumber, a knock on the door echoed through the room. He remained motionless, but Hilda, who lay at the edge of the bed, stirred.
As one of Jiang Hai's self-appointed maids, Hilda's duties extended beyond intimacy—they handled errands too. Stretching lazily, she rose, wrapped herself in a towel, and padded toward the suite's outer door.
Peeking through the peephole, she spotted Afra and Feng Yunchen outside. She opened the door.
"Jiang Hai's not up yet?" Feng Yunchen asked, raising an eyebrow at the barely-dressed Hilda. Hilda simply pointed inside and shrugged.
Feng Yunchen and Afra exchanged a look, then stepped in. Feng Yunchen entered the bedroom and sighed at the sight: four people tangled in bed like cats in a sunbeam.
Sensing the disturbance, Qi Jie—who had been lying behind Jiang Hai—and Becky—who was beside Qi Ya—stirred awake. Their eyes blinked in confusion when they spotted Feng Yunchen.
"Hey, get up. Uncle Dulles is already finished downstairs," Feng Yunchen said, tapping Jiang Hai's legs.
Though Jiang Hai was in light sleep, he'd heard everything, from the knocking to the hushed conversation. But he was in no rush to leave this warmth. Still, when he heard that Dulles-Gerald was waiting, he sighed in resignation and gently released Qi Ya from his arms before sitting up.
Qi Ya, sensing his movement, opened her eyes too.
After everyone woke, washed up, and got dressed, they rushed downstairs without even bothering with breakfast. Business came first.
Dulles-Gerald, O'Connor Murphy, and the others had been waiting. Once the group arrived, they boarded the bus and headed to the venue of the Mâcon Wine Festival.
As the bus rumbled down the road, Jiang Hai and his companions noticed that Mâcon had grown livelier overnight. The streets were bustling.
Mâcon was a place blessed with rich tourism resources—leisure squares, historic landmarks, a deep cultural heritage, fine food, world-class wines, and sprawling green vineyards. Every April, it attracted wine lovers from all over the world.
Just like the Paris Agricultural Competition, the Mâcon Wine Competition was a prestigious event in France with a long and celebrated history.
Established in 1925, it had originally been part of a regional agricultural exposition known as ité des foires, which showcased various local products and culture. Wine was just one segment. However, as wine gradually took center stage, the exposition was renamed in 1948 to the Mâcon Expo and French Wine Expo.
By 2006, the wine competition had grown so large that it became an independent event. From that point on, it took on more distinct local characteristics and adopted a unique feature: blind voting.
That feature made the Mâcon competition especially attractive to foreign vintners. National pride often led local judges to favor domestic wines over foreign ones—unless the tasting was anonymous.
In blind tasting, where even the bottles were wrapped to hide their identities, all wines stood on equal footing. That leveled playing field gave outsiders a fair chance to shine.
In the realm of red wine, French labels were globally renowned, with Italy and Australia following. A win at Mâcon could be a major publicity boost for any foreign wine brand.
The event boasted a high award rate—roughly 20–30% of entrants received prizes—but only the gold medal truly mattered. The silver and bronze often served more as participation trophies. Dulles-Gerald, however, had come with one goal: the gold.
When they arrived, Jiang Hai and his group helped unload the wine. The organizers quickly took over, chilling and wrapping the bottles to mask their origins.
With their job done, the girls grew restless. After all, they hadn't come to play assistants. So Jiang Hai asked Azarina and Connorson Peters to take them out to explore the town. They could even participate in the public voting, which—though unlikely to sway results—could at least ensure a few safe scores for their wine.
Jiang Hai, meanwhile, stayed at the venue with Dulles-Gerald and O'Connor Murphy.
As the competition began, crowds were ushered in to sample wine after wine, judging each anonymously. Jiang Hai was mildly curious at first, but quickly grew bored.
He hadn't eaten anything since the day before—airplane food had been dismal, and after hours of transit, he'd collapsed into bed without dinner. Now that things had settled, his stomach finally spoke up.
After telling Dulles-Gerald, Jiang Hai stepped out in search of food. As expected, food stalls had popped up all around the event. A wine festival was no place to drink on an empty stomach—vendors knew it, and so did hungry attendees.
Walking among the stalls, Jiang Hai found himself salivating.
Among Western cuisines, French and Italian were undeniably top-tier. German food was meat-heavy, Russian cuisine leaned heavily on fish, and British food... well, potatoes reigned supreme.
But French and Italian snacks? Now those were worth exploring.
The most common item here was the crêpe—France's beloved street food. Savory or sweet, they came packed with ingredients: eggs, ham, cheese, mushrooms, tomatoes, salmon, beef, anything you could imagine. They resembled sandwiches, with a soft outer skin made from flour, eggs, and butter.
Besides crêpes, there were also macarons—though Jiang Hai wasn't a fan of those—and Italian paninis, which, despite looking like hamburgers, were really pressed sandwiches filled with meats, veggies, and sauces.
Most items were cheap, one or two euros each, while fancier crêpes could run up to ten euros. That might seem pricey, but they were worth it. There were also foie gras rolls and escargot, but Jiang Hai gave those a pass. Snails weren't his thing—he'd take bamboo clams any day.
Eventually, he bought two crêpes and a panini, then returned to the venue and found a quiet corner to sit and eat, happily munching away.
He didn't notice the three figures entering behind him—one man, two women. The two women were chatting and laughing, arms linked, while the man followed politely. All three wore thick sunglasses, and several discreet figures in the crowd subtly formed a protective perimeter around them.
As they walked in, one of the women suddenly stopped. Her eyes fell on Jiang Hai, devouring his crepe like he hadn't eaten in days.
She took off her sunglasses, stared, and blinked in surprise.
"What's he doing here?" she muttered, puzzled.
(To be continued.)