When he picked me up from the sea, I thought I had met the King of the Sea.
Until three days later, he competed with me for the same painting at auction without batting an eyelid. I looked at his brand: No. 888. He looked at my sign: No. 007.
"Miss Shen, can you invite me to tea next time we meet?"
"My tea is expensive."
"I'm not short of money."
Later I found out that he was indeed not short of money. What he lacks is life.
Murong Hanchuan, the leader of the international mysterious organization "Dark Night Empire". The left hand holds one-third of the world's arms lines, and the right hand holds the blood debt of hundreds of lives.
And who am I? A close disciple of the master of traditional Chinese painting, Mo Chan, and the head of the multinational conglomerate Jiangshan Group. A painting sells for tens of millions, and one sentence can shock the stock market.
We should be two parallel lines.
Until his father killed my master.
Until I discovered that what was hidden in the "Jiangshan Sheji Tu" was not an ancient painting, but a three-hundred-year-old secret of the entire family.
Until my stunningly beautiful senior sister smiled and said to me, "Junior sister, you don't even know who you are."
He tried to protect me and I pushed him away. He wanted to marry me and I pointed a gun at him.
"Murong Hanchuan, say it again."
"Shen Qingmo, in this life, if your fortune is lost, I will pick it up for you. If your life is lost, I will live it for you."
Then he really almost died. On the snowy field, three shots, blood loss, and before he fell into coma, he still held the painting - the sunset I drew casually on a desert island. He had been a mobile phone screen saver for three years.
Oh, the majestic emperor of the dark night, kneeling at the door of my studio to learn Chinese painting, looks very much like love.
