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墨書 Inktalez
The black limited edition luxury car glided through the city’s night like a sleeping leopard.
Inside, the lavish leather seats and crystal embellishments shimmered with a subtle yet prestigious glow. Amidst this extreme opulence, Leng Yichen sat with an air of undeniable authority.
Even though there were only he and the driver in the car, he maintained the posture befitting a domineering CEO—
His upper body leaned back slightly, not too relaxed, exuding an unintentional aura of cold detachment.
His long legs crossed, ankles suspended, positioned perfectly as if this were an artful pose.
One hand casually rested on the armrest, fingers slightly curled, radiating an impeccable elegance and languor, as if with a mere lift, he could command the global economy.
This was the instinct of a domineering CEO, a steadfast commitment to aesthetics, an uncompromising display of artistry.
This was Leng Yichen.
However, despite his frosty exterior, an image surged uncontrollably in his mind—
A flash of white, like a deity descending, radiating brilliance.
Hair cascading like a waterfall, shimmering with an intoxicating sheen.
And those two…
Incredibly beautiful armpit braids…!!!
Leng Yichen's fingertips trembled slightly; his heartbeat skipped a beat at that moment.
What kind of armpit hair could achieve such an extreme sense of flow?!
That unique resilience, delicate yet strong, a perfect blend of softness and firmness—this was the pinnacle of hair artistry, an extreme aesthetic he had never encountered before!
His gaze suddenly deepened, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly as desire quietly spread within him.
"Hiss..."
He slowly closed his eyes, as if to imprint that beautiful image deeply into his mind.
Then—
He raised his hands, elegantly and calmly, gently caressing an invisible braid in the air.
His fingertips glided along the nonexistent curves, imagining the silky smoothness of the touch.
—Soft, yet with a hint of stubborn resilience.
—Delicate, but possessing astonishing elasticity.
This was Ye Mo Li's armpit braid, a miracle in the world of hair!
The driver glanced through the rearview mirror and saw this global richest person, domineering CEO, and myth of the hair industry, now slightly closing his eyes, his hands moving in the air as if touching something that did not exist...
The expression on his face was unprecedentedly tender and mysterious, as if savoring the most extreme treasure in the world.
The Driver remained silent, unable to voice his thoughts.
Is this really something I can witness?
He dared not ask further questions and continued driving, allowing the fantasy between the CEO and Armpit Braid to unfold.
The night was as dark as ink, and the luxury car glided smoothly through the brightly lit city. Leng Yichen closed his eyes, lost in a soul connection with Ye Mo Li and Armpit Braid.
His fingertips elegantly traced the air, simulating that silky, smooth sensation. In his mind, a picture began to form—
Ye Mo Li stood in the wind, her white skirt gently swaying, two black Armpit Braids dancing with the breeze, like an omen in the realm of Hair, a divine manifestation of aesthetic perfection.
This was pure beauty. This was what Leng Yichen had pursued all his life—Extreme.
However—
Suddenly, a cacophony erupted!
The jarring noise pierced through the air like needles against eardrums, shattering the perfect symphony of Hair.
Leng Yichen's brow twitched violently; every hair on his body stood on end as a chill raced down his spine!
What is that disgusting sound?!
Who dares to interrupt his sacred moment of intertwining souls with Ye Mo Li?!
He suddenly opened his eyes, his cold gaze slicing through the air toward the source of the sound, only to find—
It was his phone.
The device in his pocket was vibrating insistently, playing an utterly nauseating preset ringtone—
“Doo doo doo—dooo doo doo—”
The sound buzzed like an ugly fly, frantically droning in the depths of his soul.
Leng Yichen's expression instantly darkened, as if the world had become unworthy of existence.
—Who?
—Who the hell?!
Who dared to call at a time like this?!
Who dared to disrupt his transcendental, pure, and flawless Platonic union with Ye Mo Li?!
This was a desecration of “beauty”! An insult to “extremity”! A trampling of “love”!!!
“Damn it.”
Leng Yichen's gaze suddenly became inscrutable, concealing a deadly intent. He slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, not even glancing at the caller ID. Then—
Whoosh!!!
With a swift motion, the phone was tossed away.
In the next moment, without hesitation, he hurled the phone out of the car window with all his might!!!
Bang!!!
The phone sliced through the night, spinning gracefully in the air, before crashing heavily onto the asphalt. Under the glow of the headlights, it reflected a faint and desperate light...
Then it bounced mercilessly on the ground a few times, shattering into a pile of electronic debris.
—No one, nothing could interrupt the soul connection between him and Ye Mo Li!
—This was a dialogue of aesthetics that belonged solely to him and her; it was a love that transcended the mundane!
The driver witnessed all of this through the rearview mirror, his heart skipping a beat as his hands trembled slightly on the steering wheel.
He wanted to say something... but ultimately chose to remain silent.
After all, this was Manager Leng.
This was a man who would not compromise on "beauty."
“Buzz, buzz, buzz—”
Even though the phone had been thrown out of the window, that damned ringtone still echoed inside the car, as if mocking him, mercilessly pounding against Leng Yichen's eardrums.
Leng Yichen's gaze instantly turned icy, a slight twitch at his temple—this was impossible!
He had clearly destroyed the phone; why was the sound still there?!
Was it a hallucination? Or was this world rebelling against “beauty”?
At that moment, the driver calmly opened the glove compartment in front of him.
“Click—”
The compartment door gently popped open, revealing about fifty brand new, unopened phones neatly arranged inside. Each one flickered with an eerie glow, as if a never-ending electronic war was taking place.
While maintaining a respectful driving posture, the driver said in a very flat tone, “Manager Leng, these are your backup phones. Please take a look.”
Leng Yichen's eyes narrowed slightly.
He slowly turned his head to look at the row of phones and fell silent for a few seconds.
—What foresight.
It seemed that the company had long anticipated his “phone-throwing syndrome.” Otherwise, with his zero tolerance for “imperfect things,” Ethan Lux's communications department would have likely gone bankrupt by now.
Leng Yichen let out a light hum, disdainfully reaching out to randomly pick up one of the fifty phones.
This was not a compromise, but rather an extreme pursuit of efficiency.
He elegantly tapped the screen, preparing to see which fool dared to disturb his Platonic love affair with Ye Mo Li at this moment.
As the screen lit up, the caller's name flashed prominently—
"Su Baqi."
In an instant, Leng Yichen's gaze turned icy cold.
The temperature inside the car seemed to drop below freezing.
A faint, cold smile curled at the corners of Leng Yichen's lips, his eyes deep and laced with a hint of bloodthirsty mockery.
"Ha..."
"How boring."
Without hesitation, his long fingers swiped across the screen, accepting this invitation from the darkness.
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