Guide to Rising to Power as a Wife in Beijing's Elite Circle

On the first day of the Lunar New Year, Fang Jingxiu slept until nine o'clock, which was unusual for him.

This is the first time in many years. Usually, even on holidays, his biological clock would wake him up at seven o'clock sharp; it's a habit he developed from working at the National Development and Reform Commission, and he can't change it.

But yesterday, I stayed up until the early hours of the morning on New Year's Eve, and having barely slept during the few days in Ningbo, exhaustion finally overcame my self-discipline.

He was awakened by a dream.

Chen Nuo appeared in my dream.

But it wasn't the Chen Nuo he knew, not the girl in the pale yellow dress waiting for him on campus, not the script supervisor calmly cutting his clothes to stop the bleeding in the Qinghai wilderness, nor the girl he held in his arms in the hotel suite.

She was facing away from him, her bare back gleaming with a porcelain-white sheen in the dim light.

Her dark hair slid down her shoulders and hung at her waist, the ends brushing against the hollow of her lower back as she turned slightly to the side.

Her shoulder blades rose and fell gently with her breath, like butterfly wings; her spinal grooves were deep and descended, disappearing below her waistline… The light outlined the curves of her body, a kind of youthful sensuality between girlhood and womanhood, innocent yet alluring.

Then he woke up.

Fang Jingxiu opened his eyes and stared at the exquisite crystal chandelier on the ceiling for a few seconds.

Then he felt down below...

Fang Jingxiu stared at the ceiling for three seconds, then swore, "Damn it."

I haven't had this kind of dream in a long time.

The last time was probably when I was a teenager.

Having navigated the ups and downs of officialdom over the years, I've long since learned how to restrain my desires and how to dedicate all my energy to my work.

But that intimate moment at the Yongzhou Hotel a few days ago seemed to have flipped a switch. It's perfectly normal for a man who's just lost his virginity to dream about his girlfriend.

Fang Jingxiu sat up and rubbed his temples.

Morning light streamed in through the gaps in the heavy curtains, casting dappled shadows on his bare torso.

He has broad shoulders and a narrow waist, with smooth and unexaggerated muscle lines, a physique achieved through years of consistent training and healthy lifestyle habits.

He got out of bed and went into the bathroom.

Cold water poured down from the showerhead, drenching his burning skin. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and let the water wash over his face and body, trying to wash away the image in his mind.

But it didn't work.

The image of Chen Nuo sitting on the edge of the bed with her back to him, her clear yet shy eyes when she looked back, the slight tremor of her slender fingers when they touched his chest... these details played repeatedly in his mind like slow motion.

Fang Jingxiu turned off the water and dried himself off.

He wasn't wearing a suit; he just grabbed a dark gray sweatshirt from the closet and put it on.

The sweatshirt is made of cashmere, soft and comfortable, with a slightly loose neckline that reveals the collarbone and a small patch of chest. She paired it with black sweatpants, making her look several years younger, yet the composed demeanor cultivated over the years remained.

Stepping out of the bathroom, he glanced at the disheveled sheets…

No one else should know about this.

It's not that I feel ashamed; having physiological needs is perfectly normal.

But he didn't want anyone, not even his most trusted servant, to know that he had lost control because of a woman.

Fang Jingxiu walked to the bedside and skillfully removed the sheets and duvet cover. Having served in the military, he was adept at these household chores.

Then he carried the pile of sheets and blankets out of the bedroom, downstairs, and into the laundry room in the backyard.

He encountered the maid, Zhang Ma, on the street. She paused, surprised to see him carrying a bedsheet, and asked, "Young Master, what's this...?"

"It's alright," Fang Jingxiu said calmly. "I can do it myself."

"That won't do, I'll do it..."

"No need," he interrupted Zhang Ma, his tone calm but unquestionable. "Go and do other things."

Zhang Ma hesitated for a moment, then nodded and stepped aside.

Fang Jingxiu walked into the laundry room, stuffed the sheets and duvet cover into the washing machine, poured in the detergent, set the program, and started it. The whole set of actions was done in one smooth motion, so skillful that it didn't seem like the actions of a young master who had been waited on since childhood.

But he had to do it this way, without letting the servants see.

It's not that I'm afraid of losing face, it's that I'm being cautious.

In families like the Fangs, even the slightest disturbance can be magnified and misinterpreted.

If word gets out that Director Fang washed his own bed sheets on the morning of the first day of the Lunar New Year, anyone with a keen eye could easily make a connection and guess what happened.

Chen Nuo, however, cannot be put on the table yet.

After dealing with the sheets, he returned to the main building. As soon as he entered the living room, he heard laughter and conversation coming from inside.