Chapter 36

Chapter 36: 036 – Defending

Qiao Qing Yan sat down beside Old Madam Qian.

Old Ji coughed lightly.

“Brew a fresh pot,” he said.

Qiao Qing Yan looked up and caught his gaze. He was saying it to her.

She glanced at the tea table. The pot on it still steamed faintly, clearly brewed not long ago.

Old Madam Qian laughed, smoothing the moment. “Old Ji, if you want to show off Xiao Qing Yan’s skill, you don’t have to make it so obvious.”

Old Ji rubbed his nose, a rare hint of embarrassment on his face. “Can’t I just be craving it myself?”

Grandpa Qu leaned forward, curiosity bright. “Girl, you can do it, right? Old Ji isn’t just bragging, is he?”

When Grandpa Qu lived abroad, he’d heard Old Ji praise her tea again and again—how unforgettable it was, how it made even ordinary leaves taste like something money couldn’t buy.

Qiao Qing Yan lowered her eyes, reaching for the original host’s memories.

Nothing.

Not a single scene of tea-brewing.

She didn’t know whether the original host simply never had reason to remember, or whether something else had erased it. But Old Ji’s confidence wasn’t fake. In his memory, she must have been good.

The original host’s memories offered no help.

But Qiao Qing Yan truly knew how.

She’d walked through too many worlds. Skills like this had long since sunk into her bones.

Her slender hands—nails painted a glossy red—moved over the tea table in a smooth, practiced rhythm. Lift, rinse, warm, pour. Calm precision in every motion.

It was so graceful it looked like a painting.

The flash of red should have been jarring. Instead, it became the brightest color in the room, turning the entire scene more vivid.

Minutes later, she poured the tea and placed each cup gently in front of them.

Fragrance bloomed, filling the private room.

Grandpa Qu held his cup with both hands, almost reverent. The aroma reached him first, clearing his mind in a single breath.

The tea slid in smooth. The scent lingered on lips and teeth. When it went down, there was no harsh bitterness—only something clean, warm, and steady.

The aftertaste was sweet.

Grandpa Qu stared at her, genuinely startled. Without decades of practice, you couldn’t reach this level.

Same leaves as the earlier pot. Completely different taste.

“Girl,” Grandpa Qu asked, “who taught you this?”

“Who else could it be?” Old Ji cut in quickly, half-joking and half-warning. “Elder Qu, don’t you dare set your sights on my girl.”

Grandpa Qu was famous for his obsession with tea. His home held rare collections that money couldn’t buy.

Qiao Qing Yan smiled and said nothing, letting Old Ji’s words stand as her answer.

Xie Yu Qian took a quiet sip. A thoughtful light flickered in his eyes as he glanced at Qiao Qing Yan—fast, but intense enough to betray him.

His fingers tightened around the cup. His heartbeat picked up.

Was it her?

He didn’t know.

And he feared the disappointment that would come with being wrong.

So he withdrew his gaze, as if the flicker of emotion had never happened.

Qiao Qing Yan saw it anyway. It hadn’t been her imagination.

He wasn’t looking at her.

He was looking through her, as if he’d seen someone else in the shape of her hands and the scent of tea.

Grandpa Qu’s mood brightened again, and he smiled at her like a delighted grandfather. “Girl, how about you don’t marry into the Wang family? Marry into my Qu family instead. The men in the Qu family are a thousand times better than the Wang family.”