I Have 10 Trillion Dollars only Usable For Simping
Chapter 1307 - 903 The Taste of Cherry Blossoms

Chapter 1307: 903 The Taste of Cherry Blossoms

The other party could speak, and had warmth.

It definitively had to be a natural lifeform, no doubt about that.

But there’s another saying.

Humans fear ghosts’ horror; ghosts know humans’ poisonous hearts.

Sometimes, in certain situations, living humans can be even more terrifying than sinister spirits.

The eerie, mournful BGM gradually softened, the lighting never returned, and Jiang Chen seemed to have entered a dimensional rift, detached from the normal world.

Though unsure how to evaluate this "performance style," at least the Hang Seng Dance Troupe certainly stood out, unique to the point of eccentricity.

No wonder they were regarded as a magical treasure, cultivated and worshiped at great expense.

This also confirmed that the business tycoons who ascended to the thirty-third floor earlier must have shared one thing in common.

—They definitely didn’t have heart conditions.

Collapsing onto the sofa, Jiang Chen didn’t try to rise again. Even straining his eyes, his vision remained mired in impenetrable darkness, his subjective senses hinting at a vague shadow framing a human figure in front of him.

"Good work; can we turn on the lights now?"

Amid the sinister atmosphere, his steady voice rang out, oddly comedic.

One had to admit: Boss Jiang truly had an unparalleled mindset.

After a stretch of silence, a reply finally emerged. Through the brush of a toe, Jiang Chen—seated on the sofa—noticed the other party stepping closer, their toes grazing his.

"Why so impatient? The show’s just beginning."

Just beginning?

Yet Jiang Chen already felt his eyes widen, a tour de force he wouldn’t call wasted—no need for further dazzling content.

He clutched the seat and attempted to rise, but the warm breath brushing his face halted his movement.

In the darkness barren of five fingers, a shadow closed in, slowly leaning down.

"Leaving so soon—is your satisfaction complete?"

With that soul-stirring voice, a hand—or to be precise, a finger—traced across Jiang Chen’s chest, finally resting on his heart.

It seemed the other party was sensing his heartbeat.

"See? Your heart tells me—you’re not satisfied."

His heartbeat steadied, and Boss Jiang displayed the poise and tolerance expected of a seasoned entrepreneur, repeating, "Can we turn on the lights?"

Continued appreciation was fine.

But.

Could we stick to more worldly programs?

"My performance doesn’t need lights. We’re so close—you can’t see me?"

From the sensation on his face, Jiang Chen could tell the other party was inches away, almost breathing distance. Yet the space was so sealed, no outside light could penetrate.

"How am I supposed to see in the dark?"

"Don’t use your eyes."

The finger pressed harder on his chest. "Use your heart to feel."

As those words landed.

"Buzz..."

The sofa began to recline. Either the other party could see in the dark or was overly familiar with the sofa’s mechanics, forcing Jiang Chen to lay flat as the backrest inclined downward.

What did this mean?

Wasn’t he here to enjoy a program?

Soon enough.

Something climbed onto him.

To be precise.

Someone sat directly on his lap.

No wonder the lights couldn’t be turned on.

A performance like this was definitively not suitable for children.

Given Boss Jiang’s morally upright demeanor and cultivated personality, in cases like this, he logically should have sprung up or, at the very least, voiced his objection.

But unexpectedly.

He did nothing.

No resistance.

No movement.

Not even a word,

letting the other party climb and sit astride his lap.

Predictably.

The ravens of the world are all of a feather.

Polished words notwithstanding, when push comes to shove, the body is the most honest.

Especially in an airtight darkness like this; it magnifies human vulnerability.

"Heh... You’re anticipating this too, aren’t you..."

A finger slid across his chest, igniting a tingling sensation deep in his nerves. The thin fabric offered no resistance.

It was true.

At times, the need to see mattered little.

Jiang Chen could distinctly perceive the other’s body: curvaceous yet elastic, likely weighing under a hundred pounds.

Something fell onto his face.

Probably hair.

The resultant tingling intensified, like a cat scratching his heart.

Even the most stoic monks might struggle to stay composed in such moments, let alone a mere mortal.

As such, the seemingly righteous Boss Jiang lay completely still as if lifeless—possibly awaiting or savoring the continuation of her "performance."

Regrettably.

The stimulation didn’t escalate further.

It felt like the other party paused at this juncture, reluctant to go beyond.

"Why’d you stop?"

In the darkness, Boss Jiang’s composed voice broke through.

The other party chuckled, seductive as ever, whispering, "How would you like me to move?"

Like a seasoned virtuoso, Boss Jiang retorted, "You’ve served so many people; do I really need to teach you how to move?"

Sitting on his lap—the performer—seemed momentarily stunned by his sudden reversal of roles, leaving her silent.

"Are you new here?"

Boss Jiang’s adaptability proved exceptional; he blended seamlessly into the environment, his tone calm and effortless.

Still, no response emerged.

The other party remained motionless.

Then Jiang Chen began to move himself.

Having maintained this gentlemanly facade throughout, he suddenly raised a hand, placing it on the other’s thigh.

The tactile experience alone could reinvigorate even an elderly tycoon.

By all appearances.

Jiang Chen undoubtedly did this deliberately, or perhaps not deliberately.

After all, it was only a thigh—still somewhat acceptable in this pitch-black environment. Touching anywhere else would be far less appropriate.

As his hand landed on her thigh, the performer reflexively pressed down on his so-called "An Lushan claw."

"I’m allowed to touch you, but you can’t touch me? Doesn’t seem fair, huh?"

"Why the rush?"

Laughter echoed again in the darkness, rippling with allure. "Take your time..."

Though words hinted at patience, her hand refused to release his.

Jiang Chen didn’t resist, knowing he had another hand.

"Smack."

And so.

His left hand pressed down on her thigh again, this time firmer, even kneading slightly.

"Feels good."

In this all-encompassing darkness, he couldn’t make out her expression. Though she didn’t restrain his second hand, he sensed her body shifting away from his lap.

But Boss Jiang seemed emboldened. His right hand instinctively grabbed her retreating hand.

This pulled her body off balance, causing her to topple downward, stopping only as she braced against his chest.

Though unseen, it felt as if their gazes met, piercing through the void.

"Done already? Didn’t you say it was just beginning?"

Despite engaging in predatory acts, Jiang Chen’s tone sounded impeccably upright—more righteous than a saint’s.

He gripped her wrist firmly, ignoring the itch brought on by her cascading strands, then inhaled deeply.

"I’ve been wondering what scent this is—it must be cherry blossoms."

"Am I right, Teacher Xiang Tian.

Or...

Miss Fujiwara?"