Bella chuckled lightly and raised the bottle in her hand, clinking it in the air as if toasting:
"You're not bad either, Sister Jing. Everyone on the dance floor practically takes a number when they see you."
As she said the last few words, Bella sang them out in a good mood.
When Sister Jing saw the bottle of water in Bella's hand, her smile froze for a second, then she helplessly pressed her forehead:
"You're drinking that? In a place like this, you're drinking water?"
"I've drawn a clear line with alcohol. We're divorced, and I walked away with nothing."
Bella raised an eyebrow. She'd really learned her lesson—she'd almost forgotten she was still in a book-world story.
She still remembered scrolling through her phone before transmigrating and seeing a trending topic:
Over the past year, more than 5,000 CEOs were drugged one after another, and over 3,000 female leads happen to stumble into the wrong hotel room...
Drink the hardest liquor, crash the wildest room?
That kind of luck could go to someone else. Tonight, Bella was all about 'Buddha's mercy'—not a single drop of alcohol.
In this book, where three-fifths of the plot was just steamy mix-ups, she'd gotten lucky last time.
Coming to a bar to eye-candy hot guys was fine, but drink? No way in hell.
Sister Jing saw her look clear-eyed, like she wasn't joking, and let it go.
She tossed back a sip of her drink and waved toward the door of the VIP room.
A row of men, all at least 6 feet tall, filed in one by one. Every single one had broad shoulders and narrow waists.
A dark mass of them—suddenly making the originally spacious room feel cramped.
They were bare-chested, skin obviously slicked with a layer of oil.
Under the dim, spotlit lighting of the room, every ripple of each abs shimmered as they moved—crisp as a 3D render.
"Wow," Bella thought, "glossy and glistening, muscles sharp enough to be models."
But honestly, she had no interest in groping them. It was probably baby oil—touch it, and you'd feel like you were grabbing a freshly landed catfish, slimy and slippery.
Worse, that oil was a nightmare to wipe off.
She turned to Sister Jing and muttered darkly:
"Sister Jing, next time you bring these guys in, could you hand them a blotting sheet first? That oil... way too much.
Or just skip the oil altogether... Are you sure they came from backstage, and not straight out of a fried chicken joint?"
Sister Jing burst out laughing: "It's the 'hormone filter.' For some people, it's enough to trigger all kinds of sinful desires."
Bella didn't respond. Her gaze landed on a young guy sitting next to Sister Jing, scribbling away with a serious expression.
Little book in hand, he kept bent over, asking questions.
Bella leaned over and whispered:
"Sister Jing, be honest. Did your friend here just get back from training at Magic Mike or Chippendales, planning to bring that whole routine to his own club?"
Sister Jing's glass paused mid-air. She raised an eyebrow, surprised: "Hey, how did you know?"
"Guess."
As soon as she said it, the young guy waved his hand dismissively:
"This batch looks too greasy. Pass. Next row."
At his command, the room's sensor lights suddenly dimmed, and a sultry cold-purple spotlight hit the doorway.
Bella was casually sipping her water, but the second she saw this row, she almost spit it out—a picturesque "immortal's rain" right then and there.
The man leading the pack wore a pair of golden-rimmed glasses, looking like some depraved intellectual, but his upper body was completely bare.
A dark blue silk tie hung loosely around his neck, the tip of it swinging gently in the groove between his abs, practically begging for attention.
The one after him was even bolder: also shirtless, but wearing khaki straight-leg pants, with two red suspenders cutting deep into his thick pecs. The straps were pulled so tight they dug into his muscles.
Looked like the metal clasps might snap any second from sheer manliness (think of those famous Australian firefighter calendars).
Behind him came someone like a graceful aristocrat, a loose black silk robe draped over one shoulder, the sash clearly untied. As he walked, his abs peeked in and out, pale and glowing under the robe.
Between his well-defined fingers was a single red rose, petals still sprinkled with tiny water droplets.
Bella coughed hard, barely managing to swallow the sip of water. Before she could catch her breath, the man in the robe stepped close, shoving the rose into her hand without asking.
Then he dropped to one knee, lifted the back of her hand with his elegant fingers, and leaned in as if to plant a kiss.
Right as those painfully sexy lips were about to touch her skin, her brain went bzzzz.
With a quick move, she snatched her used, unwiped wet tissue and slapped it squarely onto his handsome face.
"Buddy, no need, no need."
Bella shrunk back, making a "Buddhist blessing" gesture in front of her chest:
"I, an old monk lately... have given up carnal desires! Just back from spiritual training on Tianshan; I'm carrying Buddha's radiance and don't want to hurt your masculine energy!"
The man's once polished, dreamy expression turned blank. He glanced at the young guy beside Sister Jing, who just waved him back to his spot.
For the next hour, rows upon rows of 'Models' switched past like a revolving door.
There was the 'suit thug,' the 'dark ascetic,' one dressed as a medieval vampire duke, and a 'sunshine puppy' type wearing a sports tank top, dribbling a ball as he walked in—his flashing waistline hitting Sister Jing's taste right on the mark.
Listening to the scream around her, Bella just shook her head.
She sat cross-legged, absently swinging her water bottle.
Maybe it was the overload of hormones—her focus was getting blurry.
By the end, all those tensed abs and pecs had lost any sexy filter. They just looked like packages of meat waving inches from her face.
Bella suddenly felt like she was at a butcher stall in a wet market, the vendor cheerfully showing off each slab of pork belly:
"Look! Come on, have a look here."
She held up her head, weary, and glanced over at Sister Jing—who she thought was still 'choosing her favorites.' Instead, she saw a face also expressionless with exhaustion.
Gone was the grand generosity of before. Sister Jing had sunk low into her seat, half her body practically sliding off.
Staring blankly ahead, she wanted nothing.
Watching the line of men still flexing and sucking in their tummies to show off their shark gills, she let out a long, helpless sigh. Her voice was tiny with post-burnout:
"Bella, I take back what I said earlier."
Rubbing her forehead, she murmured, nearly to herself:
"I can't even glance at abs right now. Let's call it."
Bella sighed in reply: "It's like being served a banquet full of delicacies—you keep stuffing meat down your throat. Eventually, you get sick of it."
All the men were dismissed, leaving only the young guy with the notebook, still sitting quietly beside Sister Jing.
Bella saw him standing there motionless, looking like he wanted to say something but hesitated. She couldn't help raising an eyebrow.
"What's this...?"
Just as she spoke, the young man casually hooked his hand behind him, grabbed the hem of his white T-shirt, and held it between his teeth.
He wasn't flaunting any exaggeratedly huge muscles, but the lines of his rectus abdominis were clear and firm.
"Big sister, how about checking me out?" His voice was bright, with a hint of showing off. "My abs... can open bottle caps."
Bella and Sister Jing were both stunned. "Huh?"
Bella leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs with interest. Her hands rested casually on the armrests, and her gaze carried a playful edge.
"Oh, really? Alright, then show me what you've got."
Before the two could react, the young man had already grabbed a bottle of iced beer from the table with one hand.
He moved swiftly, pressing the edge of the bottle cap against the raised contour of his abdominal muscles. With a firm push of his palm, a crisp "pssh-pop" sound rang out as the cap flew off.
Bella and Sister Jing: "???"
That was a new one!
In perfect unison, both women craned their necks to stare at the bottle of beer releasing a puff of cold vapor.
"There's something this good?" Sister Jing's eyes lit up, the earlier listlessness completely gone.
Seeing that Bella's gaze lingered on where the bottle cap had fallen, the young man played his trump card.
"Big sister, look... I specially wore gray sweatpants today."
"Extra roomy."
Writing this is exhausting (╥﹏╥)
