The next six days for Ying Yin were still packed with a full schedule. Afraid that Shang Shao would keep her up at night, she had dinner with him in the suite’s dining room and then prepared to return to her own room.
Shang Shao held her hand with a soft laugh, one arm braced against the doorframe, reluctant to let her go just yet. “What do I look like in your eyes? Am I really that untrustworthy?”
Ying Yin had already pulled her mask up. She tiptoed closer, pressing against the curve of his neck and jaw, nuzzling gently. “…It’s not you I don’t trust.”
The words were too embarrassing to say out loud – she hadn’t even finished before her face burned scarlet. She stepped back and hurried off without looking back.
This floor housed only four suites. The corridor was silent, the champagne-colored carpet carrying the dignified air of an old state guesthouse. Ying Yin’s room was right next to Shang Shao’s. She fled to her door, acutely aware that his gaze was still on her. With her head lowered, the heat in her cheeks refused to fade. She patted her pockets – front, back, sides – but found no key card. A puzzled “Hm?” escaped her, followed by a quiet chuckle from behind.
She looked up. Shang Shao leaned against his doorframe, arms crossed. A slim black armband hugged his bicep, keeping his shirt sleeves neatly in place. Between the lazy fingers of his raised right hand, a key card glinted conspicuously.
“Right here.”
Ying Yin had no choice but to walk back over. As she took the card, he lowered his voice and asked, “Sure you don’t want me to stay with you?”
A fierce inner battle raged for a moment. Ying Yin steeled herself and nodded firmly.
She entered her room, switched on the bathroom vanity lights, and braced both hands against the marble countertop, breathing deeply for a long moment. Then she lifted her face to study herself in the mirror.
The dark circles under her eyes had become more pronounced now that her makeup had worn off – telltale evidence of their indulgence over the past few days.
In truth, it had only been three or four days since she wrapped filming in Xinjiang and returned. But clearly, both she and he had been released from some pent-up state. The reckless abandon – as if there were no tomorrow, as if they had to reclaim, confirm, and fuse into each other’s very bones something they had nearly lost.
Ying Yin knew better than anyone – the man beside her was more exhausted than anyone else. During those two months in Xinjiang, Shang Shao had been vigilant, guarded, tense, and forgiving. Again and again, he patted her back and said lightly, “It’s okay,” “Don’t be afraid,” “Come to me.”
Every moment, he kept a tight grip on the kite string. Every moment, he was calling her back from the edge.
That kind of exhaustion ran deep – like sheer cliffs on the plateau, like rift valleys across the plains, carved by wind and frost, by sword and chisel, etched so profoundly into life itself that it could never fade away.
But once they left the set, he never once mentioned her illness again, nor that New Year’s Eve when she had wandered to the brink of the precipice. He didn’t ask her for any promises, either.
Her hands, braced against the edge of the vanity, suddenly clenched tight.
Shang Shao – why don’t you ask? He could have pushed her. He could have forced her to stop acting, forced her to swear she would never do anything foolish again. Why didn’t he push? Why didn’t he ask? Why didn’t he talk about it?
Back in Ning City, Dr. Shen had just turned off the lights in his office and was about to clock out when he received a call from his patient.
“Dr. Shen.”
“Miss Ying.”
“I wanted to ask… has Mr. Shang recently approached you about my condition?”
“You are my patient; Mr. Shang is not. Without your permission, I would not disclose your situation to him.” Shen Yu paused in the corridor, nodded in greeting to the nurse on duty, and continued, “And he indeed has not asked.”
“I see.”
Shen Yu couldn’t tell from the actress’s tone whether she sounded disappointed or relieved. “From my observation and interactions, he is someone who respects you deeply. That kind of respect requires a great deal of mental and emotional fortitude to sustain. Not everyone is fortunate enough to have a partner like that. You should feel happy about it.”
In Shen Yu’s experience, the most common complaint he heard from patients’ accounts was accusations of “selfishness.” When a person falls ill, when their mind strays down the wrong path, those closest to them often can’t help but accuse them of being selfish – “Have you ever thought about how I would feel?” Of course, this comes from love and the fear of loss. But it’s like flying a kite: that string is weighted with pressure, pulled too taut – and once it loses control, it snaps cleanly.
Ying Yin let out a small laugh, though it felt as if something had pinched her heart.
Shang Shao truly hadn’t asked anything at all. Why? His very composure made Ying Yin afraid to think too deeply about it.
The strip of embedded lighting made the mirror exceptionally bright. In that brightness, she examined the scar on her face with meticulous care.
It was a very, very, very fine scar – like a strand of hair – so faint that only she could find it. Because it was so subtle, even close-up shots couldn’t pick it up. Sometimes she wondered if it was just her imagination.
Ying Yin raised her hand and lightly touched the scar with her fingertip.
It felt like a lifetime ago – like a memory from a previous life.
“Dr. Shen, I’m looking at my scar.”
In their sessions, Shen Yu had asked her to try facing this scar.
The scar was like a demon in her mind – one glance at it, and it seemed to whisper temptations in her ear, luring her to hurt herself again.
“Just once more – it’s so relieving. Don’t you want to taste it again?”
She had never been able to hold her gaze for more than two seconds. She would flinch, lose focus, as if fleeing in panic down a tunnel flooded with blinding white light.
“What does it feel like?” Shen Yu asked.
“Like something from a past life.” Ying Yin looked at her own eyes in the mirror, tilted her face slightly, and held her gaze steady – pale, and yet strangely detached.
Shen Yu stepped out of the hospital office building, where the bustling traffic outside was bright and orderly. He nodded. “You can start preparing to gradually reduce your medication.”
After showering, Ying Yin lay down in bed, sent Shang Shao a “good night” over WeChat, and closed her eyes.
She fell asleep quickly. She didn’t seem to dream at all, yet she woke up in the middle of the night. She fumbled for her phone and glanced at it – it was only midnight. She had slept for nearly four hours.
Unlike her, when the phone in his room rang, Shang Shao hadn’t even been ready to go to bed yet. He closed his laptop and picked up the receiver on the desk.
“Hello.”
As if he had a premonition, even that single word came out gentle.
“Did I wake you up?” Ying Yin lay on her side, her bent arm tucked under her head as a pillow, her eyes closed.
“No, I just finished work. Why are you awake?” Shang Shao asked. He slid open the white porcelain cigarette case with his fingers, took out his first cigarette of the day, and tapped it lightly against the desk. “Had a nightmare?”
“No, I just woke up all of a sudden.” Ying Yin listened to the sounds on his end – the soft, languid scratch of a lighter flint.
“Can I ask you for your opinion on something?” Shang Shao held the cigarette lazily between his fingers, his head lowered. The desk lamp beside him cast a warm glow, deepening the contours of his features.
Through the phone line, his voice had an almost unreal quality to it.
Ying Yin hummed in acknowledgment, smiling at his choice of words.
“I want to post a photo on my Moments. Should it be a solo shot of you, or one of us together? The problem with the latter is,” he paused, letting out a low chuckle, “we don’t have a photo together yet.”
The receiver pressed so tightly against her ear bone that it almost ached.
For a moment, Ying Yin was silent. Her eyes opened – first dazed, then bewildered, then slowly widening, as if she couldn’t quite process what she had just heard.
“If you don’t say anything, I’ll take that as a no.”
Shang Shao let out a light laugh to himself and flicked the ash off his cigarette. “I originally thought Moments was a bit too informal, but it seems like that’s what you younger folks value more. If you don’t agree, we can do something else.”
“What else?”
“Next month, the new gymnasium we donated to Ning City is having its ribbon-cutting ceremony. Will you come with me?”
“…”
“They’ll understand. After all, Shangyu Headquarters’ projects have never invited celebrities to attend. As for the press releases, you can rest assured – the media will only run photos of the city officials.”
Ying Yin pressed a hand to her forehead, struggling to refuse. “No, that’s way too absurd…”
“Absurd?” Shang Shao was clearly asking knowingly. The corner of his mouth curved up as he stifled a laugh and bit down on the cigarette. “Then maybe Moments is better after all?”
Ying Yin realized she had fallen into his rhetorical trap. She bit her lip, curling her body under the covers like a child.
“Hang on a moment,” Shang Shao said, as if he had to step away briefly.
A soft click came from the other end of the line – he had set down the receiver -followed by the scrape of a chair being pushed back.
Ying Yin thought nothing of it and waited patiently, until a knock sounded at her door.
She started, her heart pounding wildly. She jumped out of bed and ran barefoot to open the door. Her cream-colored nightgown swayed, catching the floating glow of the nightlight.
She pushed the door open. Shang Shao was still in the same clothes he’d worn during the day – black tie and trousers, an American-style white shirt with a relaxed, roomy cut. Two narrow black woven armbands cinched his biceps, the muscles of his arms and chest faintly shifting beneath the fabric. They were built from kayaking and sailing – smooth, powerful, and reassuringly solid.
Shang Shao propped one arm against the doorframe, the other hand pinching his cigarette. His gaze swept over Ying Yin from head to toe. When he saw she wasn’t even wearing shoes, he scooped her up with practiced ease, carried her inside, and nudged the door shut with the toe of his leather shoe.
“Next time, put on your shoes. And check the peephole first – if it’s not me, at least get properly dressed,” he instructed her bit by bit, his eyes dropping briefly to the view at her chest.
A surge of breath moved beneath his shirt. He pressed his lips together, letting out a low, resigned sigh, then laughed at himself – at his own possessiveness.
Even though his warnings were entirely unnecessary, Ying Yin nodded obediently anyway.
The phone line was still open, the receiver set aside on the desk, emitting a faint buzz of static. Shang Shao carried Ying Yin back to the bed, reached over to hang up the phone, then stubbed out his cigarette.
“What kind of photo should we choose? A solo one, or one of us together?” He exhaled the last wisp of smoke against the hollow of her neck, his lips brushing her collarbone in a light kiss.
“Together.”
“Then after you go back, we’ll take one?”
“We already have a photo together.”
“When?”
It was taken by Junyi, on the set in Xinjiang. In the snow-covered landscape, she was wearing the new outfit from the first day of the New Year, held tightly in Shang Shao’s arms. His gloved hand pressed against the back of her head. From the camera’s angle, the snowy plain stretched endlessly beyond them, with only a single line of parallel footprints in the foreground. The image was pristine – easily a match for the official announcement photo they’d released for When Snow Melts It Turns Green.
Shang Shao studied the photo carefully for a long time, a smile rising to his face. “Good. Let’s use this one.”
Ying Yin had already started to feel nervous in advance, but Shang Shao wasn’t done with her yet. He opened a document on his phone. “This is a list I had my executive assistant put together… of contemporary young people’s ‘official announcement’ copy for their Moments.”
Ying Yin’s face flushed hot. “You’re young too.”
Shang Shao let out a low laugh, his gaze looking down at her from above, but steeped in an unhurried, amused warmth. “Am I? I’m eight years older than you.”
“You can’t tell.”
“Can’t tell in what way?”
Ying Yin gave him a light kick.
He was such a hypocrite, really. Tan Beiqiao, along with other directors, partners, and elders, had never stopped sending people his way – daughters of prestigious families, returnee socialites, or simply highly accomplished women. To all of them, he gave the same steady refusal. “Too young.”
Twenty-six was too young. Twenty-seven, too young. Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one -still too young. But this twenty-eight-year-old right here? He didn’t find her young at all. She was the one he dreamed of, the one he clung to, the only one he wanted.
His secretary had been very thoughtful in her collection:
Mr. X, please guide me for the rest of my life.
Miss X, I will protect you all my days.
X.X. – mine.
Who’s this beauty? Oh, it’s my fairy.
An adult to the world, my little one.
Across mountains and rivers, only you.
…
Shang Shao scanned a couple of lines, then locked the screen with a deadpan expression.
“Is this… what you young people like these days?” He swallowed, frowned slightly, and in that moment admitted to his own outdatedness – without a trace of shame.
“I want that one,” Ying Yin said with a serious face.
“Which one?” Shang Shao asked warily, narrowing his eyes.
“‘You are my little fairy.'”
“…Don’t mess around.”
“I want this one.” Ying Yin was struggling to hold back her laughter, looking at him with pitiful, pleading eyes.
Shang Shao: “…”
Three seconds later, he resignedly opened his Moments, selected the photo, and started editing the caption: You are my little fai–
Ying Yin clapped her hands over her face and shrieked first. “Ahhh no no no, I take it back, I was joking!”
“Posted,” Shang Shao said calmly.
“Delete it now!” Ying Yin was stunned, her ears burning hot. “Before anyone sees it…”
Shang Shao glanced at his phone. “Fifty-nine new notifications.”
Ying Yin was dumbfounded.
She snatched the phone and looked – on the photo, there were only two clean, simple characters: “Little girl.”
Her heart, which had been in turmoil just moments ago, suddenly calmed in that instant, as if the winds and rains had ceased. She held her breath, her eyes wide open. Then, after a moment, her heartbeat started racing again – chaotic and intense, utterly irrational, making her chest ache, making it hard to breathe.
But Shang Shao cupped her face and kissed her solemnly – quite wickedly, stealing what little oxygen she had left.
Even though it was a late-night public announcement, people were still scrolling through WeChat Moments and Line feeds – it was practically an earthquake.
It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call it that. The comments and likes were almost endless. Ying Yin was curled up in his arms as he held her, and they scrolled through them together.
The crown prince of Shangyu Group officially announcing his relationship – no one dared to be presumptuous or crack jokes. The entire thread was filled with proper, well-behaved “Congratulations,” with only a few bold ones half-jokingly throwing in “Hello, sister-in-law” or “Greetings, madam.”
A friend asked, “What kind of celestial being is she? Not even showing her face?”
Below, a classmate teased: “Definitely a super star, no need to say more~”
Someone else said: “Bingo – I’ll bet you a million on that.”
A string of playboy heirs chimed in: “Following.”
Ying Yin laughed at the sight. “So there are people who aren’t afraid of you after all.”
Shang Shao gave her a helpless look. “Ignore them.”
In a group chat called “Has Leo Found Love Today?”, Shang Mingzhuo was horrified: “So we STILL don’t know who she is??”
Shang Lu: “…”
Mingxian: “…”
Mingbao: “Oh my god, won’t anyone tell Mingzhuo?! Mingzhuo, Venmo me 200k ^^”
Before Little Pixiu could succeed in her blackmail, Mingxian had already tossed a photo of Ying Yin into the group – a polished portrait, bright and pure, both beautiful and high-end, innocent yet alluring.
Mingzhuo: “Bro has been blinded by beauty.”
Shang Lu: “Bro has been blinded by beauty.”
Mingbao: “+1”
She had so many grievances to air, having held them in for so long. Now she unloaded them all in one breath:
Mingbao: “AHHH who gets it – I pushed open Bro’s study door and saw him holding her! On his lap! Kissing! And she was wearing his shirt! my brother, my ascetic, gentlemanly brother…”
Mingxian: “Sorry, but I found out about this first when housekeeping told me his suite went through four sets of bedsheets in one night. Then I saw my brand ambassador show up in his room with hickeys.”
Mingzhuo: “You win.”
Mingxian: “I didn’t really want this kind of victory.”
Mingbao: “Bro gave her sooo much jewelry – like gacha prizes! Ugh, and when I asked to borrow 300k for shoes, he made me justify it with logic!”
Mingxian: “It’s not too much to ask for a few zeros knocked off her endorsement contract next year, right?”
Mingbao had a wicked idea and @-ed Shang Lu, who had been quiet all along: “I heard you made Sis-in-law cry once.”
Shang Lu: “Given her relationship with Xiao Dao, she should actually call me ‘brother-in-law.’ Thank you.”
Mingbao: “Do you even hear yourself?”
Mingxian: “Do you even hear yourself?”
Mingzhuo: “She calls you ‘bro,’ you call her ‘sis-in-law’ – when she calls you ‘bro,’ Big Bro is your brother-in-law; when you call her ‘sis-in-law,’ Big Bro is still your big bro. It’s not impossible.”
Mingxian said with tender pity: “Maybe you should just go back to the lab. Stay away from family and human relations.”
The ship cut through the waves, the electric lamp hanging above the cockpit swaying unsteadily. Shang Lu sat calmly inside, arms crossed, and replied with composure: “Whoever wants to call her that, go ahead.”
After sending that message, he stopped looking at his phone. He sat with his arms folded, legs spread wide in a commanding posture, and closed his eyes to rest for the time ahead.
So the Shang siblings all lined up in the comments section to greet her.
Mingbao: “Hello, Big Sis-in-law!”
Mingxian: “Hello, Big Sis-in-law!”
Mingzhuo: “Hello, Big Sis-in-law!”
Ke Yu, who was lying low on a small island dodging pursuit, silently made a brief appearance in the comments.
Ke Yu: “Big… let me take a moment.”
The night air on the island was heavy with moisture. He lay in a temporarily rented wooden shack, listening to the crash of the waves, feeling that it was finally time to go back. Little did he know that along the coastal highway, a business van had just picked up a passenger from the dock – a passenger who had paid a hefty sum to come to the island. This guest was tall and imposing, carrying no luggage at all, save for a string of bodhi beads wound around his wrist.
