Probably no fan would ever imagine that while they were gasping in amazement at the dazzling action scenes on the screen, the idol they’d been longing for day and night was sitting right behind them, being kissed by her boyfriend until her breath turned ragged and her lips swollen.
Ying Yin suspected that Shang Shao was doing it on purpose.
“Is it really that comfortable to sleep through?” After so many kisses, she began to doubt.
Shang Shao tightened his arm around her and laughed at her naivety. “Next time, we’ll book the whole theater. This is too inconvenient.”
They had been speaking in whispers the entire time, so they didn’t disturb anyone – until after Shang Shao’s fifth kiss, he remarked that they’d just contributed two hundred million to the box office, so it wasn’t a loss.
“Twenty million!”
Ying Yin’s hand jerked, and the popcorn flew out.
The audience in front: “…”
As they picked the popcorn out from between collars and hoods, one person turned around hesitantly, glanced at the two of them with a blank expression, and looked utterly baffled.
What the hell.
Ying Yin’s mask was half-pushed down to her chin; the second before he fully turned around, she bowed her head and buried her face. “So sorry!”
Shang Shao propped his elbow on the armrest, his knuckles covering his lips, barely suppressing his laughter.
But laugh as he might, he knew his limits – he made no further moves for the rest of the half hour.
As the movie ended, there were none of the exaggerated scenes that marketing press releases often boast about – like “the audience rose to their feet in spontaneous applause,” “reluctant to leave for a long time,” or “stayed through the end-credit song and the entire cast and crew list.” But the cheerful atmosphere in the theater was still palpable. Two comedic Easter eggs were tucked into the end credits, both featuring the supporting actress Cai Beibei – clearly Director Fang was going all out to promote his student.
Used and tossed aside by others, Ying Yin didn’t take it to heart at all. In fact, she didn’t even care much about the film Justice Prevails itself. Only after the surrounding audience had completely cleared out did she stare wide-eyed and ask, “Really, twenty million?”
“Not necessarily,” Shang Shao replied. “The tickets are being given away over a month. It depends on the occupancy rate at Qili Cinema. Based on data projections, it’ll probably land somewhere over twenty three million.”
“Twenty three million,” Ying Yin murmured again, in disbelief. “So I worked for free?”
Shang Shao’s lashes lowered slightly, a barely perceptible smile in his eyes. “How could that be?”
“My salary was only a little over a hundred. After agent splits and taxes, I ended up with less than four hundred in hand.”
A cleaner came by to sweep their row, and Ying Yin fell silent, pressing the edges of her mask down firmly with two fingers. As she made her way out along the aisle, she counted on her fingers. “This film is on a split-release model – the theaters take fifty percent of the box office, five percent goes to a special film fund, four percent to taxes…”
“That leaves forty percent,” Shang Shao supplied the answer, while keeping an eye on her footing, his left hand naturally shielding in front of her in case she tripped on the steps.
Ying Yin finished the math and turned around in utter despair. “Do you know who the producer of this film is?”
Sure enough, she stumbled. Fortunately, Shang Shao was quick and caught her in time.
He asked who it was, while reminding her helplessly. “Watch where you’re going.”
Ying Yin revealed the answer. “Song Shizhang!”
Shang Shao: “…”
Ying Yin said, “You just gave five million to Song Shizhang.”
Shang Shao paused for a very brief moment, finding it somewhat absurd and amusing -but beyond that, he didn’t feel much else.
“I asked Tiwen. She said that, timing-wise, how this film performs at the box office does have some impact on you,” he explained casually. “Twenty million is a drop in the bucket – just think of it as a little bonus.”
Ying Yin was momentarily at a loss over whether to roast him for redefining “a drop in the bucket” or “a little bonus.” After a long silence, as they walked along the ramp to the theater exit, she acknowledged Tiwen’s judgment and nodded. “In that case, I really should thank Mr. Song for giving me this opportunity back then…”
She was being deliberately provocative, yet she kept a perfectly serious expression, as if she were about to go invite him to dinner tomorrow.
Sure enough, Shang Shao said, “Excuse me, ma’am,” with perfect politeness, “what did you just say? Could you say it again?”
Ying Yin bit her lip, suppressing a laugh that burst out as a “pfft,” and was about to dart away when Shang Shao pulled her into his arms and pressed her against the corner of the corridor wall.
“Who are you calling ‘Mr. Song’?”
Ying Yin laughed and dodged at the same time, saying, “I’m wrong, I was just stating an objective fact…”
She twisted and turned to get away, but her ear didn’t escape. When his lips brushed against her earlobe, she let out a soft “mm,” her whole body going weak in an instant – yet at the same time, she tensed up tightly. “Someone’s there…”
“Mm.” Shang Shao acknowledged with a low sound, his fingers threading through her thick hair, cupping her face as he pressed a kiss to the cartilage of her ear, then let her go.
They walked out of the theater holding hands, but Ying Yin’s face was still flushed. Perhaps out of guilt, she kept her head down the whole time, her gaze a little evasive. Otherwise – given her experience and vigilance – how could she have possibly missed the presence of someone secretly filming?
A short ten-second video was quietly uploaded.
In the vertical-shot video, their side profiles and backs were visible. Ying Yin looked up and said something to him, which made him smile faintly, his gaze falling tenderly on her face. As they walked side by side, Shang Shao raised his hand and naturally rested it on her waist, then casually tossed his iced lemon tea into a trash bin along the way.
The caption read: “Followed these two with my eyes the whole way out of the theater. I feel like such a creep, but the vibe between them is just too good – someone please tell me I’m not alone /crying//crying/”
One was slender and dazzlingly radiant; the other was suave, refined, and effortlessly elegant. Paired with those moody filters and background music, it was indeed irresistibly captivating.
Thanks to the precision targeting of big data algorithms, the video’s views skyrocketed in no time, and the comment section visibly stacked up floor by floor:
[My romance brain is growing back]
[Post more of these beautiful people, we love to see it]
[Other people dating: a wealthy romance novel; me: playing minesweeper in a trash heap]
[On behalf of the nation, I bless this couple with three kids!]
[The girl’s waist, the guy’s hands – prprprpr]
[Romance is only worth watching when it’s other people’s…]
[Show us their faces! I want to see their faces!]
Ying Yin had her mask firmly in place, and Shang Shao had only revealed half of his side profile, so the viewers couldn’t make out their features clearly. But the original poster pinned a comment fishing for clues:
[The guy looks a bit familiar, but he’s definitely not a celebrity. I really can’t place him -hoping some kind soul can help me remember /pray//pray/]
It was still early after the movie. When Ying Yin spotted the Porsche Taycan with dual license plates parked in the garage, she realized he had driven himself there.
Shang Shao rarely drove himself. Aside from Lin Cunkang, he had two dedicated drivers on rotation who handled all his comings and goings.
“Why are you driving yourself?” Ying Yin asked, pulling open the car door and sliding into the passenger seat.
“For a date with you, how could I bring a third person along?” Shang Shao smiled, leaning over to fasten her seatbelt for her.
With a click, the buckle locked into place. Instead of pulling back right away, he raised his hand and removed Ying Yin’s mask.
His breath and gaze were both inches away.
“You really look beautiful today,” he said softly, very seriously. Brushing her hair aside with one hand, he kissed her deeply.
In the theater, their kisses had been restrained. Now, with no concerns, he kissed her heavily, as if quenching a thirst. Ying Yin yielded her tongue to him, and her nose let out a pleasing little hum as he sucked gently on it.
The seatbelt might as well not have been fastened at all.
He had buckled it; he unbuckled it, pulling her into his arms, their bodies pressed together, his shirt rumpled by her unconscious shifting.
“Last time in the office – did you take the pill?” His voice was low and husky.
“No… it was my safe period.”
“Did you get pregnant?”
Ying Yin was stunned, her face turning crimson. “It doesn’t happen that fast!”
“Don’t you dare secretly take pills,” he said, gripping her wrist.
Ying Yin knew what he meant. She only felt the car growing hot, strange tremors and tension surging like waves through her body.
Shang Shao fastened her seatbelt again, woke up the car’s navigation, and entered an address in Sai Kung, Hong Kong.
“I’m taking you somewhere.”
He was taking her to meet the great-aunt.
By the time they arrived, dusk had already fallen. He parked the car on the seaside embankment and took Ying Yin’s hand, guiding her up the stone steps. “It might be a bit slippery – careful.”
The evening sea breeze was strong, and the sound of waves crashing was loud. Ying Yin held onto her fisherman’s hat while brushing her long hair back with her other hand. “Are we visiting a friend?”
“Not exactly – an elder.”
This was Ying Yin’s first time meeting an elder, and it was so sudden that she immediately grew nervous. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“It’s fine, she… rarely goes out,” Shang Shao said, tightening his grip on her hand. “We’re just stopping by for a bit. No need to be nervous.”
They made their way up to the mid-level slope, where the cluster of village houses still stood as before. The white exterior walls had weathered into a kind of grayish-white from sea spray and rain, giving them a half-new, half-worn look.
Shang Shao rang the doorbell. After a moment, the same Filipino maid came to open the door. She remembered Shang Shao well and recognized him at once. “Mr. Shang?”
Shang Shao gave a slight nod. “I came to see how you’re both doing.”
The maid’s gaze shifted to Ying Yin, and understanding dawned on her. She quickly opened the gate.
There was a jacaranda tree planted in the corner of the yard – Ying Yin hadn’t noticed it on her previous visit, but now she saw it clearly. It was in full bloom for the season, its blue blossoms spreading like an umbrella canopy over one corner of the roof. But the flowers were delicate; with the sea breeze blowing in waves, they fluttered down in profusion, carpeting the stone steps and bluestone bricks in a lavish blanket of blue.
They passed through the yard and entered the house. The light was dim – the great-aunt hadn’t turned on the main lights, only a brass table lamp. She was reading a book about costume patterns and motifs.
When she saw her guests, she set the book flat on her lap with both hands, studied Shang Shao for a moment through her reading glasses, and then said, “I thought it was New Year’s again already.”
The maid brought over two cushioned dining chairs and invited them to sit.
“Jacarandas don’t bloom during New Year’s,” Shang Shao said with a smile.
The great-aunt paused briefly, nodded, and then turned her gaze to Ying Yin. “Such a pretty girl.”
She was complimenting Ying Yin’s looks.
Ying Yin’s usual social finesse had completely deserted her. As she fidgeted restlessly, Shang Shao’s hand covered hers. He gave it a reassuring squeeze.
It was just as Shang Shao had said – the great-aunt really spoke very little, and Shang Shao didn’t seem inclined to make small talk either. They didn’t exchange pleasantries; they simply sat together in quiet companionship. When the maid brought out pastries, the three of them shared them. This time it wasn’t cookies, but puff pastry egg tarts – golden brown with scorched spots, rich and fragrant. Carried by the sea breeze, the scent drifted through the air like a river of milk flowing past.
After finishing the egg tarts, the great-aunt called the maid over and gave her a few instructions, then smiled gently at Shang Shao and Ying Yin. “You rarely come – stay and have dinner here.”
This was a treatment even Shang Qingye had never enjoyed. Shang Shao didn’t decline and let the maid prepare the meal. She was quick and diligent, baking tomato seafood rice, pan-searing steak cubes, braising red wine chicken and milk-red bean soup, tossing a seasonal vegetable salad, and also making a mixed fruit punch.
“You’re so slim – will eating all this be a problem for you?” the great-aunt asked Ying Yin.
How could Ying Yin dare to refuse? Holding a long-handled silver spoon, she dutifully finished every bit of those carbs and sugars.
Shang Shao couldn’t help but want to laugh.
The sea breeze kept making the dining room light sway. The decor here was very retro, still in the style of the British Queen’s era – green square floor tiles, a crystal chandelier. Their silhouettes, cast large against the wall by the shifting light, oddly reminded Ying Yin of her childhood. Back then, everyone saved electricity, the wattage was low, and the light source was small, so at night, when families gathered around the dinner table, the walls would be painted with their giant shadows.
She shared this thought aloud, and the great-aunt laughed. “Ah-Shao wouldn’t understand what you mean.”
“Why not?”
“He’s never lived in the dark – tungsten filament lamps, incandescent bulbs, wattage -none of it means anything to him. He’s always lived in brightness and splendor.”
Ying Yin was stunned for a moment, then curved her lips into a smile and turned to Shang Shao. “Then you must have never played shadow puppetry with your hands.”
Shang Shao indeed furrowed his brow slightly, half-smiling as he asked, “What’s that?”
Ying Yin positioned herself under the light, raised her hands, and interlaced her two thumbs. “Look.”
Shang Shao followed her gaze to the wall and saw a proud, imposing eagle. As Ying Yin moved her fingertips, the eagle’s wings flapped along with them – lifelike and vivid.
Shang Shao let out a laugh, and Ying Yin laughed along, collapsing back. “Never mind, it’s too childish. I can’t fool you anyway.”
They took their leave a little past seven, and the great-aunt saw them to the gate. Under the yard light, mosquitoes swirled in the glow.
A gust of wind blew a jacaranda blossom into Ying Yin’s hair. The great-aunt reached out and plucked it free, holding it between her fingers for a moment as she gazed at it. “This flower only blooms for a few days out of the whole year. Beautiful, yes – but it fades too quickly. Once it’s gone, the tree is utterly unremarkable for the rest of the year. You pass by it, see how plain it looks, and you can hardly imagine how stunning it was when in bloom. Ah-Shao.”
She called his name, then said nothing more, simply pulling back the bolt on the gate for him.
“I understand,” Shang Shao said, giving her a slight bow.
The great-aunt asked, “What is it that you understand?”
“That you don’t regret it.”
On her face – seeming both young and old – the fine lines and wrinkles first drew together, then relaxed. She let out a soft laugh, opened her hand, and let the passing wind carry the jacaranda blossom away.
The stone steps down the hill had been dampened by the sea breeze. Round recessed lights were embedded in the steps, one after another, but many had burned out from years of neglect. Shang Shao turned on his phone’s flashlight and held Ying Yin’s hand tightly. The dark sea wind was fierce, as if it might extinguish that faint, fragile beam at any moment.
After a few steps, the path ahead suddenly lit up bright, reflecting a golden, shattered glow.
They both stopped and turned back. The second and third floors of the village house were now ablaze with light.
She, who couldn’t even bear to turn on more than one dining room lamp while eating -how could she bring herself to light up the entire house?
“Great-aunt is lighting the way for you,” Ying Yin said.
For some reason, a vague sadness stirred in her heart.
They didn’t drive back to Ning City. Instead, they drove to the nearest helicopter pad, where Shang Shao handed the Taycan over to his family’s driver and flew back with Ying Yin by helicopter.
They landed at Qinde around nine-something. Uncle Kang had been waiting in the Hong Kong3 for quite a while.
After they got in the car, as he pulled out of the garage, he reported with a note of regret. “Young master, the house was burgled.”
Ying Yin was stunned. With all those infrared sensors, all those cameras and guard posts, it could still be burgled? What did they steal?
She had already started fantasizing on behalf of the thief. It felt like picking up anything at random from that place would make you rich.
Shang Shao lifted his eyelids, expressing just the right amount of interest. “What did they take?”
“Copper cable.”
Ying Yin: “…”
This thief had no vision. After all that trouble, they only stole copper cable.
She was sitting on Shang Shao’s lap, and he could see every one of her vivid little expressions clearly.
Shang Shao wrapped his arm around her waist, pressed his lips flat, and asked in a serious tone, “Anything else?”
“That’s it. Someone stole the cable, so it was cut, and we’re currently without power.”
What nonsense – but clearly, Ying Yin bought it.
Lin Cunkang glanced at Shang Shao in the rearview mirror. At his master’s subtle, wordless cue, the old man cleared his throat and continued in an orderly manner, “With no electricity, it might not be very comfortable to stay there.”
“Then what should we do?” Ying Yin asked.
Shang Shao looked at her helplessly and said in a low voice, “Mm, what should we do?”
It slowly dawned on Ying Yin. “…Stay at my place?”
“Is that okay?” Shang Shao maintained his politeness and composure.
Ying Yin hadn’t officially moved in with him yet, but he had already coaxed her over several times a week, each time doing it until her waist ached and she overslept the next day, only to be held back by him when he came home early. All in all, the villa had seen a lot more of Junyi’s solitary company.
“It’s okay, I suppose…” Ying Yin had no suspicions. “As long as you don’t mind it being small.”
“Remember to tell Junyi to prepare an extra pillow.”
Ying Yin felt a bit embarrassed. Shang Shao pinched her cheek. “If you really insist on sleeping on my arm, we can talk about that too.”
Ying Yin played dumb, curling up in his arms. “So how many days are we staying?”
Shang Shao had no idea when the cable would be repaired, so he answered, “Three days.”
Ying Yin thought of his comfort. “Then you’ll be really bored – no kayaking, no art to look at, no garden.”
As if reminded by her words, Shang Shao’s expression turned thoughtful, with a hint of a teasing smile. “Then what should we do with all that extra time?”
Ying Yin: “…”
The next words couldn’t be heard by Lin Cunkang. He brushed his hand through her hair, his palm warming against the center of her back, and let out a low laugh by her ear. “You tell me – with all that extra time, where do you want me to do it?”
