Time at sea is narrated by nature. With clocks and alarms discarded, there is only the tide and the twilight.
Once the superyacht sailed into international waters, it finally ceased to be “accidentally encountered” by all manner of yachts, sailboats, and helicopters. Ying Yin also stayed offline, accepting only one phone call from Ying Fan.
Ying Fan more or less pinched her own philtrum while speaking to her. “Is what they’re saying online true?”
Ying Yin answered truthfully, “I don’t know what they’re saying online. Whatever is officially released is true.”
Ying Fan’s breath caught in two halves.
Ying Yin smiled slightly. “Aren’t you happy? Isn’t this exactly what you’ve always hoped for?”
Ying Fan sat down and stood up restlessly on the sofa, unable to settle for even a moment. Finally, she let out a sigh. “Silly girl, he’s too rich!”
Being rich is certainly good.
Ying Fan had gritted her teeth and sent her to learn dance from a young age, because back then, dance and musical instruments were the sorts of skills that only children from wealthy families could afford to learn. Musical instruments required further investment – a single instrument could cost thousands or tens of thousands – and Ying Fan couldn’t afford that, so dance became the first choice. She never asked Ying Yin whether she liked dancing; she only said, “Yingying, study hard. Dancing gives you good poise.”
Indeed, Ying Yin had a fine figure and elegant poise – long limbs and a serene temperament. Her hair was coiled into a bun, her neck as graceful as a swan’s. Relying on such looks, she signed up for an offline modeling competition, though it was hardly anything proper – just a gimmick by a shopping mall to draw attention, coaxing a bunch of young beauties into swimsuits.
Ying Yin lied about her age. At the age when her periods had just begun, she walked the runway in a one-piece swimsuit.
The show was to run for three days, with wages paid daily. On the first day, Ying Yin received five hundred. Finding it incredibly generous, she handed the money to her mother and said, “Mom, beauty really can be cashed in.”
Ying Fan grabbed the feather duster and struck, saying as she hit, “I send you to school, I send you to dance, I feed and clothe you – not so you can go do this kind of trash!”
Ying Yin let her hit, keeping her arms raised high to keep the feather duster from landing on them.
Ying Fan was not someone given to physical punishment. After hitting for a while, it was time to go to her afternoon shift. She hurried back and forth with her small bag clutched under her arm. By the time she reached the mouth of the alley, the sun had just set. Ying Yin was crouching at the entrance of the convenience store, knees drawn up, watching people play with gacha machines.
Ying Fan crouched down beside her and was about to buy one when Ying Yin pressed her hand. “I don’t like them. Just looking is fine – they’re ugly.”
Ying Fan asked, “When I was hitting you, why did you hold your arms up so high?”
“The swimsuit has no sleeves. There are still two more days to walk – I can’t leave marks.”
“Then wouldn’t they show on your back?”
Ying Yin tilted her head. “It’s a one-piece.”
On the third day, Ying Fan specifically took time off to pick her up. It was the May Day holiday, and the mall was packed with people. Ying Fan blended into the crowd, looking up along with everyone else.
Ying Yin walked from backstage to the front of the runway – head high, chest out, chin slightly lifted, eyes clear, lips pressed in stubborn determination, a smile on her face. When she struck her final pose, she was so practiced and at ease, as if it were not her first time.
Only Ying Fan knew that deep down she was trembling, terrified by the gazes coming from all directions.
In three days, she earned fifteen hundred. The mother and daughter bought the newly released premium ice cream – called Magnum, ten yuan a pop, absolutely outrageous. On the bus, Ying Fan’s fell off and got knocked to the ground. Ying Yin let her take the first bite of hers.
Ying Fan was still lamenting. “I finally brought myself to spend on it…”
“Don’t worry, we’ll buy it again next time.”
“You’re not to do this again.”
“I know what you’re worried about.” Ying Yin nibbled at the chocolate coating in small bites.
“What?”
“You’re worried that my classmates or teachers might see me, and then the lies you’ve been telling for me at school would be exposed. You’d be laughed at, and it’d also make it harder for me to find a rich boyfriend.”
“Nonsense.”
Ying Yin attended an elite high school.
Ping City was a new city made up of migrants – migratory birds from north and south settling there, trying to create a miracle of getting rich in a new era. And indeed, that was what happened. Many self-made wealthy people emerged there. They wanted to create a new starting point for their offspring, and so one after another, international high schools, aristocratic high schools, and private high schools sprang up. To get in, an admission fee of over a hundred thousand was mandatory, and the annual tuition of twenty to thirty thousand also deterred many.
Ying Yin had no idea how Ying Fan had managed to get her in. She had a vague sense that with Ying Fan’s figure and beauty, it wouldn’t be hard for her to get involved with one or two wealthy, single older men. But she never remarried. She was a fallen phoenix who had missed her own perch; the remaining ambition of her later years was simply to let her daughter rise from the ashes of her tragedy.
Once at school, Ying Yin’s striking looks made her famous throughout the campus within a single day. Sitting in the classroom, a steady stream of students came to the corridor just to look at her. Ying Fan taught her: if others want to look, let them look openly – natural beauty cannot be hidden, so what’s there to be shy about? Ying Yin would sit upright and straight.
Ying Fan also taught her to befriend girls, not boys. To become the center that all the girls liked and vied to be friends with. On her birthday, gifts piled up on her desk, and she took them home over several days. When others asked her, “Yinyin, aren’t you throwing a party this year either?” Ying Yin would say lightly, “My family is strict – they don’t allow too much fuss.”
Finally, Ying Fan taught her: if asked about her family background, say that her sixty-fourth-generation ancestor was a top-ranking official in the Qing dynasty, accompanying the emperor to the summer palace every year, and that during festivals she still has to go back to the ancestral hall to burn incense for him – very troublesome. Say only that much, and nothing more – don’t mention what her mother does, what her father does, what car the family drives – none of that.
At school, Ying Yin was beautiful and mysterious. Having revealed only those few details, others naturally filled in the rest of the story for her. She wasn’t exactly lying, after all – her sixty-fourth-generation ancestor really had been a high-ranking official in the Qing dynasty.
Wearing school uniforms year-round at school was, in truth, a great act of consideration for the less fortunate. This was what Ying Yin thought about every single night. Otherwise, a loose thread or a pilled cuff would be enough to reveal her straitened circumstances.
Ying Fan hadn’t told her to find a boyfriend at school. Although in the after-school project groups, the richest boy in class always ended up in the same group as her, and Ying Fan would constantly probe, “How did it go with Weiwen today? Did he treat you to some ice cream?”
Not that Ying Yin was prejudiced, but although Weiwen had a white-gloved chauffeur picking him up every day in a gleaming Mercedes S-Class, his body had an odd smell and he was a bit overweight, giving off an unkempt impression. She didn’t want to get within a meter of him.
The bus wound through the run-down old part of the city, the sun wobbling and swaying at the edge of the window.
Ying Fan let out a sigh. “I’m not telling you to find a rich boyfriend right now. I’m just telling you to get to know people, spend time with them, and see the world – otherwise, when you do eventually meet a wealthy person, you’ll betray your insecurities. And nothing is more dangerous than that, because people are experts at bullying the weak and fearing the strong. The moment you show weakness, they’ll look down on you. You must always remember – hold your head high, be proud and composed, graceful and confident, and never let anyone see through your true circumstances.”
“Oh.” Ying Yin focused intently on eating her ice cream, and it was unclear whether she was really listening.
“Are you listening or not?”
“I’m not letting you see through my true circumstances.”
“…” Ying Fan choked for a moment, then sighed and laughed. “The reason I won’t let you do that kind of show is because it’s beneath you. Your beauty is meant to be unveiled on the finest stage – anything less would be a waste. When you said, ‘Mom, beauty really can be cashed in,’ it broke my heart.”
“Why?”
“Because beauty can indeed be cashed in – but not for fifteen hundred. What you’re doing now isn’t cashing in – it’s selling yourself short.” Ying Fan took her hand. “Yinyin, you need to make a deal with fate, not with money.”
Ying Yin frowned, furrowing her brow, and said bluntly, “I don’t understand.”
“Zi Gong said: ‘Here is a fine piece of jade – shall I store it away in a box, or shall I seek a good buyer and sell it?'” Ying Fan spoke softly and gently. “Confucius said: ‘Sell it! Sell it! I am waiting for the right buyer.'”
Later, a young man named Mai Anyan, armed with the enthusiasm of a newcomer and a passion for her beauty, tried every means to persuade her, eventually signing her to the prestigious Chenye.
That glass skyscraper was very tall. Ying Yin got out of the car and walked in through the entrance, and there she understood what it meant to “cash in with fate.”
Ying Fan had been scrolling through Weibo until her head ached. She dozed off on the chaise lounge in her clothes for about an hour, her mind filled with bizarre images – one moment it was the shrieking and clamor of Hong Kong paparazzi, the next it was a superyacht blindingly white, and then it was Ying Yin being confronted by a mistress, crying wretchedly.
When she woke up, her head was splitting and she was utterly exhausted. She sat there in a daze for a long time. Only when she heard the sound of a car approaching from afar did she press down the slats of the blinds and see the two young girls, Zhuang Tiwen and Cheng Junyi, getting out of the car one after another.
The two were acting furtively, getting out like secret agents, glancing around left and right like meerkats. Only after making sure no car had followed them did they let out a long sigh of relief.
Once they entered the villa’s foyer and looked up to see Ying Fan, both of them snapped to attention.
Ying Fan let out a cold laugh. “It seems I don’t even need to interrogate you, do I?”
Tiwen was fine, but Junyi was terrified of her. The moment she opened her mouth, she stammered, “A-A-A-Auntie, when did you get here? I-I-I’ll go make you some tea!”
And off she scurried.
Tiwen put down her bag and gave Ying Fan an awkward smile. “Sorry to have worried you.”
“Every single one of you knew and didn’t tell me.” Ying Fan complained.
Tiwen scratched her face with a bent finger. “We have to listen to the boss, though…”
Ying Fan asked, “Have you seen him? Does he really look like he does online?”
She had saved all the paparazzi photos, put on her reading glasses, zoomed in again and again, and scrutinized every detail of Shang Shao with the sternest gaze.
Tiwen laughed. “He’s even better-looking than in the photos – he’s not photogenic. As the old saying goes, he’s got that elegant, distinguished air.”
“I wonder what he’s like in person – how he treats people. With that much money, he’s bound to have some peculiarities, hard to please.” Ying Fan added.
“Mr. Shang is a very good man – well-mannered and devoted.” Tiwen chatted with her.
Junyi brought over a tray and invited them to move to the small sitting room on the second floor. Junyi folded the glass louvered windows one panel at a time, letting in air and sunlight, then portioned out the hammered-glass teacups and poured in bright red tea liquor.
In the quiet, Tiwen answered a call from a brand.
“Greta’s fragrance ambassador term hasn’t expired yet, and your brand is a competitor, so I’m afraid it wouldn’t be convenient for her to appear at your event,” she said politely.
The other party said something in response, and Tiwen gave a courteous laugh. “Certainly. I’ll be sure to pass that along. As for the September show, it’s still early – we’ll need to prioritize clients we’re currently working with first.”
After she hung up, Junyi looked astonished. “That wasn’t a termination call?”
The sudden exposure of a relationship was a serious violation of commercial endorsement clauses. Typically, they don’t restrict whether a spokesperson is single or not, but they do require that no romantic relationship or marital status change – including both marriage and divorce – be disclosed during the endorsement period. Otherwise, they would face massive penalty fees and the risk of contract termination.
Ying Yin held the Greta fragrance ambassadorship, Musel was still in its evaluation period with her, and she also had a mid-tier watch endorsement, not to mention various daily-use product deals. Tiwen had originally prepared herself to beg and plead with every brand, but unexpectedly, all the brands chose to be gracious and instead reassured her not to worry.
Not only that, she even received several new business offers.
Tiwen and Junyi’s WeChat and text messages were flooded with thousands of messages, all of them variations of “Wishing Sister Yin and Young Master Shang a hundred years of love.”
It was Ying Fan who saw it most clearly. “The true customers of high-end luxury brands are only the wealthy. Yinyin was already beautiful and star-studded, and now that she has a new identity, of course they’ll be even keener to have her drive sales.”
“You have great insight.” Tiwen smiled.
“Do you have much contact with this Shang Shao?”
“Some.”
“Has he ever lost his temper at you or Junyi, or shown impatience?”
This one Junyi could answer, “No, never.”
“What about with delivery drivers or couriers?”
Junyi said, “…He doesn’t order takeout, nor does he send or receive packages.”
Ying Fan thought about it and conceded the point. “Then what about waitstaff and security guards? Does he act high and mighty, as if he’s superior to them?”
Tiwen roughly understood her concerns and replied, “Mr. Shang has his upbringing and family values in how he treats people.”
Ying Fan took a sip of tea, lost in thought for a moment. “Wealthy people can put on a good front, but it’s hard to keep it up for a lifetime, and even harder to extend it to ordinary common folk and service staff. But what I worry about more is that he might be up to all sorts of wild things behind closed doors.”
“Absolutely not.” Tiwen said firmly. “He’s only ever had one ex-girlfriend, and that ended cleanly. Aside from that, he’s very busy day-to-day, never indulges in dissipation, and enjoys sailing, kayaking, and keeping fish.”
She was so detailed in her account that Ying Fan shot her a glance. “How do you know all this so clearly?”
“…” Tiwen could no longer keep her cover. She confessed honestly. “To be frank, I’m his cousin.”
Ying Fan: “…”
So this was a case of the enemy within.
Junyi quickly tried to smooth things over. “Auntie, what you’ve always wanted most is for her to find a solid, wealthy man. With someone like Mr. Shang, what’s there to nitpick? If you’re still not satisfied with this, you’d have to look in outer space.” Her voice grew softer as she mumbled timidly: “Besides, you were pretty enthusiastic about Song Shizhang back then…”
“Silly girl, he’s too rich – she won’t be able to control him.”
Tiwen was stunned. By her ambition, by her bluntness, by her ingratitude.
She was a lady of means herself, and at this moment, she couldn’t help but feel a touch of lofty pity: Ying Fan’s horizons were still too narrow. She hadn’t seen enough of the world, and that was why she spoke such delusional words – like an ant trying to topple a tree.
Ying Fan saw right through her. A self-deprecating and complex smile emerged on her beautiful face. “Alright, I should be grateful. There’s no use in overthinking it all.”
“Auntie,” Junyi suddenly said, “I’ve never been in a relationship. But in my view, Mr. Shang and Yinyin are equals – he cherishes and respects her, and she loves him deeply. If one day Yinyin ever wanted to leave, the one who could keep her in this world wouldn’t be you, and certainly not me – it would only be Mr. Shang. You’ve always talked about the power dynamics in love and marriage – who dominates whom, who controls whom. I’ve listened in every time you’ve taught Yinyin. But maybe – just maybe – there is a kind of love that doesn’t require scheming and maneuvering?”
“That’s easy for you to say.” Ying Fan laughed, looking at Junyi as if she were a child.
Junyi tilted her head and thought for a moment. “They are in an embrace. And an embrace means standing on the same platform. All that talk you had about marrying up or marrying down – I’ve thought it through. That kind of relationship isn’t an embrace – it’s one person clinging to another, one reaching for another, one dragging the other along. That’s why you have to keep score, why you feel the need to gain leverage and have the upper hand – because someone will get tired, and someone will be afraid of being left behind by the other.”
Ying Fan savored her words carefully, turning the glass teacup slowly between her fingertips.
Neither Junyi nor Tiwen could read her – they had no idea whether she had taken any of it to heart.
In the end, Ying Fan pressed her lips together and gave a faint smile. “Little Junyi, you’d better hope you meet someone worthy of your innocence.”
Tiwen thought to herself: she was a woman with tenacious life experience and deeply ingrained values – not so easily swayed by advice. But Junyi’s words were touching; maybe she could take in a third of them.
Tiwen was also a little mischievous, watching the scene with a sense of vindictive amusement. She wondered how her cousin would handle this when the time came – mothers-in-law were never easy to please. It would be best if she got to see firsthand how he sweet-talked his way through it.
The yacht roamed freely across international waters, as the sun rose and set, and the moon rose and fell. On the fifth day, expecting that the storm outside had already subsided, they prepared to return to port.
Ying Fan had spoken with Ying Yin on the phone several times. By nightfall, she was always overcome with a bittersweet ache – the sorrow and reluctance of marrying off a daughter – tossing and turning, unable to sleep. So she threw on a robe and went to tidy up Ying Yin’s bedroom, study, and walk-in closet. She examined every detail, looking over all the traces of Ying Yin’s life there one by one, until she pulled open the brass-locked drawer and saw a contract inside.
One hundred million… fake girlfriend… valid until the end of October this year…
Ying Fan clutched the paper, nearly choking on her breath.
