After the official announcement of the relationship, all kinds of concerned inquiries came flooding in one after another.
Shang Shao had taken quite a lot of leave in the first half of the year, and had accumulated many social obligations in both the mainland and Hong Kong. Those who could invite him to enjoy incense, taste wine, or sip tea were naturally of no ordinary status. After declining twice, by the third invitation, he had to make an appearance, if only for a short while.
In the business world, everyone was sharp. They welcomed him – tea was tea, golf was golf – and after a few casual exchanges, they subtly steered the conversation toward marriage and romance. Anyone with eyes could see that the young heir’s public announcement was firm and resolute, a clear sign of deep affection. Bringing up the “madam” was a way of playing to his tastes.
When they went to Macau for a few rounds of cards, if he won, they’d say, “Chairman Shao must have good fortune coming his way soon!” If he lost a little, they’d say, “Chairman Shao is lucky in love, so of course he has to lose at the tables – otherwise, how could us mere mortals survive?” Even the dealer in the VIP room couldn’t help but laugh.
Shang Shao toyed with a chip between his fingers and curled his lips in a casual smile at the remarks. Though the “madam” – who seemed to live in advertisements and films – was not actually present, anyone could see the helplessness and affection hidden in his eyes.
“If it weren’t for Madam’s busy schedule, we would definitely have asked Chairman Shao to bring her along – it’d be livelier with everyone together,” someone said.
Another guest, half-teasing him while actually flattering, shot back, “Just say you want to see the big star!”
Everyone at this table, in truth, had far-reaching business networks. Normally, meeting a celebrity of any caliber was just a matter of a word passed through the right circles; for higher-tier stars, it only took a few more connections and a few more banquets. Yet no one took offense at being made to seem so provincial. Instead, they played along, saying they would be honored to catch a glimpse of Madam if given the chance.
This was the flattery of the business world – full of calculated politeness and praise – but it still left Shang Shao feeling rather disinterested.
Back in the luxurious suite, Ying Yin had already finished her day’s shooting and was soaking in the bathtub, one arm bent back, resting her head.
On the North American cherrywood tray stretched across the tub, a cup of bagged black tea curled with steam, and a plate of soufflé had only a small silver spoon’s worth scooped out from it.
Warm mist rose and swirled in the bathroom, dissipating in the warm breeze from the high window. Outside, the greenery of the Taipa Houses–Museum wetland looked miniature and elegant.
On the edge of the tub, a hardcover full-color copy of The Story of Art lay face-down -caught by Shang Shao’s hand just a second before it could slide into the water.
After setting the book flat, he braced one hand on the porcelain rim of the tub and reached out with the other, his fingertips brushing Ying Yin’s sleeping face. He leaned down, took her lips in his, and gently sucked on her hot-steam-flushed, soft red lips.
Ying Yin woke at his touch, stirring in the water with a start. Ripples spread around her body, and the rose petals drifted along with the motion.
“You’re back?” She kissed him for a while, asking in a dazed, hazy voice.
“Yeah. It wasn’t much fun. Lost a few million, and that wrapped up my obligations.”
Although the Shang family had acquired half of Macau’s gaming concession, no one in the family was fond of gambling – not gambling was a family precept. When Shang Shao and Shang Qingye entered the casinos, it was purely for social reasons, and losing money was itself an artful and skillful maneuver. He did play cards for real sometimes, though – Texas Hold’em with a few friends, where wins and losses were only a few tens of thousands, and that was far more enjoyable.
After kissing her, Shang Shao straightened up. “Why did you fall asleep?”
He was asking knowingly, tilting his head slightly with a half-smile, clearly waiting for Ying Yin to confess on her own.
Ying Yin glanced at The Story of Art and deflated a little. “I fell asleep reading…”
Wen Youyi had hired a tutor for her, starting with art history and arts management -subjects closest to her actual work. The Story of Art was one of the books on the tutor’s reading list. Though it was a thick, introductory overview, it was illustrated and accessible, making it relatively easy to read.
“You don’t like it? Or can’t get into it?” Shang Shao picked up the book, flipped through a few pages with downcast eyes, like a teacher checking homework.
“I do like it, and I can get into it. I’m just too tired today,” Ying Yin said quickly.
She had been shooting Qili’s new commercial with Ke Yu that day – no longer directed by Shang Lu, but by a director who specialized in commercial shorts. The shoot was spread over three days, which was why Shang Shao had taken the opportunity to arrange the card game, treating it as a way to return social favors.
Shang Shao let out a soft chuckle and closed the book. “No pressure.”
Ying Yin rested her arms on the edge of the tub and looked up at him. “I’m afraid that when others are holding forth confidently about modernism and postmodernism, I won’t have anything to say and won’t even understand it. All that talk about emotion, expression, deconstruction – how do they even see it? I just see messy lines and color blocks… Aren’t Monet and Van Gogh trendy anymore? I can barely keep up with Surrealism, but then there’s Pollock, Duchamp…”
She shook her head in frustration. “I really just don’t get it.”
Shang Shao found this amusing, a smile tugging at his lips. With one hand in his pocket, he sat down against the edge of the bathtub.
“Maybe others don’t understand it either, but you’re the only one honest enough to admit it. Bluffing is important – especially in the contemporary art world. And,” he pursed his lips, pausing briefly, “the very act of bluffing is itself a form of art.”
Ying Yin couldn’t help but laugh. “When I get back, I’ll tell my tutor what you said – he’ll definitely scold you for talking nonsense.”
Shang Shao thought for a moment. “Art investment is essentially a business, not about aesthetic appreciation. To get into the game, you need capital. And once you’re in, it’s not just about buying art you like. You buy a piece for ten million, hold onto it for a few years, and as the artist’s value rises in the primary market, your piece appreciates too. At that point, there are plenty of ways to play it – get it appraised by professional art institutions, have auction houses endorse it, sell it off, gift it, donate it to a museum for tax deductions, or make it the centerpiece of a charity gala.”
Ying Yin listened intently, catching on quickly, and immediately found a point to counter. “But how do you know which artist’s value will go up?”
“That’s where the orchestration comes in – you need art advisors, art brokers, auction houses, a whole system of maneuvering and commercial appraisal processes. It’s the most convenient market for the wealthy to play with capital; showcasing taste is just a side effect. Of course, there are also people like Edward, who simply acquire top-tier collections to flaunt their power.”
Shang Shao’s tone was even and unhurried. After finishing, he curled his lips slightly. “Artistic creation will always be something great. But for now, you can start by temporarily demystifying it through the commercial logic of art.”
Ying Yin pondered this, mesmerized, her chin resting on her crossed arms as she looked up at him. “You explain things better than my tutor.”
Shang Shao’s breath softened, and he leaned in with a meaningful smile. “Is that so?” He paused, then added, “I charge a fee too.”
Amidst the warm mist and steam, the air was filled with the fragrance of roses and bath salts. Ying Yin’s shoulders and arms were exposed above the water, her cheeks flushed, her temples damp with sweat from the soak, and fine, fragrant droplets of water clung to the hollows of her shoulders and collarbones.
Who could resist such a sight? Shang Shao slipped one hand beneath the hot water scattered with floating roses, while tilting his head to kiss Ying Yin, their necks intertwining.
Her body had been soaked soft and smooth. Her lips and tongue were warm, carrying a faint fragrance, and as Shang Shao kissed her, a sweet moisture welled between them.
The doorbell rang.
Shang Shao unfolded a white towel from the tray nearby, dried his hands carefully, and went to open the door.
When the door opened, he saw it was Ke Yu. He chuckled lightly, leaning one elbow against the doorframe, half-smiling and half-languid. “Haven’t you seen enough during the daytime shoot? At night, she should be returned to me.”
That advertising campaign – Mingxian had seen it, Shang Lu had seen it, he himself had seen it, and later Xiao Wen wanted to see it too. In the end, even Shang Qingye had taken a look. The storyline and visuals were precise, perfectly matching everything people imagined about the good life of the upwardly mobile and urban elite.
In the final episode of the commercial mini-film, they even had a child together.
Shang Lu wasn’t directing, nor did he come to the set to watch – he was calmly working on the script for the first half of Rashomon. As for Shang Shao accompanying Ying Yin to Macau for the shoot, the whole family had expressed their utmost admiration for his devotion.
As the financial backer of the ad campaign, Shang Mingxian teased him. “Leo, you really didn’t have to go out of your way to suffer like this.”
Shang Shao replied breezily, “Accompanying my wife at work – how is that suffering?”
Shang Mingbao immediately snapped to attention with a playful salute. “Salute! Respect!”
But how could they know that compared to When Snow Melts It Turns Green, shooting a commercial was such a purely business-like affair.
Ke Yu stood with both hands in his pockets and shook his head with a smile. “She said you were busy with social engagements, and asked me to take her to a congee shop tonight for some fried wontons.”
“A congee shop?”
“You’ve been there – they still have a photo of you hanging on the wall,” Ke Yu reminded him. “Last time we were here shooting The Side Door, the crew took us there. The food’s not bad.”
Shang Shao thought for a moment, then let out a small laugh. “I don’t seem to remember it very well.”
“I’ll send you the address – you take her instead?” Ke Yu, being considerate, was ready to head back to his room to catch up on sleep.
Shang Shao had promised Shang Lu to take care of him, so he said, “Call Mingxian -we’ll all go together.”
There was no need for formalities among family, so Ke Yu came inside, sat down in the living room on the first floor, and leisurely sipped some tea while waiting. Half an hour later, Ying Yin came downstairs, wearing a plain white T-shirt and black wide-leg sweatpants, her long straight hair flowing loose – she looked effortlessly cool and refreshing.
Mingxian arranged two cars to take the four of them to that congee shop.
The shop was located near a small pier. Its signboard had remained unchanged over the years – still white with red traditional Chinese characters reading “Porridge & Noodles,” without an actual name, known only by word of mouth among regulars as “Chung Fat Old Shop.” Compared to a few years ago, the storefront hadn’t expanded either – still two open bays wide, with long tables and benches set up inside.
They did late-night supper business, and since it was just early evening, there weren’t many customers yet.
Ying Yin had a clear goal – as soon as she entered, she headed straight for the wall of celebrity photos.
“Where is it? Where?” she asked Ke Yu.
The owner came over with a pink order pad. “Looking for celebrities? There are plenty here! Andy Lau, Danny Chan…”
He rattled off a string of names, then volunteered. “Pretty lady! Tell me who you’re looking for, and Uncle Chung Fat will find it for you!”
Ke Yu laughed. “You’ve got more and more famous people hanging up here.”
“Eh?” The owner looked up and, spotting Ke Yu with his mask hooked under his chin, said, “I remember you! Let me see… there,” he stood on his tiptoes, pointed with his pen, and enunciated in stiff but accurate Mandarin. “Ke, Yu.”
“Good memory, boss,” Ke Yu said without shying away.
At the sound of his voice, the few tables of diners in the eatery all turned around to look.
“Hey hey hey! Nothing to see here!” The owner waved his hand. “They’re all customers – no celebrities here!” Then he turned back to chat warmly with Ke Yu. “Handsome, I still remember what you like! Fried wontons, freshly made congee with crab, Laksa noodles!”
As he recalled, he jotted it all down directly on the order pad. “Back then, your whole crew was here – there was also that tall guy who tried to fool me with talk of ‘commercial management’… but he was actually the young Shang son, came with his brother…”
Ying Yin seized the opportunity to ask, “Which one?”
The owner casually pointed, but with precision. “This one right here! You know, missy, this is my richest customer – brings glory to my humble shop!”
Everyone laughed and looked up together at the photo he was pointing at.
In that photo were three people. The owner looked beaming with joy, Shang Lu had a perfunctory expression, and only Shang Shao, standing in the middle in a pure black British-style PL T-shirt, slightly raised the corners of his mouth in a gentle, cultured smile. His facial features didn’t photograph well – he was far less suited for the camera than Shang Lu.
Below the photo, a line of large characters recorded the date of Mr. Shang’s visit to the establishment.
Shang Shao didn’t remember it at all – didn’t remember who had brought him there to eat, why Shang Lu had been there, or how the owner had learned his identity and pulled him in for a photo.
Ke Yu asked, “Didn’t you used to have his title and name written underneath? Something like ‘Director’ or whatever?”
The owner covered his mouth. “These rich people are very particular about ** – they don’t allow me to display it.” He shook his head, finding it utterly baffling.
The very person who was “rich and utterly baffling” stood right beside him, saying nothing.
Ying Yin looked up for a long time. “Doesn’t look like him.”
She had actually glanced back and forth several times and still hadn’t recognized him.
Ke Yu asked, “You can’t recognize Shang Lu either?”
“Who’s looking for him,” Ying Yin replied. After studying it carefully, she rendered her verdict. “This photo is just average.”
She turned her eyes to Shang Shao and said, “Not even one-tenth as good-looking as the real person.”
Ke Yu and Shang Mingxian broke into a chorus of coughs. Mingxian said, “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go – I’m full already.”
While they were drinking their congee, the owner figured things out and pestered them relentlessly for a new group photo.
“I really didn’t recognize you worthy ones,” he said, slapping his forehead. “I wish you both a harmonious and happy marriage, and may you have a precious son soon. After you finish your meal, we’ll go over there and take a new photo together… Look, this is my new book – it tells a lot of stories about TVB and me. Later, pretty lady, you can hold this book, and Young Mr. Shang will put his arm around you…”
Ke Yu and Mingxian gripped their chopsticks, barely holding in their laughter, nearly collapsing onto the table.
No one could survive the owner’s arrangements.
Ying Yin actually took the photo with Shang Shao, holding the book in her hands, and -at the owner’s strong insistence – gave a thumbs-up.
She held her composure perfectly in front of the camera, but once they were out the door, she burst out laughing and leaned onto Shang Shao’s shoulder.
Shang Shao wrapped his arm around her, patted her back, and kissed her earlobe, laughing along with her while asking with a mixture of affection and exasperation, “What are you laughing at?”
Ying Yin found it unbelievable. “So there really are people in this world who aren’t afraid of you.”
At that, Shang Shao recalled something. “He’s not even afraid of the Chief Executive. Last time, the Chief Executive came with him, and they took separate photos.”
“The Chief Executive was also arranged around by him like that?”
“Mm.”
The fact that they had gone out for noodles and congee couldn’t be kept from the all-seeing public. Sighting photos kept popping up on Weibo, and the comment section was remarkably harmonious:
[So even billionaires go to little hole-in-the-wall places like this…]
[The big shot is so down-to-earth. He really is – I’m crying, lol]
[Yinyin is so casual in real life. I really want to know what it was like when the big shot first met her]
[Silver Fish CP is staying calm right now. Can’t even laugh.jpg]
[LMAO, one of the CP is showing off PDA with her actual husband, while the other one is right there watching – what kind of CP fan hell is this hahahaha]
[I’m a microscope – I saw their wedding rings!]
[Told you already – they were in the UK for that long because they went to get married… some kind of damn romance]
[Random thought: when you’re worth that much and go out for congee, do you bring bodyguards…]
[Yes, four of them (so we absolutely didn’t dare go up for a photo)]
[Yinyin is now a wealthy socialite wife – way out of our league]
[Starting to get curious about her work life now]
Under Tiwen’s planning and management, Ying Yin didn’t have many commercial engagements, but every one of them carried significant weight.
When attending brand events, she was no longer seated alongside the male and female celebrities, but rather with the creative directors, editors-in-chief, and VIP clients.
Invited for a magazine interview, she overheard from the pantry area – where the guests filming the ad editorial were sipping coffee and chatting idly:
“She really managed to climb her way up – that’s impressive, gotta give her that.”
“How come she doesn’t start a masterclass? Her reputation used to be so bad -everyone knew she was just trying to get a leg up.”
“Some skills you just can’t learn.”
Knowing chuckles rose and fell here and there.
“Guess perseverance pays off in the end. Not bad – quite the inspirational story.”
“Haha.”
But when they met face to face, the greetings came thick and fast – warm and effusive: “Sister Yin, hello!” “Sister Yin, you’re looking better and better lately!” “Sister Yin, I want to sit next to you at dinner later.” “Sister Yin, tell us more – let us see a bit of the high life.”
In early August, a serious Chinese film seminar was held quietly and discreetly.
The seminar was spearheaded by the Film Bureau, with representatives from various levels of radio, television, and related industry associations in attendance. The industry professionals who participated – producers, directors, supervisors, screenwriters, financiers, and actors – were all figures of considerable influence and authority. Following the seminar, there were also several roundtable discussions, interviews, and banquets.
The circle was small. Aside from the officials who weren’t often seen, almost everyone in the industry was a familiar face. To showcase diversity and a hundred schools of thought contending, the invitation list included not only top-tier actors and actresses of high standing, but also highly popular television veterans, mid-career actors, and younger rising stars with clean images.
Naturally, there was room for maneuvering here. Ruan Ye, for instance, had been slipped in through Song Shizhang’s connections.
During the breaks between sessions, as people sipped tea and chatted, Ying Yin and Li Shan became a small center of attention, unable to move freely.
Li Shan asked how her past few months had been and showed her a clip of the rough cut for Xueqing.
“Knowing you’d be here, I specifically copied it out.”
Ying Yin watched without blinking. “I’m really looking forward to the final cut.”
“I still have to submit it for censorship – I can’t give up the mainland market, even if it means sacrificing some shots.”
“Then you’ll have to put a lot of care into the editing, Teacher.”
Li Shan smiled. “Lately I’ve been eating and sleeping in the editing room. I’ve driven my editor to the point of gastroesophageal reflux – he took advantage of me being out at this conference to go lie down in the hospital.”
Ying Yin held her thermos and shared a quiet laugh with him.
“Ke Yu didn’t come, otherwise we could have gone out for a get-together tonight.”
Although Ke Yu was a Cannes Best Actor laureate, he rarely made public appearances anymore, and Shang Lu had simply turned down this kind of gathering outright.
“There’ll be a chance back in Ning City.”
As the two chatted casually, a steady stream of people came by to exchange pleasantries.
Li Shan had stood at the top of the industry for many years, with deep and well-cultivated connections, so most of these people were actually coming over for Ying Yin.
She used to be a traffic star – splashed all over trending topics, with one good film followed by two commercial duds. Though she held two Best Actress trophies and one Best Supporting Actress award and had massive popularity, she still fell short in terms of seniority, credentials, and influence.
In a word: no matter how outstanding Ying Yin had been before, she was merely a tool of capital. And everyone in this room – who among them didn’t play with capital and power?
No one thought highly of a puppet – until the puppet herself became capital or the resource itself.
Ruan Ye came over only after Li Shan had stepped away, with Song Shizhang by her side.
“Address her as Miss Ying,” Song Shizhang reminded.
Ruan Ye said, “Miss Ying, Sister Yin.”
Ying Yin was dressed very formally and appropriately today, her hair pinned up impeccably, giving her delicate features an intimidating severity that kept people at a distance.
Months had passed, and Ruan Ye’s face had changed a great deal. The unbridled pride that once made her seem like a blank sheet of paper had vanished from her eyes. She looked very well-behaved now. Ying Yin furrowed her brow slightly. “What happened to you?”
Ruan Ye paused for a moment, then replied, “Nothing happened at all.”
Ying Yin gave a slight nod. “I heard you’re going to star in a serious period drama. Congratulations.”
Ruan Ye lifted the corner of her mouth lightly. “Still far from where you are.”
She was too strange – as if overnight she had learned all about “worldly wisdom.” The naivety, the youthful ambition, the raw sharpness, and even the unpolished pretentiousness – all of it had vanished from her completely.
It was hard to imagine that the last time they met, she had been recklessly declaring, “Mr. Song says I’m a smarter version of you.”
Ying Yin’s gaze flicked toward Song Shizhang, who simply shrugged and whispered something in Ruan Ye’s ear. She took her leave and obediently walked away.
“What did you do to her?” Ying Yin asked directly.
“Nothing.” Song Shizhang smiled. “You seem to have a lot of prejudice against me, always thinking I have some kind of bad habit.”
“I don’t know you well,” Ying Yin deflected.
“You know me very well.” Song Shizhang sat down beside her. “I simply gave her everything I originally wanted to give you. Her career is soaring now, her public image is shifting toward the mainstream, and I’ve hired private teachers for her acting lessons. Internally at Chenye, resources are already tilting in her favor.”
“So she obeys your every whim?” Ying Yin asked.
Song Shizhang laced his fingers together. “Good children get candy.”
“Do you love her?”
Song Shizhang paused, then laughed. “Mrs. Shang, you really are very different from before. Thank you for your concern, but she doesn’t need that thing, and of course I can’t give it – otherwise, wouldn’t I be losing?”
For some reason, in the midst of this polite yet arrogant remark, Ying Yin found herself thinking of Shang Shao. He had said similar words too – but on that very first day, he had asked her: The moonlight is bright tonight – will you allow me to love you?
She was lost in thought for only a brief moment, an unconscious serene smile rising to her face.
Song Shizhang watched her.
His shock at her transformation had already erupted the moment Shang Shao made the announcement on his Moments – rushing over him like a flood, shaking him, rendering him speechless, filling him with dread, leaving him restless and unsettled.
Of course, he wasn’t friends with Shang Shao on WeChat, but news that sensational spread quickly through screenshots. Others might not know who it was, but he recognized it at a glance.
“Little girl” – sweet and doting.
Had he ever offended Ying Yin? Would she whisper things in Shang Shao’s ear? Should he invite her to dinner and explain himself? No – she had entered Shang Shao’s camp as a mistress. How was it possible that she had received such public validation from him?
As for the later official announcement from Shangyu Group, the shockwaves within the industry were no less than those among netizens.
She had ascended.
Everyone thought so. Whether out of blinding desire, certain interests that outsiders couldn’t fathom, or any reason at all – say, for instance, trivial love – in any case, this woman had risen.
From then on, every word she spoke carried weight. Every sentence held significance.
Song Shizhang withdrew his gaze from Ying Yin’s face.
She was now the young mistress of the Shang family – not someone he could stare at for more than five seconds.
He stood up and said, with polite flattery, “Congratulations on getting what you wished for. In the past, I was blind and failed to see that Mr. Shang and you share a bond as strong as gold. I said many presumptuous and offensive things. Please do not take them to heart, you and Mr. Shang.”
Good children get candy. He truly had too many business deals he wanted to attach to Shang Shao – even a single branch or leaf would do.
Ying Yin was taken aback for a moment, then furrowed her brow and let out a faint smile.
In that instant, she understood. They – one group of people and another in this world -lived by entirely different logics. What she had achieved now, in their eyes, was nothing more than a one-in-a-million stroke of luck.
Even though she had left Chenye, made films for zero pay, and stayed off all trending topics – all without relying on Shang Shao’s power in the slightest, without using him as any kind of backing or future safety net – they would still believe that everything she had today came not from her own desperate, self-salvaging efforts, but simply because fate had chosen her.
The victor takes all. So he came to submit – to submit to the very pinnacle of the pyramid, not to her love, nor to her clear-eyed and precious hard work itself.
The grand conference curtain slowly unfurled, and the final segment of the agenda began. Ying Yin sat with her back against her seat, elegant and upright.
She thought for a long time, then a smile rose to her face. The world was complex and multifaceted – there were no pure people, no pure deeds, no pure logics, no pure causes and effects.
She had already learned not to trouble herself with unnecessary worries.
The curtain fell, and the lights in the hall went out row by row. On the conference table, a stack of white manuscript paper, not yet fully torn apart, still bore traces of handwriting:
“Amidst the cries of apes on both shores, the light boat has already sailed past ten thousand mountains.”
