Perhaps it was because her calm and composed demeanor was just too normal, Shang Shao looked at her with a complicated expression for a long moment, and finally said, “Miss Ying, you really do trust me.”
Unable to see him, she could only gauge his distance by the clean scent of his cologne and his voice. Ying Yin could tell that he had never once come any closer to her.
She smiled. “Of course. I’ve already come to believe that you’re not the same kind of person as Song Shizhang.”
Shang Shao asked coolly, “Why?”
“Mr. Shang, you’re too much of a gentleman. You’re willing to believe that a woman’s spoken wishes are her true wishes. But Song Shizhang isn’t like that – he’s just like all the other men in the world, thinking that when a woman says ‘no,’ she means ‘yes.’ If I blindfolded myself with a ribbon in front of him, he would never believe I was doing it to hide a flaw – he would think I was seducing him.”
“Sounds like he’s not much of a decent person.”
Ying Yin let out a soft laugh, lowered her head, and wore an expression of understanding and tolerance. “Like I said – you are snow atop a high mountain. It’s not fair to compare.”
She paused, then her tone suddenly picked up. “The truth about my relationship with Song Shizhang can be denied in one sentence, but explaining it clearly isn’t so simple. Of course, I could cry and tell you that he forced me into everything. But I can’t do that – I’m afraid you might actually believe me.”
Song Shizhang was a friend of Tang Ye.
The entertainment industry is a giant melting pot, but even in that pot, there are different shades of dye – indigo and cyan. People of the same color stick together, naturally bound by shared interests and common traits.
That was something Ying Yin only came to understand later.
And she only understood it later because the version of Song Shizhang that presented itself to the world was so utterly different from her boss, Tang Ye.
Tang Ye was cold and ruthless, with unusual appetites – he liked to toy with both hearts and bodies at the same time. But Song Shizhang was different. He seemed far too normal – gracious, measured, elegant. And most importantly, he had a stable, happy marriage.
“Marriage isn’t rare in the entertainment industry. But a stable, genuine marriage? That’s hard to come by. Because good men are few, and good men with money and power are even rarer.
Infidelity in our circle is like the elephant in the room. Everyone knows the giant beast is there. Everyone knows it’s not normal. But we’re so used to it that we pretend not to see it. Instead, we chatter on about the elephant’s trunk, its skin – gossiping about who had a fling with whom on set, who climbed into whose bed, who seduced the naive new girl fresh into the business.”
“So Mr. Song had an excellent reputation, because there really wasn’t any dirt to dig up. He controlled the resources, and plenty of women were thrown his way – but he turned them all down.” Ying Yin smiled bitterly. “When I joked earlier about knowing twelve ways to tie a tie, that was actually just a joke. But everyone in the industry knows that Mrs. Song really does tie his ties beautifully. Every time there’s an event, he says his tie was tied by his wife.”
Shang Shao’s brows furrowed slightly. “Then why did he get divorced? Was it because of you?”
In truth, why would he ever care about some minor character who struck up a conversation with him at a banquet? Whether someone was married or divorced was far outside the scope of his interest. But since Ying Yin had chosen to start the story this way, Shang Shao simply listened and followed along.
Ying Yin curled her lips. “You are very direct, Mr. Shang. No, it wasn’t because of me. The divorce happened suddenly. After that, Song Shizhang became someone many people were eager to pursue. Some offered themselves up willingly; others were offered up by those around them. One time, Mr. Song approached my agent and said that for the upcoming Charity Night next month, he hoped I could be his date. That was how it started.”
“Mr. Song was a friend of my boss and had an impeccable reputation. My agent is a practical man. When Song Shizhang handed him a glass of wine, there was no reason to toss it back in his face. So I went. I did worry that it might affect my image, but entertainment media are actually quite sensible – they know very well what they can write about and what they can’t. For an event like this, even though there’s a public red carpet, once you’re inside, they wouldn’t dare report who was whose date. So I felt safe enough to go.”
“Then what happened?”
“Then, he ‘borrowed’ me more and more often, and of course, the talk within the industry grew louder and louder. Everyone assumed I was his woman, and I didn’t deny it – Mr. Shang, would you say I had it coming?”
“You wanted to use him to keep certain people away.”
Ying Yin paused for a moment, then let out a soft laugh. “You’re so clever it’s frightening.”
Yet, somehow, she wasn’t afraid of his cleverness. His intelligence put her at ease, made her body relax.
Strangely, it made her feel safe.
“To be honest, I could sense some kind of feeling from Mr. Song – but it was always vague, elusive, hard for me to grasp. He never actually expressed anything. He just kept taking me to events, and of course, he quietly arranged a few resources for me behind the scenes. But I didn’t need them.”
When she said “didn’t need them,” there was an innocent, stubborn pride in her voice, and her lips pressed upward in a childlike pout. “I’m a Best Actress award winner. I’m not short of film roles.”
Shang Shao let out a soft laugh, which her keen ears caught.
“What are you laughing at?”
“I’m laughing at the fact that I’ve never seen any of your movies.”
“What?” Ying Yin was stunned and nearly yanked off her blindfold. “How is that possible? I’ve been in the industry for one, two, three, four…” she lost count, “…many years. I’ve starred in eight leading roles and over a dozen supporting roles. You haven’t seen a single one?”
“I rarely watch movies.”
Even with her eyes covered, Ying Yin’s astonishment came through clearly and completely. “But your younger brother is the best director – he just brought home the second Palme d’Or for Chinese-language cinema.”
“He has his pursuits, and I have mine. They don’t interfere with each other.”
“You haven’t even seen Goodbye, Angela, the film that won the Palme d’Or? I’m in that one.”
“Haven’t had the chance yet. Maybe tonight after I get home, if I have time.”
“Then what, may I ask, are your pursuits, Mr. Shang?”
Because her eyes were closed, Ying Yin did not see the look Shang Shao gave her as he lifted his gaze in that instant.
It was a kind of coldness and scrutiny utterly unlike his usual demeanor – his eyes half-lidded, dark, and unfathomable, brimming with deep suspicion.
Like the dangerous signal a wild animal sends when an intruder steps into its territory.
Ying Yin waited for a moment, but all she heard was Shang Shao calmly steering the conversation back. “You’re getting off track. Go on with your story about Song Shizhang.”
She paused briefly, and the lively, vivid expression she’d worn just a moment ago fell away.
Mr. Shang was patient, but the welcome mat he’d extended to her was only a narrow crack.
“Song Shizhang…” Ying Yin suddenly no longer wanted to go into such careful detail.
She lowered her face, listening to the sound of the sea wind and waves outside, and calmly played with her fingers. “Anyway, there’s nothing between us.”
Shang Shao saw right through her waning interest. “The way you started earlier didn’t sound like you were leading to an ‘anyway.’ I thought you were about to tell a very long story.”
“There is no long story between him and me. In other people’s eyes, he’s a good man, very gentlemanly toward me, and all his behavior is perfectly proper. He didn’t even…”
The second half of her sentence was low and mumbled, and Shang Shao didn’t catch it. He frowned slightly. “Didn’t even what?”
“Didn’t even go as far as your behavior in the restaurant just now.”
Shang Shao: “…”
An image rose before his eyes – not his own, but a memory of Song Shizhang bringing her to toast someone at a banquet. That day, the crystal chandeliers blazed brilliantly, casting her gold dress in shimmering light. Song Shizhang’s hand had rested against the curve of her waist.
From waist to hip, a smooth, dune-like rise and fall.
Shang Shao’s breathing tightened slightly, and he instinctively thought it was the tie constricting him. But when he raised his hand, he remembered that the tie was over her eyes instead.
He could only reach for the bottle of spring water in the center console cup holder. The way he twisted the cap open carried a vague, indefinable restlessness.
“You’re the one seducing me,” he said, taking a sip of the cold, refreshing water, his tone returning to its usual detachment.
“Did you push me away because you thought I belong to Song Shizhang, or simply because you wanted to push me away?” Ying Yin asked.
Shang Shao’s voice turned even colder than before. “What do you think?”
As soon as he finished speaking, Ying Yin heard a sharp thud – the sound of a car door closing as he stepped out of the vehicle.
“Hey.”
Lin Cunkang could tell from the tone of Shang Shao’s voice the moment he picked up the phone that he was in a bad mood.
“Arrange for a driver to come over,” Shang Shao said curtly. Then, just before hanging up, he remembered something. “And bring a pack of cigarettes.”
The driver arrived quickly – no more than three or four minutes. As soon as he approached, he respectfully presented the cigarettes.
Shang Shao took the pack, eyes lowered, his gaze resting on the black paper box for a few seconds. The temptation was right there, within arm’s reach, but with immense self-control, he tucked it back.
He changed his mind on the spot. “Never mind.”
His driver, naturally, gave when told to give and took back when told to take back – why would he ever ask a single question?
Not far away, the window of the Mercedes parked behind the two of them rolled down a crack. The sound of the waves instantly grew clearer, mingling with the steady hum of the engine and faint traces of a human voice.
Ying Yin had a sense that the driver had arrived.
He would leave from here to his next destination, while she would be taken home by the new driver.
A tap on the window interrupted her distracted thoughts.
She had been so uncomfortable with the blindfold earlier that she’d taken it off as soon as Shang Shao stepped out. The butterfly knot she’d tied, however, she’d been too lazy to undo. The moment she heard the sound, she instinctively looked up.
Outside the dark-tinted window, silhouetted against the dim glow of the streetlamp, the white shirt of the man before her was tousled by the sea breeze.
Shang Shao rested the edge of his palm on the partially lowered window glass. The first thing he saw was his tie bunched around this woman’s neck, like an inverted scarf, wrapping it snugly.
And yet, it only made her neck look more delicate.
Had anyone’s hand ever grasped her neck, caressing and lingering, forcing her to tilt her head high back, as though playing with a jade ruyi?
“Are you leaving?” Ying Yin asked tactfully.
Shang Shao moved his gaze back to Ying Yin’s face. The next moment, the corner of his lips curled, and a trace of casual, unhurried amusement seeped into both his eyes and his voice.
“Miss Ying, I saw it.”
Ying Yin’s eyes flew wide open first, then she let out a small shriek and turned her face away as quickly and nimbly as if dodging a paparazzo.
“It’s not ugly,” Shang Shao said, making no effort to comfort her. “But it’s certainly not much to look at, either.”
Ying Yin: “…”
“I’ll take you to remove your makeup.”
“Hm?”
“The club has guest rooms. Everything you need is there.”
Ying Yin asked, “…Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
Shang Shao brushed it off lightly, dismissing her with just a word. “Forgot.”
It took no more than five minutes to return to the club. Apparently on prior instruction, the attendant had already prepared all the necessary equipment.
Ying Yin removed her makeup carefully and thoroughly. In the fog-free silvered mirror, a small face beaded with moisture was reflected back.
Everything about her face was delicate – like the exquisite craftsmanship of an imperial artisan from ancient times, carrying a kind of refined loveliness. Yet it was also relaxed and open, without the cramped stiffness of awkwardness or the blank foolishness of bewilderment.
In contrast, the contours of her face were highly sculpted, with a clear jawline that gave an impression of stubbornness.
Such a strange combination was what made her so unforgettable.
After wiping her face clean and stepping out of the room, Shang Shao was waiting in the hallway.
The motion-sensor light clicked on with a sharp snap, illuminating the dark green, thick wool carpet beneath Ying Yin’s feet – hand-woven with the sprawling, delicate branches of spring leaves.
Ying Yin thought to herself: say goodbye, and this would be over.
She felt completely at ease now, not nearly as restless as she had been during dinner.
She gave a small smile, looked at Shang Shao for a moment, and said, “Mr. Shang, thank you for letting me impose on you for so long. You’re going to be late.”
Shang Shao nodded. “The car is downstairs. I’ll walk you down.”
“You still have one thing of mine to return.”
“What?”
“The ring.”
Shang Shao remembered. “It’s in that suit jacket.”
Ying Yin’s heart had just settled a little – she thought, so he does want a next time -when she heard him add, “The attendant put it away. I’ll take you to get it now.”
The flicker of surprise on her face vanished as quickly as it appeared. Ying Yin gave a gracious nod and smiled. “Alright.”
The two walked one after the other down the long corridor, entered the elevator, and went downstairs. The attendant was waiting; upon hearing Shang Shao ask about the suit jacket, he quickly fetched it.
The ring had been tucked into the inner pocket of the jacket. He pulled it out – the emerald gleaming rich and deep.
Before Shang Shao could hand it over, Ying Yin had already extended her hand, palm facing up, waiting for him to drop the ring into it.
“This ring actually belongs to Song Shizhang. Even though he never asks about it, if I lost it, I’d really have to grit my teeth to pay for it.” She looked at Shang Shao, her face bare of makeup, her eyes reflecting the crystal chandelier, smiling like an innocent, carefree young girl.
“When Mr. Ke comes back, I’ll make sure to tell him and his wife how much you’ve helped me,” she finally said, her expression relaxed and her smile warm, her voice sweet. “We should all get together again, the four of us.”
The emerald ring rested between Shang Shao’s fingertips, just above Ying Yin’s open palm.
All he had to do was let go, and his green forest fruit would fall into her hand.
Somewhere in the woods, the lush, dripping rain seemed about to stop.
Ying Yin waited only a second. The next moment, her wrist was suddenly seized by Shang Shao.
His palm was so broad, and her wrist so slender that he could easily encircle it with room to spare – so much so that his thumb pressed against the base of her palm, as if standing at the gateway of her life line, career line, and love line.
Ying Yin’s soft “Hm?” was barely audible, its ending tone rising, carrying a faint, almost aggrieved tremor. No one heard it except herself.
“Mr. Shang…”
She lifted her eyes, caught off guard. The light overhead was scorching, but all she knew was that she had fallen into a pair of eyes as heavy and hazy as mist.
“I’m taking you somewhere.”
