The place she truly grew up in as a child was the shantytowns, the urban villages.
Rows upon rows of blue tin-roofed shacks stretched endlessly. Every day, she passed through dim alleyways, skirted around butcher stalls, and walked past fruit stands steeped in the sickly-sweet smell of rot on her way to dance class.
Ying Fan held her hand, graceful and composed, chin slightly raised, her gaze never wandering sideways. To the people around them, she looked like a swan hopelessly out of place.
Whispered gossip followed them all along the road.
“Taking her daughter to dance lessons again?”
“She really doesn’t spare the money.”
“What do you know? That’s called an investment.”
“Well, of course. She’s not like us – a fallen young lady.”
“Pfft, what young lady? More like some rich man’s discarded mistress.”
Back then, in Hong Kong, if a woman was pretty, people assumed she was either a mistress or some tycoon’s kept woman. Sit down at a mahjong table in any gambling parlor and you could easily gather three mistresses for a game.
Men from Hong Kong and Macau didn’t even need to be truly wealthy. As long as they had a bit of money, they could establish a second family in the mainland, have children there, and travel back and forth every month. Women who became mistresses didn’t bother hiding it from relatives either – draped in gold and silver, they would openly say, “The one I have in Hong Kong can’t give me a son.”
But Ying Yin knew her mother was not one of them. She knew who her father was. He had been handsome – tall and striking enough to play a martial hero in a TVB drama – and fundamentally decent. His only flaw was that he liked his drinks a little too much, and became unpleasant when drunk.
In that era, when everyone was scrambling to strike gold, if a man was ambitious, being honest and decent was considered virtue. If he lacked ambition, that same honesty merely became weakness.
Ying Fan was ambitious.
The man was weak.
When Ying Yin was little, she did not really understand her mother’s pride. It was a kind of pride built on self-deception. In alleyways and lanes like these, summer evenings were filled with men lounging around with their bellies exposed, flossing their teeth, while the women’s synthetic blouses soaked up the smell of sweat. Against all that, Ying Fan’s dignity and refinement seemed unnecessary – stubborn, even.
Learning dance was hard, and she had to keep practicing at home. Her classmates practiced in the bright living rooms of sprawling villas and luxury apartments; Ying Fan, meanwhile, had to move the dining table and chairs aside for her. Once practice was over, they would move everything back into place.
“You don’t belong here, Yingying. Bringing you here only means your mother wasn’t capable enough. You have to leave this place.”
In truth, Ying Fan was not an incapable woman. She had spent years selling property and earned generous commissions, saving a substantial amount in the bank. Only after marriage did she discover that her husband’s family still owed money on the house they had built back home. She paid it off, then used the remaining principal to start a clothing business – and lost it all.
The sales office wanted Ying Fan back, but her husband did not want a beautiful woman like her continuing to appear in public – especially when the women around her were all wearing gold wedding rings, radiant and flourishing, at the height of choosing men who could change their lives.
This city was always demolishing and rebuilding. Once, after dance class, they came back to find another skyscraper risen from the ground, its blue-glass façade dazzlingly beautiful.
Holding her daughter’s hand, Ying Fan stopped and stared up at it for a long while before saying softly, “You know, I could once have owned an entire floor in this building.”
“Then why don’t you?” Ying Yin asked.
“If I had, then I wouldn’t have had you.” Ying Fan lowered her head and smiled at her. Her warm palm cupped Ying Yin’s cheek, the thin calluses rougher than the year before.
Only much later did Ying Yin learn that a wealthy businessman had once brought Ying Fan a property contract and asked her to sign it – one signature, no regrets, and her fate would have changed overnight. But Ying Fan refused.
Perhaps offended by her lofty pride, the businessman turned around and pursued one of her coworkers instead. A house worth nearly a million was given away for free; the coworker gasped in disbelief, as though she had won life’s lottery.
The businessman was never especially attached to her. After two years, he let her go. She emigrated to Canada, found herself a younger white boyfriend, and lived a very comfortable life.
“I didn’t know what was good for me when I was young.”
Ying Fan would occasionally say this to her daughter.
Even now, Ying Yin still did not know where her father was.
The marriage between her parents had lasted only eight years. Alcoholism and spinelessness had ruined the man’s figure and clouded his eyes. Ying Fan treated the marriage as though she had invested in a failed stock – she divorced him, moved away, and cut ties cleanly and decisively.
After the age of eight, Ying Yin never saw the man again. She had missed him at times – missed the days when he came home from work carrying takeaway cart noodles for her – and she had envied children who grew up under their fathers’ protection. But Ying Fan taught her never to be weak or naïve.
In the ceramic stew pot, the chicken soup had simmered over a low flame to perfection. Ying Fan lifted the glass lid and skimmed the foam from the surface with a spoon before asking Junyi, “She hasn’t been happy lately?”
“Mr. Song is making her unhappy.”
“What is she dissatisfied with about him?”
Cheng Junyi glanced at the Chanel-style jacket embroidered with gold thread that Ying Fan was wearing. “Auntie, your clothes are beautiful. I’m very satisfied looking at them – but I still prefer the one I’m wearing myself. Marriage isn’t like choosing clothes, is it? Being satisfied isn’t enough. You have to truly like it.”
Ying Fan laughed as she shook her head. “If I were younger, I would definitely applaud what you just said.”
“So when you were young, you chose what you liked instead of what satisfied you?”
“I chose what I liked. Now I think perhaps I should have chosen what was merely satisfactory instead.” Leaning back against the kitchen counter with both hands braced behind her, Ying Fan still carried herself beautifully. “I don’t want her to take the long way around again. You know how it is – daughters always resemble their mothers when they were young. Daughters always end up walking the same old road their mothers did.”
“But times have changed already.”
“No matter how times change, no matter how wealthy or capable a woman is, the moment she marries, there are only two possibilities for her: marrying up or marrying down. There’s no such thing as marrying equal. Marrying equal is still marrying down, and marrying down is just poverty alleviation.” She gave a faint laugh. “Not marrying is an option too, but unfortunately she’s in the entertainment industry – the most feudal place in all of China. She’s so beautiful. Without someone protecting her, all the maneuvering and social games will drain her dry.”
Cheng Junyi suddenly shivered.
Instinctively, she felt Ying Fan was wrong – but she could not articulate exactly how. And no one understood better than she did how Ying Yin had exhausted herself, wringing every last bit of intelligence and strength out of herself just to survive.
In the end, she could only protest stubbornly, “Auntie, your values are crooked. They don’t match the cultured scholarly-family persona the company built for you.”
“Oh please, how am I not from a scholarly family?” Ying Fan shot her a look. “My sixty-fourth-generation ancestor was a high-ranking official in the Qing dynasty.”
Half teasing and half indignant, she said it with mock seriousness. Then she and Junyi looked at each other and burst into laughter, neither noticing that Ying Yin had been standing outside listening for quite a while.
In truth, Ying Yin did not resent Ying Fan either. During the most beautiful years of her life, Ying Fan had raised her alone through hardship, working two jobs. Life for the mother and daughter had always been tightly stretched.
After Ying Yin started earning money, the first place she took Ying Fan was Beijing. Ying Fan sat for a very long time in the square across from Tiananmen.
When Ying Yin’s grandmother had been terminally ill, her dearest wish had been to visit Beijing. The three thousand tour fee itself was manageable, but the tour group insisted that an elderly person had to be accompanied by someone else – which meant six thousand. Ying Fan could not afford it. She still had to pay Ying Yin’s tuition.
That day in Beijing, the wind was fierce, the chill of early spring biting to the bone. The blowing sand stung the eyes. Ying Fan sat there until sunset, seeing enough of Tiananmen on behalf of her own mother.
Before leaving, she said, “The greatest unfilial act a daughter can commit is marrying the wrong man.”
Ying Yin knew she was not saying it to her daughter. She was saying it to herself.
The dishes were brought to the table – abundant and delicate – but the atmosphere was heavy. The housekeeper did not dare say much. After setting out the bowls and chopsticks, she quietly returned to the kitchen to eat by herself. She was a distant aunt from Ying Fan’s hometown. By family rank, she is Ying Yin’s aunt, though in reality she was only thirty-five. Honest, dull, and hardworking, she spared Ying Fan a great deal of worry.
“No matter how good things are, I waited five whole months for you to finish filming, and the moment you come home you throw a cold face at me.” Ying Fan pulled out a chair, her tone softening as she pressed Ying Yin down into the seat.
This time Cheng Junyi had enough tact to help smooth things over. “Auntie, let’s have some wine. She’s always worried about bloating, so she hasn’t had a drink in ages.”
While Junyi went to fetch the wine, Ying Fan squeezed Ying Yin’s hand, her fingers gently rubbing over the knuckles on the back of it as she lowered her head, searching for her daughter’s expression.
“You’re not still angry with me, are you?”
Ying Yin turned her face away. “Since you love Song Shizhang so much, why don’t you marry him yourself?”
Ying Fan clicked her tongue, dragging out her words with patient earnestness. “Enough already. He came to visit without warning – was I supposed to throw him out? If I offend him, won’t you be the one left swallowing the loss in silence in the end? Darling, you may be glamorous now, but your glamour depends entirely on the whims of fate.
“The fans and moviegoers lift you up. To put it bluntly, whether thunder or rain, it’s all bestowed by their favor. Even at the height of your fame, Weibo was still full of people cursing you, and you still didn’t dare offend anyone. So what about the day you fall from the top?
“You will fall eventually. The real skill lies in falling gracefully.”
Junyi came back carrying two small jars of wine, only to run straight into an angry Ying Yin on her way out.
“Hey!”
The wine jars nearly shattered before Junyi caught them in a fluster. Ying Yin grabbed one of the jars from her hands without looking back. Cheng Junyi did not see the redness around her eyes.
When Shang Shao saw the text message she sent him, he frowned slightly, momentarily questioning his life choices.
Ying Yin asked: [Want a drink?]
Who drinks in the middle of the day?
Today was Monday – Shangyu Group’s “employee cafeteria day.” By company policy, on this day he and all senior executives were expected to have lunch in the staff canteen.
Shangyu was vast, with over ten thousand employees worldwide. The company placed strong emphasis on basic welfare, and all cafeteria catering services were trained and managed by the Qili Hotel Group. The quality of the food was comparable to that of a star-rated hotel.
The president of Qinde, whose surname was Jin, was accompanying him in the queue, maintaining a spring-warm smile of concern for employees. He occasionally made light conversation about what people were eating today. Then, turning his head, he noticed that his superior was expressionless, his brows faintly furrowed.
…Was he not performing well enough?
As employees carrying trays passed the end of the line, each one greeted, “Hello, Chairman Shao.” Shao nodded in response while typing back to Ying Yin: [I don’t have the habit of drinking at noon.]
After a while, Ying Yin sent a multimedia message: an opened wine jar. [Finished it.]
Shang Shao: “…”
Although it was a small, elegant wine jar, it still contained at least 250 grams. He wasn’t sure about her tolerance, so he asked directly: [Are you drunk?]
Her reply came even more straightforward: [Yes!]
The exclamation mark suggested she really was drunk.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Shang Shao’s lips. For a moment, he found it difficult to imagine what she would be like in that state.
There was a WeChat message about business. He switched out of the chat to reply, then returned and saw a new text message.
Ying Yin: [You added my assistant on WeChat, but didn’t add me.]
It sounded like she was complaining about him again.
When she complained, it came so naturally – as if she were already right by three points even when she wasn’t. But her tone was very light, not truly blaming him, more like a soft, spoiled grievance, a kind of accusation that he had made her feel wronged.
Shang Shao didn’t think there was much difference between WeChat and SMS anyway – both were just instant messaging tools. But after a brief pause, he still typed her phone number into the account search.
An account popped up: Yinyin’s Not Working Today.
The profile picture was a “V-sign” gesture – for some reason, Shang Shao immediately recognized it was her own hand.
He sent a friend request, but it wasn’t accepted immediately.
Logically speaking, even when he handed out business cards, it was usually Lin Cunkang who did it for him. As for adding contacts, it had always been others waiting for him – never him applying to add someone else.
Mr. Jin was still trying to maintain a relaxed atmosphere in the cafeteria queue. Shang Shao pulled his attention back and mercifully nodded and smiled at him. But the smile didn’t reach his eyes; his gaze remained deep and unreadable, somehow making his cold aura even heavier.
Everyone else: “…”
Maybe… he should stop smiling.
On the stone steps of a lush green courtyard, Ying Yin hugged a wine jar. Warmed by the early winter sun, she was almost falling asleep. Her body swayed slightly before she jolted awake.
The text message screen was still unchanged – Shang Shao still hadn’t replied.
There was actually nothing to feel wronged about, but she had already endured too many reprimands and persuasion that morning. Her emotions had long since overflowed, and now, fermented by alcohol, a sour tightness rose in her chest and she couldn’t help tearing up.
Her tears fell onto the screen, sparkling in the dappled sunlight beneath the egg flower tree, dazzling to the eye.
She wanted to ask him: [Mr. Shang, why aren’t you replying to me?]
Deleted.
[Mr. Shang, don’t mind me.]
Not right.
[Never mind not adding WeChat, I don’t even want to add you anyway.]
Too rude!
She typed and deleted line after line.
After a while, through her tear-blurred screen, a new line of text appeared: [Have you fallen asleep, which is why you still haven’t accepted the request?]
Ying Yin held back her tears. Her cheeks were already wet, and she let out a confused, nasal “hm?”
Wind brushed past, and the red blossoms of the koelreuteria tree fell in bursts, scattering all over her. She didn’t even notice.
The queue for food was extremely long. Mr. Jin and the other senior executives were already nervous inwardly, worried that the young chairman – always unreadable, never showing emotion – might lose patience.
If he was in a bad mood while eating, their afternoon report would likely be doomed.
“There are a lot of people today. Probably because they knew Chairman Shao was coming,” Mr. Jin explained.
Shang Shao didn’t even lift his gaze. “It’s fine.”
Mr. Jin barely managed to suppress the urge to glance at his screen.
Talking about work? It had already gone on too long – not his usual concise style. If a conversation exceeded ten exchanges or a hundred words, he would normally just switch to a phone call.
Talking about personal matters? Then why was his brow slightly furrowed, as if he was being put in a difficult position?
Indeed, Shang Shao was being put in a difficult position – because after Ying Yin accepted his friend request, she sent him a voice message.
Chairman Shao, who had always lived in supreme privilege, whose first office had been at the top of the Central skyline – had never once in his life received a voice message.
Silence hung for a second. With great reluctance, he deigned to “waste” ten precious seconds of his life to listen to it.
He pressed the phone to his ear. Ying Yin’s voice sounded beside him:
“Mr. Shang, I’m here to wish you a good afternoon.”
Her voice was clear and bright, but carried a faint deeper undertone – pleasant, and very listenable. Yet at this moment, Shang Shao only registered one thing.
After a brief pause, he directly called her.
“Why are you crying?”
He didn’t avoid others while making the call. Mr. Jin and the accompanying executives all turned to look.
They couldn’t make sense of it.
If he asked a woman like that, it sounded too cold.
If he asked family, it sounded too indifferent.
If he asked a friend, it sounded far too formal and serious.
They couldn’t make sense of it at all.
Ying Yin answered his call while unconsciously pulling her coat zipper all the way up to the top. Her fingers gripping the silver zipper pull were tight, the knuckles faintly turning bluish.
At that moment, she didn’t even know whether she was drunk or not. She only knew she was breathing more softly. The instant she heard his voice, the warmth of sweet rice wine rushed up into her face, leaving her eyes burning hot.
“How did you know?” she asked, holding her breath.
Shang Shao replied casually, “My ears aren’t deaf.”
“So impressive.”
“…”
Shang Shao was now certain she was quite drunk. His voice unconsciously lowered. “Bad mood?”
Her hidden feelings were exposed. Ying Yin gave a heavy, nasal “mm.”
A faint, almost imperceptible laugh came from him. “You’re actually more honest when you’re drunk than when you’re sober.”
But Ying Yin didn’t catch the teasing in his tone. Instead, she asked, abruptly and out of nowhere. “Mr. Shang, can you carry a girl?”
Shang Shao was slightly stunned by her question, unable to make sense of her train of thought.
A vague image did flash through his mind, but it was only a blurred, fleeting frame.
He steadied himself and did not answer directly, instead sidestepping calmly: “You’re drunk. You should go sleep.”
“Mr. Shang, did I ever tell you I’m very good at dancing?” Her topic jumped even further.
By then it was finally his turn at the serving counter. The senior executives all invited him to go first, but Shang Shao kept one hand on the phone and casually raised the other, gesturing for them to go ahead while he stepped aside.
“No,” he replied.
“The last time, the girl who danced with you – do you remember her? She said you taught her two dances.”
“I don’t remember,” Shang Shao answered flatly.
“Her name is Ruan Ye. She’s a junior at my company.”
“Oh? Are you planning to introduce her to me?”
The executives took their meals and filed past him one by one, smiling on the surface but puzzled underneath.
Their Chairman Shao looked expressionless, even somewhat indifferent – yet the fact that he was willing to spend time chatting like this already counted as a kind of gentleness.
Ying Yin pressed her lips together. “If you need it, I can introduce her to you too.”
She didn’t get a response.
Only a busy signal.
The call had been hung up.
She blinked in confusion.
Had she annoyed him again?
As expected of a young master – he could casually give away a ring worth nearly ten million, and hang up a call whenever he was displeased.
The wind kept blowing, and the koelreuteria blossoms kept falling. She stretched out her hand, catching one, two, three flowers, laying them across her knees, gently picking at their curled petals.
It was only a brief minute, yet it felt long enough for all the blossoms to fall.
After one minute, she received another call from Shang Shao.
“Sorry, I accidentally hung up just now.”
Shang Shao gave a polite explanation. Holding a tray in one hand and his phone in the other, he walked with composed ease, though everyone in the cafeteria was watching him.
“And also…” He paused lazily. With no one beside him now, he said her name in a low voice. “Miss Ying.”
“Mm?” Ying Yin curled her knees up slightly, waiting for him to continue.
“The person I’m interested in, I will take the initiative to get to know myself.”
