Getting drunk always made her sleepy.
Ying Yin must have slept so deeply that she’d lost all track of time. It was only when she heard the crisp chirping of birds outside the window that she groggily opened her eyes.
The sweet wine brewed by Ying Fan gave her a pleasant kind of drunk – no headache upon waking, just the feeling of having slept a deep, satisfying sleep. She reached for her phone. It was 4:30.
Cheng Junyi must have heard her sit up. She knocked on the door, and after getting a response, pushed it open and came in.
“Tea? Auntie just brewed some black tea and told me to wake you.”
“When did I fall asleep?” Ying Yin rubbed her face and took the cup Junyi handed her.
It wasn’t black tea, though – it was a cold-brewed oolong Ying Fan had prepared the night before, with fresh fruit cut into it. Ying Yin was used to this drink; it helped reduce puffiness and woke her up.
“No idea. When I came looking for you, you were already asleep,” Junyi said, pulling back the sheer curtains and pushing the window all the way open. “You were lying crooked on the steps – I was afraid you might get cold…”
Before she could finish, there was an unexpected “Pffft…” from behind her. She turned around to see Ying Yin had spat out an entire mouthful of tea all over the bedsheets.
Junyi: “…”
Ying Yin sat there, one hand holding the cup, the other clutching her phone, her eyes wide with panic and her face blank with disbelief.
“What did I do? How do I have his WeChat?! … Wait! Why did I send him voice messages?!”
Junyi asked hesitantly, “… Who?”
Ying Yin didn’t answer. With the look of someone marching to her doom, she tapped on the voice message, then tremblingly lifted the phone to her ear.
A drunken, coquettish voice came through: “Mr. Shang, I’m here to wish you a good afternoon…”
The phone flew out of her hand in a shriek, arcing across the room and landing in the stunned Junyi’s grasp.
Ying Yin clutched the blanket, pulled her knees to her chest, and buried her face with a dull thud. “Ughhh…”
Junyi parted her lips and blinked. “When I went to find you, your call hadn’t even ended yet. Mr. Shang was still on the line.”
“What?” Ying Yin jerked her head up, her face full of disbelief. “What did you say? Me, him – I was on a call with him?!”
“Yeah.” Junyi nodded. “When I saw you were asleep, I told Mr. Shang that you’d dozed off. Mr. Shang said he knew, that you’d only fallen asleep a little while ago.”
Ying Yin’s eyes widened to their absolute limit. A horrifying possibility dawned on her. Her face went white, then flushed crimson. “D-d-d-did I snore?!”
This time, Junyi finally threw her a lifeline. “No. But there were a ton of flowers stuck in your hair. I took a picture, posted it on my Moments, and Mr. Shang saw it.”
“How do you know he saw it?”
Junyi said, perfectly deadpan, “He liked it.”
Ying Yin let out a wail, dropped her head onto the duvet, and couldn’t utter another sound – just pounded the bed with her fist.
“I’ve told you before, your tolerance isn’t great. You really should drink less. What I didn’t expect was that after drinking, you’d actually dare to contact him.” Cheng Junyi offered no comfort whatsoever. Instead, she dug a pit, buried Ying Yin in it, and even patted down the dirt with a shovel. “You’re done for. What if he blacklists you?”
Ying Yin sniffled, mustered the resolve of someone walking through fire or treading on knives, and held out her hand. “Give it.”
Junyi placed the phone into her palm.
First, Ying Yin scrolled into Moments and looked at the photo Junyi had taken. Junyi had a great eye for photography – the composition was unusual, but it had an unexpected kind of beauty.
In the image, Ying Yin was lying with her head on her folded arms on moss-covered stone steps, only a sliver of her profile visible. Her long, wavy hair was dotted with pink goldenrain tree blossoms, scattered with specks of dappled light, emerald leaves touched with gold.
This was Junyi’s work account. The people who could see it were all industry insiders -mostly artists from their agency, along with some platform businesspeople, producers, and agents.
The post had a few hundred likes. Ying Yin didn’t know how, in all that dizzying array of names, her eyes had immediately landed on that deep-sea blue of Shang Shao’s.
At least she didn’t look ugly.
Ying Yin let go of that first layer of anxiety, took a few deep breaths to steel herself, and then dialed Shang Shao’s number.
It was Monday afternoon, so of course Shang Shao was in a meeting. Catching a glimpse of the incoming call display, his face expressionless, he pressed the power button on the side of his phone with his slender index finger and hung up.
A few seconds later, he still ended up picking up his phone and replying on WeChat: [After five.]
It was now 4:32. Ying Yin counted the minutes on her fingers and truly understood the meaning of “a day feels like a year.”
“The tea’s gone bitter!” Ying Fan called from the courtyard.
“Tea?” Ying Yin paced back and forth, her hands twisted together and pressed against her chest. “I’m about to throw up.”
Junyi poured fuel on the fire. “Think about what else you might have done to provoke him.”
“Right, right, right.” Ying Yin tapped her fingers. “I haven’t checked my texts yet. Let me see – Ugh!” Her knees gave way and she collapsed by the bedside. “I invited him for a drink. I invited him for a drink in the middle of the day. I complained that he wouldn’t add me on WeChat, otherwise we could have a virtual drink together over video. And I even said – cheers…”
Junyi: “…”
“Do you think he’ll think I’m crazy?”
Junyi replied, “He’ll think you’re idle, unmotivated, emotionally unstable, schizophrenic, audacious beyond belief, and a completely different person from the demure, elegant lady you were last night.”
Ying Yin knelt there slumped against the bed, utterly dejected. “Thank you, dictionary of idioms.”
Her phone vibrated. She answered, sounding half-dead and weak. “Hello…”
“Not awake yet?”
Ying Yin’s heart clenched. By the bedside, she instinctively snapped to attention. “Mr. Shang…”
Junyi glanced at the time. Eight minutes early. Her wits kicked in, and she discreetly pushed the door open and left.
Ying Yin turned and walked to the window. “It’s not five yet.”
Her voice was very soft, very low. Her fingers unconsciously traced the wrist of the hand holding the phone.
Of course, Shang Shao knew it wasn’t five yet.
The meeting had ended early, and he didn’t have anything urgently pressing to attend to, so he stayed behind alone in the conference room to make this promised call.
Qinde’s flat was one of the landmarks of Ning City’s CBD, boasting a prime river view. Inside the hundred-plus-square-meter conference room, Shang Shao stood by the bright floor-to-ceiling window. He looked out at the nearby West River as he placed a cigarette between his lips.
On his end, a white sightseeing yacht glided past. On Ying Yin’s end, the sound of birdsong faded, and she heard the scrape of a lighter’s flint wheel.
Shang Shao lit the cigarette, took a drag, and asked Ying Yin, “Sober now?”
“Mm.” Ying Yin followed his lead and explained, “Mr. Shang, I’m sorry. I disturbed you during the day.”
She sounded perfectly proper and dignified now.
Shang Shao glanced at the sky – it was still quite early – and let out a soft laugh. “During the day? Which time do you mean? Noon, or now?”
Ying Yin: “…”
Shang Shao flicked the ash from his cigarette and lowered his gaze. “Neither time was a disturbance.”
Though his tone was very casual, Ying Yin felt her heart tighten. A strange sensation seized her, making the soles of her feet feel hollow.
When he didn’t hear her voice for a while, Shang Shao reminded her lightly, “My subordinates will be coming to find me soon. If you keep quiet, I’ll assume you’re fine.”
“I’m not fine, not fine,” Ying Yin quickly said. “I drank too much during the day and lost my composure in front of you. I’m really sorry. I don’t know if I offended you, Mr. Shang…”
“You sent me a voice message, made me wait five minutes to accept your friend request, and fell asleep while talking to me on the phone.”
Ying Yin squeezed her eyes shut, her face the picture of utter misery and regret.
Shang Shao could probably guess her expression. He asked casually, “Didn’t I tell you there’s no need to be afraid of me?”
“Mr. Shang, you hold a high and powerful position. Being afraid of offending you is instinct. Respecting you is also instinct.”
“Respecting,” Shang Shao repeated the word, lowering his head to exhale a stream of smoke. “I don’t need that from you.”
“Then what can I give you?” Ying Yin asked without thinking.
It wasn’t until Shang Shao let out a soft laugh that she realized how inappropriate the question sounded.
She hadn’t meant it like that…
“Miss Ying, no man could hear you ask that question and not let his mind wander.”
The breath on the other end of the line suddenly grew light – Ying Yin had unconsciously held her breath. The knuckles gripping her phone turned pale white.
Her wrists tingled, wave after wave.
Things had already come to this, and yet, against all reason and with a death wish, she still asked, “And what about you, Mr. Shang?”
Shang Shao held the cigarette between his fingers. Smoke curled and swirled around him, blurring his features.
When he spoke again, his tone was just as detached and unreadable as ever.
“Right now, my mind is wandering.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Shang Shao gave a noncommittal chuckle. “Why not?”
“You’re not that kind of person.”
A knock came at the conference room door. His subordinates had indeed come to find him.
Shang Shao stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette and finally said, “Miss Ying, don’t think too well of me.”
Ying Yin stayed at home for two nights. To avoid the two women grating on each other’s nerves and turning every conversation into a quarrel, she wisely packed her bags and cleared out on the morning of the third day.
The car drove up the slope and rounded the corner. Cheng Junyi let out a surprised “Huh?”
“Whose car is that? It’s blocking the way.”
A large black SUV was parked at the intersection, exactly blocking the path Junyi needed to take to reach her front door. She honked twice. No response from the other side. So she got out of the car and politely knocked on the SUV’s window.
The dark window rolled down. Junyi froze, then called out dryly, “Mr. Song.”
Song Shizhang sat in the car smoking. He looked down at Cheng Junyi from his elevated seat. “Back?”
Such an ordinary exchange. Junyi’s brain momentarily stalled. “Ah,” she said. “Are you looking for Sister Ying?”
“Open the gate first.”
Junyi scurried back to her car. Ying Yin had just woken from a nap when she heard Junyi say, “What’s Song Shizhang doing here? He must have found out from the company.”
The electric gate slowly opened. The SUV ahead drove in, and Junyi turned the steering wheel, trailing slowly behind.
Ying Yin’s eyes were fixed on the back of Song Shizhang’s car. After a long moment, she let go of her resistance and said listlessly, “Never mind. Call him and tell him to put on a mask.”
As Junyi parked the car, she relayed this to Song Shizhang over the phone. He grunted an acknowledgment. A moment later, when he got out of his car, he was not only wearing a mask but also a baseball cap. His clothes were very unassuming. If he stood next to Ying Yin, people would have taken him for a bodyguard.
“Mr. Song is so cooperative today?” Junyi muttered. “He usually likes to put on a show. He’s really keeping a low profile today.”
Song Shizhang reached their car. He saw Ying Yin inside with a neck pillow around her shoulders, a mask over her face, and her hair loose. He let out a laugh. “Is this you in full battle gear, or have you given up on yourself?”
But it was indeed the first time he had seen Ying Yin so unpolished. Every time this woman appeared before him, she was always meticulously dressed up. Even when she went makeup-free, she was clean and radiant.
“I don’t know if you have arranged for someone to take photographs again,” Ying Yin said coolly. “The car is new. The house is new. If this place gets exposed, I’ll have no choice but to suspect that you have thrown a bone to the paparazzi.”
“You go to such lengths to have a peaceful place. After every shoot, you first drive to your apartment in the city to put on a decoy show, then switch to another car and drive here. Since you go through all that trouble, how would I dare?”
“You don’t dare nothing,” Ying Yin said politely. She pulled herself together, lifted her face, and gave him a smile – revealing the gentle, accommodating side that Song Shizhang was familiar with.
She still couldn’t win against him. She exhausted herself with charm and maneuvering, and still could barely protect herself.
What if Song Shizhang truly decided to take her? That question she still had the courage to answer with a bloody fight. But the second question was harder –
What if Song Shizhang couldn’t have her and instead decided to destroy her?
Sunlight streamed onto the windshield, casting dappled green and golden patterns. The car was hot, yet Ying Yin suddenly shuddered.
With just a single narrative planted by Song Shizhang’s media group, both Ying Yin the celebrity and Ying Yin the woman would die at the same time.
One scenario casually crossed Ying Yin’s mind: “Song Shizhang’s marriage troubles suspected to be caused by Ying Yin’s involvement.”
A woman labeled a homewrecker had no way to prove her innocence. She couldn’t fight back with bloodshed, because that kind of destruction was silent yet devastating as a tsunami – turning the world upside down, leaving no escape.
Song Shizhang understood her all too well. Her clarity, her resilience, her pride – all of it made her fear beautiful, made her pretenses and maneuvering dramatic.
He looked at her like she was a doll inside a music box. Forever smiling, forever spinning, crying on the inside but still smiling. He admitted that nothing pleased him more than seeing a woman like Ying Yin forever preserved behind a glass display case.
“You’re still afraid of me.” He looked down at her, a faint trace of inquiry in his eyes. “Why? Since he’s going to protect you, you shouldn’t have to be afraid of anything.”
Ying Yin’s eyelashes fluttered slightly as she emerged from her moment of panic. “Who?”
This time, Song Shizhang couldn’t tell whether her confusion was real or feigned. He didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the driver’s door and said, “I’m taking you to meet a friend.”
As the car engine started again, he added, “You don’t need to be nervous. I don’t want to provoke Shang Shao.”
Ying Yin paused. Her tone turned unnaturally cold. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Mr. Shang and I have only met once.”
Song Shizhang smiled to himself. He understood now. So she really didn’t know anything.
The car drove for half an hour until they reached a villa complex nestled against the mountains with a view of the sea. A beautiful woman received them.
She truly deserved to be called beautiful – every movement she made was pleasing to the eye. Her figure was exquisite, and her eyes were tender and affectionate as she gazed warmly at whoever she was speaking to. When she saw a big star like Ying Yin, she showed no surprise at all, which suggested that celebrities and socialites passed through her home often.
Ying Yin had no idea why Song Shizhang had brought her here. They simply sat, drank tea, chatted, and talked about movies and interesting anecdotes. It lasted no more than half an hour, and then they left.
The newly paved asphalt road wound through the mountains. The car glided down beneath shadows of flowers and trees, the interior utterly silent.
“She was a mistress to an acquaintance of mine. He kept her for over ten years, and they only split up a couple of years ago. She had a few quiet months, then another friend of mine took over keeping her. That friend is sixty-eight years old – pretty capable, got her pregnant. But still not as good as Director Fang – quality wasn’t there. The pregnancy stopped after a little over a month.”
Song Shizhang lit a cigarette and rolled the window down a crack. Cool, fresh air from the coastal mountains rushed in.
“Her villa is worth over sixty million. She could be a mistress her whole life and still never afford it. She has four servants waiting on her. Even her toilet gets cleaned daily with cotton swabs. The food she eats, the things she uses – you won’t find them on the market. Getting cosmetic procedures is actually her smallest expense. Once, during a casual chat, she calculated it for me: her monthly living expenses come to about eight or nine hundred thousand – not including shopping.”
“She has picky taste. Blowing through a million or more a month is perfectly normal for her. Does that sound like a lot? That’s only ten to twelve million a year. Ninety-nine percent of people on this earth might never see ten million in their lifetime. But for the other one percent, spending ten million a year is considered frugal. Ying Yin, you’re someone who’s seen the world. You should know very well how things work.”
Ying Yin felt a chill creep up on her for no clear reason.
Expressionless, she asked, “What are you trying to say?”
Song Shizhang rested one arm on the windowsill and flicked his cigarette ash. “Once people get used to a certain kind of life, it’s not easy for them to leave. She’s lived this way for over ten years. You think she could take her own money, move into some small eight-million-yuan villa, hire two servants, buy a million or so worth of Chanel a year, and date some phys-ed major or a minor idol? Not only would she be unaccustomed to it – if she ran into her old friends at a store and they got the VIP treatment while she had to wait outside, or if she crossed paths with them on the street, she wouldn’t even be able to lift her head.”
Ying Yin didn’t look at him. “That’s her choice. Different people have different ambitions. You don’t need to lecture me.”
Song Shizhang steadied his breath and allowed himself a smile at her defiance and stubbornness. “People trapped in a mud pit think the mud pit is comfortable. People lying on the clouds think the clouds are pleasant. It’s only the ones in the middle – neither up nor down – who struggle climbing upward, bitter and exhausted, and resent sinking downward. I started with nothing and climbed from the middle to the top. Above every man is another; beyond every sky is another sky. Shang Shao – I can’t afford to provoke him. But what I want to tell you is this…”
He glanced back at Ying Yin. That glance was piercing and cold. “A person can live without lowering herself.”
“Mr. Song!” Ying Yin’s voice dropped to a cold, sharp tone. She took repeated deep breaths, restraining the tremor in her voice, and said with finality. “I told you. Mr. Shang and I have no relationship whatsoever.”
“He sent back the ring you threw away. He had someone return it to me with a message: the ring goes back to its owner, but the woman – he wants.” Song Shizhang curled his lips. “You didn’t know about this. Do you understand what that means? When you want to keep a butterfly, you don’t need to ask the butterfly’s opinion. A pretty, delicate little plaything – squeeze its wings and it’s half dead.”
“Mr. Shang wouldn’t do that,” Ying Yin said stubbornly. Under the sunlight, her face was an ugly shade of pale. “He didn’t tell me because he thought it was a small favor. Because he didn’t want to put me in a difficult position or make me feel indebted to him.”
Song Shizhang suddenly laughed, cigarette ash fluttering down. “Ying Yin, I really misjudged you. I shouldn’t have brought you to see her. At least she’s smart enough to know what to want and what not to want. I should have taken you to see another one instead. She was moved, she liked him, she loved him – she only wanted the man, not his money. But my friend thought she was putting on an act.”
Probably finding it amusing, Song Shizhang laughed even harder. “You know what? He thought she was pretending to be innocent while secretly scheming to become the legitimate wife. So now he’s staying far away – both himself and his money.”
Ying Yin listened quietly to the end.
It wasn’t that she couldn’t hear his sarcasm, his insinuations, his mockery of her wishful thinking.
“Song Shizhang.” She said his name without a trace of emotion. “I’ll say it one more time. Mr. Shang and I have only met once.”
Song Shizhang stopped smiling. He pressed lightly on the brake and pulled the car over to the side of the road.
At this moment, he was utterly serious. “If you’re willing to be with me, we’ll go get the marriage certificate tomorrow. You can make it public or keep it private – whatever you want. No need for a prenuptial agreement. From now on, in the entertainment industry, no one can touch you.”
Ying Yin didn’t even stop to think. She only asked, coldly and numbly, “And if I’m not willing?”
“Then I wish you smooth sailing on your journey as a mistress.”
“He wouldn’t do that.”
Song Shizhang’s smile was deep and icy, but it already carried the certainty of victory -dazzling and cruel.
Word by word, he said, “He will.”
