The black sedan with a silver roof didn’t stop in front of the revolving gate. Instead, it went around the traffic circle and drove straight into the underground parking garage – likely heading for the VIP elevator on the B2 level that would take it directly up to the banquet hall.
As the car brushed past her, the rear window had already rolled up. Ying Yin stood in the rain holding an umbrella, and on the rain-streaked dark glass, she vividly saw her own reflection.
Truly looking like a ghost.
She had no idea that the man inside the car had nevertheless lifted his gaze to give her another look, accompanied by a faint, almost imperceptible chuckle.
Lin Cunkang, his hands on the steering wheel, paused briefly. He looked up and glanced at the person in the back seat through the rearview mirror.
Lin Cunkang was nearing sixty, with traces of time graying his sideburns. He was more accustomed to being called Uncle Kang. The five siblings of the Shang family each had their own personal butler from childhood, responsible for daily care and etiquette training. Upon reaching adulthood, the butlers also helped manage personal and social affairs.
Lin Cunkang was Shang Shao’s designated butler.
“Does you know her?” Lin Cunkang asked as he smoothly drove the car into the garage.
Before the age of twenty, Shang Shao had spent most of his time in Europe. After turning twenty, he had immersed himself entirely in the group’s business affairs in Hong Kong, with little familiarity regarding people and matters in mainland China – let alone any old acquaintances there. Lin Cunkang was well aware of this.
“Have you seen Qili’s new commercial?” Shang Shao asked.
The Qili Entertainment Group was one of the Shang family’s enterprises, encompassing casinos, hotels, and resorts. It was now managed by the eldest daughter, Shang Mingxian. Earlier that year, Qili – which had never had a brand ambassador before – officially announced its first global ambassador: Ying Yin. That commercial had been played worldwide, running nonstop on billboards in Las Vegas, day and night.
Lin Cunkang obviously saw it as well. He thought for a moment, then the realization dawned on him. “Is she that female lead?”
The car pulled into B2 and parked in a reserved spot. Shang Shao picked up his suit jacket, pushed the door open, and as he stepped out, confirmed Lin Cunkang’s speculation. “It’s her.”
Lin Cunkang’s expression flickered with surprise, as if he could hardly reconcile the “female ghost” from just now with the actress in the commercial. After taking a moment to digest this, he shook his head with a wry smile. “Really can’t tell – her makeup was completely ruined.” Then he asked the crucial question, “How did you recognize her? From such a distance.”
Shang Shao’s pace paused slightly. He turned his head and cast a faint glance back at him. “You’re getting better at asking questions the older you grow.”
Lin Cunkang fell silent and followed in Shang Shao’s footsteps.
The black, tailless suit jacket possessed an unparalleled texture and luster, yet Shang Shao had casually slung it over his shoulder. He walked into the elevator lobby and only put it on unhurriedly while waiting for the elevator. Then he brought his slender fingers to his tie knot and twisted it slightly. Compared to the impeccably dressed and dignified guests already in the banquet hall, he – the guest of honor – looked as if he had been roped in at the last minute to fill a spot.
The elevator chimed, indicating its arrival. As the doors opened, Chen Youhan happened to catch him in this very state of casual impatience.
“Arrived early, I see,” Chen Youhan said teasingly.
Shang Shao’s tone was as unhurried as his stride. “Not too late, really.”
The two men shook hands, pulled each other into a brief embrace, and patted each other’s shoulders with easy familiarity. “Long time no see.”
The elevator doors closed, and Lin Cunkang beside him pressed the floor number.
“How’s the new place coming along?” Chen Youhan asked. “That oceanarium – I had a feeling you’d like it.”
“The whale shark isn’t doing too well. I’m worried it hasn’t acclimated to the new environment. Russia sent over two experts; I’ll have them coordinate with your people when they arrive.”
Chen Youhan laughed. “I asked about you, not the fish.”
Shang Shao’s new villa had been reluctantly parted with by Chen Youhan. The property used to be an oceanarium, complete with an underwater world and ocean-view windows. Later, when the marine center was relocated to a new facility in the city, this site was converted into a marine animal breeding and research base, operating in partnership with national-level institutions. Shang Shao had claimed the land but didn’t ask anyone to leave – the entire animal protection team remained employed there.
Shang Shao gave a lazy smile. “The fish aren’t doing great, and neither am I. All I can think about is that drinking is a waste of time – might as well go home and watch the fish.”
Chen Youhan tossed Shang Shao a cigarette. “Between buying up ports and purchasing ships, how many billions have you thrown down this time?”
The Shangyu Group’s business spanned the globe, but its headquarters had always been in Hong Kong. This time, at the invitation of relevant central ministries and local governments, the group was partnering with state-owned enterprises to develop the biomedical sector, with its focus centered on Ning City. On the surface, this appeared to be just another commercial collaboration, but in reality, it could be considered a political mandate.
Biomedicine was a field on which the local government had staked its bet for the next two decades. By taking on this responsibility, the Shangyu Group also reaped considerable benefits.
Over the past several decades, too many Hong Kong businessmen and enterprises had come to the mainland to exploit favorable policies and investment deals – making grand promises but delivering nothing substantial. Having learned its lesson the hard way, the government now watched closely. As the successor of the Shangyu Group, Shang Shao’s resolve and commitment were therefore under particular scrutiny. At the very least, he couldn’t afford to give the impression that he might flee back to Hong Kong at any moment.
Shang Shao curled his lips slightly, his tone unclear as to whether he was being humorous or sincere. “It’s been a long time since I’ve spent any money. Consider it my pleasure.”
If acquiring property and settling into a new home could be done at a relaxed pace, then another matter was far more urgent. Having just arrived, he was in desperate need of building connections and consolidating resources – but bridge-building required the right person to facilitate introductions. Not just anyone could do it – it had to be someone with enough influence and standing. And Chen Youhan was precisely that person.
The banquet hall doors were within reach. Chen Youhan dropped his smile and sought the opinion of his distinguished guest. “So – shall we go in together, or would you like to look around first?”
He knew that Shang Shao carried the low-key tradition ingrained in the Shang family’s bones, coupled with a natural aloofness and an inherent cool detachment. He had no desire to be the center of attention the moment he walked through the door, surrounded and treated like some revered Buddha.
Shang Shao held the cigarette that Chen Youhan had just tossed him loosely between his fingers and gave a slight nod. “You go in first. I’ll follow.”
The banquet guest list was strictly controlled, with the only exceptions being a few celebrities invited as eye candy, along with some notable figures from the art and fashion worlds.
Unfortunately, as the proverbial eye candy herself, Ying Yin was hardly looking her best at this moment.
As soon as she entered the lounge, Ruan Ye exclaimed, “Sister Ying! What happened to you?”
Ying Yin casually tossed her half-damp shawl onto the sofa. “I asked you to have someone get my makeup kit. Did you?”
“Yes,” Ruan Ye nodded, then eagerly pointed out the champagne-colored gown for her to see. “Such a beautiful dress! It’s a newly released haute couture piece, isn’t it?”
Ying Yin hummed in acknowledgment. “Don’t be fooled. It was borrowed straight off the runway, not custom-made.”
“Huh?” Ruan Ye didn’t quite understand the distinction.
Ying Yin raised her arm and, with a backhand motion, pulled the zipper of her black gown all the way down. The soaked dress peeled off her body like a wilted petal, revealing the tender core beneath. She had an exceptional waist-to-hip ratio, and her back was completely free of any excess flesh. Ruan Ye stared in amazement – both at Ying Yin’s uninhibited openness and at her body itself.
Ying Yin glanced back and gave her a faint, smiling curl of the lips. “If this were custom-made, the first fitting alone would take a month. So how could it possibly be here? Come on, help me into it.”
The younger lady followed her instructions closely, carefully taking the haute couture gown off its hanger. Ying Yin casually twisted her damp hair into a messy bun. “Find something to dry off with…” There was nothing suitable in the lounge. Her eyes landed on the shawl she had just discarded.
She was running out of time, so she didn’t have the luxury to care.
The thin cashmere was picked up once more. The clean, immaculate scent of it again filled her senses. In the social circles of the elite, everyone wanted to leave a lasting impression – even their business cards were often perfumed to last twenty-four hours. Ying Yin had encountered countless fragrances and notes, but this one was different. It was unfamiliar, and yet deeply memorable.
It was a scent she had never experienced before.
Ruan Ye held the gown as she watched Ying Yin sit down on the sofa, casually bunch up the shawl, and begin drying herself off. She slipped her slender feet out of the soaked high heels, and under the light, her skin was as smooth and white as solidified suet. The deep red cashmere brushed gently across her body, from the tops of her feet all the way up to her thighs – a striking image rich in contrast and beauty.
For some inexplicable reason, as the slightly damp shawl passed over her shoulder, Ying Yin found herself thinking of the man’s profile in the Maybach.
“Whose is this?” Ruan Ye asked carefully.
“Mine,” Ying Yin replied, snapping back to the present and cutting off her curiosity cleanly.
The gown went on, and as she had said, it wasn’t a perfect fit – a bit tight in places. Ying Yin had a standard size-zero figure, but naturally, she wasn’t as rail-thin as a supermodel. Once the dress was on, her curves became even more pronounced: chest was chest, hips were hips.
“The beadwork on this is so exquisite,” Ruan Ye murmured, reaching out to touch it carefully. She then brushed the stacked tulle petal sleeves around the arms and gasped, “Wow – like clouds.”
Ying Yin laughed softly. “You like it that much? Don’t worry – once you’re famous, you’ll get so sick of this kind of thing that you’ll want to walk the red carpet in a T-shirt.”
“Did Mr. Song give it to you?” Ruan Ye asked, stealing a glance at Ying Yin’s expression.
Song Shizhang had gone through a midlife divorce and was now single. There had long been gossip in the industry that he was interested in pursuing Ying Yin – or perhaps the other way around, that Ying Yin was angling to latch onto his wealthy connections. Either way, it was true that Song Shizhang often “borrowed” Ying Yin to accompany him to events – wealthy businessmen’s dinners, charity banquets, after-parties. Wherever he could bring a plus-one, he brought her.
“It was ‘borrowed’ by Mr. Song,” Ying Yin said lightly, as if she hadn’t picked up on the younger girl’s insinuation. She carefully corrected the phrasing, then asked, “Where’s the hairdryer?”
Ruan Ye found the hairdryer and handed it to her, then asked, “Sister Ying, you’ve made so much money. Have you ever bought a haute couture piece for yourself?”
Ying Yin paused before flipping the switch, giving her a look that was both amused and slightly incredulous. “Buy one myself? Why? Consumerism is a trap. Isn’t it better to just save the money and live off the interest?”
Ruan Ye was speechless.
How could she even say that with a straight face? One couture gown cost several million. Park that in the bank, and the monthly interest would be at most a few thousand – probably not even enough to cover her apartment’s monthly property management fee.
The hairdryer hummed with warm air. Ying Yin tilted her head and dried her hair using the highest heat and strongest airflow. After a while, the PR staff responsible for attending to them pushed the door open, carrying a makeup kit. “It was really difficult – it didn’t occur to anyone to prepare these things.”
Ying Yin dried her hair, casually tied her long curls into a low ponytail, picked up the makeup kit, and gave a little wave. “Thanks.”
She turned and went into the inner room to wash her face and remove her makeup, leaving Ruan Ye and the PR staff exchanging awkward glances. Ruan Ye made small talk. “Has the banquet started yet?”
“It’s started,” the staff replied, having a keen sense of what was on Ruan Ye’s mind. “Why don’t you head out first? It’s boring waiting here anyway.”
Ruan Ye had indeed been thinking the same. Mai Anyan had sent her out to gain experience and build her skills, but staying by Ying Yin’s side wasn’t exactly helping her develop anything. Ying Yin was too dazzling – she made Ruan Ye feel like a little weed. Well, no – more like a “puff” of weed, since she was wearing a poofy dress.
Ruan Ye nodded. “Then please let Sister Ying know that I’m heading out first to… mingle.”
The staff smiled and nodded. “Of course. Thanks for your help.”
The moment Ruan Ye stepped out, she nearly ran straight into Song Shizhang. The man was leaning against the corridor wall, holding a glass of whiskey by the rim – clearly waiting for Ying Yin. Hearing the sound of footsteps, he lifted his eyes slightly. Seeing it wasn’t Ying Yin, his gaze indifferently drifted back down.
As Ruan Ye passed by him, she mustered her courage and greeted him. “Mr. Song.”
Song Shizhang gave a slight nod. “Is she ready yet?”
Ruan Ye’s mind raced for a moment. “She is still getting ready. She said you don’t need to wait specifically for her.”
Only then did Song Shizhang actually lower his gaze and truly look at her. “You…”
“Ruan Ye,” she quickly filled in. “You are the Producer of Princess Chengping… I’m the female lead.”
An ancient-style rom-com, a fast-food web drama, but it performed decently across the board. Almost two years had passed since it aired, and Song Shizhang had to think for a moment before finally placing her. “Not bad. You’ve matured.”
Ruan Ye gave a faint smile. “You’re too kind. So… may I buy you a drink?”
Song Shizhang let out a very soft laugh, his gaze lingering on her young face for a moment. Then he straightened up. “Let’s go.”
The corridor fell quiet again. After about three to five minutes, the restroom door opened once more. The PR staff led Ying Yin out, chattering as they walked. “Mr. Song was waiting here the whole time – huh? Where is everyone?”
The tension Ying Yin hadn’t realized she was holding relaxed as her eyes confirmed the empty space. She exhaled almost imperceptibly. “Maybe he had something to attend to and stepped away.”
“Should I contact him for you?” The staff had already pulled up the number for a colleague inside the venue. At an event like this, it wouldn’t look good for Ying Yin to be on her own – especially since the entire event team had already tacitly assumed she was Song Shizhang’s plus-one. After all, her invitation had only been issued because Song Shizhang personally requested it.
“No, don’t bother,” Ying Yin stopped her. “I’ll be fine on my own. You go ahead and take care of your work.”
The staff had other tasks waiting. After going through the motions of politely declining to leave, she didn’t hesitate further and hurried off.
The sweet smile disappeared completely the moment the staff’s figure vanished. Ying Yin leaned against the wall, bored, and gave the overly long hem of her gown a little kick. Then she reached back and unravelled the low bun, letting her long hair fall loose. Like a young girl, she idly played with the small black hair elastic for a moment.
Done with that, she thought about what had just happened. Great. I went and got soaked in the rain. Felt amazing at the time, but now I’ve annoyed Song Shizhang, and I have to go to the banquet alone.
The scene was going to be terribly awkward – and not just awkward, but the kind of classic, embarrassing spectacle that people would relish talking about and replay over and over again.
The frustration on her face was far more vivid than her earlier sweet smile – at least, it made her look like a living person. Watching from a diagonally opposite corner, Shang Shao couldn’t help but lift the corners of his mouth in a silent smile.
“Who’s there?” Ying Yin’s eyes snapped up sharply toward the corner where a chandelier hung.
The long, silent corridor was carpeted in dark red. On the walls, gold-flecked deep-green wallpaper was lined with classical oil paintings. A faint wisp of smoke drifted ethereally beneath the chandelier.
Shang Shao looked down at the half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, a trace of helplessness surfacing in his eyes.
Should he say the cigarette had given him away – or was this woman just too sharp?
Ying Yin waited with persistence. Finally, an unfamiliar man stepped out from the shadows at the corner.
She was briefly taken aback. Her first impression was simply that he carried an air of aristocracy. He was dressed entirely in black – black shirt, black suit jacket, black trousers – but the fabrics were so exquisite that they revealed layers of depth under the light, making him look cold and somber, as if he had walked through the cold mist and blue ice all the way from the black sand beaches of Iceland.
Ying Yin would later describe this to him, which made him laugh and say in Cantonese, “Chi sin.” (Crazy.)
For a moment, she didn’t recognize who he was. She only found the deep red color of his Windsor-knotted tie strangely familiar. Above the knot, his neck was straight and proud, his Adam’s apple pronounced.
Faced with a stranger, Ying Yin smoothly reverted to her practiced mode of expression management. She pressed her lips together in a slight, reserved nod – the kind of aloof and guarded greeting befitting a major celebrity.
Shang Shao stood not far from her. He extended the hand holding the cigarette slightly and gave a small wave. “Just a moment.”
He had an extraordinarily good voice – even better than his appearance. Deep, mellow, but not overly thick, like a glass of red wine with moderate tannins, aged from an excellent vintage.
Ying Yin didn’t understand – until the man before her walked calmly toward her, then bent down and neatly adjusted the champagne-colored hem of her gown.
His movements were utterly natural, a blend of gentlemanly ease and casual nonchalance. In contrast, Ying Yin, standing above him, felt her spine stiffen and every nerve in her body tighten.
Once he had finished, Shang Shao straightened up, took a small step back, and let his gaze travel upward in appreciation, finally resting on Ying Yin’s face. He said, with perfect courtesy, “It suits you very well.”
His eyes, like the man himself, were faint and restrained, gentlemanly yet distant. It was clearly a look of appreciation, yet somehow it carried an air of indifference, as if he were merely being polite.
They stood not far apart. The scent emanating from him was faint, fleeting.
It was that same clean, morning-like freshness.
So distinctive that Ying Yin blurted out instinctively, “It’s you.”
Shang Shao paused briefly. He hadn’t expected to be recognized – nor had he intended to be.
Thinking she hadn’t been clear enough, Ying Yin added more specifically, “Thank you. For the umbrella and the shawl.”
She felt that, in some way, there was a certain fate between her and this man. He had seen her at her most disheveled.
Compared to all the glossy, polished, aristocratic pretenders crowded in the banquet hall, she would rather spend a little more time talking with him.
“A small effort, nothing worth mentioning,” Shang Shao said casually.
His casual tone, paired with his aristocratic presence, somehow conveyed a cold, distant sense of keeping his distance. Ying Yin understood.
He thought she wasn’t worthy.
Even a romantic encounter needs to be defined. Without a definition, what existed between them was merely the act of someone lending an umbrella in the rain. Only with a definition could it be called an encounter. But she didn’t have the qualification to be given that definition.
Ying Yin had never been one to beg for trouble. She relaxed her lips into an easy smile, her expression bright and carefree. “So I take it you won’t be wanting the shawl back, then?”
Shang Shao stubbed out his cigarette in a ashtray filled with white gravel by the corridor. After exhaling the last wisp of smoke with a faint breath, he half-closed his eyes and smiled. “Do you know the way to the banquet hall?”
Ying Yin was slightly taken aback, then nodded.
Shang Shao looked at her. “Forgive me, but I’ve been lost for quite some time. I was wondering if you’d be so kind as to guide me?”
Such a coincidence? She had just been worrying about how to make an entrance without feeling embarrassed, and now he was asking her to lead the way. Ying Yin hesitated. “Don’t you have a companion?”
“I suppose I will have one, if you’d be willing to lead the way.”
Ying Yin pressed her lips together. She was normally so composed and confident, yet she felt a flicker of nervousness. Even as she took advantage of the situation, she stubbornly said, “I’m just showing you the way.”
Shang Shao curled his lips into a smile. With one hand in his trouser pocket, he made a gentlemanly gesture with the other. “After you.”
Inside the banquet.
Everyone’s eyes were scanning the room. Had the eldest son of the Shangyu Group arrived yet? Word was that he had already come – so which one was he? No one wanted to be caught lacking and miss the chance to meet the benefactor of their life. Others simply stood holding their champagne glasses, smiling knowingly and waiting with unshakable composure.
The moment the door opened, the sea breeze that had been streaming in through the half-open windows – carrying the damp moisture of the autumn downpour – swept through and rustled the hair of the two people at the entrance.
Everyone’s gaze shifted in unison. Their expressions changed, uniformly and subtly.
Ruan Ye let out a soft “Eh?” unaware that Song Shizhang beside her had nearly tipped over his champagne glass.
