“Even if it’s one hundred million after taxes…” Ying Yin’s face flushed crimson as she forced the words out through clenched teeth.
“Tax or sex?” Shang Shao interrupted her, the corner of his lips curled into a smug, mocking smile. “If you are thinking of the kind that involves sleeping together, I could oblige.”
Ying Yin pressed her lips together again and again, her eyes burning as a wave of shame and indignation surged up her nose. Afraid that she might blink and let tears fall, she stubbornly glared at Shang Shao. “I simply misheard. I’d ask you to show some self-respect and not push your luck.”
“I truly find it hard to imagine what kind of feeling or line of thought could lead you to misinterpret that character as the one for ‘sleeping together.’” Shang Shao looked down at her with an appraising, meaningful gaze. “Or is this simply your life experience speaking? One hundred million, Miss Ying – you’re quite expensive.”
Ying Yin dug her fingernails into her palms. After a long silence, her tension suddenly eased, and she laughed. “Fine, one hundred million, and you can sleep with me however you like. But kissing costs extra – ten million. Transfer the money.”
Her smile was radiant. Her black curls tumbled loosely around her, glowing with a warm, soft luster under the light.
“If you feel shortchanged,” she added deliberately, playing the part of a conscientious merchant, “you can make up for it by extending the duration by one minute.”
Shang Shao didn’t speak, only looked at her coldly. After a long moment, he began to unfasten his wristwatch. It was a slow, deliberate motion – his eyes fixed on Ying Yin as he folded the brown leather strap out of its silver buckle. The next second, the expensive tourbillon watch fell into the sofa.
Shang Shao advanced step by step, closing in unhurriedly, until she was pressed tightly against the black bookshelf. “One minute, is it?”
Ying Yin swallowed almost imperceptibly, then snapped her eyes shut.
But Shang Shao’s lips stopped just one centimeter away from hers.
His breath was no longer as scorching and lustful as it had been when they’d kissed moments ago. It had become quite ordinary, even a little cold.
“Did you think I actually wanted to kiss you? It was just that the mood was right, and I figured you should be someone who can take a joke – so I thought I’d give it a try.”
A strange, bitter ache seeped into her limbs and veins through her blood. It happened in an instant.
Even though she had known from the start that he kissed her to claim a “repayment,” hearing him say it outright still made her dig her nails into her palms.
Shang Shao stared her down unhurriedly. “Since you know which way the wind blows so well, you should understand that the terms I just laid out leave you no room to refuse. And you’re absolutely right – I helped you deal with Song Shizhang precisely so you’d owe me a favor you could never fully repay. Given the circumstances, the logic, the money, and your own personal ambitions and character, you have no reason to turn this deal down.”
Every word he said was, in truth, utterly inconsequential. Over the years, the nasty comments from her haters had been a hundred times worse than this. But for some reason, Ying Yin felt a dull, slow ache spreading deep in her chest.
“You can find someone else, Mr. Shang,” she said, her breath caught as she calmly made the suggestion.
“I told you – we know each other’s backgrounds. Since Ke Yu gets along with you, your character can’t be all that bad. For something like this, it’s safer to work with someone familiar, don’t you think? Besides, you are smart enough to know what she should and shouldn’t ask for. So when the contract ends, you won’t come looking for trouble, will you?”
He paused for a moment, then said slowly, “Of course, the most important reason is…”
Ying Yin couldn’t imagine what reason could be more important or more compelling.
Shang Shao released his hold on her, straightened up, and looked down at her with cold eyes. “If it were any other woman, I might grow to love her over time. But you? I won’t.”
Having said this, he stepped back cleanly and decisively, then turned the doorknob.
Light from the hallway suddenly spilled into the room, illuminating his distant silhouette.
He paused briefly for a moment. Shang Shao didn’t turn around, speaking with his back to her. “One hundred million, Miss Ying. I hope that since you know which way the wind blows, you won’t keep me waiting too long.”
No one knew what was behind the oppressive atmosphere when the two parted. All they knew was that no one dared to speak – not even Cheng Junyi, who was usually the slowest to pick up on such things.
Lin Cunkang expressed thanks on behalf of the household for Ying Yin’s hospitality that evening. Just as they were about to leave, they suddenly heard a “Mr. Shang.”
Shang Shao looked back. Ying Yin smiled at him and said, “Please wait a moment.” She then instructed Junyi, “Go find that ring.”
That ring.
Junyi understood the specific reference. She hurried off quickly – running there and running back – thinking that Ying Yin meant to put it on for Shang Shao to see.
Ying Yin took it from her and handed it to Shang Shao. “You forgot this last time. I took the liberty of wearing it for a few days. Now I’m returning it to its rightful owner.”
Shang Shao gave her a long, deep look, but said nothing. As he stepped out the door, he casually tossed the ring into the mailbox by the entrance. Thud. Whatever queen or princess had owned it before would likely never see the light of day again.
Once they were in the car, Lin Cunkang hesitated several times, as if wanting to say something but holding back. Finally, Shang Shao gave an instruction. “Tomorrow, have Tiwen get Miss Ying’s account details for you. Transfer ten million to her.”
“Why?”
Shang Shao said flatly, “Kiss fee.”
Lin Cunkang was so startled that he inadvertently tapped the brake. Steadying the steering wheel, he wasn’t sure whether to be shocked that they had actually kissed or to remark that ten million for a single kiss was probably more expensive than a honey trap.
In the end, he settled on a note of regret: “Miss Ying doesn’t seem like that kind of person.”
Shang Shao neither agreed nor disagreed. He simply said, “Let her be.”
“And you…”
At this, Shang Shao closed his eyes. His expression was blank, his brow not even slightly furrowed. He was as calm and unfathomable as a deep, still pool.
Outside the car, the streetlights slowly drifted across his face, illuminating his nose, his brows, his eyes one by one.
After a long moment, Lin Cunkang heard his even, indifferent voice. “Money paid, goods delivered. Each gets what they want. That may be better.”
Lin Cunkang had known about his plan all along.
Find a woman to put on a show with for a year or two – just to fend off the family’s pressure to marry.
Shang Shao’s heart had grown cold over the past few years, and he had no interest in sharing his life with anyone. But perhaps his last relationship had hurt him so deeply that his mother, Wen Youyi, worried about him day and night, wanting nothing more than to push the finest girls in the world in front of him.
From childhood, Shang Shao had been raised on the principles of gentleness, kindness, respect, frugality, modesty, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness – on the idea that a gentleman cultivates self-discipline in solitude and humbly tends to his own character. He was taught to do everything expected of the eldest son of the Shang family.
The subtle, unspoken pressure from his family to marry exasperated him, but he couldn’t simply ignore it.
Still, Lin Cunkang knew that Shang Shao wasn’t in any rush to carry out this plan. If he found the right person, fine; if not, then so be it.
He was picky. He judged looks, character, temperament, whether someone was interesting or charming.
He sifted through countless candidates, but all of that was ultimately because he had no intention of drawing such strict lines between pretense and reality, between contract and sincerity.
But he judged people so accurately and stood so far above them that everyone’s sycophancy, their eagerness to please, their careful tiptoeing, their secret delight and delusional longing – all of it only left him feeling indifferent and disheartened.
That Ying Yin could demand ten million from him, and that he could agree to give it -both of these things exceeded Lin Cunkang’s expectations.
He thought for a moment, and as the car was about to exit the neighborhood, he suggested, “Since Miss Ying isn’t the kind of person you were hoping for, why not find someone else…”
The eyes that had been closed and reflected in the rearview mirror slowly opened at that moment.
Lin Cunkang suddenly understood. He pressed his lips shut and did not bring up the matter of replacing her again.
“What kind of trouble did you get into with Mr. Shang?”
Junyi was about to burst from holding it in. The moment the guests were gone, she asked.
“Nothing much. Maybe I said something wrong – who knows?” Ying Yin shrugged. “He showed up out of nowhere today and really scared me. I hope he doesn’t come again.”
Cheng Junyi silently thought to herself, But your eyes lit up the moment you saw him. She didn’t call her out on it, though, and quietly busied herself tidying up the study. As she was putting the throw pillows back in place, she spotted a wristwatch in the crevice of the sofa, catching the light with a cold metallic gleam.
“Huh? Mr. Shang’s watch?” She picked it up and examined it. “Why would Mr. Shang take off his watch? People only take off their watches when they sleep.”
Ying Yin suddenly remembered the warmth of his body as he’d drawn close.
And those arms that had wrapped around her waist and pressed against her back -broad, strong, burning hot.
She’d thought about resisting, but that impulse had lasted only a second before crumbling completely as his scent invaded her senses.
He was a very good kisser.
“Who knows.” Ying Yin didn’t even glance at the watch. “Give me my phone.”
Junyi found the phone and handed it to her. She watched as Ying Yin sat down on the armrest of the sofa, staring intently at the screen while muttering to herself, occasionally looking up at the ceiling as if calculating something.
“Ah, I can’t figure it out. Stop cleaning for a second and hand me the calculator.”
Junyi finally understood – after all that, she was calculating her savings.
The “film industry winter” had turned into a full-blown polar night, with no signs of warming up. Everyone’s salaries were being cut due to market regulations and shifting trends, and the hardest hit were movie actors like her.
Relatively speaking, TV dramas had longer shooting schedules and generated long-term revenue – online streaming, broadcast deals, product placements, IP development, and new member subscriptions all brought in money. Film investments, on the other hand, required huge capital, and returns depended almost entirely on box office performance – whether a movie bombed or blew up was pure luck. In short – her annual earning power was shrinking.
If you don’t manage your money, your money won’t leave you. After years of detours and painful lessons, Ying Yin’s financial strategy had been pared down to a few long-term fixed investments, real assets, and large certificates of deposit.
“Altogether… thirteen million, five hundred and eighty-two thousand, and six dollars!”
Ying Yin: “…”
“You just bought a French winery with Sister Chengwan, even though you don’t even like wine – you just said you like eating grapes.” Junyi kindly reminded her. “Then there’s Auntie’s Porsche, that Yunji apartment in Ping City, oh, and that residential floor you bought – I think the developer went bankrupt and ran off. That beachfront resort you invested in is going to be demolished because of illegal land reclamation. And that Snow Mountain Hotel? You’ve probably lost about five million on it due to operational issues…”
Ying Yin: “…”
Junyi let out a long sigh, her eyes full of admiration, “You’re so rich.”
“W-Wait a minute,” Ying Yin forced herself to calm down. “Calculate this for me again. After my pay gets split with the agency and taxed, I take home six million per movie. One hundred million divided by six million is…”
Junyi said, “16.7. I rounded it up for you.”
“So that’s seventeen movies? I can only shoot two or three a year – let’s say three -that’s six years? Six years! And in six years, the industry winter won’t necessarily be over. Considering the possibility of losing popularity and the reality of getting older, my pay will drop even more. And after six years, I might not even be famous anymore!”
Junyi: “…”
Ying Yin took a deep breath. “Fuck it!”
Junyi was surprised. “Why are you swearing?”
“No, I mean – this business deal can be done.”
“What business deal?”
“Let me ask you something. If someone asked you to pretend to be their girlfriend for a year, and gave you one hundred million, after taxes, but you didn’t have to fulfill any actual obligations – would you do it?”
Junyi’s eyes lit up, her heart blooming with joy. “There are deals like that? Let me do it! Let me do it!”
“Plus, the guy has decent character – you know him personally, and you have mutual friends. He doesn’t go whoring or gambling, and he’s so busy he barely has time for you. All you’d have to do is put on a show in front of his family and friends during holidays.”
Junyi started kicking her feet in excitement, thumping the floor. “Do it, do it, do it! Hell yes!”
“Right?” Ying Yin’s face was radiant with confidence.
“Exactly, exactly! And Mr. Shang has such a good image and reputation. Being with him wouldn’t damage your name – it would actually clear up those rumors about you and Song Shizhang, so people stop falsely accusing you of being a mistress.”
Ying Yin’s face turned cold in an instant, and she gave a snort. “Who said anything about Mr. Shang?”
“No one else would be that generous.”
Ying Yin pressed her lips together. “He’ll definitely think I’m some gold-digging woman – vulgar and tacky, the kind who’ll bend the knee for a few bucks, corrupted by wealth, cowed by power, without a shred of integrity. But…”
The corners of her mouth lifted. “Does it matter what he thinks? No. One hundred million! I’ve never seen that much money in my life.”
Cheng Junyi pressed her palms together, as if she’d already struck it rich right alongside her. “Does that mean I can get a raise? Another three thousand!”
“I’ll give you a thirty thousand raise!”
“But you didn’t even factor in your endorsement fees, variety show appearances, and all those other miscellaneous gigs.” Junyi laughed happily with her for a while, then calmed down and said seriously, “If you stop making reckless investments, you could earn a hundred million in five years. You don’t need to make quick money. You’re already very wealthy. If you want Mr. Shang to see you as a dignified, principled woman, you don’t have to take this deal.”
Ying Yin slowly let her smile fade as well.
She was wrong about Junyi. Junyi might be slow sometimes, but when it counted, she was always sharp.
The night had grown so deep. The moon hung high in the sky, its light drifting gently in through the black window lattice.
A faint silhouette of rosewood branches swayed in the moonlight, stirred by the wind, casting a pale shadow across Ying Yin’s white dress and her neck.
She looked at Junyi, gently pressing her lips together, the curve of her lashes arching softly.
Junyi sighed.
“Junyi, if I don’t take this deal, then in his eyes, I’ll be nothing more than a dignified, principled woman. That’s it. That’s the entire impression of me he’ll carry for the rest of his life. At holiday gatherings or parties with friends, if we happen to run into each other when Ke Yu is around – or if he overhears Ke Yu and Shang Lu talking about me – he might say, offhandedly, ‘We’ve met a few times. She’s got integrity.'”
Ying Yin smiled and said, “Junyi, I don’t want that.”
