The brown tourbillon watch was never returned to its rightful owner, because Shang Shao never took it back.
“Today’s a chance encounter, not the right occasion for returning things,” he said lightly, rising from the sofa. “I still have something to do, so I should go. The refreshments will be here soon – have something before you leave.”
As soon as he finished speaking, there came a knock at the door. Shang Shao said, “One moment.”
Ying Yin froze briefly as his presence drew near. Shang Shao curved his lips in an absent-minded smile and lifted a hand, gently pressing her face against his shoulder.
His shoulders were so broad.
That was the only thought left in Ying Yin’s mind.
The clean, almost austere scent on him – like mountain mist at dawn – drifted from the skin at his neck and overwhelmed her breathing with its possessive presence.
With a click, the door opened in the next second. A waiter entered, and because of the angle, all he could see was Ying Yin leaning into Shang Shao’s arms. Naturally, he understood the etiquette of not prying where he shouldn’t, so throughout the entire process he kept his eyes carefully averted, merely bending to set out the tea, pastries, cups, and plates one by one before gathering his tray and quietly taking his leave.
Once the door closed, Shang Shao let go of her. His expression remained perfectly calm, as though what he’d just done had merely been a casual reflex.
Ying Yin’s heart lifted and settled again. After a moment, her lashes finally lifted slightly. “Thank you.”
Before leaving, Shang Shao bade her farewell. The word he used was “until we meet again.”
She ate a single salmon-and-wasabi egg tart before heading downstairs, where she gracefully and sweetly greeted people at the tedious tea gathering, exchanging pleasantries and harmless updates about their lives. She looked polished. Practiced. Radiant.
Among the guests in attendance were veteran fashion editors from glossy magazines and advertising directors. Holding champagne flutes as they chatted, the conversation naturally drifted toward the fashion gala taking place half a month later.
It was Moda’s annual anniversary event, a ceremony that handed out vaguely defined awards like “Artist of the Year” and “Star Power of the Year.”
These awards were basically just a way of handing out honors for everyone to share. Their greatest significance lay in being added to fans’ achievement posts and giant promotional banners online. But whether it was award-winning actors or top-tier idol groups, as long as they received an invitation, they would absolutely clear their schedules to attend – and throw themselves into it with full force.
Because this was the night of a top-tier women’s fashion magazine.
The night when global luxury houses evaluated celebrities’ expressiveness, star power, and fashion value.
Brand endorsements made up a huge portion of a celebrity’s income. More importantly, the advantages that came with being favored by a high-luxury brand were enormous: access to elite magazine covers, worldwide advertising exposure, elevated fashion status, and greater leverage when negotiating endorsement fees for future commercial deals.
Even from the most practical perspective possible, once an artist was chosen by a luxury house, they no longer had to worry about styling for all three hundred and sixty-five days of the year. From priceless antique jewelry and million-dollar couture gowns to seasonal ready-to-wear collections, as long as it belonged to the brand, it could all be borrowed freely.
And naturally, more non-competing brands would come extending olive branches as well, hoping the celebrity might wear one of their season’s featured pieces.
A setting like this was destined to become a gladiatorial arena where every celebrity fought for survival.
Ying Yin’s fashion resources had declined severely. Although nobody said it outright, after one event styling review after another, everyone in the fashion world – from editors-in-chief down to gossip bloggers and marketing accounts – knew it perfectly well.
What kind of person was Zhao Manman?
She had originally been the first Chinese styling director at Moda’s Italian headquarters. After returning to China, she opened her own studio while retaining the title of Chief Styling Consultant for Moda China. Most of the celebrity looks featured on Moda covers were styled by her hand: exceptionally high-level work, with mistakes being exceedingly rare.
She could transform an awkward, small-time actress into a glamorous beauty. She could even resurrect a male celebrity with hopeless proportions. Half the entertainment industry’s A-list stars entrusted their styling to her.
Although Ying Yin was an award-winning actress with fiercely combative fans, once the two women fell out publicly, Ying Yin was the one who suffered more.
That was also why Mai Anyan had insisted Ying Yin wear and officially announce the couture gown Song Shizhang had previously secured for her, even at the risk of being scolded by fans for being unprofessional.
Of course, celebrity styling studios were springing up everywhere like bamboo shoots after rain. Plenty of people were willing to take Ying Yin as a client – for example, Chu Anni, who worked with her now.
But Zhao Manman had spent nearly forty years immersed in the global fashion industry. She was personally close with many current creative directors and founding designers of major brands. When it came to deciding who would – or would not – wear a couture piece, her opinion carried enormous weight.
And Ying Yin, in the middle of a film set, had cursed Zhao Manman’s younger brother so viciously that he threw up.
After letting her thoughts wander for a moment, Ying Yin was pulled back into the salon by a woman’s voice.
It was a fashion editor from a women’s magazine, asking, “Sister Wan, have you been overwhelmed by all the look options again this time?”
No one dared bring up the matter with Ying Yin directly – they were afraid of embarrassing her – so everyone tacitly avoided the subject altogether, keeping the conversation centered around Zhang Chengwan instead.
Zhang Chengwan only put on airs in front of Ying Yin. Around outsiders, she was always gracious and polished. At this moment, she smiled warmly and said with easy charm, “There really are too many choices being sent over. Just thinking about trying on that many outfits gives me a headache.”
“Only you get to pre-fit all the couture in advance,” someone else praised.
Ying Yin had remained silent the whole time. Zhang Chengwan glanced at her, her gaze lingering meaningfully on Ying Yin’s current-season ready-to-wear outfit. “Actually, sometimes buying pieces yourself is a pretty good option too. It’s just that if you want to really stand out, it does get a little expensive.”
Ying Yin thought to herself: As if I’ve got nothing better to do than spend my own money buying couture.
Truthfully, she’d wanted to slip away ages ago. It was Zhang Chengwan who had insisted she stay and keep her company.
Zhang Chengwan’s status as a top-tier actress was firmly secure. Although she was always making snide, passive-aggressive remarks at Ying Yin – resentful that Ying Yin had snatched away two acting trophies in a row – she wasn’t truly a bad person. Ying Yin didn’t want to fall out with her completely.
As she listened to their gossip and chatter, one hand tucked into her coat pocket, her fingertips unconsciously and almost compulsively rubbed against the face of Shang Shao’s watch.
“It’s not necessarily something you can buy just because you have money,” the magazine editor revealed. “Forget couture – even last time, there was someone who wanted to pay for a piece from Vide herself, and the brand got so alarmed they called the boutiques overnight telling them not to sell her the runway collection.”
Things like this weren’t exactly unheard of, but it still drew a chorus of exaggerated gasps.
“Seriously? Oh my god, what did she do? That’s brutal.”
“How terrible does her image have to be for that to happen?”
The editor shrugged. “Well, I can’t say. If I do, it’ll be too easy to figure out who it is.”
After flattering Zhang Chengwan enough, they perfunctorily turned the conversation toward Ying Yin.
“Yinyin looks beautiful today too.”
Ying Yin smiled faintly and handed the spotlight back to Zhang Chengwan. “It’s only clothes. How could they compare to your looks? Every appearance of yours is basically a work of art.”
At last, she truly felt bored. A sudden clarity rose in her mind.
Why was she wasting time in a place like this?
The hand rubbing the watch face came to a stop. Having made up her mind, she maintained that flawless sweetness no one could fault, the smile on her lips seeming practically welded into place as she bid the group goodbye. “I still have something to take care of. You all carry on.”
Without waiting to gauge Zhang Chengwan’s reaction, she picked up her wineglass, went over to toast the brand’s Asia-Pacific executive, and then left the gathering directly.
She pushed open the lounge door. Zhuang Tiwen and Junyi were eating.
The other celebrities’ assistants had all secretly slipped out to go shopping, try perfumes, and buy lipsticks, leaving only the two of them behind. Zhuang Tiwen was still relatively restrained, while Junyi was practically wolfing food down – her mouth stuffed so full her cheeks bulged. When she saw Ying Yin return so quickly, she choked so badly she started pounding her chest in panic.
Zhuang Tiwen was the first to ask, “Why did it end so quickly?”
“I wanted to meet someone,” Ying Yin said casually. “He didn’t give me much time.”
“Huh? Who? Mr. Mai?”
Ying Yin took out the watch. “Him.”
Zhuang Tiwen didn’t understand, but Cheng Junyi was already choking and coughing so hard she looked like she might cough her lungs out, still insisting desperately, “You… don’t… act impulsively!”
But Ying Yin had already dialed the number.
In the few seconds while the call connected, her heart pounded heavily. Then she heard Shang Shao’s low “Hello” on the other end.
His tone was extremely faint, yet strangely pleasant.
“Mr. Shang, have you left already?” Ying Yin asked directly.
Shang Shao was sitting in the back seat of a Maybach, having just closed his eyes to rest for less than three minutes.
“Mm.”
He closed his eyes again. Still resting, his voice sounded steady and unreadable, low and composed. “Just left.”
Ying Yin covered the phone with both hands and lowered her voice. “I want to see you.”
There was more than ten seconds of silence on the other end of the line.
Shang Shao slowly opened his eyes. Outside the car windows on both sides, the cityscape slid backward – they were almost out of the district.
He calmly covered the phone’s receiver with one hand and called out, “Uncle Kang.”
Lin Cunkang had already switched lanes onto a road where the car could turn around. He replied briefly, “Four minutes.”
Shang Shao then responded to Ying Yin in a flat voice, “Four minutes later. Basement level two, Elevator Lobby A.”
Ying Yin hung up and instructed Zhuang Tiwen, “Switch outfits with me. Otherwise, I might get photographed and recognized.”
Junyi quickly ran over and locked the lounge door. Somehow, she had been infected by her sudden sense of urgency and tense readiness.
As Ying Yin pulled down the hidden zipper of her top, she said, “From now on, you have four minutes to try to talk me out of it.”
Junyi knew she was speaking to her. She swallowed, forcing down her discomfort, took a deep breath, and burst out, “You shouldn’t be making decisions this fast! I take twenty-four hours just to decide on something worth a thousand yuan. From last night until now it’s only… one, two, three, four… nineteen hours! There’s no way Mr. Shang wouldn’t give you at least twenty-four hours!”
“I’m afraid he’ll calm down first,” Ying Yin said, taking off her top and accepting the white shirt Zhuang Tiwen handed her.
Junyi didn’t understand. “Huh?”
But Ying Yin had already put on the shirt and was fastening the buttons, her expression unchanged. “Next point.”
“I…I…” Junyi was momentarily at a loss, then suddenly had an idea and said loudly, “I’m afraid you’ll fall for him!”
That finally made Ying Yin pause – but only for a brief moment. She still kept her head down, the corner of her lips curling slightly.
“One hundred million,” she said lightly. “No matter how you fall, it’s still not a loss. Besides, he’s got a bit of a problem. I think… I should be fine.”
Zhuang Tiwen, who had been listening quietly the whole time, seized the opening and asked calmly, “Are you talking about Chairman Shao?”
“Mm.” Ying Yin didn’t bother hiding it. “You know him well – does he have any flaws?”
Zhuang Tiwen was a smart person. From the earlier hints, plus Shang Shao’s uninvited appearance the night before, she had already pieced together a rough outline of what was going on.
After thinking for a moment, she looked at Ying Yin and said half-jokingly, half-seriously, “He doesn’t really have flaws. He’s just hard to read – especially these past couple of years.”
Ying Yin nodded and changed into Tiwen’s knee-length pencil skirt. “Half a catty, eight taels – I’m pretty good at acting too.”
Junyi and Zhuang Tiwen both had the same thought flash through their minds: Yeah, right!
Today was a work occasion. Zhuang Tiwen was dressed very formally – a silk blouse with ribbon ties and a black body-hugging pencil skirt – which also matched well with Ying Yin’s original pointed-toe stiletto heels.
The two of them even swapped accessories. Zhuang Tiwen was only wearing simple decorative stud earrings, while Ying Yin’s were proper fine jewelry. It showed that when it came to the people around her, she either didn’t choose at all – or if she did, she gave them full, unquestioning trust.
“I should go now.”
As she spoke, Ying Yin fastened the men’s watch onto her wrist one last time. But her wrist was so slender that the watch face covered almost the entire back of her hand. Even with the strap tightened to the last hole, it still hung loosely and shifted slightly.
The two assistants watched her leave.
Ying Yin paused, looked back over her shoulder, and smiled. “Take the day off. Smile -be happy.”
She pushed open the door, turned right, and after just ten meters, the elevator had arrived exactly on the fifth floor, waiting for her.
With a soft ding, the doors slowly opened. The scent of fragrance and the chill of air-conditioning made Ying Yin shiver slightly.
She stood straight, then stepped inside without hesitation.
When she came out of the elevator lobby, Shang Shao had not arrived yet.
Ying Yin stood at the entrance waiting for a moment. She heard two sounds of a car passing over a speed bump, and then saw the silhouette of the Maybach appear.
Lin Cunkang didn’t even recognize her. He lightly tapped the brake with his toe, bringing the Maybach to a smooth stop as he said, “Miss Ying doesn’t seem to be here yet.”
Shang Shao opened his eyes and looked Ying Yin up and down, his gaze moving from low to high.
“She’s standing right in front of you.”
Lin Cunkang was surprised, completely unable to understand how he had recognized her.
The woman in front of them was wearing a very ordinary suit and a mask. Her calves and Achilles tendons were indeed slim and straight, but nothing particularly distinctive stood out. If anything had to be said… it was her waist-to-hip ratio – too striking to ignore. That hourglass curve seemed gifted by nature, impossible to replicate.
Ying Yin didn’t walk around to the other side to get in; instead, she opened the door on Shang Shao’s side directly.
Shang Shao lifted his eyes. Although he didn’t understand her intention, his aura remained steady and imposing as ever.
Leaning on the car door, Ying Yin’s face under the mask was slightly flushed, but her voice was extremely serious and composed.
“Mr. Shang, I’m feeling upset right now. Can I sit with you?”
Shang Shao interlaced his fingers loosely on his lap, leaning back lazily. His voice was indifferent, detached, and unreadable.
“You can sit however you want.”
This man was always like this – effortlessly composed, unshaken by anything. Ying Yin suddenly wanted to see him lose control the way he had yesterday.
She knelt with one knee on the edge of the leather seat, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other bracing on the seatback. Meeting Shang Shao’s gaze, she turned her body, tilted her face upward, and sat down on his lap, which was covered in black suit trousers.
Outside the Maybach, if a passerby had walked by, they would have only seen two slender legs beneath a pencil skirt – one bent back, the other stretched straight – while a pair of pointed stiletto heels flashed briefly in the dim light of the underground parking garage.
With a thud, the car door closed, sealing away everything inside.
Lin Cunkang didn’t know whether he should drive off. His foot hovered over the accelerator, but no matter what, he couldn’t bring himself to press down.
First, in all his long life, he had never seen a scene like this.
Second, in the thirty-six years he had watched Shang Shao grow up, he had never seen anything like this happen to him either.
Especially not just after he had finished a formal meeting, still dressed in a suit and tie, inside this Maybach that had always only transported official duties and received important political figures.
For something so unfamiliar, the old man truly couldn’t make sense of it.
Did the young master like it – or not?
He also didn’t dare glance at Shang Shao’s expression through the rearview mirror.
Shang Shao’s expression was indeed dark. His hands were supporting Ying Yin, but in a restrained, gentlemanly manner, stopping exactly where they should stop.
He did not look at, nor touch, any of those curves or contours –
Until his gaze fell on the watch fastened to Ying Yin’s wrist.
The watch that belonged to him was loosely encircling her wrist, sliding down slightly as she lifted her arm to hook around his neck.
Shang Shao’s throat moved as he swallowed. He said nothing, but his eyes grew deeper and darker.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and hoarse, unhurried. “Did you receive the ten million this morning?”
As he asked, his lowered eyes narrowed slightly, clouds gathering heavily in their depths.
Ying Yin felt a sudden tightness under his gaze and gave a very soft “mm.”
Ten million, one minute.
He always spoke lightly of heavy things, as if they were nothing, yet they carried unfathomable meaning – and Ying Yin understood.
His breath was exactly the same as when he had kissed her last night.
Lin Cunkang, who had been hesitating all this time, finally heard the young master’s order.
“Uncle Kang,” he said steadily, “raise the partition.”
