Because her nose was stuffy, her little hums came out soft and pitifully cute, making it hard to bring oneself to tease her further.
Shang Shao truly didn’t think he was teasing her. It was just playing.
Ying Yin could only nestle in his arms, her palms pressing helplessly against his chest. Her lips were tightly sealed, her brows deeply furrowed. Her eyes were squeezed shut, tears streaming down one after another, sliding past her temples now damp with a thin sheen of sweat.
Her fingers had been soaked for too long – her fingertips had turned slightly pale and wrinkled.
He usually hated that feeling, yet for a moment he couldn’t bring himself to wipe them dry. Instead, he looked at his thoroughly wet hand with an unfamiliar gaze, as if examining himself, as if judging his own soul.
But his soul couldn’t withstand judgment.
Seeing Ying Yin’s stubborn yet fragile face only made him more wicked. He bent his knuckles and traced them along her cheek, sliding all the way to the corner of her lips. Then, with the webbing of his thumb, he gripped her chin and kissed her.
His fiery tongue pressed inside, drawing out the moisture and sweetness from her mouth.
The girl was truly made of water.
After kissing her for a while, he helped her calm down. He kissed the tip of her nose and murmured under the dim light, “Why are you so pitiful, hmm?”
Only then did Ying Yin find the courage to open her eyes. Her lashes were wet, and deep within her body, lingering waves of sensation still pulsed like tides.
Shang Shao couldn’t bear being looked at like that. He couldn’t help but press her face into his chest, kissing her ear as he whispered, “So good.”
But the bedsheets were dirty, so he had no choice but to call a servant to change them in the dead of night.
How could she ever show her face at a time like this? Ying Yin changed into another set of pajamas and hid out on the balcony.
After a while, two maids arrived. Shang Shao had already put on a bathrobe. After giving a few instructions in French, he slid open the glass door and stepped out.
The scent of smoke reached her before he did. The leather sofa by the poolside was damp from the sea breeze. Shang Shao sat down and pulled Ying Yin into his arms.
She wanted to pull away, but he pressed his hand – the one that had just stubbed out his cigarette – onto her shoulder. “Use me and toss me away?”
Though the crew on this yacht had seen all kinds of extravagant and outrageous indulgences, even they couldn’t help but sneak a glance during the brief lull while changing the linens.
Beyond the glass, the sea and sky were dim and heavy. Ying Yin sat on Shang Shao’s lap, her head resting against his shoulder. They barely exchanged a few words before he was kissing her again.
She watched him smoke, her nose catching the faint, earthy scent of tobacco. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, each word deliberately spaced. “Does this count as a post-coital cigarette?”
Shang Shao coughed with a laugh, ash fluttering down. He flicked it off and held the cigarette out to her. “It would only count if you smoked it. Not with me.”
She shot him a look, then defiantly leaned in as if to take it. Shang Shao pulled his hand back, moving it out of reach. “I was joking. Don’t take it seriously. It’s not exactly a good thing.”
“But you smoke every day.”
“I used to be a heavy smoker. Later I decided to cut back, so I set myself a limit of three a day.”
“Can’t you quit entirely?”
“I could.” He took a small sip of smoke, exhaled slowly, and gave a faint downward smile. “But then life would be no fun.”
He could quit, but he chose not to. He let the addiction cling to him, tease him, keep him forever hovering on the edge of dissatisfaction and near-loss of control – without ever truly breaking his own rule.
Was he training his self-discipline, or just toying with his own desires?
Ying Yin thought of how his hands had wandered earlier – sometimes distant and detached, sometimes gripping her fiercely – and her heart tightened abruptly.
He’d said he was someone who excelled at delayed gratification. Not a lie at all.
“Mr. Shang…” Ying Yin called out hesitantly.
“Call me Mr. Shang if you like. No one says it as beautifully as you do.” Shang Shao no longer pressed her to change her address. After hearing it so many times, the politeness, the obedience, the reverence – it had all become part of the play.
Ying Yin pressed down the corners of her lips, which were threatening to curl upward, and asked, “Your license plate is 3, you smoke three cigarettes a day – is 3 your lucky number?”
“Not really.”
“Then why?”
“Want to know?” Shang Shao’s gaze was looking down at her. When he narrowed his eyes slightly, there was a moment when Ying Yin felt a dangerous pressure. But the next second, he returned to his usual self.
“Shouldn’t you offer something in exchange for such deep insight into me?” There was a detached playfulness in his tone, yet his eyes still carried a trace of indulgence.
“We’ve already exchanged something,” Ying Yin said, pressing her delicate fingertip against his chest. “You explored my body deeply. I explored you deeply.”
She couldn’t believe she’d actually said something like that. Her face flushed instantly, though her expression remained composed.
Inside, she couldn’t help but cheer for herself: Ying Yin! You’re amazing!
Shang Shao pressed his fingertip to his temple, his expression hovering between a smile and not – as if he were evaluating the deal.
Finally, he spoke. “You’ve always thought my Mandarin was very good, haven’t you? When my grandfather was alive, he placed great emphasis on that. The five of us siblings grew up memorizing the Analects, studying the Records of the Grand Historian, reading A New Account of the Tales of the World, and learning Selections of Refined Ancient Prose. As the eldest son, he was even stricter with me. He made me recite the Four Books and Five Classics and practice calligraphy.”
Ying Yin nodded, listening attentively.
“Chinese classical wisdom is inexhaustible. After university, I also studied Ancient Chinese Philosophy at Cambridge. But after all that learning, I found that the two principles that truly benefited me the most were actually the most plain-spoken.”
“Which two?”
“The first is what Master Zeng said: ‘I examine myself three times a day.’ The second is the old saying: ‘Everything has its limit – no more than three times.'”
“‘Examine myself three times a day… everything has its limit, no more than three times…'” Ying Yin repeated, pondering along with him.
Shang Shao didn’t elaborate. He smiled and said, “Though when others ask, I usually just say it’s because three is my birthday.”
“Your birthday? Which month is the third?” A sudden intuition rose in Ying Yin, and she asked, “March third?”
Shang Shao smiled. “It’s not that coincidental.”
“Then which month is it?” Ying Yin pressed.
Shang Shao didn’t tell her right away, instead turning the topic back to her. “Why won’t you tell me your birthday?”
Ying Yin’s voice dropped lower. “It’s strange.”
“What’s strange about it?” The moment he asked, he suddenly understood. His eyes dimmed. “You think that after what I did to you, telling me your birthday would be like hinting for me to give you a gift?”
Ying Yin nodded softly and gave a quiet “Mm.”
“So,” Shang Shao said slowly, seeing right through her, “your birthday must be coming up soon.”
Ying Yin: “…”
Why does he have to be so smart…
With her looking utterly dumbstruck, Shang Shao let out a laugh. “Do you want me to guess day by day, or are you going to tell me yourself?”
Ying Yin conceded defeat. “December… the fifth.”
Shang Shao nodded. “Unfortunately, I’ll be in Africa then.”
He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Tomorrow evening, I’ll arrange a plane to take you back to China first. I’ll go to Germany to continue the meetings. After that finishes, I have to leave immediately for Africa for about ten days.”
The Africa business trip had been planned all along – originally he was supposed to go directly from Ning City. But with this spontaneous detour through Europe, he’d created a lot more work for himself, and even someone like him was feeling stretched thin. Last night he’d called Uncle Kang to ask how to take care of a patient with a fever. Uncle Kang didn’t ask who was sick – he just laughed meaningfully and made fun of him.
“You don’t need me to go back to Germany with you?”
The separation was coming faster than she had imagined, leaving Ying Yin unsure of what expression to wear. In Anna’s itinerary, there was clearly still a return trip to Germany scheduled for the day after tomorrow.
Was he getting rid of her?
Shang Shao raised his hand and gently stroked her face with his fingertips. “I’d love to, but after tomorrow, you probably won’t have the time.”
His words were deliberately vague, impossible to fully grasp.
“Tomorrow, just follow Becca and have fun. Don’t feel restrained. She has a good personality, and she’s seen your movies – she’ll treat you well.”
“And you?”
“I have other business to discuss.”
No one came onto a yacht simply for the food, drinks, and indulgence. At the poker tables, at the cocktail parties, on the decks – business was being negotiated everywhere. That said, half of this business was in a gray area, so conducting it in international waters was just right.
“You’re so busy,” Ying Yin said, innocent and sincere.
She felt a small sense of relief inside – or perhaps it was loneliness wrapped in maturity. She hopped down from his lap and said in a deliberately light tone, “Busy man, you should get some sleep.”
The servants had finished changing the sheets. Not daring to disturb them, they had left long ago. A breeze had passed through the room, dissipating that heart-racing, blush-inducing aura of pheromones. The scent of fragrance and the dry, cool air conditioning brought a sense of calm.
Shang Shao hung back, watching her back as she pretended to be at ease. He remained silent for a long time.
Only when both of them were in bed did he finally pull her into his arms, holding her from behind. “If you didn’t have things to do, I’d really want to take you with me to Africa.”
“I have work.” Ying Yin tilted her head back to look at him. “Mr. Shang, I have work too. And I’m very, very busy.”
Not the kind of canary or dodder flower that can be flown around the world on your private jet, eating, drinking, and playing by your side.
Shang Shao paused, then nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry. I forgot. You’re a star. You have your own very successful career.”
“Not successful. The first time you saw me, you didn’t even recognize me.” Ying Yin was silent for a moment, then turned over slightly in his arms. “Mr. Shang, we’ve only known each other for twenty-one days.”
Shang Shao’s breath caught for a moment. “Why do you remember so clearly?”
“Since I met you, the unit of measurement for my life has become our meetings. First time seeing Mr. Shang, second time seeing Mr. Shang, meeting Mr. Shang again…”
She couldn’t finish. Under Shang Shao’s deep, intense gaze, her voice gradually faded. She simply looked up at him, meeting his eyes.
After a long moment, Shang Shao kissed her deeply.
Strangely, hearing words like these made his heart turn impossibly soft.
“Ying Yin, twenty-one days is the amount of time you’ve known me. Not the amount of time I’ve known you.” Finally, he told her the truth.
“I’ve known you for a long time.”
“In a movie?” Ying Yin asked innocently.
“Last year, during the Lunar New Year, Mr. Ke was celebrating the holiday with us in Hong Kong. One night, as we drank and talked, he mentioned that the first time he went to Shang Lu’s house, what he drank before bed was mulled wine.”
Ying Yin thought of the mulled wine she had drunk before bed tonight – the fragrance of cinnamon, cloves, and oranges.
Her eyes fixed unblinkingly on him, waiting for Shang Shao to continue.
“Ke Yu said, ‘This is better than what Ying Yin makes.’ It was the first time he realized that mulled wine could actually taste good.”
Ying Yin suddenly felt embarrassed.
Damn Ke Yu. She had invited him over for Christmas and made him mulled wine, and he had the nerve to complain about her skills.
But another, more private voice drowned out those thoughts.
So Shang Shao had known her for a long time. He had heard her name from the people around him.
He had even known, from the very beginning, exactly what she drank at Christmas.
“And then?”
“My first thought was that your name was strange.”
“And your second thought?”
The second thought?
That day at the Wynn Palace in Macau, the sky was draped in rosy sunset clouds.
In front of the cameras, she and Ke Yu had just finished their first dance as brand ambassadors. Her white dress swayed in the evening breeze, catching the golden light of dusk. Ke Yu must have said something to her, because she threw her head back and laughed, bright and radiant.
Then she turned her head against the wind, swept aside her tousled curls, and saw that gaze among the crowd.
Like mist, like haze – clear dust gathering dew. Across the crowd, across the cameras and equipment, it met hers from afar.
At first, they both thought it was nothing more than a casual glance.
“The second thought was…”
Shang Shao paused. When he opened his eyes again, the emotion in them was clear and lucid.
“I will get to know you.”
If fate didn’t bring them together, he would walk over himself. If chance didn’t make them meet, he would pick up a bouquet of flowers and ring her doorbell himself.
A slow, patient scheme – inevitable, and unstoppable.
By the next evening, Ying Yin understood why Shang Shao wanted to send her back to China early.
Because back home, things were in a frantic rush – an endless stream of haute couture pieces was being delivered for her to choose from.
During the day, she had followed Becca around – spa, pool, afternoon tea, yoga on the deck, and an evening banquet. Shang Shao had never introduced her to Edward or the other guests who had boarded the yacht after them, nor told her what they did. All she knew was that Edward was a friend of his from the yacht club, and another man, a bit younger named Renaud, was Shang Shao’s high school classmate.
He had attended Royal Academy – a school where even admission was inherited from fathers and grandfathers. Students there were either lords, dukes, or some kind of prince. From that alone, she could guess that Renaud’s background was far from ordinary.
It was only after returning to China that she learned he was the heir to a top luxury goods conglomerate. In recent years, as the luxury consumer market surged, he had been acquiring many old European ateliers and fashion houses, quietly edging toward the top.
It was also only after returning home that she found out Edward was the heir to the Moda holding group – though calling a man pushing fifty the “heir” was somewhat absurd. But that was how generational wealth worked: the timeline of the privileged moved more slowly, more unhurriedly than that of ordinary people.
But there was one thing Ying Yin learned before leaving the yacht.
In the early hours of the morning back in China, a trending search term appeared: #BeccaYingYin# shot up rapidly. A photo Becca had posted on Instagram – a group shot with Ying Yin – had been reposted by marketing accounts to the domestic internet.
On the other other end of the phone, Chu Anni’s voice was urgent and breathless. “Sis, if you don’t come back soon, Zhao Manman is going to set up a bed on my floor!”
