A film actress who never so much as blinks under the glare of flashbulbs suddenly loses all ability to control her expression – making it stand out all the more.
All three men noticed Ying Yin’s dazed, blank, and embarrassed look. Chen Youhan, having guessed some of what was going on, smiled and asked, “What, you never introduced yourself to her?”
Shang Shao replied politely, “My fault.”
His gaze remained fixed on Ying Yin’s face, with no trace of evasion or guardedness -but neither was it pressing or rude. In truth, his look was simply too faint. Beneath it lay a perfectly measured, gentle, and refined smile, but no excess emotion.
Ying Yin’s mind was a tangle. One moment she wanted to ask him if he’d had plastic surgery; the next, she was counting how many people she’d told that he was plain-looking and utterly unremarkable. Would that anger the so-called “crown prince”?
In the end, all these thoughts dissolved into a single impulse: to run.
She lifted a hand, turned her face slightly, and pressed her fingers to her temple as if suffering from a headache, frantically calculating an excuse to excuse herself. Just then, Song Shizhang asked, “Are you feeling unwell?”
Ying Yin seized the opportunity, nodding eagerly. Even her lightly made-up lashes drooped as if playing along. “Maybe I caught a bit of wind.”
Song Shizhang had originally brought her here to stake his claim, but now he wanted nothing more than to whisk her away and hide her. So he said, “I’ll take you back.”
But the next moment, reason returned to him. He had spent twenty years deeply entrenched in film and entertainment, already thinking hard about transforming his assets. Ordinary projects naturally couldn’t catch his eye, but for something more advanced, he first had to play his way into higher circles. To leave such an important banquet early over a woman would be clearly unwise.
His hesitation lasted only a moment, but Chen Youhan caught it anyway. Chen Youhan called over the reception manager. “Take Miss Ying to one of the guest rooms to rest.” Then he turned to Song Shizhang, smoothly trying to keep him there. “The banquet has only just begun; why rush off?”
A PR staff quickly came to support Ying Yin and led her out through the door on the other side, the one that led to the guest rooms. Ying Yin recognized her – it was the same PR who had brought her the makeup bag earlier.
Banquets always have their share of people who’ve had too much to drink, or others with more discreet, pleasure-driven needs – who knows? So the guest rooms had certainly all been booked and prepared in advance. The hotel didn’t have many rooms; it followed a “small and hidden” philosophy, but even so, they were ranked by class.
Ying Yin had initially assumed the PR would arrange for her to rest in a standard room, but to her surprise, she was taken to an executive suite.
Most likely out of respect for Song Shizhang.
“This is the dedicated butler hotline for this room, and this is my business card,” the PR said, handing over the contact information one by one. “Whatever you need, just let us know. Feel free to treat us like personal assistants.”
Ying Yin nodded, but just as the PR was about to leave, she called out to her. “This room… no one else is coming, right?”
The question was indirect. The PR probably didn’t catch her meaning. “Mr. Shang might come to see you.”
“Mr. Shang?” Ying Yin was even more confused, forgetting all about her “I’m sick” act. The skepticism on her face was utterly spirited and righteous. “What does he have to do with anything?”
“It was Mr. Shang’s instruction to put you in this room.” Afraid that saying more might lead to mistakes, the PR pulled open the door handle but paused to offer a smile before stepping out. “If you don’t want to be disturbed, just press the ‘Do Not Disturb’ button.”
“No, what I mean is…” Ying Yin slammed her hand against the door, the sudden intensity startling the young woman.
“Y-you go ahead…”
There was no time for veiled hints and word games. Ying Yin threw caution to the wind and asked with blunt, unfiltered directness. “Does Shang Shao have a key card? He’s not coming in, is he?”
The young lady paused for a moment, then finally understood and let out a soft laugh. “Seems like you don’t really know Mr. Shang,” she said. “He’s not that kind of person.” She blinked, then returned to her professional smile. “Good night. I promise, no second person has the key card to this room – not Mr. Shang, and not Mr. Song.”
Impressed by her quick wit and understanding, Ying Yin asked, “What’s your name?”
“Zhuang Tiwen. You can call me Tina or Ah-Wen, whichever you prefer.”
Ying Yin looked at her earnestly and said, “Tiwen, protect me.”
Zhuang Tiwen tilted her head with a slight smile. “Sure. After all, I’m a fan of yours.”
It was only later that Ying Yin learned just how crucial this request had been – because Song Shizhang did indeed ask the front desk for the key card to this room, and it was Zhuang Tiwen who stopped him. How a junior PR staff managed to find the courage to refuse Song Shizhang, she never knew.
After seeing the woman off, the room fell into complete silence. Ying Yin kicked off her high heels, removed the heavy jewelry, and finally peeled off the evening gown that had been binding her for so long. She didn’t bother treating it with any care – just left it in a careless heap on the carpet. After taking a shower, she called the butler hotline and instructed them to dry-clean the black gown and bring it back up.
“Certainly, Miss Ying. There’s also a cashmere shawl in your lounge. Would you like me to bring that up as well?”
Ying Yin fell silent for a moment. Only when the butler asked again did she close her eyes and say, “Throw it away… No, wait! … Bring it along with the dress.”
The banquet downstairs went on until very late.
Ruan Ye had enough conscience to come upstairs midway to check on Ying Yin. Ying Yin was in the bath at the time. Hearing from the intercom by the tub that it was Ruan Ye, she reluctantly got up, tied her bathrobe, and went to open the door.
Ruan Ye’s face was flushed pink. As soon as she stepped inside, she looked Ying Yin over with concern. “Do you have a cold?”
Feeling guilty, Ying Yin cleared her throat. “My tonsils are a little sore.”
The scent of essential oils wafted out from the bathroom. Ruan Ye sniffed the air, then noticed the droplets of water still glistening in the hollow of Ying Yin’s collarbone. “Were you taking a bath?”
Ying Yin didn’t stand on ceremony. She took off her bathrobe and settled back into the tub. It was no ordinary bath – this was an executive suite in a luxury hotel. The bathroom alone was over twenty square meters, with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the sea, completely unobstructed. One could only imagine how magnificent the view would be on a clear day.
But tonight was not that night. The sudden rain had just stopped. Under the dim glow of the lights, all that was visible on the glass were wet, streaky marks.
Ruan Ye sat down by the edge of the tub, holding the hem of her dress, unable to contain her delight. “I had no idea this kind of banquet could be so much fun!”
Ying Yin took a sip of her mulled cinnamon red wine. The bath was layered with a thick blanket of rose petals, concealing her body. Her cheeks were warm, and her eyes lifted slightly as she asked, “What did you find so fun about it?”
“There were so many performances,” Ruan Ye counted on her fingers. “I thought everyone would be really formal – just drinking and chatting. But they arranged so many acts and live singers. I just danced several songs!”
Ying Yin didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Of course there are performances. Rich people are still people. They’d be exhausted if they had to stay formal all the time.”
“But I’ve never learned how to dance.” Ruan Ye looked a little embarrassed. “President Mai arranged a teacher for me, but I haven’t had time to learn yet.”
President Mai was their agent and the head of manager at Chenye Entertainment – Mai Anyan, a top-tier manager in the industry. Though Ruan Ye was a star, she had no choice but to follow Mai Anyan’s orders. She didn’t have the authority to say no.
“Then who taught you?”
Ruan Ye froze. Her hesitation was impossible for Ying Yin to miss. Ying Yin gave a faint smile and asked, “Song Shizhang?”
“Mm…” Ruan Ye quickly tried to make amends. “But Mr. Shang also taught me one dance.”
Ying Yin let out a soft “Oh.”
Ruan Ye thought she was upset about Song Shizhang, so she raised her hand in oath. “Mr. Song is very much a gentleman. He told me he was only looking out for me tonight because of you. He also said I’m not sharp enough.”
Ying Yin took a sip of her mulled red wine, her slender fingers tapping lightly on the edge of the porcelain tub a few times before she warned her, “Song Shizhang isn’t as good as you think. Don’t be fooled.”
She spoke from the heart, but Ruan Ye just said, “I know, I know. I’m not going to steal your Mr. Song from you.”
After keeping her company for a while, Ruan Ye was eager to head back downstairs and have more fun, so she took her leave. A little while later, the doorbell rang again. Ying Yin pressed the intercom, and Ruan Ye’s voice came through in a rush, “I forgot my clutch!”
Ying Yin had no choice but to get up and open the door again. Leaning against the bar, she watched Ruan Ye grab her clutch and then touch up her lipstick in the mirror. “Okay, I’m off!”
“Not going to forget anything this time?” Ying Yin teased her younger counterpart.
“No!” Ruan Ye swore as she raised her hand.
After seeing her out, Ying Yin untied her bathrobe. She hadn’t even been soaking for two minutes when the doorbell rang again.
It seemed this young lady had a real problem with forgetting things. With all the coming and going, the bathwater had gone cold. Ying Yin couldn’t be bothered to soak any longer. Tying her bathrobe belt as she went, she padded barefoot to the entryway and said impatiently, “What did you forget this…”
At the door stood Shang Shao.
He wasn’t wearing his jacket, just a black dress shirt. His tie was no longer as tightly cinched as before – the Windsor knot had loosened slightly, adding a touch of casualness to his otherwise refined and noble bearing.
One hand braced against the doorframe as his gaze swept down Ying Yin.
Slowly.
The white bathrobe, tied and untied several times by now, had lost its shape and hung loosely around Ying Yin’s body. Fortunately, the neckline didn’t plunge too deep – but Shang Shao still saw it clearly: droplets of water tracing a wet path from her long, swan-like neck down to the hollow of her collarbone.
Her face was flushed, a damp pink rising through her porcelain complexion. The air conditioning was clearly on in the room, but even the scent of rose essential oil seemed to carry heat.
Shang Shao narrowed his eyes slightly, his look laden with meaning. “Miss Ying, you seem to have recovered.”
Ying Yin’s mind went completely blank. On pure instinct, she slammed the door shut.
What the hell? What was he doing here? Was he trying to… proposition her? Didn’t that PR say he wasn’t that kind of person?!
She tightened the damp bun on her head, smoothed her hands over her face, and brushed the loose strands of hair to her forehead and behind her ears. Then she opened the door again, steadied her breathing, and said with perfect composure, “Is there something you need, Mr. Shang?”
She hadn’t noticed that Shang Shao had stepped back at some point, keeping a gentleman’s distance from the doorway. “You were caught in such heavy rain,” he said. “So I came to check on you.”
Ying Yin pressed the back of her hand to her cheek and played along. “Thank you for your concern. I think I just have a slight fever.”
Shang Shao gave a small nod and didn’t linger. “Get some rest.”
Ying Yin had just slammed the door in his face without warning. Now that she’d calmed down and remembered her manners, she composed herself and said to Shang Shao with refined grace, “Good night, then, Mr. Shang.”
She watched as Shang Shao walked down the corridor.
Just then, the elevator doors opened and a butler in hotel uniform stepped out, holding a gold tray with both hands.
As they passed each other, Shang Shao’s ordinarily unremarkable gaze faltered slightly at the sight of the tray.
Neatly folded on the tray were two garments. On top was black silk. Beneath it, unmistakably, was his dark red cashmere shawl.
By then, the butler had already arrived at Ying Yin’s door and was reporting courteously and clearly, “Miss Ying, here are your dress and shawl, as you instructed…”
Ying Yin snatched the items and clutched them to her chest. “Great, thanks, thanks, thanks, thanks, thanks…”
Bam. The door closed with a resounding thud, leaving the butler standing there dumbfounded.
It took Shang Shao a moment to process what had just happened. Then he lowered his head and let out a faint, almost imperceptible scoff.
The freshly dried dress gave off the scent of premium laundry fragrance. Ying Yin slowly slid down against the door and buried her face – now burning hot – into the fabric.
“Ugh…” A small, dejected little whimper, like an animal in distress.
So embarrassing. She had never, not once since her debut, humiliated herself this badly.
