Shang Shao had always believed himself to be a man of strong self-discipline.
His ex-girlfriend, Yu Shasha, was a British-born Chinese who adhered to Catholicism with even greater devotion and fervor than many white Europeans. She firmly insisted on abstaining from premarital sex – and this didn’t just refer to the final act, but included all forms of intimate contact. During their two-year relationship, Shang Shao restrained himself out of respect, never crossing the line, honoring her beliefs with genuine propriety.
A Hong Kong tabloid once wrote that she “entered marriage untouched.” Though the wording was crude and vulgar, it was indeed the truth.
To be fair, Yu Shasha’s figure was not as striking as Ying Yin’s, but she was by no means unattractive – just a bit too slender. That birdlike delicacy had its own kind of allure, certainly not enough to fail to stir a man’s interest. Moreover, Shang Shao was convinced that he was not the shallow type of man who would lose his composure over a woman’s body.
In fact, there were moments when Yu Shasha herself struggled with her own desires, hinting and coaxing him that he could ease the boundaries slightly, cross a few harmless lines.
But Shang Shao steadfastly refused.
There was no reason, after all, that he should be stirred just by Ying Yin’s gaze, just by the warm, fragrant whisper of her breath brushing against him.
This stirring came without warning – and left no room for retreat.
The flame of the lighter burned straight and steady, emitting the unique crackling sound of burning gasoline.
The small flame could only illuminate a limited area. It cast its glow across Shang Shao’s lower abdomen and waist, its orange light enveloping the side of Ying Yin’s lowered face, tinting her relaxed brows, downcast eyes, jade-like nose, and petal-soft lips with a fragile, innocent purity.
The darkness inside the tent was cold – a chill that seeped in from the plains of the Serengeti – but Ying Yin could distinctly feel waves of heat radiating just beside her face.
A dense, potent masculinity invaded her breath.
“What’s the tattoo of?” Ying Yin swallowed, asking casually as if nothing were wrong, pretending not to notice the danger beside her.
The faint sound of her swallowing stirred Shang Shao’s nerves.
The fabric strained to its limit, stretched taut against him until it hurt.
He closed his eyes briefly, struggling to steady his uneven breath. “It’s Ancient Greek. I’ll write it down for you tomorrow.”
“Does it hurt?” Ying Yin lifted her face, the flickering flames reflected in her pupils.
Shang Shao lowered his gaze. His half-lidded eyes were dark and deep as an abyss. “Not really.”
Ying Yin’s fingertips hooked lightly around the glossy black belt, tugging it downward just a little.
It was astonishing.
She held her breath, the edges of her pupils unconsciously dilating, a wave of helplessness surging in her heart.
Shang Shao’s thumb released the lighter. The flame flickered once, then died, swallowed by the thick darkness.
For a moment, neither could see the other.
“Mr. Shang, am I the first person to see your tattoo?” Ying Yin remained where she was, still leaning close, not yet pulling away.
“You’re the first.” Shang Shao took an almost imperceptible deep breath, trying hard to keep his voice from sounding too unusual.
“Are there any other firsts?” Ying Yin asked with feigned innocence, gently pressing her hand against him.
Her hand was soft as if boneless, her palm smooth as silk. But her courage went only so far – she dared not overstep.
“Ying Yin.” Shang Shao’s voice was strained as he called her name. “Don’t.”
Ying Yin pressed on regardless. “What about this? Am I the first for this too?”
Shang Shao’s Adam’s apple bobbed heavily.
After a moment, in the pitch-dark shadows, Ying Yin lowered her head and pressed her lips lightly against his tattoo.
“What about this, Mr. Shang?”
Before she could get an answer, Shang Shao grabbed her arm and yanked her up. Her knee stumbled a step, and she tumbled into his embrace.
He held her so tightly that her wrist ached from his grip.
“Do you do this to other men too?” Shang Shao asked, his palm pressing against the back of her head, his eyes narrowing.
Though there was no light at all – not nearly enough to make out each other’s expressions – their breaths wove together, hot and heavy.
This diminished Ying Yin’s sense of awe toward him – her reverence, her fear, her respect.
“Do what?” she asked, though she knew perfectly well. With her other hand, she parted the thin cotton fabric.
So heavy…
In his thirty-six years of life, Shang Shao had never been treated like this by anyone. The unfamiliar sensation shot violently up his spine, electric, stealing away his heartbeat.
For an instant, his breath stopped. His thoughts ceased. All that escaped him was a deep, burning grunt through his nose.
What Ying Yin didn’t know was that a man like him would never allow himself to lose control.
His fingers threaded into her thick black hair, forcing her to tilt her neck back. Her slender throat fell under his fierce kisses, and then her entire body was pressed down completely.
The creaking of the mattress was unbearable.
As Shang Shao kissed her, he reached down and ruthlessly pushed her hand aside, replacing it with his own.
Ying Yin let out a soft “Mmm…” and the next moment, the back of her hand was met with a slick, wet trace.
“Don’t move.” His voice was hoarse between breaths, a low command. “Let me do it myself.”
Her eyes flew wide open. All the strength drained from her body, leaving her limp and pliant in Shang Shao’s embrace as he kissed and teased her with such possessiveness.
That wet mark lingered on the back of her hand, growing more intense – pressing, rubbing, sliding.
He seemed to be doing it deliberately, as if wanting to stain her with an unclean scent, or perhaps warning her, calling her bluff – exposing that she was all talk and no courage.
Ying Yin’s entire body went numb. Her loose shirt was in disarray, leaving nothing to the imagination.
Outside the tent, a lion paused and listened intently. It could hear it – the sound of something being devoured, somewhere.
Inside the tent, the woman turned her hand over, palm facing up to meet him. Her damp palm was silky smooth, brushing against him unintentionally, then giving a light, gentle squeeze.
Shang Shao let out a sharp, unexpected groan. His vein-corded arm tightened as he felt the ache reach its peak, throbbing fiercely.
Ying Yin hadn’t timed it. Her mind was hazy, and she had no idea how long it took. When it ended, she couldn’t tell if it had been fast or slow.
All she knew was the dense, heavy atmosphere – and that one of her palms was drenched.
After a while, Shang Shao switched on a camping lantern. He lifted her wrist and began wiping her fingers, one by one, with a tissue.
His movements were unhurried, carrying a quiet elegance. Once he’d cleaned her hand, he crumpled the tissue into a ball in his palm, then finally looked up at Ying Yin.
Her face was flushed deep red. The moment his gaze met hers, she felt a sudden rush of tension – but her moist eyes were full of both grievance and defiance.
“What is it?” Shang Shao couldn’t quite parse her complicated emotions at first.
“You’re so mean.”
“Wasn’t this what you wanted?”
“I…” Ying Yin was momentarily at a loss for words. “Why would I want this?”
“How should I know.” Shang Shao let out a low chuckle and casually tossed the tissue into the trash bin. “If you don’t like it, then next time we just won’t do it.”
“I…” Ying Yin was again left speechless.
She parted her lips, but Shang Shao covered her mouth with one hand.
His palm still carried the scent of masculinity, mingled with his own clean, fresh fragrance – creating a disorienting paradox: both cold and hot, both strong and faint.
“Don’t say it.”
He covered her mouth and nose, his eyes still dark. “Whether you like it or not, don’t say it.”
If she said she didn’t like it, that would be unpleasant to hear.
But if she said she did like it, how would he ever control himself afterward?
Ying Yin lay back against him, sitting within the circle of his arms as he held her from behind. “What exactly is the tattoo?”
“The unexamined life is not worth living. But I got it in Ancient Greek, so you couldn’t read it.”
“The unexamined life is not worth living… Whose quote is that?” Ying Yin asked.
Shang Shao smiled. “This is from Plato’s Apology, which records Socrates’ defense speech before being sentenced to death by the Athenian court. Did you know that?”
Ying Yin nodded. “I learned it in high school – Socrates was sentenced to death by the court on charges of impiety and corrupting the youth.”
“Exactly. When I decided to get the tattoo, the artist asked me what I wanted. I told him the English version and showed him the Ancient Greek handwritten form. He thought the Greek characters had a more beautiful, graphic quality.”
“Did it hurt a lot?” Ying Yin asked again.
“It did. That’s probably the most painful spot on the entire body,” Shang Shao said with a slight curl of his lips.
Ying Yin could almost picture him back then – a philosophy student at Cambridge, dashing and full of youthful vigor, running across the Bridge of Sighs one afternoon, determined to walk a path that could withstand scrutiny.
That was a story from his early twenties. Time had since left that version of him behind in the rippling emerald reflections of the River Cam. The man standing before her now was this mature, high-positioned figure whose face revealed no trace of emotion.
“Mr. Shang,” Ying Yin asked, “the life you’re living now – is it one worth examining?”
Shang Shao lowered his gaze to look at her.
“At least up until this moment, I have no regrets.”
“I wonder what time Miss Ying’s gala tonight will be wrapping up?” Lin Cunkang’s voice interrupted Shang Shao’s brief reverie.
That reverie was hardly proper. Though it had a Platonic ending, the chaos in the middle had left his throat tight.
He loosened a button on his shirt. “Pick her up at nine. I’ll go to the office first.”
Lin Cunkang, perceptive as always, knew that going to the office was merely incidental -the company building was conveniently close to the event venue.
He tried to persuade him, “You’ve been to Germany for meetings and then to Tanzania. Your cold still hasn’t cleared up. Why not go home and rest instead? I’ll arrange for someone to pick her up when the time comes.”
“It’s fine.”
Shang Shao put an end to Lin Cunkang’s persuasion. With his eyes closed, resting, he listened to the host announce Ying Yin as she walked down the red carpet.
Though Shangyu Group had capable people at every level and a highly convenient remote work system, having been away for half a month had still left a backlog of important decisions waiting for his approval.
The chairman’s office in the Qinde Real Estate Building was ablaze with light, no different from the brilliance of the “Starlight Diamond Awards” gala – except that one was utterly silent, shrouded in curling sandalwood smoke, with only the silhouette of a man bent over his desk in thought; while the other was filled with guests and laughter, with champagne glasses reflecting a world of glamour and excess.
Ying Yin won an award. The name of the award was so inflated with fluff that she couldn’t even remember it. On stage, she held the crystal trophy and delivered a perfectly poised acceptance speech.
The haute couture gown she wore today was truly show-stopping – a strapless design with a high waistline and layers upon layers of pink skirt, puffed up full and lively by a petticoat. She bloomed like starlight on stage, and the audience below watched her with great interest, their gazes swirling with excitement.
Song Shizhang watched her almost mesmerized. Ruan Ye glanced at her, then at Song Shizhang. Mai Anyan waited at the side of the venue, ready to intercept Ying Yin the moment she stepped off the stage.
Ying Yin came down, and sure enough, within two steps she ran into Mai Anyan. She handed him the trophy. “It’s yours. Put it in your office.”
“Don’t make fun of me. I’m not running an exhibition.”
Ying Yin gave a soft, mocking laugh. “I’m off work.”
“Off what work?” Mai Anyan checked his watch.
It was just past 8:30.
“Off work is off work. What’s there to explain? Besides, aren’t you going to look after your Ruan Ye? Didn’t she win the ‘Most Anticipated Actress of the Year’ award?” Ying Yin kept a low profile as she walked along the corner of the venue.
Mai Anyan, teased by her, had no choice but to respond, “I really was wrong. But if you leave now, who’s going to take the center spot? When the group photo comes out, everyone will notice you’re not there.”
“So what? It’s not like I have to be there all the time.” Ying Yin curved her lips slightly. “A hundred flowers vying for attention – it doesn’t always need me.”
“Xiao Yin.” Mai Anyan followed her, calling her by her nickname.
They knew each other well. He wouldn’t miss the undertone in her words.
“No other agency can offer you the same status or the same resources as Chenye. You’ve been Chenye’s top actress for twelve years. If you go somewhere else, you’ll have to settle for second place. As for the films you want to star in, I’ll fight for them. But if you get another agent, they’ll have their own proteges to nurture.”
“What are you talking about?” Ying Yin asked lazily, feigning ignorance. “What’s all this about this and that?”
Mai Anyan knew she had started up her sweet, coquettish way of brushing things off again, but he remained unmoved and continued:
“Chenye has its own investments and productions. The projects we lead and control guarantee that you’ll appear on the big screen every single year. Other agencies might have decent commercial resources, but they can’t put together their own production slate. At the end of the day, you’d just be performing on someone else’s turf – how could that be as comfortable as being on home ground?”
“Mm.” Ying Yin nodded. “What you’re saying is right. I know all that.”
“About the incident on your birthday – that was my lapse in judgment and my failure as your manager. Even Mr. Tang took notice. He’s invited you to dinner as a way of apologizing to you. Whatever conditions you want to discuss, you can bring them up with him.”
“I don’t have any. I’m sincerely grateful for how the company and Mr. Tang have treated me.”
The venue’s layout was winding and complicated, but Ying Yin finally managed to find the VIP elevator entrance.
Mai Anyan was quiet for a moment, waiting with her by the elevator. “Go change, and we’ll go get some late-night food.”
“No, can’t do that.” Ying Yin looked up at the elevator floor indicator, then turned her head and gave him a sweet smile. “I have to go collect my birthday present.”
The elevator arrived. Ying Yin stepped inside, then extended her smooth arm to block the door. “Stop here, Anyan. What are you so worried about? Over a hundred million – would I really be willing to part with that?”
Mai Anyan looked her in the eye. “I’m afraid you might be.”
The elevator doors slowly closed, gradually hiding Ying Yin’s beautiful face behind the cold metal.
In the end, she gave him a very relieved smile. “Don’t be afraid, Xiao Mai.”
That was the name they used back when they first met, both still struggling. She called him Xiao Mai; he called her Xiao Yin.
“I promise I won’t just disappear from your sight.”
Her smile was relaxed, like a spring breeze – warm and pleasant. But her eyes were clear and determined, and every word she spoke landed with weight.
Mai Anyan was stunned for a moment, and just like that, he let her go.
On the display screen, the elevator did not go up to the lounge. Instead, it descended to basement level three.
The Maybach was already waiting in silence, like an elegant beast.
Ying Yin gathered her voluminous skirt and dragged it unceremoniously across the parking garage floor.
She didn’t go around to the other side. Instead, she opened Shang Shao’s door, climbed in on one knee, and crawled inside.
The enormous pink train, like a blooming rose, was gathered up by a man’s hand -clean-boned as the ribs of a fan – and then she was pulled inside.
Ying Yin knelt and sat astride Shang Shao. Once, twice – familiarity was breeding audacity, and right now she felt utterly lawless.
“Do I need to remind you that your seat is actually on the other side?” Shang Shao had no idea what to do with her. With one finger, he pressed the Maybach’s automatic door-closing button; with the other hand, he steadied her by the waist.
“I like it here.” Ying Yin leaned in and gave him a quick, light peck on the lips.
Her small earlobes turned pink.
Lin Cunkang drove smoothly, eyes fixed on the road ahead, his composure steady. But God help him – scene after scene, moment after moment, he truly couldn’t take much more of this.
Shang Shao didn’t raise the privacy partition. He gazed at her calmly for a few seconds, until Ying Yin finally gave in and looked away. Only then did he reach out and rub the small mole on her earlobe.
His voice was low as he leaned close to her ear. “Ying Yin, you’re becoming more and more unruly.”
