The person outside called several times for “Mr. Lin Cunkang.”
Ying Yin actually came to her senses before Shang Shao did. Pushing at his shoulder, she managed to part her lips just enough to catch her breath and gasp, “Mr. Sha…” only for Shang Shao to seal her mouth again.
“Mmph… M-Mr. Sha… Mr. Shang!… Someone… there’s someone…” A simple sentence came out completely shattered.
But what could Ying Yin do? Both her hands were pinned against the door by Shang Shao. Her rose-polished fingers curled weakly, her palms tingling numbly where his thumbs pressed against them.
When the phone vibrated again, Shang Shao finally stopped kissing her. Holding her in his arms, he buried his face in the crook of her neck, steadying his breathing while pressing his lips deeply against her shoulder.
Ying Yin swallowed hard twice before asking softly, “Is someone outside looking for you?”
Shang Shao didn’t answer. Keeping his head lowered, he pulled his phone from his pocket and swiped it open.
His voice sounded unusual – tight and hoarse. “Hello.”
Lin Cunkang’s voice came from the other end. “The theater says they can’t find you.”
“I’m in the restroom. I can’t go out right now. Tell her to leave it at the door.”
Lin Cunkang paused. The clothes he had prepared were a women’s size S, obviously meant for Ying Yin. So why was it suddenly him who couldn’t come out? He asked an extra question. “Men’s or women’s?”
As it turned out, the question wasn’t unnecessary at all.
Shang Shao paused for a moment. “The women’s restroom.”
Lin Cunkang: “…”
After receiving a phone call, the staff member who had been looking for “Lin Cunkang” outside finally stopped knocking. Turning toward the women’s restroom, she cautiously stepped a little way inside and called out, “Hello, I’ve left the clothes and mask on the counter by the sinks.”
A gentlemanly voice answered from within. “Much appreciated.”
Only after the sound of her heels faded away into silence did Shang Shao lift a hand to stroke Ying Yin’s cheek. “Shall I get them for you?”
Ying Yin nodded. While trying to pull her dress up to cover the expanse of skin exposed at her chest, she turned her face away.
Shang Shao unlocked the stall door. He washed his hands first, then carried the two paper bags back inside.
Lin Cunkang was always thorough when arranging things. Inside was not only a set of black office attire – a pencil skirt and matching pieces – but even a pair of sensible, conservative shoes.
Ying Yin let go of her grip, and the haute couture gown slipped down again, bunching loosely around her chest.
She bit her lower lip lightly. She looked both shy and embarrassed. Combined with the faint reddish marks along her collarbone and the side of her neck, the sight darkened Shang Shao’s gaze.
She had been struggling with the dress for quite a while. Somehow, the fastening seemed to have become tangled.
A fine sheen of sweat appeared on her skin – from embarrassment and frustration alike.
Turning her back to him, she lowered her voice. “…Help me.”
Her slender, taut back was laid bare beneath the bright white lights. Her shoulder blades stood out delicately like butterfly wings. The lines of her figure dipped inward at the waist before curving outward again at her hips.
Shang Shao lowered his gaze and focused on helping her work through the maze of ties and clasps.
Once he had finally undone them, he leaned against the other side of the stall door and pulled out a white porcelain cigarette case.
There was only one cigarette left inside. Given the circumstances, it felt oddly appropriate.
After all, his mouth was dry and his blood was still rushing.
The scent of agarwood tobacco gradually spread through the air, mingling with the restroom’s fragrance – a cool scent blending with a warm one.
He had never imagined that one day he would lose control of himself with someone in a place like this.
From behind, he drew her back into his arms. The hand holding the cigarette and his free hand worked together as he lazily helped button up her blouse.
The cigarette burned quietly. A length of ash dropped away.
Ying Yin’s hands were enclosed in his palms. Her breathing uneven, she turned around in his embrace.
Their lips found each other again, impatient and hungry.
It took them forever just to get a simple uniform on.
When it had arrived, it was crisp and neat. By the time she was dressed, it was thoroughly rumpled.
Shang Shao barely smoked the cigarette. A trail of glowing embers fell to the floor and was crushed beneath their feet as they moved during their kiss.
This really couldn’t go on.
Taking a deep breath, he pulled away first.
One hand cradled the back of Ying Yin’s head while the other smoothed her pencil skirt down into place.
His fingertips were damp, and even his palms felt slick.
He kissed the edge of her ear. When he spoke, his warm breath enveloped her. “Come home with me.”
“Go home and be your mistress?”
His finger traced across her cheek before coming to rest against her lips. “That mouth of yours is better suited for kissing.”
Resting her head on his shoulder, Ying Yin closed her eyes. “I’m taking that seriously.”
Shang Shao let out a helpless sigh. “I don’t have that kind of hobby, and I have no intention of making you one.”
“Wasn’t I understanding and considerate, and irresistible to you physically as well?”
“What mistress is as understanding and considerate as you? She’d be out of a job.”
Ying Yin couldn’t help curling her lips into a smile. “You said that yourself.”
“I’ve said a lot of things. How come you only remember that one?”
“Such as?”
“For example, you’re too proud by nature. Enduring humiliation and catering to someone else’s every whim isn’t something you could do. For another, I’m not Song Shizhang. I don’t need to keep mistresses or support starlets to make myself feel fulfilled.”
“But you said those things just now too.” Ying Yin lifted her eyes. “Mr. Shang, I can’t see through you.”
Shang Shao smiled. “Little girl, if I were the kind of person whom even you could see through completely, how would I survive in business?”
“But you can see through me.” Ying Yin pressed her lips together. There was a trace of grievance in her expression – gentle, obedient, almost childlike.
Shang Shao lowered his eyes and looked at her quietly for a moment. “Maybe I don’t see through you as clearly as I think.”
“Mr. Shang,” Ying Yin returned his words unchanged, “if you can’t even see through me, how are you supposed to survive in business?”
Shang Shao laughed.
When the laughter faded, his expression settled. Beneath the warmth in his gaze lay something deeper and more serious.
He tilted his head and kissed her again. “Maybe it’s because, in business, I only need to understand where other people’s gains and interests lie. But with you, it’s different.”
Both of them unconsciously held their breath.
Ying Yin didn’t dare look up. Her heart was as still as a crystal-clear lake.
“I want to know whether you truly like me, whether there’s a place for me in your heart.”
He paused.
“That’s something I’m not good at – and the only thing I’ve ever failed at.”
The tremor in her chest sent ripples across that still lake within her heart. The ripples spread from heart to body, making Ying Yin shudder involuntarily.
She didn’t ask again: Why do you want to know whether there’s a place for you in my heart, Mr. Shang?
It was an instinctive fear.
Faced with the danger and abyss looming before her, she instinctively stopped herself from taking another step forward.
She was afraid.
Afraid that if she moved one step closer, there would be no turning back.
Shang Shao’s gaze held hers captive. “Why aren’t you asking anything?”
Ying Yin shook her head. “We should go…”
But her wrist was firmly clasped in Shang Shao’s hand. How could she possibly get away?
“Ask me. Ask me why I want to know whether you like me.”
Ying Yin’s brows knitted faintly. Her nose stung with unshed tears as she kept shaking her head. “I’m not asking…”
She refused in a flustered rush, trying to pull her hand free from his grasp.
“We should leave…”
Shang Shao remained unmoved. “Why won’t you ask? Tell me – what are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid of anything.”
“I want to know whether you like me, whether there’s a place for me in your heart, because I…”
“Mr. Shang!” Ying Yin suddenly raised her voice.
The eyes that had been avoiding him all this time finally lifted to meet his.
They were impossibly bright.
And impossibly frightened.
Her gaze was pleading with him.
But Shang Shao was as immovable as the extremes of summer heat and winter frost. His resolve did not waver in the slightest.
Enunciating each word slowly and clearly, he said, “Ying Yin, because there is a place for you in my heart.”
Ying Yin’s breath suddenly caught. Her eyes were still widened so much, her body frozen as if immobilized.
Her time, her entire world – everything seemed to be suspended by that single sentence.
After a long while, she finally spoke. “Mr. Shang, don’t like me.”
She closed her eyes tightly. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, but she held them back. “Or… if you must, then only a little. Only as far as the contract allows. Only the kind of liking that exists within performance, within pretense.”
“Why?”
He had asked countless “whys” that night. Many times, he had already known the answer but still wanted to hear it from her own lips.
But this time, he truly didn’t understand.
For a man like him to say “there is a place for you in my heart” was already a solemn confession. Yet he had never imagined that one day, he would not even be able to give her something as simple as “liking.”
His “liking” had become something dangerous – like a scorching object in the hand, like a flood, a beast, a calamity that would bring her endless suffering and misfortune. So she didn’t want it.
His thoughts drifted back to the conversation he had accidentally overheard earlier.
“So you do like someone in your heart, but he has a wife and family, and you can’t be together – so you agreed to my contract instead.”
Shang Shao’s chest was filled with bitterness, heavy and vast, like the boulder Sisyphus was condemned to push.
He had pushed that boulder upward with great difficulty, only for it to roll back down again and again, grinding his heart into ruin each time.
“You only want a little fake, contract-bound ‘liking’ between us – something that feels real enough so that that hundred million doesn’t feel so meaningless.”
Ying Yin already sensed something was wrong, but before she could speak, she heard Shang Shao let out a quiet laugh.
Very gently, he said, “You see – I really am not very good at judging whether someone has me in their heart.”
His gentleness carried a kind of self-mockery, and a great, great deal of release.
Why so much release?
Probably because without that much, it wouldn’t be enough to cover the faint tightness and coldness in his breath.
“Mr. Shang…” Ying Yin called out to him urgently.
Shang Shao pressed two fingers lightly against her lips.
Ying Yin fell silent.
She watched as he lowered his head again, his gaze falling on her face at such close distance.
He kissed her very gently, very carefully, brushing against her lips.
After holding the kiss in quiet stillness for a moment, he pulled back slightly and said in a soft, calm voice. “I thought you liked me. I misunderstood.”
Seeing him turn to leave, Ying Yin called out after him without hesitation. “Who are you talking about – someone with a family who can’t stay with me?”
Shang Shao paused.
After a moment of silence, he said, “That male actor from today.”
He didn’t even know his name.
“Shen Ji?” Ying Yin froze, then realized something. “You overheard the phone call?”
“At first, you hadn’t hung up yet… then I heard him talking to you.” Shang Shao took a deep breath, his back still to her. “Sorry.”
“I and him… we only worked together. I don’t like him, we have no relationship at all. He called me Meijian – that’s just my character’s name in the film, Li Meijian, she’s a dancer…” Ying Yin shook her head in confusion, words tumbling out in a rush.
“None of that matters. I don’t like him, and I don’t plan to like him in the future.”
Shang Shao nodded. “I should have asked you directly. But asking directly about your past relationships – I don’t think I had the standing to do that, and I also didn’t want you to know that I had been doing something like listening in on your phone call.”
“You asked in a very clumsy way. It would’ve been better if you’d just come and asked me outright.”
Shang Shao gave a faint smile. “Yes. I’ll apologize for that.”
He opened the door, put on a black mask, and said, “Sort yourself out. I’ll wait for you outside.”
He had no cigarettes left, so he washed his hands for a long time.
When he heard the sound of the door lock behind him, he paused for a moment, then turned off the chrome faucet.
“Let’s go.”
Outside the theater, outdoor floodlights shone like searchlights, illuminating the dark grey night sky. Fans gathered and lingered, unwilling to leave, all hoping to catch a glimpse of their idol after the show.
The noise seeped through the building. Only after entering the elevator did things finally quiet down a little.
The whole way, neither of them spoke.
A black Mercedes G63 had already been notified and was waiting by the elevator lobby. The driver, one of their own people, got out when he saw Shang Shao approaching and respectfully opened the door.
Ying Yin and Shang Shao sat on either side in the back seat.
Thinking of her, Shang Shao asked the driver to lower the rear window sunshade, but he did not mention the partition screen.
Along the streets, traffic police motorcycles and red-blue warning lights flashed from roadside signs. Through the sheer curtain, the lights reflected in Ying Yin’s eyes.
She remained silent the whole way, sitting upright. When she turned her head, she saw Shang Shao leaning back in his seat, eyes closed as if asleep.
His silver-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, softening his usual sense of aloofness.
Ying Yin suddenly felt that even the way he slept seemed too tense, too unhappy. His brows were slightly furrowed, lips pressed together, as if in his dreams nothing pleasant or satisfying had happened.
When they arrived at the seaside estate, he escorted her upstairs and politely said goodnight. Then he suddenly added, “Find some time. I’ll take you to meet my mother.”
Ying Yin froze for a moment.
“Okay,” she said, then grew tense. “Do I need to prepare anything?”
“No. Just be yourself. It’s only so she can see that I’m seeing someone.”
Ying Yin gave another short, restrained nod.
Lin Cunkang, who was walking beside him, glanced at Shang Shao in surprise.
Just over an hour ago, his face had been all over the internet. He had even specifically instructed people not to let Wen Youyi find out, in case she became suspicious. So how had he changed his mind in such a short time?
But Lin Cunkang said nothing. It wasn’t until they reached downstairs that he finally asked,
“Didn’t you say before that it wasn’t the right time to meet Madam?”
Shang Shao’s steps slowed slightly. “She doesn’t like me.”
Lin Cunkang understood.
The Shang family’s immense wealth and status weren’t something just anyone could easily accept. He had been afraid Ying Yin might hesitate and withdraw; even more, he was worried Wen Youyi might disapprove of her being an actress. So he had kept everything tightly concealed, preparing for every possible outcome, laying down layers of safeguards – waiting until everything was perfectly arranged before introducing her.
But if Ying Yin didn’t like him, then all those doubts, caution, and careful restraint suddenly seemed unnecessary.
A simple meeting would be enough to ease Wen Youyi’s concerns for now. The rest could be set aside.
“But from what I can see…” Lin Cunkang hesitated, “Miss Ying clearly has feelings for you.”
“I told her today. I said I like her.”
Since there was no one else to speak to, Shang Shao treated it as a casual remark, sharing it with the only elder by his side. A faint, careless, self-mocking smile lingered on his lips.
“And then?”
“She didn’t want it.”
Shang Shao carefully replayed Ying Yin’s reaction in his mind at that time.
In truth, he had seen everything clearly, remembered everything clearly. But he had quickly sealed those images away in his mind, afraid to look at them too closely.
Now, he forced himself – almost cruelly toward himself – to recall it frame by frame, to think through every word, every detail.
“She looked like she was frightened by me,” Shang Shao said, turning his face slightly and letting a faint smile touch his lips as he spoke to Lin Cunkang. “Very frightened. She said she only wanted a little, transactional kind of liking, and begged me not to truly like her.”
Lin Cunkang felt a deep pang in his heart.
He and his wife were childfree; for thirty-six years, he had treated Shang Shao like his own son.
“Uncle Kang,” Shang Shao called him softly.
“Maybe we should just forget it,” he said, lowering his eyes. “In a year, arrange a marriage alliance.”
“Leo!” Lin Cunkang hesitated, wanting to say more but stopping himself.
Shang Shao let out another quiet laugh. “Got a cigarette? Give me one.”
Under the ashen night sky, his figure looked thin. The moonlight was faint tonight, moisture hanging in the air and forming wispy clouds across the sky.
Shang Shao held the cigarette between his fingers, almost crushing it. Only after a moment did he lower his head, smile faintly, and bring it to his lips.
“What are you thinking?” Lin Cunkang asked.
“I’m thinking… she likes money so much, but still can’t manage to like me on the side. That means I really am nothing special.”
“Leo, you know that’s not true,” Lin Cunkang said firmly. “There are plenty of people who would want to marry you. But fate can’t be forced. You still have a year with her – what if things change?”
“Actually, when she rejected me, I should have ended the contract,” Shang Shao said calmly. “But I couldn’t bear to.”
“Then keep her.”
“You know I’m not someone who forces others. Before, I thought she did like me at least a little – maybe more fear, maybe more respect, but still, a little liking.”
Shang Shao flicked ash from his cigarette. “As an heir, wanting to marry someone I love is, in a way, selfish and willful. Shang Qingye doesn’t say anything because he has no right to – he and Xiao Wen truly love each other. But in our world, marriages like that are rare. You know that. I gave myself sixteen years. It’s time.”
“How is it rare?” Lin Cunkang tried desperately to argue. “The second young master and Ke Yu – same-sex relationship, and the chairman and madam didn’t separate them. The third miss and her boyfriend…”
“They are them,” Shang Shao interrupted quietly. “I am the eldest son.”
“What I inherit and what I’m responsible for must be balanced. I can’t have everything. And besides – being an heir isn’t easy. Is being the heir’s wife easy? To be honest, Uncle Kang, whenever I think about some woman marrying me in the future, I feel sorry for her.”
“You and Miss Ying haven’t even reached that point yet. You don’t need to think so far ahead. You could still have a pure, simple relationship. Leo, why are you always preparing for the worst?”
Shang Shao nodded. “Today I asked her a question. I asked whether, after marriage in the future, she would be willing to be my mistress.”
“This isn’t like you.”
“You know that even if ninety-nine percent of that question was meant as a probe, the remaining one percent was real. I know myself – I did, at one point, have that selfish thought. Keep her outside, have children, spend a few hundred million a year supporting her. It wouldn’t matter; I can afford it. I could give her anything she wants. Far more comfortable and freer than becoming the future matriarch of the Shang family, standing on display and maintaining a graceful smile.”
Lin Cunkang took a deep breath. He was shocked that Shang Shao had even entertained such a thought.
“The Shang family has no such tradition. Generations of the Shang family have never had such a tradition.”
Keeping mistresses and illegitimate children is the beginning – or the sign – of a great family’s decline. Harmony in the household brings prosperity. Loyalty in marriage and family has been passed down through generations of the Shang family, engraved into their bones as both belief and upbringing, and rooted in simple ancestral teachings.
“I know. I only had that moment of extremely selfish, shameful thinking. Uncle Kang, thinking something isn’t a crime. Even if you’re a righteous man twenty-four hours a day, having one second of wandering thoughts can be considered a reward. But that’s all it was – just that moment.”
Shang Shao stubbed out his cigarette. “Thank you for listening to me talk.”
“Where are you going?” Lin Cunkang called after his retreating figure.
But Shang Shao was already fading into the night, not turning back. He only raised his hand slightly, lifting two fingers in a casual wave.
“To row a boat.”
Lin Cunkang had forgotten – and he himself had also forgotten – that when he brought her back today, he had originally intended to properly apologize: for the earlier matter of borrowing money, for concealing Zhou Tiwen’s identity, and for his sluggishness in not comforting her over the past five days. To make it up to her, he had put some thought into it.
That small effort now lay on the coffee table in the second bedroom.
Ying Yin sat down on the sofa, looking at the small capsule toy machine in front of her.
It really was tiny, but exquisitely made – so refined it looked like a music box. Inside the transparent glass dome, the capsule balls were pressed closely together, their glass-like colors reflecting faint, scattered light under the crystal chandelier.
Ying Yin hadn’t even showered. She looked at the capsule machine and smiled. She smiled for a long time, then drew her knees together and buried her face in them.
He still remembered that whenever she was unhappy, she liked to play capsule toys.
When she was a child she couldn’t afford them; she only started playing them when she grew up. It was a kind of belated compensation, a delayed comfort for time lost.
If he were here now, would he stand casually beside her, one hand in his pocket, and ask politely, “Miss Ying, I heard capsule toys can make you happy?”
Ying Yin didn’t know whether she was laughing or crying. Her face was smiling, but her eyes were already damp.
She reached out a finger and turned the little crank.
A soft mechanical clicking sound came from within. With a faint “click,” a small capsule rolled out of the opening.
She picked it up, sat cross-legged on the sofa, took a deep breath, and smiling broadly, opened it.
A pigeon-blood ruby fell heavily into her palm.
Square-cut, around five carats. Such a pure, vivid red – even at Christie’s it would be considered a top-quality stone.
Her smile froze.
She held it between her fingers, looking at it under the glow of the crystal chandelier.
The facets of the cut reflected fragmented light that dazzled the eyes.
She leaned forward and placed it on the coffee table, then turned another capsule.
A yellow pear-shaped diamond.
A pink sugar-colored diamond.
An emerald green round diamond.
A clear, transparent diamond.
…
She kept turning them, opening them – one after another, one by one – until the black coffee table was lined with them in rows, in colors forming lines, then grids.
Then a “plop” sound.
A tear fell onto them, spreading across the surface, completely out of place among the gemstones.
Ying Yin knelt on the carpet, laughing and crying at the same time. Tears streamed continuously from her tightly pressed lips.
She didn’t know how many capsules she had opened when a blue gemstone rolled out.
It was a ring.
The sapphire was held in place by surrounding transparent diamonds, like stars encircling the moon.
Ying Yin was caught completely off guard. Her breath stopped. Her chest turned ice-cold, but her eyes burned hotter and hotter.
At last she could no longer hold herself together. She let out a broken sob and began to cry out loud.
This was the first ring he had ever taken her to buy. He used this ring to preserve that night between them. He used it to protect her from Song Shizhang. He used it to forcibly continue whatever came after between them.
And in a fit of anger, she had returned it to him.
He had said he lost it – that anything she didn’t want, he would never keep either.
But now it was here, shining brilliantly, noble and pure, like a tear dropped from the ocean.
Almost as if possessed, Ying Yin slipped it onto her finger.
Her head was lowered, expressionless.
But she had too many tears – whether she blinked or not, they kept falling.
The next second, a figure stumbled inside the room.
She had been squatting for too long; her legs were completely numb. She staggered, accidentally kicking the coffee table. Pain shot through her face, but she didn’t stop.
She ran down from the second floor, like a night wind sweeping forward – urgent, yet tender.
Lin Cunkang was holding an umbrella open when he said in surprise, “Miss Ying, you’re still not resting?”
“Where is Mr. Shang?” Ying Yin wiped her tears away with her palm so she could see clearly again.
“He’s over there rowing.”
“I’m going to find him!”
“Hey…” Lin Cunkang didn’t have time to stop her. His aged but still forceful voice followed behind her. “It’s going to rain…”
And it really was starting to drizzle outside.
That night’s wind was warm, and so was the rain. It fell slowly and sparsely among the trees and plants, taking a long time before a single drop landed on Ying Yin’s face.
She ran as fast as she could.
But the river channel twisted and turned, and the walking paths wound through flowers and shrubs, gradually diverging in different directions with distance between them.
His habit of kayaking was something he had picked up while studying at Cambridge. It was his time alone – he didn’t like to be disturbed. Because of that, the river had been chosen deliberately: secluded and quiet, hidden among the woods, with thorny flowers blooming on both sides and soft earth under the rain.
Ying Yin listened carefully for the sound of the paddle cutting through water, stepping deep and shallow through the bushes.
The rain grew heavier, turning the ground beneath her into mud.
She pressed her lips together, letting the rain soak through her without a word, refusing to even call out his name.
As long as she didn’t call out to him, she believed that in the next second, some twist of fate would arrive – she would see him, run into him, fall straight into his arms.
She made this stubborn bet with herself.
Ying Yin had never ventured this deep into the garden before.
It was pitch-dark and silent here. Streetlights hung high above, casting eerie shadows between the shrubs. In the mountains and woods there were wind sounds, rain sounds, and the cries of nocturnal birds.
She, someone who could mistake hyena calls for birdsong, was now acting with fearless ignorance – like a moth flying into a flame.
A tall banyan tree, over twelve or thirteen meters high, suddenly dropped a yellow fruit. With a sharp thud, it landed directly on Ying Yin’s head.
“Ah.”
The pain made her cry out instinctively. She crouched down, both hands covering her head, sitting in the rain – crying, drenched, and rubbing the spot in grievance.
This was the scene Shang Shao saw the moment he arrived.
The rain had become too heavy, so he stopped the boat halfway, came ashore up the slope, and was about to cross through the bushes toward the walking path when he saw her crouched there among the shadows of flowers and trees.
“…Miss Ying?” Shang Shao’s throat moved as he hesitated, calling her by the form of address he had used at the very beginning.
Ying Yin stood up, lowering her hands from her head.
Under the dim light, she was completely soaked, a mess, rainwater streaming down her face. But she wiped it away firmly. Her face was calm now – stubborn, resolute, and strangely composed, as if she had accepted everything.
Yes. I know what lies ahead, and I still choose to walk toward it.
Shang Shao said nothing. The two of them simply stood at a not-too-close, not-too-far distance, silently looking at each other.
In the deep night, rain fell onto banana leaves and bird-of-paradise plants, producing a chaotic, crackling sound that filled the darkness.
The rain grew heavy. Ying Yin suddenly ran toward him through the downpour.
In just a few steps, he caught her – firmly, steadily, tightly. The force of his embrace was so strong it almost seemed like he might break her waist.
Ying Yin clung to his shoulders. He cupped her face. It was impossible to tell who was more urgent, who was more desperate, who was taking the initiative.
They kissed without restraint.
Her shirt clung tightly to her body; Ying Yin’s white one had become almost completely transparent.
Shang Shao didn’t only kiss her lips – he kissed her forehead, her eyes, her jaw, her neck. His kisses fell even denser than the rain.
Ying Yin unbuttoned his shirt from top to bottom. His black tie was pulled free and dropped into the bushes.
But how could she possibly look neat herself – her pink bra was half exposed.
“Ying Yin, say you like me.” Shang Shao bent her waist in his arms, rainwater streaming down his brows, his eyes dark and stormy. “Say you love me.”
“I like you.”
As soon as she spoke, her voice broke into sobs and a nasal cry. She shouted, “I like you, Mr. Shang! I love you – I really, really love you! I liked you earlier than you liked me! I want to be with you, I want you to like me, to kiss me, to treasure me! I want the Victoria Harbour fireworks to be set off for me by you! I like you so much it scares me! If you also like me, what am I supposed to do?!”
She was practically wailing, both hands weakly gripping his collar.
“I’m already like this – if you also like me, what am I supposed to do?!”
Shang Shao’s arms around her tightened again and again, as if he were about to crush her bones into his embrace.
