Ying Yin had a dream. In the dream, she had a child with Shang Shao, but they were not married. She was his girlfriend – known to the whole world – the mother of his child, or rather, his mistress. She had mountains of money, and a future that could be terminated at any moment.
The dream came in fragments; the story hadn’t finished playing out before she woke.
Perhaps later she gave him a second child, then a third. When netizens mentioned her, it was no longer as China’s youngest twin-star film queen, but rather: “Still not official yet, Ying Yin?”
Or perhaps she had just the one, and that was the end of it. A man like him would eventually marry someone. He would stand beside his new wife, and their story would conclude with a child born out of wedlock – and the alimony that the media would chew over and speculate about year after year.
Neither scenario was anything new. In this circle, the kind of stories you absorb by osmosis, hear day in and day out, see, whisper about, and pass around in private – they are all just like this.
The ultimate destination for actresses and tycoons.
When she woke, pale light flickered before her eyes – the wind stirring the moon-white curtains. Ying Yin opened her eyes and checked her watch: she had only dozed for half an hour. Her face felt dry, because she had cried; the tear tracks were still there, and she had fallen asleep with tears on her cheeks.
She sat up on the sofa, still clutching the cushion in her arms, and stared blankly into space for a long while.
The story in the dream wasn’t enough to frighten her – because at the very least, her womb was still her own.
And yet, her mind kept circling back, tossing and turning, to the very thought she’d had before falling asleep.
The man she had placed in the distant heavens, gazed up at like the moon, and believed she could never reach in this lifetime – had once, for someone else, stepped down from the sky of his own accord.
Ying Yin thought again of the confession in the rainstorm.
“I’m already like this. If you like me too… what am I supposed to do?”
If Shang Shao had heard that, would he have secretly laughed?
A poor person who has never seen a gold ingot, upon suddenly receiving one, would stare at it with shining eyes, trembling with anxiety – wasting away, walking on thin ice just to hold on to it. But a true rich person, faced with a mountain of gold, remains perfectly at ease.
She was the poor person who had never seen a gold ingot. And that former girlfriend she had never met – was she the rich one?
She had never been truly loved, so when he gave her even the smallest response that vaguely resembled love, she didn’t know what to do with herself – she would throw herself into the fire, step blindly into the abyss.
While that other woman, loved by him with his whole heart, remained calm and at ease, sleeping peacefully night after night.
How impressive.
She envied that.
But that sense of security came from being favored – and Ying Yin didn’t have that, so she couldn’t envy her way into it either.
Ying Yin sat on the sofa for fifteen minutes, then got up, washed her face, and called Zhuang Tiwen to ask about her upcoming work schedule.
Zhuang Tiwen was out looking at office spaces; the real estate agent had shown her several 5A-grade office buildings. The people of Hong Kong are particular about feng shui – even more so than those in Ning City. Zhuang Tiwen had brought a feng shui master along to carefully examine the locations, directional alignments, and interior layouts of the buildings.
“I’ve just looked at three offices, with four more to go. If you’re tired of reading scripts, want to come along?”
Ying Yin changed her clothes and took a cab over.
The days were getting colder by the day. Time to wear a shearling coat – ankle-length, over a pair of dark grey wide-leg sweatpants and casual sneakers. With a baseball cap and a mask on, no one would recognize her.
Besides, who would ever imagine that a female celebrity worth over a hundred million would go out carrying a canvas tote bag, with American ginseng and goji berries steeping in her red thermos?
The real estate agent working with Zhuang Tiwen was an old contact, accustomed to serving high-profile clients, and knew exactly what to hear and what not to hear. So Zhuang Tiwen didn’t bother being discreet; as she toured the offices, she asked Ying Yin, “What do you think of When Snow Melts It Turns Green as an investment prospect?”
Ying Yin unscrewed her thermos. “Mr. Li is probably aiming for awards. The investment potential lies, first, in overseas distribution, and second, in the post-award commercialization of my personal brand value.”
“Boss, why are you talking about yourself like a commodity?” Zhuang Tiwen laughed.
“It is what it is.” Ying Yin completely detached her artist identity from her personhood, speaking matter-of-factly. “The overseas distribution results will depend on the film’s festival performance and the evaluations from distributors and streamers after production wraps. But from a script perspective, I think it’s solid – otherwise I wouldn’t have taken it. As for my personal commercial value, the priority is still securing the awards.”
“How do you secure that?” Zhuang Tiwen asked, half-smiling.
“You can’t guarantee it, but you can do your best. You’ll need a very reliable overseas PR team to go all out during awards season – somewhere between ten and fifty million dollars, depending on the situation.”
“…”
Ying Yin laughed lightly: “Alright, the fifty million is for an Oscar push. I don’t have that kind of ambition, and Mr. Li probably hasn’t thought that far either.”
“But I’ve already looked into the films Hong Kong has submitted to the Oscars over the years.” Zhuang Tiwen tilted her chin, leaving the rest unsaid.
Ying Yin took a sip of hot water. “You’re thinking too far ahead. Your drive is admirable, but adventurism and capitulation are two sides of the same coin. Tiwen, making a film, running a film – these are incredibly arduous, complex undertakings. You have to balance too much, sacrifice too much. It’s not pure art, nor pure commerce. You think it’s just a five-hundred-page project timeline, but at any given moment, it can go off the rails.”
Zhuang Tiwen was actually not much younger than Ying Yin, but she had just graduated and entered the workforce – there was still a gap in life and work experience. She nodded. “Got it. In showbiz, you need resilience and the art of maneuvering, right?”
Ying Yin smiled and nodded. “Exactly.”
Her gaze swept seriously across every wall and every window of the office.
Zhuang Tiwen laughed. “You’re in a good mood today?”
As if hearing something absurd, Ying Yin paused, then let out a soft laugh. “Yeah.”
The real estate agent quietly accompanied them through the tour of the office spaces. As the feng shui master was offering his analysis, Zhuang Tiwen’s phone buzzed.
Shang Shao asked on the other end: [How has she been these past few days?]
Zhuang Tiwen glanced at Ying Yin, who was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, and replied: [She’s doing fine. She’s right next to me. Want me to put her on?]
Shang Shao stopped her before she could act: [No need.]
Zhuang Tiwen was sharp; a quick turn of her eyes and she understood: [You upset her?]
Shang Shao replied: [No.]
He was simply respecting her – seeing her hesitation and her impulse to hold back, and therefore giving her a cool-down period. This wasn’t “upsetting her,” nor was it a fight, nor a cold war. It was just two mature, rational adults observing the unspoken convention of taking time to think something through.
As for why Ying Yin had been out of contact for so many days… that was just her being busy with auditions and deep in thought – not deliberately ignoring him.
Once she’d figured things out, she would reach out to him.
But was this thinking period dragging on a bit too long?
December in Frankfurt, seven in the morning. Shang Shao was having breakfast; his usually elegant movements had slowed somewhat, weighed down by his thoughts.
Just whether she regretted being with him or not – such a simple question – why was it taking her so long?
The fingers gripping the silver knife and fork handles turned pale at the knuckles from unconscious tension.
Why did it require serious deliberation? Wasn’t that the kind of question that should have an answer without a second thought?
“I don’t regret it.”
In his dreams, it felt like he had heard those four words. But when he opened his eyes, his world was silent.
Zhuang Tiwen, oblivious, responded lightly: [I figured as much. If you two had fought, she wouldn’t be in such a good mood.]
The overseas assistant knocked on the door of the suite’s dining room at that moment, reminding him. “Chairman Shao, it’s time for us to depart.”
With a soft clink, the man set down his knife and fork, nodded, and silently wiped his hands with a warm towel. He then pushed back his chair and stood.
His mind was elsewhere. The assistant noticed and reminded him. “Your gloves.”
Shang Shao clasped the pair of sheepskin gloves in his palm. In silence, he typed back to Zhuang Tiwen: [Let me see.]
Zhuang Tiwen asked, confused: [A video call?]
Shang Shao: [Just a photo. Don’t disturb her.]
So Zhuang Tiwen secretly snapped a picture and sent it to Shang Shao.
In the photo, Ying Yin held her red thermos in her hands, dressed very casually, her black wavy hair loose around her shoulders, looking languid in the winter afternoon sun. She had a smile on her face, listening intently to the real estate agent’s analysis of pros and cons. Her expression was gentle, and she appeared completely at ease, with no other cares on her mind.
Shang Shao studied the photo with great care and attention.
He didn’t get a break until noon. After a morning of complex business matters clearing his head, his thoughts became sharper, and he laughed at himself for having been tangled in his own web these past few days.
It didn’t matter if she didn’t reach out to him – he could take the initiative to reach out to her.
That was what he thought. But when he actually dialed, his heartbeat quickened.
He was also afraid she wouldn’t pick up.
Ying Yin and Zhuang Tiwen had been busy all day, and even at dinner they didn’t rest -drinking wine while discussing the feasibility of investing in Li Shan’s film, how to put together the financing in Hong Kong, and so on. When she saw the notification on her screen – an incoming call from Hong Kong – she bit her fork and paused for a moment, then smiled at Tiwen and answered the call.
“Mr. Shang.” Her tone was light and cheerful.
So light and cheerful, in fact, that it threw Shang Shao off balance.
He had imagined many possibilities – coldness, silence, an argument, a cross-examination, deflecting with small talk – but a bright and breezy greeting like this had never crossed his mind.
“Have you had dinner?” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and ultimately asked the most trivial question.
“I’m eating right now.” Ying Yin replied as if nothing were amiss, poking at the purple cabbage in her salad bowl with her fork. “What about you? Which country are you in now?”
“In Frankfurt, Germany.”
“Get some rest.”
Shang Shao fell silent at these perfunctory four words. Ying Yin waited two seconds, then spoke up: “I’m still eating, so if there’s nothing else…”
“You…”
Ying Yin waited patiently for him to continue.
Shang Shao swallowed the words “Have you made up your mind yet?”
He didn’t know why, but he felt the question was dangerous – fraught with the risk of losing control.
He switched to a safer question, almost inaudibly clearing his throat, and asked -somewhat coolly, somewhat seriously – “Did you miss me?”
Ying Yin was taken aback, then let out a soft laugh through her breath. “I did. Come back soon.”
For the sake of her words “Come back soon,” Shang Shao actually compressed his schedule.
He was originally scheduled to return on the 23rd, but he pushed to finish early and wrap things up by the 20th. En route, he ran into a thunderstorm and had to endure a multi-hour layover in Dubai. By the time he landed at Ning City Airport, it was already the afternoon of the 21st.
It was only through Jin Yuanming’s Moments that he learned she was doing a building walk-through event at Qinde Real Estate today.
The Galaxy Awards sponsorship came with a hefty price tag, and the building walk-through was a set item in the sponsorship proposal – though the guest had yet to be confirmed. The organizers and Qinde’s branding department met and agreed that since Ying Yin and Mr. Jin had already presented an award together at the ceremony, it would be natural to keep that pairing going.
The proposal and run-of-show had been submitted to Chenye long ago, and the media had already been booked. But because of the contract termination, Mai Anyan had completely forgotten about it, only handing it over to Zhuang Tiwen when the date was nearly upon them.
“If you think it’s too rushed, we can apply for a postponement. Besides, Chairman Shao is still in Europe, isn’t he? Why not wait until…”
“Keep the original date.” Ying Yin cut her off, completely unruffled. “It’s fine. A building walk-through isn’t difficult. It’s year-end – better to get it done early and have peace of mind.”
Zhuang Tiwen went along with her wishes and reminded her. “There will be a livestream, and it’ll probably trend on social media. Familiarize yourself with the rundown and the interview questions again.”
Usually, building walk-through events happen during promotional periods for a drama or film release, and they’re typically held at entertainment media companies or streaming platform headquarters. A proper real estate company like Qinde was indeed an unusual venue.
Ying Yin looked over the event rundown. It wasn’t overly formal, but it wasn’t casual either – more like a media open house, where a celebrity would bring journalists along to tour and experience Qinde’s office atmosphere.
Walk-throughs call for approachability; putting on starry airs won’t fly. Ying Yin dressed very simply – a half-turtleneck fitted cashmere base layer, an oversized black blazer, and a pair of fashion-forward earrings. She looked like an urban career woman.
Qinde’s PR handed temporary employee badges to her and Junyi, who had accompanied her – bright green lanyards that stood out vividly against their chests.
The moment Ying Yin stepped out of the elevator, she was immediately surrounded. Qinde’s employees were fervent with enthusiasm, phones held up like a mountain of torches, every hand busy recording short videos. Ying Yin’s smile was like a spring breeze as she waved and greeted everyone along the way, cooperating fully and without complaint throughout.
After all, this was his company.
The bonus feature was an interview and interaction segment hosted by “Mr. Jin.” To protect the privacy of Mr. Jin as a non-public figure, the livestream only showed Ying Yin’s face, with Mr. Jin and the host remaining hidden behind the camera.
Ying Yin moved from the main office area upstairs to the livestream room. The employees had all returned to their workstations, and only a trail of media personnel and brand department staff followed behind her.
On the carpeted corridor, six elevator doors stood in parallel rows. With a soft ding, one of them – the one marked VIP Exclusive – descended from the top floor and opened its chrome-plated metal doors.
The doors parted to reveal the man who was supposed to be in Europe, now standing in Qinde’s elevator lobby.
He looked travel-worn, as though traces of Germany’s winter snow still clung to him. His black wool coat was impeccably tailored, and between his fingers, a cigarette had burned down to its last ember, waiting to be stubbed out in the trash can beside him.
Upon spotting the hallway full of media, the faint impatience in Shang Shao’s brow settled back into its usual composure.
He had come back by helicopter.
While his private jet was still circling over the neighboring city, he saw Jin Yuanmin’s social media post and learned that she was doing an event at Qinde. Without hesitation, he had Lin Cunkang arrange a helicopter to the airport.
Half an hour after his private jet landed, his helicopter touched down on the helipad atop Qinde’s building.
Shang Shao rarely took helicopters – though it was the most convenient mode of transport between the mainland, Hong Kong, and Macau, he was used to the quiet of a private jet cabin and could hardly tolerate the racket of a helicopter.
The roar of the rotors and the buffeting wind seemed to still echo in his ears. Shang Shao stubbed out his cigarette in the trash can beside him, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Ying Yin.
Several cameras were running silently.
A member of the media was the first to react. “Mr. Jin?”
The real Mr. Jin was upstairs in the livestream room, taking deep, steadying breaths, fully prepared to meet the big star, his composure impeccably maintained.
The fake Mr. Jin stood frozen in silence outside the elevator, his eyes tinged with a faint blue-grey fatigue. The scent of the cabin’s fragrance had not yet faded from him.
He looked exhausted.
Ying Yin gave him a small nod and offered a half-familiar, half-distant smile.
In that instant, Shang Shao suddenly felt that she was very far away from him.
Out of his reach.
“Aren’t we going upstairs for the interview?” the media asked, confused.
Qinde’s PR team found themselves in an impossible position, forcing themselves to explain. “This is the Junior President Jin. The one upstairs is the Senior President Jin. Today’s interview…”
Shang Shao cut her off. “Let’s go upstairs. I’m ready.”
Every Qinde employee present drew in a sharp breath.
Ever since the young heir had moved his office here, snippets of the board chairman’s schedule would occasionally leak out. His European itinerary had been packed to the brim – everyone in the room had been awed by it. During water-cooler chats, someone had once joked with a wry smile. “The heir’s life really isn’t for everyone. If it were me, I’d have thrown in the towel ages ago. Wouldn’t it be nicer to just be a rich layabout?”
And now, having just landed, instead of rushing off to rest, he was here to play house with a celebrity.
Several brand department staff swallowed their shock, furiously typing messages upstairs to prepare for his arrival, while reaching out to hold the elevator doors open and usher everyone inside.
Shang Shao and Ying Yin stood side by side in the elevator. The car was polished so cleanly that it reflected her expressionless face with cruel clarity.
Upstairs, the real Mr. Jin wore a look of quiet grievance, smiling through his discomfort as he ushered his screen goddess into the livestream room, then lingered outside, craning his neck, reluctant to leave.
“Why did Chairman Shao suddenly come back?” he asked the brand specialist in a low voice.
“No idea.”
“Fine, he’s back – but does he have to go around impersonating me?” he muttered, bordering on treasonous.
The specialist shot him a glance and whispered, “Mr. Jin, the name Jin Yuanmin sounds a lot more distinguished when it’s on Chairman Shao, you know.”
Jin Yuanmin sucked in his belly. “Get lost.”
The livestream was set up in a conference room with glass walls, giving the office area a full view. Quite a few employees were outside taking photos and recording videos. Shang Shao carried the impersonation all the way through, extending his hand to Ying Yin. “Miss Ying, a pleasure to meet you again.”
Ying Yin barely touched his fingertips – no more than a second.
The interview outline was handed over by the specialist – all pre-approved questions: What career would you have pursued if you hadn’t become an actress? If money were no object, what job would you most want to do? And so on.
Shang Shao asked a few in order.
His expression remained composed until he folded the A4 sheet between his fingers and asked, “How have you been lately, Miss Ying?”
Cheng Junyi’s brain sprouted a question mark.
That wasn’t in the outline. Was Mr. Shang confused?
Ying Yin answered, “Very well. Since terminating my contract with the company, I’ve had a lot of time to myself – auditions, film discussions, setting up my own studio. Every day has been fulfilling.”
That was a standard, formulaic response – the same no matter who asked.
Shang Shao asked her, “And your mood?”
Ying Yin nodded, smiled at the camera, and said, “Also very good.”
“A fan wants to ask for your advice. He got into a fight with his girlfriend and doesn’t know how to make things right with her. His girlfriend is a… young girl, perhaps,” Shang Shao paused, “and maybe she doesn’t like him all that much, so he’s at a bit of a loss.”
Junyi’s internal alarm bells went off. The comments section was exploding with the same line flooding the screen:
[Big shot: actually that fan is me, right?]
[Isn’t the big shot already married? Doesn’t his wife like him a lot?]
[So tragic! So tragic!]
Ying Yin let out a soft laugh, tilting her chin up as she thought about it seriously for a moment. “I wouldn’t know, but being with someone who doesn’t like you all that much… must be exhausting, right?”
She pressed her lips together briefly, then smiled as she looked directly into Shang Shao’s eyes. “So if it were me, I’d just call it quits.”
The microphone picked up everything clearly, and everyone in the livestream heard an unfamiliar yet familiar sound.
It sounded like paper being crumpled.
Shang Shao’s gaze was deep and locked onto her, his face as cold and still as a deep pool, but his voice was eerily calm as he asked, “What do you mean by ‘call it quits’?”
That calm was the stillness before a storm.
Ying Yin let out a relaxed and slightly awkward laugh. “If his girlfriend really doesn’t like him all that much, I’d advise him to call it quits – he’ll find someone more suitable, someone who loves him more anyway. But then again, I’m no relationship expert…”
Her voice seemed to drift away, blurring into a kind of white noise.
That white noise spread like an airtight net, enveloping a man who was always perceptive and always in control, and plunging him into a daze.
That daze made Shang Shao restless.
“He’ll find someone more suitable, someone who loves him more.”
Was she… hinting at something to him?
He thought of the words she had blurted out that night: “If you’re so curious, try more in the future and you’ll know. There’ll be chances anyway.”
She didn’t like him all that much – and she was telling him that, in a roundabout and repeated way: that the contract would eventually come to an end.
The livestream interview ended. As many people had streamed in, just as many now streamed out, leaving Shang Shao alone sitting on a chair in the meeting room.
The brand director couldn’t read his mood and was too far below his rank to have ever dealt with him directly. Trembling with trepidation, he asked, “Chairman Shao, today’s building walk-through event is over. Would you like to see off Miss Ying and the media?”
The man before him kept his head lowered, one elbow resting on the edge of the table, his hand supporting his forehead. He merely lifted his fingertips in a dismissive wave. “Let Jin Yuanmin go.”
“Yes, sir.”
Everyone left, and the room fell into utter silence.
Even the bustle in the office area gradually settled back down. The curious employees returned to their workstations, the clatter of keyboards layering densely beneath Shang Shao’s breathing, which grew tighter with each passing moment.
His heart, too, tightened in waves.
The glass door swung again – this time, only a single figure strode out.
His black wool coat hung over the back of the chair; he wore only his shirt and vest. His stride was hurried in a way no one at Qinde had ever seen from him before.
He even broke into a run – his Adam’s apple tight, his gaze tight, completely losing his composure as he dashed to the elevator bank and frantically pressed the down button.
What was the use? He didn’t even know which floor Ying Yin’s car was parked on.
The driver took him to her suburban villa. The doorbell rang for a long time with no answer. Ten minutes later, Shang Shao finally realized – belatedly – that there was no one in the house.
Had he arrived too early? Had the driver taken a shortcut, or had something happened to her on the way?
With that thought, he finally had a sufficient excuse to call her.
“Where are you?” He swallowed, his breath held in a thin line of deep anxiety. “You’re not home yet – did something happen?”
“I haven’t been staying there these past few days.” Ying Yin sounded surprised. “Mr. Shang, are you at the villa?”
She still called him “Mr. Shang” – which caught him off guard.
“I’m here. Just arrived.” His fingers pinched an unlit cigarette. “Then where have you been staying lately?”
Ying Yin glossed over the question and simply said, “I’ll come back, then. You’ll have to wait about half an hour.”
“Ying Yin.”
“Yes?”
“Did I come back too late?”
Ying Yin didn’t falter in the slightest, letting out a casual, light laugh. “No, weren’t you originally supposed to come back on the 23rd? You’re three days early – I was surprised. How did you manage that?”
Shang Shao was silent for a moment. “Cut out some unnecessary meetings. Slept a few hours less.”
“That sounds exhausting.” Ying Yin curved her lips slightly.
“That thing you said just now – about calling it quits…”
“Mr. Shang, I’m getting into the elevator.” Ying Yin cut him off abruptly. “The signal’s bad – can we talk when I get back? I can’t hear you clearly.”
For the first time, she hung up on him first.
Cheng Junyi didn’t know what to say. She opened her mouth, about to say a few words, but Ying Yin closed her eyes and said wearily, “Don’t ask.”
So Junyi didn’t ask anything – she just drove her home.
Shang Shao didn’t wait in the car. Instead, he stood silently under a streetlamp. He’d only brought three cigarettes with him, so he cherished the last one, not daring to light it for a long time. His fingers had pinched it soft and mangled, exposing the dark yellow tobacco inside.
“Get in my car.”
Ying Yin obediently switched vehicles, but she didn’t sit on his lap – she properly went around to the other side.
The privacy partition rose. He took one of her hands. It was ice-cold.
He stroked her wrist, his voice low. “Why didn’t you come sit next to me?”
“Mr. Shang, I’m not feeling well physically,” Ying Yin said, sounding troubled. “That wouldn’t be healthy…”
Shang Shao froze, nearly stunned.
A rare flicker of bewilderment passed through his eyes. He frowned, his gaze complex as he fixed it on her. “Ying Yin, what kind of man do you take me for?”
Ying Yin lowered her face, fidgeting mechanically with her coat cuff. “I didn’t mean anything else. It’s just that every time you…”
“I like it when you sit on my lap because I like you, because I like holding you – not because I…”
The two words were awkward. Shang Shao’s face darkened as he forced them out. “…not because I want to toy with you.”
Ying Yin nodded. “Understood.”
Shang Shao held her wrist firmly, and as the car moved, he drew her steadily into his arms.
Ying Yin’s knee knocked against the center console, but it didn’t hurt much – it was just an awkward position. She had to kneel to adjust, then settled sideways onto Shang Shao’s lap.
The solid weight in his arms felt grounding and reassuring. Shang Shao took a deep breath, holding her closer involuntarily, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
The exhaustion and unease of the past days were smoothed away in that moment.
“That thing you said during the interview earlier…” He squeezed her palm, then clasped her fingers tighter. “Were you saying it to me?”
“No.”
“You were saying that you don’t like me that much, so I should call it quits.”
Ying Yin looked as if she’d heard something utterly absurd. She froze for a moment, her expression caught between bewilderment and a wry smile – though Shang Shao couldn’t see it.
“Of course not, Mr. Shang…”
“Even if you really don’t like me that much,” Shang Shao cut her off, pausing for a beat, his face impassive and steady as he said, “I’m not calling it quits.”
Ying Yin felt a sudden ache in her chest, the sharpness of it shooting up through her nose and making her scalp throb.
“Mr. Shang, if you say things like that, I’ll misunderstand that you love me very much,” she said, her voice tinged with sorrow. “I’ll take it seriously.”
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