Letter from Hong Kong Chapter 64

Shang Mingxian, the heiress of a business family, is a decisive workaholic. As the head of Qili Hotel & Entertainment Group, she commands a top-tier professional management team recruited from around the globe – yet none of that stops her from diving into every detail herself.

Year-round, she is either on store inspections or site visits, shuttling nonstop among Macau, Hong Kong, and Las Vegas, all while keeping her sights set on expansion into the northern market. Whenever a promising collaboration arises, she personally flies out for on-the-ground evaluations. Art-driven luxury hotels demand exceptional taste and curatorial skill from their leaders, so she also devotes considerable time to art exhibitions, gallery tours, auctions, and discovering emerging artists.

At one in the afternoon, having just flown back to Hong Kong from the mainland, she headed straight to Qili in Cape Collinson.

She was dressed in professional attire, but it was far from dull – a beige pantsuit, a tender willow-green silk scarf fastened with a pearl clasp, a pencil skirt falling below the knee, and beneath sheer stockings, her slender Achilles tendons were faintly visible.

As the elevator rose to the 23rd floor, her eight-centimeter stilettos struck the marble floor with a steady, deliberate rhythm, producing a crisp, tapping sound.

This was her signature footfall – one that sent Qili’s staff into high alert the moment they heard it. Those enjoying afternoon tea, chatting idly, or sipping coffee to wake up all fell silent and greeted her, “Good afternoon, Monica.”

But it was too late – Shang Mingxian had already caught snippets of their earlier conversation.

“Don’t gossip about guests behind their backs,” she admonished. “Is changing the sheets four times really worth all this fuss?”

A senior manager who knew the full story hurried over, hesitated for a moment, then leaned in and whispered, “Monica, it’s the young master.”

Up until this point, Shang Mingxian still hadn’t sensed anything out of the ordinary. She paused briefly, then nodded. “He is here? Is he still around?”

Matters concerning Shang Shao were, of course, not to be discussed in front of subordinates. She moved to her office, asking as she walked, “When did he arrive?”

“Late last night.”

“Why four changes? Couldn’t he get comfortable?” she asked casually, tossing her bag aside and walking over to the instant hot water dispenser to pour herself a glass of warm water. “That can’t be right – did you use the wrong linens?”

After Shang Shao sold his only self-owned apartment in Hong Kong, sleeping meant going back to the family home. He could have bought a new one right away, but such a move would undoubtedly have poured fuel on the fire of his feud with his father – and would have upset Wen Youyi as well.

Yet going home every day to clash head-on with Shang Qingye was practically a recipe for shortening one’s lifespan. In the end, he took to dropping by Qili every few days. That executive suite was kept specifically for Shang Shao for this very reason, but he checked in very discreetly – apart from Shang Mingxian’s confidants, no one knew the true identity of the guest in that suite.

He had been staying there on and off for nearly a year now. If he couldn’t get comfortable, wouldn’t he have been uncomfortable from the very beginning?

The senior manager clearly understood the situation. Before she even answered, her face had already flushed crimson.

“Why are you blushing?” Shang Mingxian shot her a sideways glance and asked.

“It’s…” The manager thought for a moment, then could only say very tactfully. “The young master brought a woman with him.”

Shang Mingxian nearly choked on her water. She coughed once, wiped her mouth, and let out a very composed “Oh.” Then she set down her cup and headed straight for the executive floor without looking back.

The moment she was out of her subordinates’ sight, Shang Mingxian practically broke into a jog.

A man like her brother – bringing a woman to a hotel! And knowing full well that at Qili, his little sister would have a clear picture of his every move, he still hadn’t chosen a different hotel. Either he didn’t think there was any need to avoid scrutiny, or the woman’s identity was too sensitive to be registered?

A celebrity?

Had her brother hooked up with a female star?

But why change the sheets four times? Was the female star even more particular than her brother – unable to sleep on linens fit for a president, forcing the staff to change them four times? A princess-and-the-pea type?

As the elevator ascended, Shang Mingxian rigorously analyzed the situation step by step all the way up.

When it stopped at the executive floor, she stepped out steadily, slowed her pace, paused at the door for a few seconds, and then rang the bell. “Leo, it’s me.”

Inside the room.

The blackout curtains were not drawn – only a layer of white sheer curtains swayed gently with the breeze. The harbor was bathed in clear weather, and soft light filtered in. Shang Shao sat half-reclining against the headboard, a cigarette held between the fingers of one hand hanging over the edge of the bed, while the other hand methodically attended to work matters.

Ying Yin was exhausted, dozing half-asleep in his arms.

Hearing the voice, Shang Shao first gently eased her off his lap, then got out of bed.

He casually threw on a robe, opened the door, leaned one hand against the doorframe, and pinched out his cigarette with the other. “Morning.”

“Morning…” Shang Mingxian choked.

Whether it was out of sheer reverence for her brother, or because the man exuded such an overwhelming sense of territorial control, Shang Mingxian actually began to doubt what time it was. She first glanced at her watch, then said, “It’s afternoon!”

Shang Shao silently lifted the corner of his mouth. “Shh.” Then he asked, “What brings you here?”

“I came to see the culprit behind four changed sheets.”

Even though she had kept her voice low, Ying Yin inside the room instinctively jolted awake and shot upright with a start. The rustle of the bedsheets did not escape Shang Shao’s ears. He gave a slight cough and, against his better judgment, said, “I spilled four glasses of water.”

“…Four times in a row?”

“…You buying that?” A flicker of a frown crossed Shang Shao’s brow. He raised the hand that had been holding the cigarette to cover his mouth, half laughing, half coughing.

Shang Mingxian immediately caught on. “You’re lying to me?”

Shang Shao pressed his lips flat and, in a placating manner, half-lowered the hand that had been covering her eyes. “Don’t go blabbing about this when you get home tonight – especially in front of Xiao Wen.”

Shang Mingxian nodded and cut straight to the point. “Not having dinner with me?”

“Too tired. I’ll just have room service sent up later.”

Shang Mingxian wanted to say more, and her gaze kept trying to peek inside, but Shang Shao covered her eyes with one hand. “Alright, you see her every day anyway.”

The next second, the door closed without mercy, leaving Shang Mingxian standing outside, utterly floored –

See her every day? Her brother was involved with her assistant?! Which assistant? The one who didn’t show up today or yesterday – Lucy? Or Cathrine? It couldn’t be Fiona!

In the corridor, the LCD displays rotated through posters – Ying Yin’s glamorous endorsement campaign images flickering across the screens. Shang Mingxian walked past with a numb expression, not even turning her head.

Too stunned and bewildered, she wandered over to a nearby lounge area, grabbed the back of a chair, and sat down in a daze. After composing herself for a moment, she mustered her spirits and opened up a small group chat.

Mingxian: “I have shocking news about Shang Shao.”

Mingbao: “To be honest, so do I.”

Shang Lu: “To be honest, so do I.”

Mingzhuo: “Oh?”

At the top of the screen, the group chat name – [Has Shang ShaoFound a Girlfriend Today] – stood out conspicuously.

Mingxian: “He’s dating!”

Mingbao: “He’s dating!”

Shang Lu: “He’s dating.”

Mingzhuo: “…Wow?”

Shang Mingxian was shocked.

He had gotten involved with her assistant – and everyone knew about it except her, the one closest to the situation, who found out last. How was that fair?

Mingxian: “You all knew, and no one told me? Do you have any idea how much this hurts?!”

Mingbao: “I get it, sis. For you, this really does take some time to process.”

Shang Lu: “I don’t get it. Why does it hurt you?”

Mingzhuo: “I don’t get it either. You have a crush on Shang Shao? Monica, that’s not cool.”

Mingbao: “…”

Shang Lu: “…”

Mingxian: “Maybe you should just go do your experiments.”

After a moment, she swallowed her grief and said, objectively and rationally [Not that I have anything against Lucy, Cathrine, or Fiona – but an assistant becoming my sister-in-law? That’s going to take me a long time to accept.]

Thousands of miles away across the ocean, Shang Mingzhuo nearly dropped the lab materials in his hands.

Mingzhuo: [Huh? Shang Shao is dating all three at once?]

Shang Lu frowned: [Isn’t it Xie Miaomiao?]

Shang Mingzhuo was even more confused: [Four?]

…Damn, that’s intense? As expected of Shang Shao?

Shang Mingbao, who was on vacation, was also dumbfounded. She read the four names over and over again, four times.

What? How had her brilliant eldest sister and her sharp-witted younger brother managed to land so far from the correct answer?

The name “Ying Yin” was already typed out in the chat box, but Mingbao resisted with superhuman restraint.

First, she opened Shang Lu’s chat: [Bro, wire me a million, and I’ll tell you the right answer!]

Then she opened Shang Mingxian’s chat: [Sis, wire me two million, and I’ll rescue you from your misery right away!]

Finally, as a risk hedge, she opened Shang Shao’s chat: [Bro, need me to keep your secret? Wire me 10 million, or Lulu and Mingxian are about to compare notes!]

Shang Shao stubbed out his cigarette and chuckled. He casually transferred five million to the little money-grubber.

His voice in the WeChat voice message was lazy and amused. “Feeling generous today – call it your allowance. I don’t care if they find out.”

His voice was slightly husky, carrying a languid, sated tone. Mingbao knew immediately that he had done something thoroughly wicked.

“Now that you’ve got the money, got nothing nice to say?” He pressed the phone to his lips and asked lazily.

Since taking his money meant she had to play nice, Mingbao dutifully rattled off. “Wishing you a hundred years of happiness, an early bundle of joy, a white-haired old age together, holding your hand and growing old with you, through life and death together, I pledge to you…”

She went on like a menu recitation, rattling off blessings randomly. Shang Shao didn’t let her finish before closing the chat. He tossed the phone aside and wrapped both arms around Ying Yin.

He kissed her forehead. “Thirsty? Looks like we finished all the water in the room.”

The suite’s standard eight bottles of Fiji water were all empty.

Ying Yin couldn’t even move a finger. With her eyes closed, she obediently replied, “Not thirsty yet.”

“Does it hurt?” Only now did he ask something halfway decent.

They hadn’t slept until dawn, and she honestly couldn’t remember how many times they’d gone at it. Even someone like him – with impeccable routines and a biological clock practically welded to his body – had slept in a groggy daze all the way till noon. When he woke up, the feeling of her nestled fully in his arms sent a numbing tingle through his chest.

He almost didn’t know what to do with her anymore.

Just two months, and it had come to this. If anyone else knew, they’d laugh and say he’d lost his mind or been bewitched.

But how could he dare claim otherwise?

Ying Yin gave a slight nod, so light that her hair tickled the hollow of Shang Shao’s neck.

“Last night…” Ying Yin swallowed, a hollow itch of shame creeping through her veins, “you said a lot of terrible things.”

“Like what?” His expression didn’t waver.

“…”

Shang Shao laughed, kissed the top of her head, and said, “I’m sorry. I won’t say them next time.”

“Your ‘next time’ is completely untrustworthy…” Ying Yin mumbled.

Shang Shao pressed a hot kiss against her ear. “Want me to help you with some medicine?”

“No!” Ying Yin panicked.

She couldn’t even close properly down there – it had almost taken his shape.

He had indeed lost control terribly last night – over the way Ying Yin had looked at Shen Ji, over the conversation between her and Shen Ji from so long ago, and over the glances they’d both been dodging for two or three years now.

In all those kisses they’d shared, had there ever been even one that was sincere? Had there ever been one where she’d met him with that desperate, reckless, live-for-today-or-not-at-all mindset – lingering, touching, receiving?

Just the thought of it, even for a second, made his heart clench so tightly it ached, made it hard to breathe, hard even to focus his eyes on the screen.

“What was the ending of that movie?”

“Li Meijian’s affair was discovered by the Commissioner, but the Commissioner didn’t know the other party was Xu Situ. He had Xu Situ take care of Li Meijian, so he killed her.” Ying Yin said simply.

The curtain fall of a woman, the conclusion of a love story that had declined along with the era – in someone else’s retelling, it was reduced to just a few understated words.

Li Meijian had been subjected to torment and humiliation before being dragged before Xu Situ. She looked into his eyes, her lips moving slightly.

The Commissioner stood to the side, his cold face hidden in the shadows, only the cigar quietly smoldering.

A gunshot rang out, and a bloom of blood opened over Li Meijian’s chest. The words she’d tried to say never made it out in time.

“What did she just say?” the Commissioner asked, with little interest.

“I don’t know,” Xu Situ replied calmly, wiping the scorching gun muzzle repeatedly with a handkerchief. With his head bowed, he followed behind the Commissioner, stepping out of that blood-soaked room. His hand gripping the pistol grip clenched with deadly force, veins threatening to burst.

But this pistol had its safety on – he was a man who could no longer pull the safety catch. When had it started? Was it when the nation fell apart, when he drifted through a precarious existence, when his elder brother’s grand cause collapsed? Was it when his family was scattered, when he walked the neon-lit streets of Hong Kong, watching women sashay in and out of dance halls, and said with perfect composure that his marksmanship was swift and accurate enough to handle the Commissioner’s security detail?

He was already a man who could no longer pull the safety catch.

Shang Shao seemed not to have anticipated this ending. His expression flickered with a hint of surprise, then he let out a silent laugh. “So your leading man stayed in character for three years.”

Shen Ji had confessed to her.

At the wrap party, standing on the terrace, he said to her, “Maybe I really do love you.” He said it as a matter of feeling, stopping at propriety – no further move to overstep with her.

“Mr. Shen, you’re still in character.” Ying Yin was startled by his words, her eyes flustered like a startled deer.

“Yes. But dare you say you weren’t?”

Ying Yin dared not.

Yet love born from being in character, and genuine love – they were so different. If she kept getting lost in the love that existed only within light and shadow, what would she have left for love in reality?

Over the years, those mediocre films, those flowers and plants in the courtyard – they had become her only bridge between the world of light and shadow and the real world. But that bridge was narrow, its piers fragile – just a slender thread, increasingly unable to bear her shuttling back and forth.

She was almost ready to fly off into that beautiful, illusory world and never return.

“Why did he say that day that his wife hadn’t mentioned you in a long time?” Shang Shao asked casually.

It was a question that had to be faced.

After being drained all night, Ying Yin felt a strange calm inside, and suddenly felt she was brave enough.

She paused, then spoke evenly, “Mr. Shen and his wife are very much in love. When we got to those later scenes in the film, she practically lived on set, watching every single scene, keeping an eye on everything. During our closed-set intimate scenes, no matter how many NGs or how late we ran, she was there. When she was watching me, I always felt like I wasn’t wearing any clothes.”

She spoke slowly, and at that line, she still had to pause to catch her breath before continuing.

“But she rarely spoke to me. She just watched me – with those beautiful, virtuous, dignified eyes of hers, unblinkingly. She didn’t say a word, yet she made me feel like I was being paraded through the streets in shame. After shooting scenes like that, we usually had to go for psychological counseling to help us get out of character as quickly as possible. And when we met with the psychologist, his wife had planted a recording device on him.”

Shang Shao understood.

“Shen Ji later called me to apologize, saying he’d caused me trouble. After that, we barely saw each other anymore – just exchanged a few polite words when we ran into each other at various events. He said his wife hadn’t mentioned me in a long time. Maybe this time, getting into character really had bothered her for a long while.”

Shang Shao held her tighter. “Ying Yin, listen to me. It’s not your fault. None of it has anything to do with you.”

Ying Yin was utterly exhausted. “Really? I often wonder – did I unconsciously seduce him? Was I the one who couldn’t distinguish between on-screen and off-screen, giving Shen Ji the wrong idea and signals? Is my body too provocative, too cheap? During the film’s promotional period, in media interviews, his wife said she wasn’t afraid of Shen Ji getting into character because he wasn’t the kind of shallow man who only looked at the body. I looked at her face – she was still so composed and dignified, her eyes fixed on the camera as if seeing through everything, passing judgment on me. I felt ashamed of my body.”

Ying Yin buried her face in his chest, and hot tears spilled out in an instant. “Shang Shao, I’m ashamed of my body.”

She said it out loud – after three endless years of fear, self-blame, self-reflection, and self-loathing, she finally said it.

It wasn’t just Shen Ji who couldn’t get out of character. She hadn’t either – trapped in his wife’s gaze, trapped in the moral dilemma that had spilled from the film into real life. No matter how dazzling she looked on the red carpet, she never shot another revealing scene in any movie again.

“I love it.” Shang Shao firmly lifted her up, looked at her flushed, tear-damp face and hazy eyes, and stared seriously and stubbornly into her eyes. “I love it. Do you understand? Ying Yin, being gazed upon is everyone’s fate. You’re a star – tens of millions of eyes want to reshape you, intrude upon you, discipline you through their gaze. But you can break it. You can say ‘no’ to it. You love yourself – every aspect of yourself. If others don’t, that’s their problem, alright?”

Ying Yin nodded, tears streaming down with every blink, murmuring to herself, “I love myself very much.” She smiled, though tears blurred her vision of Shang Shao. “I am what I am, and you love whatever I am.”

That was what he’d said to her last night – words nailed into her soul, as deep, as hard, as unshakable as what he’d embedded into her body.

Her anchor. Her truth. Her reality.

Shang Shao wiped away her tears with his thumb. “You are what you are, and I love whatever you are.”

Ying Yin laughed through her tears. “But maybe next time, it’ll be me who can’t get out of character.”

“I’ll help you.” Shang Shao said without blinking. “I will always help you.”