Today was originally supposed to be the day the crown prince of the Shangyu Group officially moved into the headquarters of Qinde Real Estate to begin working there.
Qinde Real Estate was Shangyu Group’s commercial property subsidiary in mainland China. Since headquarters had little direct oversight and because real estate was not one of Shangyu’s core industries, the entire company had enjoyed years of easy living. During the golden age when China’s property market was booming and everyone in real estate was grinding themselves to exhaustion, even the reception girls at Qinde’s sales offices clocked in right on time and left work punctually. The whole place had a laid-back atmosphere.
People inside Qinde joked that when the building had first been constructed, there had only been two purposes behind it: first, to answer the Ning City government’s invitation to build a new CBD landmark; second, to provide a convenient rooftop landing pad for the Shang family’s private helicopters.
But now the crown prince was really coming to work in mainland China – and not just for a visit, but as a permanent posting. Overnight, smiles vanished from everyone’s faces. They buttoned themselves into immaculate suits and pencil skirts, then stretched their previously limited workload all the way to seven in the evening.
After a full month of nervously waiting on tenterhooks, the official notice finally arrived: Chairman Shao and the entire executive office accompanying him would formally move in today, conduct inspections, and listen to the senior management’s Q3 performance reports.
Autumn sunlight in Ning City was dazzling and warm, but every floor of Qinde headquarters was shrouded in gloom. Just as everyone held their breath waiting for Shang Shao’s grand arrival, the Maybach approaching its destination slowly pulled over by the roadside and switched on its hazard lights.
Lin Cunkang kept both hands on the steering wheel. Shang Shao had suddenly told him to stop, and he was waiting for the next instruction.
Shang Shao was still brooding over that text message.
This woman had vanished for three days, only to send him a bizarre message that was incoherent, nonsensical, and deeply concerning in terms of mental state.
As the heir to one of Hong Kong’s top tycoon families – someone who had grown up hearing firsthand accounts of kidnappings, extortion, and ransom killings; who had ridden in bulletproof cars since kindergarten; whose own younger brother had once been kidnapped; and who never attended public events without four bodyguards shadowing him – Shang Shao naturally arrived at one conclusion:
She had been kidnapped.
And this text… was it her distress signal?
The moment that possibility struck him, his expression changed. Without hesitation, he tapped three digits onto the screen: 999 —
His finger paused above the call button. No, wait. This was mainland China, not Hong Kong.
From the rearview mirror, Lin Cunkang caught the rare sight of the young master looking so grim. Just as he was about to ask what was wrong, Shang Shao spoke first, “What’s the emergency police number in the mainland?”
“110,” Lin Cunkang answered, glancing back over the steering wheel. “What happened?”
Shang Shao had no time to reply. He pressed the number and was just about to call when another call came through.
The name “Ying Yin” appeared on the screen.
His face remained dark and unreadable, his eyes shadowed. Only after a measured breath did he swipe to answer.
“Mr. Shang? Is this Mr. Shang? Please listen to me first…” Ying Yin spoke in a panicked rush, stumbling over her words as she desperately prayed the crown prince would hear her explanation before sentencing her to death.
The bit of calm Shang Shao had just recovered instantly sank again. Without realizing it, he tightened his grip on the phone.
It was her voice – there was no way he could mistake it.
But she sounded anxious, terrified even. One could tell immediately that… her mental state was not very stable.
Shang Shao assumed this was an opportunity Ying Yin had managed to seize with great difficulty, and that her panic was why she could not get to the point. Cutting her off, he asked directly, “Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”
Ying Yin was stunned by his assumption, and his cold, imposing manner unconsciously pressured her into following his lead.
“At…at the hotel.”
“The address.”
Without thinking, Ying Yin rattled off the hotel name and room number.
The next second, the man on the other end spoke in a low, steady voice. Beneath the calmness was the faintest trace of gentleness, almost imperceptible, yet enough to give her an overwhelming sense of security.
“Stay where you are. Leave the rest to me.”
After the call ended, Ying Yin stared at her phone and fell into deep thought.
Something about this felt… off.
Junyi looked even more bewildered than she did. “So it wasn’t some obsessive stalker fan after all?”
Ying Yin pressed a hand to her forehead. “You’ve gotten me killed. He made it sound so nice, but what if he’s actually coming here to settle accounts with me?”
Junyi still had no idea how serious the situation was and said cheerfully, “Then I’ll just apologize to him later.”
Ying Yin’s headache worsened. “You’re probably the only person in his entire life who’s ever yelled at him. You’re incredible…” She raised a thumbs-up. “Remember to put it on your résumé.”
Junyi: “…”
Beside the central avenue of Ning City’s CBD.
“Should we call the police?” Lin Cunkang had already pulled up the contact information for the provincial Public Security Department.
“She had a chance to make a call. If she could contact the police, she would’ve dialed 110 directly instead of calling me,” Shang Shao said, applying the most meticulous reasoning imaginable to a conclusion that was completely wrong. “She’s a celebrity – maybe it’s inconvenient for her to involve the police.”
Still, the fact that she had called him specifically was something he had never expected.
No matter what, saving her came first.
Ning City was enormous. It took two hours to drive from the CBD to the hotel, and throughout those two hours, Lin Cunkang’s phone never stopped ringing.
Two hours later, the hotel manager waited nervously at the entrance to receive them. Arriving alongside Shang Shao were several SWAT officers experienced in hostage rescue, four bodyguards, and – just in case – a hostage negotiator.
The hotel staff hurriedly led the group to the security office. While showing the SWAT team the building’s floor plans and structural layouts, they also pulled up surveillance footage from the past week.
The officer reviewed the footage quickly and intently. After a tense stretch of silence, he summarized, “According to the cameras, the only people who entered this room over the past week were the room’s occupant herself, her assistant, and hotel staff.” He paused thoughtfully. “Could I see that text message again?”
Shang Shao handed over his phone. “Is it possible the perpetrator has been hiding inside her room the entire time?”
The hotel’s general manager slapped his forehead. “A sasaeng fan! That’s happened before! There really have been cases! There was that celebrity once – a fan hid under his bed!”
Under Shang Shao’s cold, heavy gaze, the manager’s heart skipped a beat. Stammering, he hurried to explain, “S-sasaeng fans are those obsessive stalkers… the kind who want to possess celebrities for themselves.”
The SWAT officer proposed a cautious plan. “This text message really does resemble a distress signal, and it’s already been forty-eight hours since anyone last entered the room. Here’s what we’ll do, Mr. Shang: first we’ll use room service to probe the situation inside, and then we’ll reassess.”
The group split into two elevators and rode up to the top floor, quickly and silently taking their positions. Then a female hotel cleaner knocked on Ying Yin’s door.
“Hello, housekeeping.”
Ying Yin had just finished discussing her post-filming schedule with Mai Anyan. Hearing the knock, she didn’t even call for Junyi, who was in the second bedroom, but walked barefoot to the door herself. “Just a moment.”
Her emerald-green silk slip dress swayed around her slender calves as she moved.
The electronic lock clicked open. Outside the door, seven or eight people stood tense and silent, fully prepared. Inside, the woman looked languid and lovely, smiling sweetly as she opened the door.
“Good morn–”
The word “morning” turned into a scream. Her expression management collapsed instantly despite all her professional training. Both hands flew to cover her face.
“Is this another reality show?!”
Shang Shao: “…”
The SWAT officers, bodyguards, and negotiator: “…”
Lin Cunkang had lived decades longer than the others – what ridiculous situations hadn’t he seen before?
…Actually, even he had never seen a situation this ridiculous.
It took quite some effort to clear up the misunderstanding. Even when the SWAT officers and negotiator left, they still looked utterly dumbfounded. The bodyguards remained stationed on either side of the door, trying hard to keep their eyes straight ahead, though all four of them had their ears fully tuned in to the actress’s conversation.
The actress herself looked mentally adrift. “Should I… say thank you?”
Shang Shao’s face was dark, his tone icy. “No need.”
Keeping a tactful distance away, Lin Cunkang finally failed to suppress a laugh. Shang Shao heard it, closed his eyes briefly, visibly furious – though it was impossible to tell whom exactly he was angry at.
“Why would you send me such a bizarre text message?” he asked at last, after holding it in again and again.
Beside them, Cheng Junyi weakly raised a hand. “Sorry… I sent it. I thought you were, um… one of those sasaeng fans.”
A sasaeng fan – the obsessive stalker type who wants to possess a celebrity for themselves.
The hotel manager’s words kept replaying in Shang Shao’s mind. Irritated beyond measure, he loosened his tie with one hand.
“Didn’t I give you my number that night?”
Ying Yin felt overwhelmingly guilty. “I… didn’t save it.”
“Why not?”
“Even if I had, it wouldn’t have been useful…” Ying Yin pressed her palms together above her head and squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry! This is my fault!”
She had assumed that, after refusing his goodwill and failing to appreciate his kindness, Shang Shao would storm off in anger. Instead, the crown prince merely let out a long, heavy breath.
When he spoke again, his tone had returned to that inscrutable coldness of his.
“How would it be useless? If you really had been in danger today, that call would’ve mattered.”
Ying Yin froze. Her clasped hands unconsciously lowered to her chest as she stared at Shang Shao without blinking for a single moment. Like a little girl making a wish.
Junyi was simply too socially oblivious, and so managed to escape the oppressive force of the man’s aura entirely. With innocent confusion, she asked, “Why didn’t you just call again to confirm? If you’d made one more phone call, none of this huge commotion would’ve been necessary.”
Although her question was perfectly reasonable, Ying Yin only wanted to beg her to stop offending this man.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Shang, my assistant…”
There was not the slightest trace of displeasure on Shang Shao’s face. After a brief pause, he lowered his eyes to Ying Yin.
“I did think about it. I was just afraid it might endanger your safety.”
Cheng Junyi suddenly blushed. Secretly, she was blushing on behalf of her boss.
Ying Yin was left speechless. Somehow infected by her assistant’s obliviousness, her heart surged in waves, one after another.
The two of them fell silent for a long moment. Then Shang Shao’s gaze shifted, landing on the dark bruise by her elbow.
“What happened to the injuries on your body?”
Ying Yin reflexively tried to cover them up, but this time she truly understood what “robbing Peter to pay Paul” meant – covering the left arm exposed the right, covering the right exposed the left, and even her knees betrayed her completely.
“They’re from filming.” In the end, she simply smiled openly and showed him. Her smile was bright and unconcerned. “It’s normal. Just not very pretty. When the movie comes out, I’ll invite you to the cinema, Mr. Shang.”
A few casual words later, it was time to say goodbye.
An entire company was still waiting for him. Shang Shao offered a brief farewell, but just before leaving, something seemed to occur to him, and he paused mid-step.
“You seem to enjoy answering the door in your sleepwear.”
His tone was light, but difficult to interpret – it could have been a question, a reproach, or a warning.
Startled, Ying Yin instinctively lowered her head to look at herself.
She was wearing a bra. It was just that the straps of the emerald-green slip dress were rather long, exposing two delicate collarbones, while beneath the expanse of her skin, the soft curves of her figure rose and fell faintly.
It wasn’t improper. It was simply… overwhelmingly beautiful.
Ying Yin choked on her words. She wanted to blame him, but lacked the confidence to do so, so the moment she spoke, her courage failed her and her voice grew quieter.
“Clearly it’s because you never give any warning before showing up.”
For a fleeting instant, Lin Cunkang – who had been silently waiting the entire time – thought his eyes were playing tricks on him.
He saw Shang Shao curl his lips slightly. The smile was faint, as though he simply had no way of dealing with her. In the end, he lifted a hand and casually flicked two fingers in farewell.
The elevators were at the far end of the corridor. The hallway was decorated in dark red and gold trim, with several orchids arranged in a large vase atop a traditional Chinese console table. The whole scene was unbearably gaudy. Looking at Shang Shao’s retreating figure, Ying Yin suddenly thought that for someone like him to appear in a place like this really was lowering himself.
The elevator doors closed and descended. Ying Yin rubbed her bare arm and let out a quiet breath before returning to the room.
Her phone began to buzz – a Hong Kong number. She answered, her heartbeat inexplicably quickening.
They had only just said goodbye moments ago.
The man on the other end had a rich, magnetic voice. The moment she heard it, she could not help picturing those eyes of his before her.
His tone was gentlemanly and aristocratic, with a touch of British elegance and casual ease.
“Miss Ying, I think this time you should save the number properly.”
Ying Yin murmured an “Mm.” She stopped walking, her slender back leaning against the snowy white wall, head lowered, her delicate shoulder blades feeling the coolness of it through her skin.
“And what should I save it as?”
Ying Yin did not dare save his actual name. He was like the moon in the sky – impossibly distant, impossible to reach.
Her unpainted lips parted softly. Her tongue brushed lightly against the ridge behind her teeth, shaping two exquisitely tender syllables:
“Mr. Shang.”
