Letter from Hong Kong Chapter 8

A Maybach with both Hong Kong and mainland license plates slowly pulled out of the parking lot. The man inside had already put on his Bluetooth earpiece, instructing Qinde to start the meeting first.

Cheng Junyi crouched by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the car drive away, and noticed something off-key. “Mr. Shang’s Hong Kong license plate only has a single digit – 3. So easy to remember.”

Upon hearing this, Ying Yin indeed gazed at it for a moment. The bright yellow plate simply read “Hong Kong·3.” She didn’t know much about Hong Kong’s license plate issuance system, but she figured that something so simple must have cost a fortune.

But why “3”? For a man like him, getting a plate with “8” wouldn’t be hard at all.[1]

Junyi had a peculiar train of thought: “In the future, if he starts dating someone and is always driving them around, won’t he be recognized at first glance?”

Ying Yin tapped her on the head. “Are you dating him? Why think so much? Come help pack!”

Tonight was her last late-night shoot, and tomorrow she would wrap up. Three months into the production, she had brought five or six suitcases. The suite, which was deceptively spacious in name but actually quite cramped, had long been overrun by her personal belongings. Getting everything in order would take some time.

It was still early before her next scene, so Ying Yin put on an eye mask to catch up on more sleep. But her assistant’s chatter didn’t stop. “Why didn’t you invite him inside to talk?”

“I’m not that close to him,” Ying Yin replied flatly. She thought, Good thing I didn’t invite him – if he saw the mess of silk nightgowns and lace underwear scattered everywhere, what would be left of her celebrity aura?

“He didn’t ask to come in either.”

“He’s just being polite.”

Junyi said, “I really like him.”

Ying Yin replied, “Hey…”

Junyi explained, “I just think there are very few polite men these days, especially rich ones. Mr. Song isn’t very polite.”

“You figured that out too?” Ying Yin found it amusing, with a hint of self-mockery.

“If it were Mr. Song being criticized today, we’d probably all be in trouble. He doesn’t allow anyone to disrespect him.” Junyi folded the soft clothing. “But Mr. Shang is truly polite – he even looks at me when I speak.”

She paused for a moment, then spoke from the heart, “When he looks at you while you’re talking, you feel like you matter.”

Ying Yin’s heart tightened. Annoyed by her chatter, she threw a pillow at her to shut her up.

Cheng Junyi dodged the pillow nimbly and added one last remark, “He also came to save you. Something that outrageous happened, and he showed up so quickly. He’s the kind of person who comes to save you.”

Having had enough, Ying Yin flipped over and sat up. “What’s with you? Is this a never-ending case of love at first sight or what?”

Junyi’s heart wasn’t preoccupied with romance. She had a large burn scar on the side of her neck and had never entertained the idea that anyone could like her. Her boss knew this too. Which meant that Ying Yin’s current irritability wasn’t really about her.

Whenever Ying Yin lost her temper, her little assistant Cheng Junyi would fall silent, because she knew that before long, Ying Yin’s anger would subside on its own.

The soft bed piled with silk fabrics rustled slightly as Ying Yin lay back down. With her eyes closed, her clean, sharp brows were furrowed tightly.

“Hey.” Junyi could tell from her breathing that she was still awake. She held up a cashmere shawl. “Are we packing this or not?”

Ying Yin took off her sleep mask. The dark red shawl had been washed and dried by the hotel, no longer carrying that clean, fresh scent. She muttered a soft, “Shit.”

She’d forgotten to return it again.

The black Maybach with the silver roof drove smoothly. As it passed through a small town along the national highway – just like when it had come – it once again drew stares and lingering looks.

This was a true-blood lineage inherited from the 1920s and 30s, not the ordinary Mercedes-Maybach one sees on the streets. A thirteen-million vehicle was merely Shang Shao’s everyday business car. With a body over six meters long, it offered ample space between the front and rear seats even when the partition was raised.

Lin Cunkang knew that once Shang Shao entered work mode, he was completely focused and disliked being disturbed. So without waiting for instructions, he raised the partition on his own.

Through the Bluetooth earpiece, an executive’s report proceeded in an orderly fashion. Quarterly data played simultaneously on the tablet’s conference interface. Shang Shao listened attentively, his gaze lowered with focused clarity.

Out of habit, he reached into his trousers pocket and pulled out a cigarette case made of white porcelain.

The porcelain case was thin and smooth, free of any fingerprints – cleaner than some people’s eyeglasses. The lid was attached by a silver metal hinge. Flipping it open revealed three cigarettes and a lighter inside.

The cigarettes were custom-made in South America, not available on the market. They carried a faint scent of agarwood – mild and elegant. Even non-smokers found the aroma pleasant.

This was Shang Shao’s daily companion: three cigarettes, never exceeding that number. At social occasions, others would inevitably offer him cigarettes. Whether he accepted or not depended entirely on his mood.

At his level, the power to refuse or accept was entirely his own.

As his fingers touched the cigarette case, they brushed against another hard object.

He held the cigarette between his lips and paused, his lowered gaze faltering for a moment.

He hooked the object out with his finger and weighed it in his palm. A green gemstone ring, like a cube of sugar.

Through the Bluetooth earpiece, the report had ended. Everyone was waiting for him to ask questions. Who would have known that his mind was elsewhere – his eyes slightly narrowed, the corners of his lips around the cigarette going slack?

It was her ring. That morning, knowing he was coming over, she had planned to return it to him in person after the crisis was resolved. So she had asked Lin Cunkang for it back.

She’d forgotten after all.

Shang Shao gave a soft, amused shake of his head. But instead of returning the ring to Lin Cunkang, he followed her example and tucked it into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

When Ying Yin woke up, the sunlight outside the window was still strong. She pushed her sleep mask up onto her forehead, and the first thing she did was reach under the covers to grab her phone.

Damn it. She’d been thinking so much about how to text Shang Shao about returning the shawl right before falling asleep that she’d even dreamt about it. It had been exhausting.

Junyi handed her a glass of ice water and watched as she unlocked her phone.

There was one new message. The sender was “Mr. Shang.”

The silk blanket felt cool. Ying Yin couldn’t help but lie face down and press her cheek against it. After a moment, she finally opened Shang Shao’s message.

The wording was actually quite ordinary: [Miss Ying, that ring you threw at me last time – when do you plan on taking it back?]

Yet Ying Yin could imagine the man’s tone and expression as he said this – like morning mist in the mountains: faint, elusive, and hard to read.

She crossed her ankles and lifted her legs, hooking them together. From where Cheng Junyi stood, she looked just like a young girl.

Ying Yin replied: [When are you free?]

Shang Shao responded surprisingly quickly. Just a few seconds later, he wrote: [That depends on you.]

Should she go get it in person? Ying Yin wasn’t sure. Did Shang Shao want her to come in person? For the chance to see each other again?

She hesitated for only a few seconds, but Shang Shao had already said: [I can have someone deliver it to you. The same hotel?]

Alright. So he didn’t need to see her again.

Ying Yin’s heart, which had just been hanging in suspense, settled back down.

She replied in a businesslike manner, reminding him: [I wrap up filming and leave the set tomorrow. It had better be within these two days.]

[And your shawl – should I hand it over to the person you send as well?]

Shang Shao said: [Up to you.]

Ying Yin fired back a somewhat impertinent reply: [I thought you always decide things in your own way.]

As expected, Shang Shao did not reply to her.

Ying Yin didn’t wait around. She tied her hair into a ponytail and went for a run. She had asked the hotel to move a treadmill into her room – after all, she ran every day, and being a big celebrity made using the gym very inconvenient.

While she ran, she kept her phone on the windowsill nearby, where any vibration would be immediately noticeable.

But even after she finished running and went to take a shower, the phone still hadn’t made a sound.

Shang Shao had just finished a round of golf with Tan Beiqiao, the chairman of Huakang.

The autumn afternoon sun was still strong, but less glaring than in summer. The two men returned to the shade of the awning to rest. Their attendants and caddies put away their umbrellas and stood at a distance.

As a newly positioned state-owned enterprise, Huakang’s chairman, Tan Beiqiao, held extraordinary status. At sixty years old, he was an academician and engineer entitled to ministerial-level treatment. Others would instinctively bow and scrape before him, but Shang Shao had no need to.

Shangyu’s expansion into the mainland was, in principle, a partnership of equals. But Tan Beiqiao had a friendship with Shang Shao’s father, Shang Qingye, so Shang Shao regarded him as an elder. He carried himself with humility and restraint – respectful, but not stiff.

“I was in Hong Kong last month and had a rare chance to spend time with your father. From what he said, he was truly reluctant to let you come to the mainland,” Tan Beiqiao chatted casually.

“You flatter me.” Shang Shao curved his lips slightly. “These past two years, my father and I have grown quite tired of each other’s company. My coming to the mainland was a great relief to him.”

Tan Beiqiao laughed heartily. “You, you! Don’t think I don’t know. Back then, your father was beside himself over your marriage. So, what about now? Any new young lady?”

Whenever an elder took the initiative to ask about marriage and relationships, there was usually an ulterior motive.

Shang Shao naturally understood what he meant, but he didn’t give him an opening. His words were watertight. “Not yet. And for now, no plans either.”

“You’re just too picky.” Tan Beiqiao smiled. “I was going to introduce you to a very nice young lady, the daughter of a close friend. She just returned from the UK – I thought you two might get along. She’s beautiful, too. A master’s in biology.”

Shang Shao could tell from this that she was quite young. He smiled and politely declined. “So young. She’d be wasted on me.”

Tan Beiqiao turned his head to look at him.

He was still some distance from forty, but only the quiet stillness in his eyes revealed his life experience; there were few other signs of the passage of time.

Perhaps this was also due to his appearance – a pair of warm, gentle eyes, a nose bridge that was straight but not overly sharp. A thin pair of lips habitually held a hint of a smile. Paired with a gaze that was clear yet composed, he always gave people an elusive, unshakable impression.

He was the kind of face that rewarded close observation.

And then there was his bearing – honed through years at an elite British public school -an effortless, innate elegance.

Not just his gestures and posture, but even the pace of his speech – that perfectly measured, steady, calm rhythm – made him seem exceptionally refined.

Tan Beiqiao had held posts in several institutions, all deeply rooted in the southern China region. In the Greater Bay Area, to do large-scale business – imports and exports, jewelry, shipping, ports, infrastructure, hotels, healthcare, light industry – it was impossible to bypass the Shang family.

He was quite familiar with the Shang family, so he understood Shang Shao’s character and abilities very well. He also knew just how many people, overtly or covertly, had tried to send women to his side, hoping to gain his favor and, by extension, rise in fortune alongside him.

Yet Shang Shao had remained untouched by it all.

Except for one year ago – that little-known engagement banquet that had been urgently called off, and the woman who was rumored to have left him.

Tan Beiqiao thought he knew the whole story.

He gazed at the undulating, boundless green fairway, squinting his eyes. “It seems, as your father said, that you’re not yet ready to throw yourself into the next round.”

Shang Shao neither confirmed nor denied it. He merely curved his lips.

After a moment, the older man, realizing he had dampened the mood, excused himself to go to the restroom. Shang Shao watched him leave, then asked Lin Cunkang to hand him his private phone.

[I thought you always decide things in your own way.]

This was indeed a somewhat out-of-line remark. Considering the dramatic display that morning, it was even harder to tell whether it was meant as a tease or a complaint.

Shang Shao sat lounging in an outdoor chair, his legs crossed. Beneath the shadow of the awning, his eyes revealed nothing of what he was feeling.

A few seconds later, he dialed.

Ying Yin was in the middle of a shower, covered in foam. She heard Cheng Junyi shout something. She turned the water down, her hands full of suds, frozen at her neck, and looked up. “Huh?”

Cheng Junyi was already standing at the bathroom door with the phone. “It’s Mr. Shang.”

Ying Yin panicked. “Don’t answer! Don’t answer!”

Too late. Junyi had already swiped to accept and was holding the phone out to her.

The shower hissed steadily. Ying Yin had no choice but to take the phone with her soapy hands. Slippery as it was, she gripped it tightly. She stood stiffly. Her voice was even tighter. “Mr. Shang?”

Shang Shao listened for two seconds. “Is it raining?”

“No.”

Ying Yin instinctively turned off the water.

The sound of rain stopped. In the enclosed space of the bathroom, her breathing became clear.

Shang Shao realized what was happening. He paused for a few seconds before saying, “Next time you’re showering, you don’t have to answer the phone.”

The golf course awning might have been a few years old – he felt it wasn’t quite enough. Though a gentle autumn breeze was blowing, the sun still left him feeling restless and warm.

“It was my assistant who answered. She offended you today and didn’t dare to be neglectful.”

Shang Shao smiled. “Are you talking about her, or about yourself?”

“Haven’t I already offended you thoroughly?” Ying Yin paused for a moment, her voice echoing slightly. “Mr. Shang, I’m afraid of you.”

She was afraid of him.

These words rose slowly from the depths of Shang Shao’s heart, sending ripples across its surface.

He went along with her sentiment, speaking slowly and deliberately – part sincere, part teasing. “You’ve offended me, and you owe me a favor. Until you return it, you’ll be like a startled bird afraid of its own shadow.”

Ying Yin froze. In front of him, she really was transparent.

“You just said that you thought I always decide things in my own way.” Shang Shao continued the conversation, his tone casual. “That’s not entirely wrong.”

Ying Yin’s heartbeat stopped. Her breathing grew faint as she held it.

“Then what is it that you like to do?”

She asked the question herself. Shang Shao had no reason to refuse to answer.

Translator’s Words:

[1] 8 in Chinese is considered extremely lucky because its pronunciation sounds similar to the word for “wealth” or “prosperity”.