The bed that she usually complained was too cold had become warm enough to make her break into a sweat simply because there was one more man in it.
When Ying Yin woke from the heat, she had no idea what time it was. Looking out through the window, the sky was still a deep blue-black before dawn, casting cool sapphire light across the room. She barely moved, only intending to ease herself a little out of his embrace, but Shang Shao opened his eyes immediately.
He didn’t speak at once. Almost instinctively, he drew her back into his arms before asking, “Why are you awake?”
His voice was husky after their lovemaking, heavy with the languid satisfaction that came afterward.
“It’s hot.”
“Hot?” Shang Shao roused a little more fully.
“Mhm.” Ying Yin gave a soft nasal murmur, pressing a palm against his chest as she managed to put a little distance between them. A fine sheen of sweat covered her skin. The careful cleaning he’d given her before they fell asleep had all been for nothing. Wrapped in the humid warmth of her body, Shang Shao finally understood what the phrase a warm, fragrant beauty as soft as jade truly meant.
The tide of desire had not entirely left him. His eyes still carried that familiar darkened intensity. He tugged the quilt down from her tiny, palm-sized face, only to gather her right back into his arms.
“Sleep like this.”
Ying Yin: “…”
She gave him a small push.
His cool, stern voice came in warning. “Don’t move.”
Ying Yin obediently froze at once. Like a small animal, she stayed still for a while before asking softly, “Are you leaving tomorrow?”
“No.”
“…Then the day after tomorrow?”
“I’m not leaving then either.”
Unable to help herself, Ying Yin lifted her chin, looking momentarily puzzled before arriving at the answer on her own. “Oh… I forgot. You have a New Year’s holiday too.”
Shang Shao let out a quiet laugh.
She was so innocent that he hardly knew how to explain it to her.
The New Year was usually the busiest season of his year, a nonstop cycle of social engagements. Yet this year, he had simply walked away from it all. Coupled with the sick leave and suspension he’d taken just before the holiday, it was enough to invite endless speculation. The older generation of uncles and elders in the family were bound to connect the two incidents and read between the lines.
Even the senior executives who had always stood firmly behind him had begun entertaining unlikely possibilities. At first, they’d assumed it was nothing more than a father and son’s quarrel – hardly worth worrying about. But now rumors had started circulating.
Could the Crown Prince really be about to become a deposed crown prince?
But what had he done wrong?
They racked their brains and couldn’t think of a single offense that would warrant it.
“When do you want me to leave?” Shang Shao asked, brushing a kiss against the tip of Ying Yin’s nose.
“I don’t want you to leave.” Half asleep, Ying Yin became unusually obedient. “But you’re so busy… every minute is worth hundreds of millions…”
It was almost sleep-talking.
Shang Shao tightened his arms around her. “Then I just won’t leave.”
Gradually, Ying Yin drifted back to sleep. Her breathing became warm and slow, carrying a faint, sweet fragrance. Shang Shao breathed it in and couldn’t resist lowering his head to gently capture her lips in a lingering kiss. Even in her dreams, she yielded to him without resistance. Whatever he wanted, she gave. Her lips parted ever so slightly, welcoming the touch of his tongue and the warmth of his breath.
The next time she woke, it was to the sound of voices outside.
She heard Luo Siliang passing beneath the window, calling cheerfully to someone, “Tea? Come on, come on! Let’s head to the admin corridor and play some cards!”
Ying Yin shot upright in bed.
Oh no!
She’d forgotten to ask for leave. Would everyone think she was acting like a diva? Why hadn’t anyone come to wake her?
She hurriedly pulled on her down jacket, slipped into her padded slippers, jumped out of bed, and half-ran to the door.
The bronze door ring clattered as she yanked the wooden door open.
The snow outside reflected the brilliant winter sunlight so intensely that Ying Yin instinctively narrowed her eyes.
Shang Shao was standing outside on the phone.
Hearing the door, he turned. Covering the phone’s microphone with the hand holding his cigarette, he greeted her, “Morning.”
On the other end of the call, Shang Qingye heard the tone in his son’s voice and deliberately lowered his own.
Ying Yin pointed at his phone.
Shang Shao said, “I’ve already hung up.”
Shang Qingye: “…”
The two of them had been discussing company affairs – or rather, Shang Qingye had been doing all the talking while Shang Shao simply listened. Regardless of everything else, he still bore the responsibility of being the eldest son. Respect for hierarchy was ingrained in him. He would never commit the outright discourtesy of actually hanging up on his father’s call.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” Ying Yin asked, standing just inside the doorway. As she became fully awake, the frantic panic gradually subsided. She spoke while slipping her arms into the sleeves of her down jacket.
“I couldn’t bear to wake you after how exhausted you were last night.”
Shang Qingye: “…”
A faint blush crept across Ying Yin’s face. She mumbled in a small voice, “Don’t say things like that… what if someone hears you…”
“There’s no one else here.” Watching her get dressed, Shang Shao settled the cigarette back between his lips. “Why aren’t you wearing the one I gave you?”
“I’m going to change into costume as soon as work starts anyway.”
“We’re not filming today.”
“Huh?” Ying Yin froze, her hand stopping halfway up the zipper. “That’s impossible.”
She had invested her own money in this film, so she knew exactly what the finances looked like. Between her own condition and Li Shan’s habitual delays, the budget was already running tight. With over a hundred people on the crew, wages, equipment rentals, location fees, and daily operating expenses all cost money. Neither Tiwen nor Li Shan could possibly agree to shut down production for an entire day.
For film crews, working through holidays and pulling overnight shoots was perfectly normal. Everyone had joked the night before about getting the boss drunk so they could have New Year’s Day off, but in reality, everyone had been keeping score. They all knew exactly who could hold their liquor and who couldn’t.
Otherwise, why had the person who ended up drinking the most happened to be Jiang Te – the one man who could drink a thousand cups without getting drunk?
“I’m serious.” Shang Shao flicked the ash from his cigarette and replied lazily, “Tiwen said so.”
Tiwen was practically wearing out the buttons on her calculator.
At seven in the morning, before dawn had even broken, she’d been awakened by a phone call. Ten minutes after she gave her address, there was a knock at the door. Throwing on a coat, she got up to answer it, only to find her impeccably dressed, aristocratic cousin standing outside.
He informed her simply, “Production is suspended today. Everyone has the day off.”
Tiwen: “…”
“Is there a problem?”
With complete sincerity, she answered, “I have a lot of questions… but I don’t dare ask any of them.”
“Then there isn’t a problem.” Shang Shao gave a small nod. “Go back to sleep.”
Shivering in the cold, Tiwen sneezed pitifully. “…You could have just told me over the phone…”
Shang Shao glanced back over his shoulder. “I came out for some fresh air. While I was at it.”
“Now? Fresh air?” Out of habit, Tiwen looked at her wrist for the time, only to remember she’d taken off her watch before bed. She looked up instead. The moon was still hanging in the sky, and the Morning Star shone brightly.
Shang Shao cupped a hand around his lighter and lit another cigarette. “I just finished working.”
Tiwen: “…”
Poor Tiwen.
At seven o’clock in the morning, she sat there drafting WeChat messages to notify Li Shan, then passed the news along to every line producer and department head. At that hour, even the chickens weren’t awake. Such wonderful news disappeared into the void without so much as a single reply of, “Our boss is truly wise.”
When she trudged back inside, Junyi was already awake, pouring herself a glass of water.
Seeing Tiwen looking like a walking corpse, she asked, “Who was at the door?”
Still dazed, Tiwen slowly turned to look at her. “Ying Yin is incredible.”
Junyi nodded. “Mm. She really is.”
The two women had reached perfect agreement – just in entirely different fields.
On the other end of the call, Shang Qingye repeatedly set his phone down, then picked it back up. In the end, he folded his arms across his chest and sat squarely in the study chair, looking down at the steadily ticking call timer. A cold, mocking smile spread across his handsome face.
Let’s see what sort of conversation this unfilial son of mine thinks is worth keeping me waiting for.
Hearing that it was Tiwen who had declared the day off, Ying Yin finally let out a sigh of relief. She pulled the zipper she’d just fastened back down again. “…Then I want to go back to sleep.”
It definitely wasn’t the medicine making her drowsy. She hadn’t even taken today’s dose yet, and still she felt overwhelmingly sleepy.
The culprit stood right in front of her.
In a lowered voice, he asked, “Want me to keep you company?”
Alarm instantly filled Ying Yin’s upturned eyes, like a little sika deer with nowhere left to run. “Don’t…”
Shang Shao cupped her cheek. “I won’t touch you.”
Although his promises had an impressive track record of being broken, Ying Yin still hesitated. “Really?”
She craved his warmth.
“Really.”
Shang Shao smiled. Stepping over the threshold, he wrapped her in his arms and naturally lowered his head to kiss her.
Whenever lips and tongues met, there was always the faint, intimate sound of exchanged breaths and kisses.
Expressionless, Shang Qingye shoved his chair back, planted his hands on his hips, and paced a circle around his study.
The kissing still hadn’t stopped.
Finally, in exasperation, he barked, “Uncle Sheng!”
Uncle Sheng never had a chance to come in.
Instead, the shout startled the two people kissing.
Ying Yin hurriedly pushed Shang Shao away, her breathing unsteady, her face flushing so deeply it looked as though it might drip blood.
My image in front of his father is completely ruined…
Shang Shao gently smoothed a hand over her dark hair and leaned close to whisper into her ear, “Don’t be afraid.”
After letting out a long, restrained breath, he finally lifted the phone back to his ear and frowned. “Why didn’t you hang up?”
Shang Qingye knew perfectly well he had no moral high ground, but he answered with icy sarcasm anyway. “So you did remember I was still waiting?”
Shang Shao: “…”
He handed the phone to Ying Yin as casually as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. “Say hello.”
In a situation like this – and on New Year’s Day, no less – pretending to be absent would indeed have been terribly rude.
With no other choice, Ying Yin accepted the phone. Nervous as a high school girl caught by her parents dating behind their backs, she stammered, “…Uncle Shang… Happy New Year.”
“Mm.”
Perhaps realizing he’d sounded too stern, Shang Qingye softened his tone before replying, “Happy New Year. I heard you’re filming a movie?”
Ying Yin fidgeted with the cuff of her sleeve, using every ounce of composure she had to sound calm and polite. “Yes. We’re filming in Xinjiang.”
“It must be very cold in Xinjiang this time of year.”
“The snow hasn’t melted at all.”
Shang Qingye gave a small nod and waved Uncle Sheng – whom he’d just summoned into the study – back out.
“Keep yourself warm.”
“I will. Thank you,” Ying Yin answered quickly.
Pouring himself a cup of tea, Shang Qingye said, “You don’t need to be nervous. It’s my fault I didn’t raise him properly.”
Shang Shao: “…”
There was no possible response to that. Shang Shao smoothly took the phone back. “That’s enough. It’s New Year’s Day – you should be spending it with Xiao Wen.”
Shang Qingye tapped a finger lightly against his desk before asking directly, “You’ve been on leave long enough. Isn’t it about time you came back?”
“Wasn’t it you who told me to choose the beauty over the empire?”
The “beauty” in his arms looked utterly bewildered, having no idea what they were talking about.
Keeping his voice steady, Shang Qingye replied, “You’ve been suspended, not dismissed. You know perfectly well what I meant.”
A silent smile flickered across Shang Shao’s lips.
He knew exactly what his father meant.
During the month and more that Shang Shao had been suspended, Shang Qingye had already flown six business trips. According to his original schedule, he should have made eleven, but he simply couldn’t be in two places at once, so the remaining trips had been delegated to the group’s presidents.
The mainland’s biomedical project with Huarong was a maze of complexities, with countless intricacies beneath the surface. Shang Qingye had spent too many years at the summit. His focus was on top-level strategy and the underlying logic of the business. Whenever the project executives sought his approval, a decision that should have taken three minutes stretched into thirty.
Those extra twenty-seven minutes were spent bringing him up to speed – explaining, clarifying, and unpacking all the operational details that no longer naturally occupied his daily attention.
Shang Shao didn’t care about the title of “director” or anything of the sort. But he had held the position of executive director for nearly seven years. The entire Shangyu Group had long since become a river whose essential current flowed through him.
However, a conglomerate was a colossal entity born from modern capital. No one was truly indispensable, and Shang Shao understood that perfectly well. His father, Shang Qingye, was in good health. If he genuinely decided to take action, none of this would amount to anything.
The reason he was losing patience was because rumors had begun circulating outside that he had an illegitimate son who was about to be acknowledged and brought into the family. This entire drama of deposing the Crown Prince was supposedly meant to clear the way for that illegitimate child.
Nothing spread faster than gossip about a wealthy family’s illegitimate heir and a battle for inheritance – especially in Hong Kong, and especially within their social circle.
Shang Qingye had no choice but to be anxious. If Wen Youyi heard about it, although she was certain he would never do such a thing, she would undoubtedly question him until she got to the bottom of it. By then, everything surrounding Shang Shao would be dragged into the light as well. It would no longer be a matter of him sleeping in the spare bedroom for a few months.
Shang Shao knew all of this perfectly well.
Yet he wasn’t anxious in the slightest.
He crushed the remaining cigarette between his fingers, let out a quiet breath, and replied as steadily as an immovable mountain, “I’m still sick. No rush.”
Suppressing his irritation, Shang Qingye frowned. “What illness?”
On the other end of the phone, his son answered lazily, “Post-breakup syndrome.”
Shang Qingye: “…”
After the call ended, Ying Yin finally dared to breathe again. Still dazed with sleep, she asked, “What did you mean by choosing the beauty over the empire?”
Shang Shao lifted her effortlessly into his arms. “You heard wrong.”
He carried her back into the room, his dark, unreadable eyes fixed on her face. “It’s both the empire and the beauty. I want them all.”
