Letter from Hong Kong Chapter 95

Every year, February, March, and September were the busiest months for Wen Youyi, for those were the seasons of the major fashion weeks.

As one of the world’s biggest haute couture buyers, Wen Youyi’s most astonishing record had been set during one Paris season when she went all in, purchasing every single look from the haute couture collections of three members of the Chambre Syndicale in one sweep. The total exceeded a hundred million. Since then, she had become the most honored guest of every luxury house. From the founders of couture maisons, to the creative directors of heritage brands, to executives at the headquarters of luxury conglomerates, everyone booked appointments with her more than a month in advance. Some even visited her personally, bringing along confidential lookbooks that were still under embargo, hoping to pique her interest and persuade her to attend their shows in person.

This year was no different.

As Wen Youyi’s personal assistant, Xiao Lai had barely stopped answering calls or emails since early February. After all, a lady of her status only had so much time. She couldn’t possibly attend every show. So the brands had taken the competition to entirely new heights.

Besides the usual invitations and pleasantries, one notoriously aloof blue-blood luxury house – whose sales associates were infamous for looking down at people through their noses – had its haute couture creative director personally hand-paint an entire portfolio illustrating how every look would appear on Wen Youyi herself.

She was thoroughly delighted. She even remarked that she might, just might, consider attending the after-party – a rare concession from someone who never stayed for post-show events.

What Xiao Lai hadn’t expected was that only a few days after the Lunar New Year -before the first month had even ended – Wen Youyi suddenly announced she wasn’t going.

“…Then… what about Valeridge? You don’t like the French editor-in-chief of Moda, but the brand promised they’ll keep her well away from you. You absolutely won’t be seated together.”

Wen Youyi looked listless, eyes closed as she rested her temple against one hand. “I’m not going.”

“And Joysilly? You’ve always loved their tailoring.”

“Not going.”

Left with no choice, Xiao Lai began sending one impeccably courteous, flawlessly composed, and icily formal refusal after another.

“Dear Sir or Madam, we sincerely appreciate your kind invitation. However, due to health reasons, Ms. Tanya…”

It sounded exactly like the sort of excuse no one truly believed.

Shang Qingye knew better than anyone how much his wife adored buying beautiful dresses.

The moment Xiao Lai secretly tipped him off, he immediately realized something was seriously wrong.

“Ah-Shao falling in love really wasn’t something I deliberately kept from you,” he recited with the ease of someone delivering the same explanation for the three hundred and twenty-first time. “At first, I honestly thought it wouldn’t last, and that Ah-Shao wasn’t all that serious. Later, I felt her physical and emotional condition simply couldn’t bear the responsibilities that would one day come with taking your place. Suspending him from the group was so Ah-Shao could enjoy being in love without distractions.”

He paused before adding, almost defensively, “Isn’t everything fine now? He’s back at the company, and the relationship’s going wonderfully.”

Shang Qingye thought to himself that the only real victim in all of this was clearly him -the one who’d been exiled to the guest bedroom.

Wen Youyi rested her forehead against her hand, her eyes still closed. She let out a cold laugh but said nothing.

Shang Qingye crouched beside her and reached for her hand. “Come buy dresses. I’ll go with you.”

She withdrew her hand. “No.”

“Then… how about I tell you who Ah-Shao is dating?”

“No.”

“You have to give me a chance to make amends.”

Too lazy to continue arguing with him, Wen Youyi called out with impeccable composure, “Xiao Lai, please see the guest out.”

“‘See the…'” Shang Qingye – the guest in the master bedroom – could only seethe in silence, not daring to protest.

The fashion world was only so big.

Panic spread through the luxury houses. PR teams everywhere pulled every string they had, desperate to find out why Wen Youyi wasn’t attending. Or rather – which rival brand had won her over this year? What underhanded, bitchy tactic had they used?

They asked around relentlessly.

Only after every major fashion week around the world had come and gone did they look at one another in stunned disbelief.

Tanya hadn’t gone to any of them. She had even skipped the invitation-only private presentations held exclusively for haute couture clients.

As expected, if anyone dared to do the impossible, it was Greta.

Greta simply packed up its entire runway show and brought it to China for Wen Youyi.

Unable to find a venue in Hong Kong that matched the collection’s aesthetic, they ultimately staged the show at Lining Mansion in Ning City.

The mansion was one of Ning City’s most celebrated architectural landmarks – a stately residence blending Chinese and Western styles. Over the decades, it had hosted wealthy merchants from both Malaya and Hong Kong, and had even passed through the hands of several British aristocrats before changing owners time and again.

Today, the family behind the property’s ownership had long since fallen from prominence. The mansion had instead become the city’s most prestigious venue for elite banquets and private events, sustaining its grandeur through the exorbitant rental fees it charged.

Ying Yin gave Greta a definite yes.

The other party clasped her hands together in relief, as if thanking the heavens. “You’re going to love this season’s designs. And for every red carpet this year, please – give us the chance to dress you.”

As Greta’s Greater China PR Director, even a courteous remark like that carried considerable weight. It undoubtedly reflected the brand’s official position.

Ying Yin responded with poised professionalism, neither servile nor arrogant. “Then may I ask – does your VIP client have any particular preferences or taboos?”

“None, really. Just don’t dress too extravagantly. She’s a very elegant, very understated person.”

Ying Yin nodded. “Does she speak English? Or Cantonese? I don’t speak Cantonese. As for English… I’m not sure mine will be good enough.”

“We’ll arrange an interpreter, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

After seeing the PR director into the elevator, Ying Yin returned Luo Siliang’s call while glancing at Zhuang Tiwen with an amused smile. “So this is how far brands are willing to go for a customer.”

Tiwen shrugged. “Who’s ever complained about making too much money? I only spend three million a month at Rolf, and they deliver me fresh lotus flowers every single day through the dead of winter. Look.”

She opened her Moments feed.

Sure enough, the photo showed lotus blossoms – fresh and luminous, their petals still glistening with moisture. More than a dozen blooms, some fully open, others still in bud, were arranged in an old black wooden trough. They looked as though they’d just emerged from a rain shower, possessing an understated, refined beauty.

“Three million a month… only?” Ying Yin said with a half-smile.

She herself only allowed herself dresses that cost a few thousand yuan. Whenever she attended an event, she’d borrow gowns from fashion houses whenever possible.

“Handbags, ready-to-wear, accessories, bespoke pieces…” Tiwen counted them off on her fingers. “That’s really not much. You don’t know Leo’s mother? Hasn’t he ever told you about her?”

“I’ve heard a little.”

“She has an entire villa that’s nothing but a walk-in wardrobe.” Tiwen smiled. “Listening to Greta just now, I almost thought they were talking about her.”

She shook her head. “But she’d never miss a fashion show.”

Just then, Luo Siliang picked up the phone.

“What time does your flight land?” Ying Yin asked.

“Oh, pretty late,” Luo Siliang calculated. “Around one-thirty in the morning.”

“Then there’s no rush. Get some rest tomorrow, and afterward just book a same-city courier. I’ll send you the office address.”

Luo Siliang readily agreed.

At the same time, he couldn’t help thinking that Miss Ying was taking this letter rather seriously.

He just couldn’t figure out one thing – who exactly was this “Mr. Lin”?

After hanging up, Zhuang Tiwen promptly pulled Ying Yin back to work. “Director Fang’s Justice Prevails has been scheduled for a May Day release. The May box office is usually strong, although there are two imported films opening around the same time. If everything goes well and they extend the screening license once, it should stay in theaters through the Dragon Boat Festival.”

She glanced at her tablet. “He sent over a list of twelve promotional tour stops. I looked over the itinerary – we can compress the whole roadshow into about a week.”

It was only natural for a film’s principal cast to attend its premiere roadshow – justice prevails, as the title itself suggested. If the lead actors skipped appearances or failed to actively promote the film on Weibo, public backlash would be swift and merciless.

Ying Yin had always been cooperative about promotional work. She simply left the scheduling to Zhuang Tiwen.

“There’s also the opening of Musel’s Beijing flagship store. You’ve had a good relationship with them, and Jeffrey will be there too. They’d like to invite you to the ribbon-cutting ceremony and the after-party. They don’t have an Asian ambassador yet, so this could be a good opportunity. What do you think?”

Tiwen discussed it with her rather than pushing for an answer. Even with such an excellent commercial opportunity, she wasn’t overly eager. Had it been Mai Anyan instead, she would’ve dragged Ying Yin there no matter what.

The last time Jeffrey had styled Ying Yin for a fashion gala – in that white gown paired with knee-high boots – the red carpet look had been selected by an international fashion ranking as one of the Top Ten Best Red Carpet Looks of the Year. Amid a sea of ethereal princess gowns, hers had stood out like a crane among chickens, generating enormous buzz.

Standing onstage for a flagship store opening wasn’t particularly taxing, so Ying Yin agreed and asked Tiwen to accept the invitation on her behalf.

Tiwen hugged her tablet to her chest and let out a relieved sigh before smiling. “I’ve turned down everything else I could for you. You just wrapped filming yesterday – get some proper rest.”

By the time they finished discussing the schedule, night had already fallen.

The two women left the office and took the elevator down to the second basement level, where the production company’s business van was waiting to take them to a dinner.

This wasn’t the wrap party.

Present were director Lishan, executive producer Zhuang Tiwen, Best Actress Ying Yin, and Ellison, Executive President of ARP, one of the world’s leading overseas film distributors.

The film had only just wrapped, so discussing distribution rights was technically premature. But Tiwen thought several moves ahead. She had learned from a certain someone to plant the seeds for ten future steps with every move she made. This dinner had therefore been organized by her.

Also in attendance were several highly respected veterans from the Hong Kong Film Producers Association. Lishan had invited a number of heavyweight Chinese-language film producers and investors as well, elevating the gathering into an event of considerable importance.

Ying Yin no longer dared to overindulge. No matter how fine the wine, she restrained herself. But one toast here, another clink of glasses there, a constant chorus of “Cheers!” from every direction…

By a little after ten o’clock, she was still feeling pleasantly lightheaded.

Tiwen escorted her downstairs.

Lin Cunkang was already waiting with the Maybach.

Ying Yin pulled on her face mask, walked over with practiced familiarity, and climbed into the car from the side where Shang Shao usually sat.

She leaned instinctively toward him and fell into empty space.

“Hm?” She blinked, her gaze unfocused with confusion.

Lin Cunkang and Tiwen helped her settle into her seat. After Tiwen fastened her seatbelt, Lin Cunkang explained, “Young Master is still at the office. He asked me to take you home first.”

Not long after the car pulled away, Ying Yin finished a small bottle of mineral water and asked, “Uncle Kang… could we go wait for him to get off work?”

Lin Cunkang glanced at her through the rearview mirror, making sure she was still sober enough to know what she was saying before answering carefully. “Young Master won’t be finished for at least another hour.”

Shang Shao had stood Shang Qingye up for so long – and, as a result, had condemned him to nearly two months of sleeping in the guest bedroom. The moment Shang Shao returned to the group, Shang Qingye retaliated by packing his schedule from eight in the morning until ten at night with nothing but the highest-level meetings, every one of which required the Executive Director’s attendance.

As for the extra hour after ten, that belonged to Shang Shao as well.

He would spend it reviewing and signing documents, because Shang Qingye had declared that he expected to see his comments and approvals on his desk by nine the following morning.

Shang Shao remained remarkably composed about it all.

After all, once the Chairman’s office lights at the Hong Kong headquarters went dark, Shang Qingye was merely returning to another sleepless night in the guest bedroom.

“There, see? We can just wait downstairs for him,” Ying Yin said.

She pulled out a cleansing wipe and carefully wiped every trace of the banquet’s lingering scent of alcohol from her face before reapplying her lipstick.

The Maybach’s turn signal blinked in the quiet streets of the late-night city as it changed course toward the CBD.

Following Ying Yin’s wishes, Lin Cunkang refrained from tipping Shang Shao off in advance. At the same time, he thoughtfully suggested, “Would you like to wait upstairs instead? There’s a lounge.”

“No. What if I walk in and find someone keeping him company?” she said.

Lin Cunkang coughed awkwardly. “…In that case, all the more reason for you to go upstairs and see for yourself.”

That was true.

She had never actually seen what Shang Shao’s office looked like.

She asked Lin Cunkang for an access card, carefully memorized which floor his office was on, and repeatedly declined his offer to escort her upstairs.

The moment she stepped out of the car, her high heel twisted beneath her.

Lin Cunkang: “…”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Ying Yin said, smoothing down her skirt and taking a deep breath. “I can do this.”

“Your mask.”

“Right, right.” She accepted the mask from him. “…Which floor was it again?”

For the fifth time, Lin Cunkang patiently repeated, “The sixty-eighth floor.”

Ying Yin silently repeated the number twice to herself, then used his card to unlock the elevator lobby. An elevator was waiting on Basement Level Three. She stepped inside, swiped the card, and quickly pressed the button for the sixty-eighth floor before she could forget it.

The faster the high-speed elevator rose, the faster her heart raced.

Would he be annoyed that she had shown up uninvited and interrupted his work?

Or would he think… that she didn’t understand boundaries?

Ying Yin wanted to turn back.

But no one got on the elevator at any of the intermediate floors, and it carried her straight up to the sixty-eighth floor.

This Qinde Land building was one of Ning City’s CBD landmarks, but the office floors only extended up to sixty-eight. Above that, the remaining floors were operated by a renowned luxury hotel.

Ying Yin had originally worried that she would have to wander around looking for his office after arriving. But the moment the elevator doors opened, she realized her concern had been unnecessary.

There was only one office with the lights still on.

The electric blinds were half-closed, allowing strips of light and shadow to filter through like the patterns of a tiger’s stripes, reflected across the gray-blue carpet of the outer reception area.

Ying Yin walked quietly, afraid of disturbing him.

Only when she approached the door did she realize it was a suite-style office.

The blinds on the outer glass wall were drawn. This was presumably the administrative secretary’s office, where visitors and calls were handled every day. The door to the inner office was closed, and the chrome nameplate beside it read:

Executive Director.

Ying Yin gently turned the handle, stepped inside, and knocked on the inner door.

The enormous computer screen had been frozen on a page displaying a proposal presentation for quite some time. On one side of the split screen was a densely packed English financial report.

Shang Shao’s eyes had never left the screen. He was still deep in thought, only sparing a fraction of his attention to ask, “Who is it?”

So utterly businesslike.

His voice sounded steady and composed – yet carried a slight chill.

Ying Yin changed her voice, making it softer and more flirtatious. “Chairman Shao, it’s so late. Would you like some supper?”

Shang Shao froze for a moment.

No one on his team would ever dare speak to him in such a coquettish tone. But ultimately, in a corporation this large, whether someone was male or female didn’t prevent them from hiding other intentions.

“No need, thank you.”

His tone remained unchanged as he brushed her off, and he had no interest in even stepping outside to take a look.

“Really?” Ying Yin pursed her lips, sounding a little aggrieved and spoiled. “You’ve stayed at work this late… wouldn’t your wife be upset?”

Shang Shao: “…”

How did HR recruit people?

Who had made this hiring request? Who wrote the job description? Who was responsible for the first, second, and final interviews?

Did she think this place was some kind of private club?

At three in the morning, with no one else around for him to order around, he could only push back his chair and get up himself. He needed to go to the door and remember this person’s face so that the HR department could have a talk with her tomorrow.

When the door opened, the Executive Director’s face was terrifyingly dark. “Which depart…”

Ying Yin’s eyes were hazy. She tilted her head up, the lights reflected brightly in her eyes, and what flowed through them was probably nothing but whiskey.

“I’m your housekeeper – mmph!”

Before she could finish speaking, he had already swept her up into his arms.

“What kind of housekeeper comes to the office, hmm?”

“Mr. Shang pays well…” Ying Yin rambled nonsense. Unable to continue making things up, she buried her face into the crook of his neck.

Shang Shao carried her over to the sofa.

She sat down while he remained standing. He held her hand, their fingers entwined. With his other hand braced against the back of the sofa, he looked down at her for a while with eyes as deep and misty as fog, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“How much did you drink this time?”

Ying Yin cautiously held up one finger. “One glass of whiskey. A full glass.”

“Why didn’t you let Uncle Kang take you home?”

“I wanted to see you.”

Shang Shao reached out. The back of his fingers lingered over her smooth cheek before slowly sliding downward. “You saw me. And then what?”

Ying Yin pursed her lips slightly, looking unfairly wronged. When she closed her eyes, she fell into the warmth of his breath, and then into his kiss.

She instinctively responded, lifting her arms and holding him tightly – the man beneath his black shirt, his neck and body drawn close against her.

Her lips tasted sweet. When he drew her tongue into the kiss, it was flushed and glistening, looking soft and full.

Shang Shao kissed the corner of her lips, brushed against her earlobe, and asked in a hoarse voice, “What are you wearing underneath?”

“An evening gown.”

Ying Yin lowered her hand, guiding his as they untied the belt of her trench coat together.

The coat had no buttons. Once the bow came undone, the front of the coat loosened as well. The deep, sweet fragrance of tuberose spread through the air, mingling with the warmth of her body.

Ying Yin’s choices for evening gowns were always simple and elegant. This one was a deep pink floor-length dress, with a cutout shoulder design and a high collar, carrying a distinctly classical beauty. And yet, both of her shoulders had been carefully highlighted with a subtle sheen. Under the lights, they appeared smooth, rounded, and shimmering with a soft radiance.

Shang Shao’s palm rested against her shoulder, caressing her for a while before he kissed her again. This time, his kisses moved from her earlobe down to the side of her neck.

The high collar was inconvenient, though the cut was not particularly tight. With one finger, he hooked it down. Ying Yin cooperated, tilting her head back as far as she could, letting him linger there. Under his increasingly heated breath, she found herself growing warm as well.

She trembled slightly, feeling embarrassed, because the space around them was so empty, filled with a solemn, restrained atmosphere that belonged to work rather than intimacy.

“Don’t…”

Shang Shao gave a quiet laugh and withdrew his hand, kissing the corner of her lips. “Don’t what? I don’t have a habit of doing this in an office.”

Ying Yin’s face flushed crimson. Her dress was already in disarray, yet he was pretending to be the picture of propriety here.

But Shang Shao really did return to his desk. “There are three proposals left. Sleep on the sofa for a while.”

Alcohol did make people sleepy. After sitting quietly for a while, Ying Yin’s eyes gradually closed. She curled up on her side on the sofa and quickly fell asleep.

She had no idea how long she slept before someone gently lifted her.

Thinking they were finally leaving, she asked sleepily, “Are we going home?”

“Not yet.”

“Hm…?”

Still muddled with sleep, she didn’t understand what he meant.

Shang Shao carried her back to his workstation and had her sit sideways in his arms. His thumb brushed lightly over her lips. “Sleep here with me.”

“What?”

Shang Shao found it difficult to explain.

With her lying over there, she kept distracting him. The speed at which he reviewed proposals and thought through problems had slowed. Within minutes, his attention would drift.

He would look at her and feel both her softness and the softness that had appeared somewhere deep inside himself.

He simply wanted to hold her.

Not a brief, restrained embrace. He wanted to pull her into his arms, hold her tightly, keep her from moving, keep her from escaping, and feel the weight and warmth of her living body against him.

Ying Yin became slightly more awake. “No one works like this…”

“Why not? Someone does now.”

“It’s improper. It’s completely inappropriate.”

“Only Shang Qingye would dare say something like that.”

Ying Yin had nearly developed a reflexive reaction to that name. Her eyes widened. “He can’t see this!”

Shang Shao laughed softly. “Fine. I won’t let him see.”

Ying Yin worried about him with complete seriousness. “This will make you less efficient.”

“I decide that.”

Whether something was efficient, and what method was the most efficient – those things really were up to him.

And he did exactly as he said.

He focused completely.

Ying Yin suddenly thought of that night listening to the rain in the forest.

The fireplace had been warm, the rain outside had been pouring heavily. He had held her just like this then, wrapping a thin blanket around her.

Wearing those silver-rimmed glasses, he had sat there reading Heidegger with complete concentration.

Back then, it had been even more dangerous than now – because beneath that thin blanket, she had been wearing nothing at all.

In that quiet half hour, Shang Shao truly managed to finish approving those endless proposals.

Ying Yin drifted between sleep and wakefulness. Occasionally she would wake because she was worried she might drool, still carrying a bit of an idol’s image-consciousness.

When she saw Shang Shao closing the pages on his screen, she forced herself to stay awake for a moment and remembered something. “Luo Siliang said I had a letter left behind at Aqiap.”

Shang Shao’s movements did not pause at all. He shut down the computer and asked, “What letter?”

“He said it was sent from Hong Kong, from a Mr. Lin, but the address number was wrong. Was it Uncle Kang who sent it? Did you ask Uncle Kang to send it?”

Shang Shao’s expression did not change. “No.”

“Mm.” Ying Yin nodded. “I thought so too. We were separated at the time. Why would you have asked him to send me a letter?”

“We weren’t broken up.” Shang Shao corrected her.

Ying Yin tilted her face up and looked at him for a while. Then she closed her eyes. “Fine. Since you’re done, kiss me.”

One of Shang Shao’s hands cradled her face while the other rested at her waist. The way he kissed her – the intensity and the rhythm – was entirely suited to the late hours of the night.

Ying Yin was breathing unevenly, not knowing when she had ended up leaning back against his chest.

The shoulder cutouts of her evening gown were very wide, almost reaching the line of her chest. From the side, it revealed just the right amount of allure, yet the style itself remained incredibly elegant and refined.

Shang Shao loved that combination of noble restraint and sensuality in her. He respected the solemn dignity of his office as well. But at this moment, he had other thoughts.

His hand slipped in from the side as he kissed the curve of her ear, asking, “The letter is with Luo Siliang?”

“Mm. He hasn’t gotten off the plane yet,” Ying Yin answered under his guidance, completely responsive to every question. “He’ll send it to me tomorrow.”

“You live at my place. Wouldn’t it be inconvenient if he sent it there?”

Ying Yin stretched slightly, her graceful neck arching into a delicate line, completely surrendering to his touch.

“So I asked him to send it to the villa instead…” She frowned slightly, biting her lip before continuing after a moment. “Junyi will receive it.”

Shang Shao got the answer he wanted. He had already made arrangements in his mind, so he withdrew his hand. “Let’s go home.”

Ying Yin: “…”

Shang Shao looked down at her flushed face. The color in his narrowed eyes deepened. “Here?”

“No…” Ying Yin felt that she wasn’t lying.

She truly hadn’t intended to do anything there. She respected his distinguished identity as the Executive Director and the seriousness of his office. But he was the one who had provoked her.

A kiss was just a kiss – but his kisses were always dangerous.

A quiet laugh came from above her.

He remained completely in control. Through the fabric of her dress, he parted her legs. “How do you plan on facing Uncle Kang later?”

Ying Yin remembered that problem and truly wanted to leave now, but his strong hand held her in place.

The place where he held her was devastatingly sensitive. From that point through her body, a wave of weakness spread like ripples, leaving her without strength. And when she had no strength, she could only let him take the lead.

He lifted her and seated her on the desk.

For convenience, the office’s central control switch was located beside the desk. Shang Shao turned it off.

After a while, amid kisses that gradually became harder to control, the sound of something being knocked over rang out.

On the gray-blue carpet, documents scattered, and a fountain pen rolled several times before coming to a stop.

Shang Shao had Ying Yin place both feet against the edge of the desk. His voice was low and composed, though the final notes carried a husky exhaustion, sounding almost like an order.

In that position, he gave this office the symbolic respect it deserved – he only used his hands.