Chapter 5

Turning their heads, they saw him standing there.

Two months had passed since their fleeting encounter in Hengdian. Zhao Pingjin stood in the middle of the corridor opposite the jewelry counter, flanked by several subordinates. It was unclear how long he had been observing them.

Their eyes met briefly.

Ni Kailun was usually adept at navigating social situations, especially with sponsors and investors, balancing enthusiasm and politeness perfectly. But in that moment, her smile froze, and she bristled like a provoked rooster, glaring at him defiantly.

Zhao Pingjin, naturally, made no move to greet them, his expression cold as stone.

Shen Min, trailing behind Zhao, paused too, looking puzzled as he glanced in their direction.

To the casual observer, the two women appeared ordinary shoppers. One wore a sleek professional skirt suit, clad in designer labels—a common sight in luxury malls. The other, younger and dressed simply in a thin sweater, possessed an unforgettable delicate face. Though her beauty bore traces of fatigue, closer inspection revealed nothing particularly remarkable about her.

Yet, Zhao Pingjin stood rooted, staring blankly for what felt like ages.

The boutique manager hurried over deferentially: “Mr. Zhao, may I assist you?”

Zhao remained silent, his face impassive.

Shen Min intervened, dismissing the manager: “It’s fine.”

At that moment, Zhao snapped out of his trance. Without uttering a word, anger radiating off him, he turned abruptly and strode away.

Shen Min followed, glancing back briefly. The young woman’s profile caught his eye as she bowed her head slightly. Suddenly, realization dawned, and words escaped him before reason could intervene: “Xitang? Is that you?!”

Xitang hesitated but gave him a faint nod.

Ni Kailun immediately yanked her away, as if fleeing danger: “Let’s go!”

Xitang allowed herself to be dragged along, hearing one of Zhao’s subordinates call out behind them: “Mr. Zhao, please follow me—”

Ni muttered under her breath: “Persistent ghost.”

Xitang knew Ni was protective of her, but she didn’t want Ni to offend Zhao either. His background ran deep—even Ni, a seasoned veteran of the industry, might not fully grasp its extent. Only later did Xitang discover fragments of his family history through a confrontation with his mother. Beyond his grandfather, father, and uncle’s elite connections, his maternal family, the Zhous, had been industrial tycoons in Shanghai since before liberation. The Zhou family’s roots ran deep, invisible to outsiders. With no direct heirs, Zhao Pingjin was the sole grandson of the Zhou dynasty.

Sitting on the plush sofa outside the fitting room, Xitang clutched Ni Kailun’s coat tightly, feeling as though a boulder pressed against her chest, suffocating her.

Fortunately, the saleswoman wheeled in racks of gowns, and Ni, delighted, quickly forgot the incident.

After leaving the mall, Ni returned to the company while Xitang took a two-day break. “I’ll walk around for a bit,” she said.

Stepping out of the luxurious mall, the warm air dissipated, replaced by a cool breeze. Looking up, the sky was a muted blue.

Xitang rarely returned to Shanghai. Though the company headquarters was located there, monthly meetings drew eager colleagues back to revel in the city’s vibrant nightlife. Xitang, however, preferred staying put in Hengdian’s production center, where she was often tasked with overseeing filming progress.

Checking the time, she decided to grab a coffee.

Approaching the crosswalk, a black sedan pulled up beside her, blocking the intersection.

The window rolled down, revealing Zhao Pingjin seated in the backseat: “Get in.”

The driver opened the door respectfully.

Xitang smiled politely: “No, thank you.”

She walked away, but a voice called out: “Huang Xitang.”

Turning, she saw Zhao step out of the car himself, opening the door impatiently: “Get in.”

Xitang stood frozen. Traffic began to pile up behind them, taxis honking angrily. Reluctantly, she climbed into the car.

The door closed, enveloping her in his scent—not cologne, but the subtle aroma of his aftershave. Quiet and cool, it lingered in the air.

“Where to?” Zhao asked, legs crossed, his tailored black trousers creased immaculately.

“The nearest subway station,” Xitang replied softly.

Zhao glanced at her. The weather had warmed, yet she wore coarse pants and a gray sweater, her slender wrists crossed over her knees.

Finally close enough to observe, he noticed her right hand—her fingers slightly curled, hanging weakly.

“Where are you going? I’ll drop you off,” Zhao repeated.

“The nearest subway station,” Xitang murmured.

Zhao raised an eyebrow, neither angry nor surprised. She was as stubborn as ever, unwilling to yield even when faced with inevitable defeat.

The driver took them directly to Zhao’s hotel.

A bellhop in pristine white uniform rushed forward to open the door: “Good afternoon, Mr. Zhao.”

Zhao ignored him, nodding imperiously as he strode inside. Xitang followed silently, her head bowed. She knew resistance was futile—he had countless ways to bend her to his will. She had learned long ago that men like him feared nothing and obtained whatever they desired. Girls like her were mere ants in their hands, their lives extinguished with a flick of a finger.

The best outcome? He tired of her and cast her aside, forgetting her existence entirely.

Years had passed, and Xitang believed he no longer wished to see her again.

She followed him into the elevator, where he pressed a floor button. The lift ascended in silence.

Through the metallic reflection, Xitang stole glances at him—tall, handsome, dressed in a white shirt, camel velvet coat, and loosely tied scarf. Such a beautiful man, born into privilege, yet steeped in bloodshed.

Entering the penthouse suite, Zhao disappeared into the study to take a call. Xitang sat motionless on the opulent living room sofa for a full hour.

When Zhao emerged, leaning against the doorframe, he asked casually: “Join me for dinner?”

Xitang shook her head.

Zhao Pingjin sneered: “Rejecting me so quickly? Does your boss know?”

Xitang remained silent. The company was counting on his injection of thirty million yuan for the next project.

Zhao settled into the sofa, pressing his temples. His face looked weary.

Xitang sat across from him, glancing at him once. Her expression remained calm, unreadable as ever.

“Move that vase to the balcony,” Zhao said, picking up a cigarette from the coffee table.

“Huh?”

“Move it. Once you do, you can leave.”

Xitang found this amusing: “What’s gotten into you?”

Zhao slammed the ashtray in his hand: “Mind your own business.”

Knowing he always followed through on his words, Xitang stood up decisively. Walking to the foyer, she effortlessly lifted the large yellow floor vase with her left hand. Though merely decorative and not very heavy, she cradled it in her arms, steadying it with her right hand, and placed it on the windowsill, blocking the expansive view.

All the curtains in the presidential suite were drawn tightly shut, completely obscuring the hotel’s prized view of the Huangpu River. A small gap had been overlooked by the housekeeping staff, revealing a sliver of sky and the towering buildings below.

Standing by the window, Xitang raised an eyebrow at Zhao.

He held a silver lighter in his hand, silently watching her before saying: “You can go now.”

________________________________________

Late into the night, the lights illuminated the opulent room.

In the top-floor suite, the vase remained by the window, though the curtains were once again drawn tightly shut, as if they had never been opened.

Zhao leaned against the spiral staircase and called down: “Shen Min, come up.”

Shen Min, busy handling documents in the study, responded vaguely: “What?”

Zhao, feeling dizzy, raised his voice: “Come up!”

Finishing his task, Shen Min ascended the stairs to find Zhao sitting alone on the sofa.

His face was inscrutable. Shen Min approached, pulling a cigarette from the coffee table in front of him.

Leaning back on the sofa, Shen Min relaxed and smoked leisurely.

Glancing at Zhao, he noticed the man still hadn’t spoken.

Checking his watch—it was nearly midnight—Shen Min prepared to stand: “Get some rest.”

At that moment, Zhao spoke, his voice eerily calm: “Huang Xitang’s right hand is useless.”

Shen Min froze in place.

This trusted assistant took a deep breath, cautiously probing: “Should we find a doctor for her?”

Zhao didn’t respond directly but continued speaking, a faint smile twisting his lips with an unsettling cruelty: “She used to be so strong. Remember how she nearly beat you into a pulp? I suppose I’ve avenged you now.”

At the memory, Shen Min chuckled awkwardly: “Tang Tang—uh, Miss Huang is fiercely loyal, quite a righteous person.”

It was their first meeting. Zhao hadn’t noticed what happened in the private room during their mahjong game, but Shen Min had seen everything clearly. Back then, Zhao’s group of aristocratic friends had gathered for entertainment. Someone called in female students from the Film Academy. As things escalated, bottles were swept aside, and the girls were made to bend over the table, slapping each other’s faces. Whoever slapped hardest claimed the cash hidden under the wine glasses.

At the time, Huang Xitang and Zhong Qiao were working together, covering for each other while playfully smacking each other silly. The crowd roared with excitement as they collected money multiple times before stepping aside. When another pair of girls took over, their lack of professionalism angered Sun Family’s heir, who stood up to demonstrate. He slapped one girl hard, causing her nose to bleed profusely.

Initially amused, Xitang and Zhong Qiao watched from the sidelines. But when Xitang saw the blood, she sprang up, slamming the table: “How dare you humiliate her!”

Zhong Qiao tried to pull her back, but Xitang leaped onto the sofa, pointing accusingly: “Don’t bully women! If you’re brave enough, call a man to fight me. Whoever calls someone else is a coward!”

The high-born young men, emboldened by alcohol, cheered wildly. Shen Min, seated nearby, was forced to step forward as collateral damage. Unbeknownst to him, a drunken Xitang was a force of nature. She pinned him down and pummeled him mercilessly, leaving him barely recognizable.

Alcohol triggered her unpredictable strength—a mistake that later caused disaster.

Zhao glanced at Shen Min, suddenly asking: “Min, tell me—why didn’t I just kill her back then?”

Cold sweat trickled down Shen Min’s back.

He cautiously advised: “She’s learned her lesson. Let it go. It wasn’t easy for her either.”

Zhao wasn’t surprised by Shen Min’s defense. During their relationship, Xitang had been beloved by everyone around him.

Leaning back on the sofa, Zhao sighed tiredly: “Yes, she treated everyone so kindly—except me.”

After a pause, Shen Min shifted back to the sofa.

Years had passed, and Zhao had found Huang Xitang again. The look in his eyes when he saw her at the mall confirmed one thing: it was all over.