TIL - 12

Before the meeting, Shen Cheng put a band-aid on his neck, but instead of making it less noticeable, it made it more conspicuous, almost like a “thirty taels of silver not hidden here” situation.

The few members of the firm’s management exchanged glances, tacitly understanding.

After discussing work, Li Yihang, Shen Cheng’s deputy, stayed behind to talk to him about signing for his shares.

Li Yihang was Shen Cheng’s most capable partner when he founded the patent firm. Based on his ability and contribution, Shen Cheng gave him the qualification for technical shares, accounting for twelve percent of the firm’s equity.

However, because some of his conditions didn’t meet the firm’s regulations at the time, Shen Cheng signed a dual contract with him. This meant his shareholder status wasn’t displayed in the industrial and commercial administration; externally, he was merely the firm’s deputy.

Now that enough years had passed, and he met the regulations, he wanted to sign a publicly disclosed cooperation contract with Shen Cheng and officially join the ranks of shareholders.

Shen Cheng screwed the cap onto his fountain pen, looking as if he wasn’t listening, or perhaps he was listening but had no intention of responding.

Li Yihang tilted his head and called out: “Professor Shen?”

Shen Cheng put down his pen, tore off the uncomfortable band-aid from his neck, and tossed it into the trash can. Then he said: “Let’s talk when I get back from Guangzhou. I went there yesterday, but the matter wasn’t concluded.”

A subtle, indecipherable expression flickered across Li Yihang’s face: “You... didn’t you cancel your flight?”

Shen Cheng looked up, giving him a slightly casual glance: “It was the flight to Hong Kong that was canceled.”

Li Yihang’s involuntary Adam’s apple bob exposed his panic.

Shen Cheng continued: “I went to Guangzhou yesterday.”

Li Yihang forced a smile: “Ah, I see. Well, we can talk when you get back, I’m not in a hurry.”

Shen Cheng stood up and patted his shoulder: “Good that you’re not in a hurry.”

After Shen Cheng left, Li Yihang’s legs started trembling.

Shen Cheng didn’t seem intimidating; on the contrary, he seemed quite easy to get along with because he rarely lost his temper with those around him. But as a half-partner who had worked with him for a long time, Li Yihang knew that Shen Cheng wasn’t temperless, nor was he particularly magnanimous.

Some people are gentle, some are cold; Shen Cheng was somewhere in between. His likes and dislikes weren’t expressed, making it impossible to gauge his rhythm and emotions.

He had a hickey on his neck, meaning he was with a woman last night. He said he went to Guangzhou yesterday, and Han Bailu was in Guangzhou...

Li Yihang dialed Han Bailu’s number, but dared not speak his anger: “Where were you yesterday?”

Han Bailu’s voice on the other end was noisy: “I was filming yesterday. Why are you calling me? Did Shen Cheng give you shares? Is the contract signed? Notarized? Can it be sold? Okay, I’ll take a day off tomorrow and come back to Beijing. We can meet and talk, see...”

Li Yihang interrupted her incessant planning: “He said he’d talk about it when he gets back from his business trip.”

Han Bailu’s attitude worsened: “Then why are you calling me?”

Li Yihang asked her: “Does Shen Cheng really not give you money? He’s so rich, and you’re his wife. How could he not give you money?”

Han Bailu scoffed: “What do you mean by that? Are you doubting me? I already told you, he doesn’t love me. For people he doesn’t love, let alone money, he’s stingy even with a glance.”

Li Yihang’s tone became slightly humble: “I didn’t mean that. I just feel you’re hot and cold with me. If I can’t help you...”

Han Bailu didn’t let him finish: “Li Yihang, you were hard on me at your firm’s annual party, you added my WeChat, and send me good morning and good night messages every day. Why should I be warm to you? Because you’re uglier than my husband and not as rich?”

Li Yihang’s heart truly ached from those words, but more than the pain, he didn’t want to lose the chance to talk to Han Bailu: “I won’t say it again.”

Han Bailu was about to hang up: “Call me when you get your shares!”

The call ended. Li Yihang lowered his head, his hand holding the phone dropping as if boneless.

She said her husband was handsome and rich. So, did that mean Shen Cheng was really with her last night? And the hickey on his neck was her doing?

He gave a bitter laugh, knowing full well she was full of lies, yet still choosing to deceive himself for her.

Now the question was, should he still use his shares to feed her bottomless pit?

Knowing it was a one-way street, knowing she wouldn’t look at him again once she got the money, should he still debase himself?

Thinking of how well Shen Cheng treated him, should he really be ungrateful for a woman who would never love him and ruin his future?

He couldn’t help but ask himself these three questions. While troubled, Shen Cheng’s wisdom deepened in his mind. He didn’t know when Shen Cheng had figured it out, but by tearing off the band-aid and saying he went to Guangzhou, Shen Cheng must have known.

________________________________________

Shen Cheng returned to his office. The “love letter” Wen Huo had written him was still on the desk. A pink, fragrant envelope next to an invitation to an entrepreneur salon. He walked over and threw both letters into the trash can.

He had finished all his work and was planning to watch a movie with Yiyi tonight, so he left work early.

________________________________________

At nine in the evening, Cheng Cuo’s psychological studio.

Shen Cheng kept his word. After Shen Cheng revealed part of the truth about his acquaintance with Wen Huo, he introduced Cheng Cuo to several channels, among which the maternity center and the juvenile detention center were always what he had coveted.

Wen Huo stayed at the institute until 8:30 PM, arriving at Cheng Cuo’s just before he closed.

Cheng Cuo was working overtime; one of his patients was in a very bad state.

Wen Huo waited for him until 10:30 PM. He saw the patient off, then walked towards her, pinching the bridge of his nose: “Ready to go? I’ll treat you to a late-night snack.”

Wen Huo had other things to discuss: “Did you ever have a patient named Guan Xinlei, in her thirties, very dark-skinned, with a large red mole under her eye, looking very haggard?”

Cheng Cuo had treated countless patients and couldn’t remember all of them, but Wen Huo’s description—dark-skinned and haggard—did ring a bell: “Yes, there was someone like that. What about her?”

Wen Huo had received a WeChat message from Wu Guo in the afternoon: Yang Yinlou’s sister had died, so she wouldn’t be in the mood to meet for a while.

She inquired and found that Yang Yinlou had a maternal half-sister named Guan Xinlei, who suffered from non-viral myocarditis and died suddenly at home in the middle of the night.

Looking at Guan Xinlei’s photo, Wen Huo recalled that Cheng Cuo seemed to have treated a dark-skinned female patient with a red mole like that. She had overheard nurses gossiping about it while waiting outside the clinic.

She happened to be free after finishing her work, so she came to Cheng Cuo to ask about it, wanting to understand why this patient’s illness would lead her to see a psychologist.

Cheng Cuo saw her struggling to speak and didn’t really want to discuss it further himself: “You know, I can’t violate medical ethics.”

Wen Huo understood: “Then I’ll ask you, and you just nod or shake your head.”

Cheng Cuo saw her persistence, meaning she was very eager. They had known each other for so long, and she was only urgent about her insomnia, so it must be related to her insomnia. He nodded.

Wen Huo asked: “Did her long-term insomnia lead to excessive fatigue, and excessive fatigue led to heart failure, thus causing myocarditis?”

Cheng Cuo frowned.

Wen Huo knew the answer.

Cheng Cuo looked at her for a long moment: “What did you find?”

Wen Huo’s previously furrowed brows relaxed: “My maternal grandmother and Yang Yinlou’s mother weren’t close friends; they were fellow patients. My maternal grandmother died of fulminant myocarditis, a similar onset process to Guan Xinlei. Guan Xinlei is Yang Yinlou’s biological sister.”

Cheng Cuo showed alarm at this news, sitting down: “Then are you saying, that you might also have it?”

Wen Huo currently wouldn’t, but if her insomnia wasn’t cured, then it was hard to say. After a woman passed twenty-seven, her bodily functions slowed down. If she continued to exhaust herself, she would definitely deplete her heart’s nutrients.

Cheng Cuo let out a breath: “Not being able to sleep doesn’t mean the body isn’t resting, but long-term it’s certainly not ideal. All the insomnia patients who come to me are helpless against that state of being tired but highly agitated, wanting to relieve it through psychological counseling, but their continuously active brains simply don’t cooperate. So most are treated with medication, and very few fall asleep through my sleep-aid methods or soft treatments.”

As he spoke, he smiled, an unnatural smile: “It’s quite frustrating, but there are too many people with insomnia now, and too many causes of insomnia. Sometimes I even feel like it’s a trend. But when those patients beg me to save them, I can truly feel the pain of hope and despair colliding, burning, and tearing at them simultaneously. Insomnia isn’t a disease, but it’s not much better than one.”

He looked up again, and his smile was much more natural this time: “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Wen Huo shook her head: “I’ve temporarily found a way to sleep.”

Cheng Cuo took a moment to process her words, then realized: “With my cousin again?”

Wen Huo told him truthfully: “Your cousin seems pretty good, it’s just his skills aren’t great; he needs practice.”

Cheng Cuo almost choked on his own phlegm: “Strong!”

Wen Huo explained: “I mean that after we finish, he never sleeps with me. That ‘skill,’ don’t misunderstand. But it’s also strange, many times as long as he’s there, I can fall asleep.”

Cheng Cuo analyzed her situation using psychological knowledge: “Could it be that you’ve unconsciously developed feelings for my cousin, so when he’s there, your brain can temporarily rest?”

Wen Huo smiled: “I never desired him, do you understand?”

Cheng Cuo understood; it meant Shen Cheng was an undeniable tool.

However, Wen Huo’s words were too harsh. “Never desired him...” How bad were his cousin’s “skills,” then?

“I’ll look for Yang Yinlou’s mother another time, when I part ways with your cousin, or when I’m about to part ways.”

Of course, this was Wen Huo’s own business, and she could decide for herself. Cheng Cuo nodded: “Mhm.”

________________________________________

Yiyi wasn’t eating properly again that night. The housekeeper gently patted her little back, coaxing her: “Yiyi, if your tummy is empty, how can you watch a movie with Daddy? Daddy hasn’t watched a movie with Yiyi in a long time, and Yiyi has been looking forward to it for so long.”

Yiyi clutched the spoon handle, pouting, her big eyes crinkled. She seemed to ponder for a long time, then finally scooped a spoonful of steamed egg custard into her mouth.

The housekeeper wiped her little mouth: “Such a good girl.”

Watching her eat obediently, she couldn’t help but sigh. Compared to Shen Cheng’s need for Yiyi, it seemed the daughter needed her father more.

Shen Cheng arrived home at 8:30 PM. At that time, Yiyi was already sitting by the door, a cushion under her bottom. As soon as she saw Shen Cheng, her eyes lit up, and she rushed to hug him, rolling around like a little loach.

Shen Cheng picked her up, removed the hair she had gotten in her mouth, and asked: “What did you eat tonight? Are you full?”

Yiyi kept nodding: “I’m full.”

Shen Cheng carried her through the scenic foyer, walked to the staircase, and went down to B1.

His villa was in the suburbs, roughly 600 square meters, with three floors above ground and one below. In front, there was a fish pond and a pavilion, and behind, a rock garden with an artificial waterfall connected to the fish pond.

The 4K giant screen cinema was on B1, with six built-in massage chairs. Next to it was a private wine cellar, well-stocked with every kind of wine imaginable.

He owned many properties, not entirely because he had too much money to burn, but primarily for investment. He made a significant amount during the hottest years of the real estate boom.

Just as he settled Yiyi onto the massage chair, the housekeeper entered, holding the yogurt Yiyi was going to drink.

The reason she came in at this moment was hoping Shen Cheng would say, “Let’s watch together.” But Shen Cheng didn’t.

She pretended to just be delivering yogurt, turned, and left.

Shen Cheng called out to her.

She turned back, somewhat hopefully.

Shen Cheng reminded her: “Don’t spray perfume at home from now on.”

She was very embarrassed, her smile faltering, her dry and hoarse “Mhm” barely audible.

Today’s movie was Frozen II. Yiyi had an English teacher, so she could watch it in its original language. She would mimic the characters’ expressions, making exaggerated funny faces, and then perform for Shen Cheng in a dramatic voice.

Shen Cheng smiled faintly.

He truly loved this little one, even if she wasn’t his biological daughter.