TIL - 16

Shen Cheng left Wen Huo’s place at 5:30 a.m., driving from Beishatan onto Jianxiang Bridge, all the way north to Jiande Gate, before finally parking outside a 24-hour bookstore.

The bookstore was owned by Jin Ge—Shen Cheng’s mother.

Jin Ge wasn’t surprised by Shen Cheng’s ungodly visit. She poured him a cup of freshly brewed tea.

Shen Cheng sat across from her, staring at the teacup without speaking.

Jin Ge wore a serene smile, as was her habit. Those who practiced vegetarianism and Buddhism had convictions ordinary people couldn’t understand—like her refusal to drop her smile, no matter who she faced.

She was the least prominent among the fifth-generation directors because she insisted on making documentaries when art films were in vogue and stuck to them even when commercial films dominated. But the times never favored the stubborn—only those who adapted thrived.

Before Shen Cheng was born, film had been her everything. After his birth, Shen Cheng became her everything.

Now that Shen Cheng was grown, married, and even had a child, she had gradually faded her role in his life.

After Shen Cheng started working, he became busier, spending less time with her. Visits like this in the dead of night only happened when something weighed on his mind. He wasn’t there to seek advice—he already had his mind made up. He just needed someone to listen.

He had been silent for a while, the tea growing cold and being replaced again and again, until Jin Ge finally spoke: “Hungry?”

Shen Cheng picked up the cup and drank. “Han Bailu wants to come clean.”

“Are you going to divorce her?”

Shen Cheng didn’t answer.

“You don’t love her either. A divorce would free you both.”

Still, Shen Cheng said nothing.

Jin Ge placed both hands on the table. “Five years is enough.”

But another five years meant nothing to Shen Cheng. Han Bailu could keep the title of his wife—it wasn’t like he had someone else to replace her. What did it matter if she stayed?

Jin Ge refilled his cup. “Have another. It should keep you going until you finish your morning work.”

No matter how deeply Shen Cheng hid his exhaustion, Jin Ge could always tell—he hadn’t slept all night.

Shen Cheng drank without hesitation. He had come for the tea. With so much to handle next, he needed these two cups to clear his thoughts.

________________________________________

When Wen Huo woke up, Qiu Mingyun had already returned, looking much better.

Propped up on the bed, chin in hand, Wen Huo asked, “What time did you get back?”

Qiu Mingyun, now changed, glanced at the Subway bag on the desk. “Get up and eat.”

Wen Huo sat up and stretched.

Last night with Shen Cheng had gone on too long, too many times. Her waist had practically worked overtime, and now even the slightest movement felt like someone was digging into her bones with a knife.

She held her lower back and rolled her neck.

Qiu Mingyun suddenly leaned in, eyes fixed on her neck, fingers slowly tracing over it. “Your neck…”

Wen Huo didn’t know what she was seeing, but her reaction gave it away. She didn’t bother covering up—it would’ve been too obvious. “What about it?”

Qiu Mingyun dragged a chair over and sat beside her. “Finally got some?”

“Mm.”

Qiu Mingyun’s expression lit up—this was the most interesting thing she’d heard in days. “So… with who?”

“I’d rather not say.”

Qiu Mingyun understood. “Can you at least tell me if I know them? Someone from school?”

Wen Huo stayed silent.

“If it’s one of your labmates, then don’t. I’d feel like my precious cabbage got trampled by a pig.”

“It’s not.”

Qiu Mingyun relaxed. “Good.”

It wasn’t that she looked down on their peers—she just knew their routines too well. Overlapping lifestyles might mean shared interests, but they’d eventually grow stale. Plus, they were all stubborn, refusing to admit anyone was better. How could that ever work in a relationship?

She glanced again at Wen Huo’s neck—the marks were faint but strategically placed. Suddenly, she wanted details. She nudged Wen Huo. “So? How was it?”

Wen Huo thought back. “These last two times felt… more real. More intense. And I actually felt… you know.”

Qiu Mingyun shot up from her chair. “Last two times?! Wen Huo, you liar! You never corrected me when I said you were a virgin!”

Wen Huo tugged her arm, pulling her back onto the bed. “If I’d told you, you’d have bombarded me with questions like now.”

“I’m just looking out for you!”

Wen Huo smiled helplessly. “Sure.”

Qiu Mingyun grinned. “Fine, mostly gossip.”

Wen Huo tried to end the conversation. “I’m getting up. Got a ton to do today.”

Qiu Mingyun grabbed her arm. “Wait! First, what do you mean you ‘felt it’? Felt what?”

Wen Huo played dumb. “Felt what?”

“That thing you just said! What was it?”

“Nothing.”

“Wen Huo, don’t be like this. I share everything with you. Come on—was he good? Last long? How’s his kissing? Handsome?”

Wen Huo remembered how Qiu Mingyun had once fantasized about Shen Cheng. “Probably your type looks-wise. Body’s decent. Lasts a while.”

Qiu Mingyun’s eyes sparkled. “Seriously?! Set up a dinner! Say your best friend needs to vet him!”

Wen Huo had never actually gone out to eat with Shen Cheng. They rarely shared meals—when they met, it was just sex. During, they seemed like a couple. After, they were more like client and escort.

Seeing her reluctance, Qiu Mingyun didn’t push. “Then at least show me a photo! Got one? Let me see how hot he is!”

Wen Huo didn’t have any pictures of Shen Cheng. Qiu Mingyun didn’t believe her, forcing her to open her gallery. It was all research documents or lab purchase orders—the only non-academic photo was her student ID.

Qiu Mingyun zoomed in, disappointed. “Damn. Now I’m gonna be curious about this stamina king for days.”

Wen Huo put her phone down. “Tomorrow, something else’ll distract you.”

Qiu Mingyun suddenly straightened, as if realizing something. “Let me see your phone again!”

Before Wen Huo could react, Qiu Mingyun snatched it, unlocked it with her face, and reopened the gallery. She zoomed in on the student ID photo, eyes widening. “The hand holding this card—it’s a man’s, right?”

Wen Huo looked. She remembered now—she’d left her student ID at Shen Cheng’s place once. He told her to come get it, but she was too tired to deal with him, so she lied poorly, claiming she hadn’t lost it and he must’ve been mistaken. Shen Cheng sent her that photo as proof.

Caught in the lie, she had no choice but to go—only to end up pinned against the floor-to-ceiling window all night.

Qiu Mingyun pressed. “Right? That hand’s gorgeous. Means the body’s gotta be great too. Abs? Ugh, I’m picturing it now.”

Wen Huo admired how Qiu Mingyun could be utterly devastated one moment and completely carefree the next. Right now, her interest in this “man” was off the charts.

Luckily, grad students like them lived under constant academic pressure. Qiu Mingyun, knowing Wen Huo’s thesis wasn’t done, didn’t pester her further.

________________________________________

Han Bailu’s flight arrived in the morning. Shen Cheng had work all day and wouldn’t make time to see her, so she went straight to his firm.

Everyone there knew Shen Cheng was married with a child, and while they recognized Han Bailu as an actress, seeing her in person still drew extra glances.

Han Bailu was beautiful—enhanced slightly, her features now more striking. But in an industry overflowing with pretty faces, she was far from being able to coast on looks alone.

A pretty doctor, a pretty lawyer—pair “pretty” with anything, and people remember. But just a pretty woman? Forgotten fastest.

Shen Cheng was in a meeting. His secretary didn’t inform him of Han Bailu’s arrival, so the meeting dragged on for over four hours.

When it finally ended, Shen Cheng walked past the reception area, spotted Han Bailu on the sofa, and paused.

Han Bailu waited with perfect posture, but her eyes were utterly empty.

Shen Cheng handed the files he’d planned to work on to his secretary and headed upstairs.

Han Bailu understood—he was clearing his schedule to hear her confession. She stood and followed.

________________________________________

Shen Cheng’s office was spacious, not a standard square but a quarter-circle. The curved wall was floor-to-ceiling windows; the two straight sides held his desk and a client area.

Han Bailu stood before his desk like a subordinate awaiting reprimand.

Shen Cheng crossed his legs and waited. When she stayed silent, so did he. Finally, as his shoe tapped the tile with a soft click, Han Bailu took a breath and spoke: “I’m sorry, husband.”

Shen Cheng didn’t look at her. “Oh?”

Han Bailu closed her eyes, as if steeling herself after a long internal struggle. “I’m sorry. It was all my fault. If I hadn’t been jealous of Anna, if I hadn’t hidden from you that she was going into labor… she wouldn’t have had to give birth to a stillborn in that bathtub. She wouldn’t have died. But—that’s because you believed it. You believed that child was yours.”

Shen Cheng’s face remained blank.

Shen Cheng and Han Bailu hadn’t met after she became an actress—they’d known each other in Canada, where she’d been studying. Back then, she had a close friend named Anna.

The story wasn’t long, but it deserved telling properly.

Anna, a Ukrainian, met Shen Cheng on her first day in Canada and was instantly struck by him.

At the airport, amidst the crowd, Shen Cheng stood out—silver hair, two eyebrow piercings, a full sleeve tattoo. That was her first impression. The second came when a girl ran up, dropped to her knees, and clutched his leg, sobbing. He didn’t even glance at her. Only when airport security arrived did he speak his first words: “Do something worthwhile. You’re making me think all women are this cheap.”

Maybe it was teenage rebellion, but Anna fell for this bad boy with a British accent at first sight. She waited outside the police station for him, then trailed him for two blocks.

Shen Cheng deliberately led her to a secluded alley, deliberately let her lose him, then suddenly reappeared as she panicked, staring at her coldly.

She was beautiful but socially awkward, so when faced with Shen Cheng’s sudden proximity, she instinctively lowered her head, silent.

Shen Cheng’s tone was sharp. “Had enough? You her hired dog?”

Anna shook her head frantically. “I don’t know her.”

Seeing she wasn’t with the girl from earlier, Shen Cheng couldn’t be bothered and left.

Anna never forgot him, yet didn’t see him again for two years.

Their reunion was at a bar in Little Portugal. He sat at the counter on his phone, surrounded by what seemed to be friends—men and women smoking weed, inhaling nitrous, hands on each other’s waists, squeezing asses.

Occasionally, they’d call to him, and he’d respond with a few words. He rarely smiled, his eyes deep-set, an odd contrast to his streetwear. But maybe that was what made him so captivating.

His left ear had seven or eight piercings that shimmered under the UV lights, drawing her in against her will.

She started frequenting the area, watching him cycle through women, never mustering the courage to ask for his number—until her Chinese roommate found out.

That roommate was Han Bailu.

Han Bailu’s parents were wealthy businesspeople. When she slacked off in China, they sent her abroad. But nowhere was a dumping ground, so she was soon expelled.

She and Anna met while renting an apartment. One lively, one introverted—they complemented each other and became fast friends.

When Han Bailu learned Anna had a crush on a Chinese guy, she was intrigued and promised to help. Shen Cheng was handsome, but Han Bailu only liked older men, so her efforts were genuine at first.

But life rarely goes as planned. Things spiraled beyond their control.

Han Bailu told Anna to get Shen Cheng drunk and sleep with him, then force him to take responsibility. She claimed Chinese men, no matter how wild they seemed, had a sense of duty—he’d step up.

With Han Bailu’s help, Anna successfully set up Shen Cheng—except the one she slept with was his friend. Shen Cheng never knew.

Both had been drunk. When Shen Cheng’s friend came to pick him up, he saw Anna and assaulted her.

Anna confessed to Han Bailu, who saw an opportunity. She took Anna to the hospital for proof of recent intercourse. As long as Shen Cheng’s friend kept quiet, everyone would think it was Shen Cheng.

Shen Cheng didn’t investigate. When Anna demanded responsibility, he agreed to date her. But back then, he seemed relieved—like he had his own secrets and was using her to escape something.

Not long into their relationship, Anna discovered she was pregnant. Both she and Han Bailu knew the child wasn’t Shen Cheng’s, but they pressed on.

When the baby was seven months along, Han Bailu broke up with her older boyfriend. She turned to Anna for comfort, just as Anna had once helped her. She wanted that same warmth.

But Anna wasn’t the gentle girl she’d first met. She’d changed—or maybe she’d been pretending all along.

Anna was indifferent to Han Bailu’s pain, obsessed only with marrying Shen Cheng and moving to China. This hurt Han Bailu even more.

Pain, when extreme, turns to hatred. Han Bailu began to resent Anna.

Why should Anna get happiness with a child that wasn’t even Shen Cheng’s, through lies and schemes, while her own passionate, sincere love came to nothing?

Once-sisters turned enemies. Han Bailu, just as she’d helped Anna trap Shen Cheng, now orchestrated Anna’s premature labor, leading to a stillbirth in their bathtub. Anna died soon after.

Shen Cheng’s reaction was eerily calm—so much so that Han Bailu wondered if he’d known all along.

Later, Han Bailu returned to China. With family connections and packaging, she entered showbiz. Soon, she fell for Lu Xingchuan, her agency’s CEO.

She met Shen Cheng again at a famous director’s private party. By then, Shen Cheng had dyed his hair black, removed his piercings, and swapped streetwear for tailored suits. Like Han Bailu, he’d reinvented himself.

They pretended not to know each other.

Han Bailu thought that was the end. But from that day on, her life grew unstable.

First, her past relationships were exposed, shattering her innocent image.

Then Lu Xingchuan’s deals fell through, his artists lost market appeal, and debts piled up. The man who’d once adored her began abusing her, reviving nightmares of her first abandonment.

Just as her career peaked, she faced being shelved. Then Shen Cheng extended a lifeline.

He solved all her problems on one condition: she had to marry him.

Only then did Han Bailu realize Shen Cheng had never forgotten the past. He intended to bind her to him for life as penance. She refused, so he targeted her parents.

Under overwhelming pressure, Han Bailu married Shen Cheng, beginning a living hell.

Outsiders envied her—a scandal-ridden, untalented actress wedding Shen Cheng. Few knew she was a wife in name only. Shen Cheng never touched her, restricted her movements, and treated her worse than their maid.

At least the maid could move freely. Han Bailu needed a doctor’s note just to leave home—he claimed she was mentally ill, though she wasn’t.

The psychological and physical strain made her paranoid. She tried escaping multiple times, always failing. Just as she thought she’d die under Shen Cheng’s control, his grandmother fell ill.

The grandmother wanted a great-grandchild before dying. Han Bailu saw her chance—she’d bear Shen Cheng a child.

Shen Cheng agreed but refused natural conception. They’d use IVF and a surrogate. Han Bailu bargained—if it was IVF, she wouldn’t carry it.

Shen Cheng consented, and so Yiyi was born.

With the child’s arrival, the grandmother improved, and Shen Cheng lifted Han Bailu’s restrictions, allowing her to work again.

That’s when Lu Xingchuan reappeared. Han Bailu was terrified—she felt Shen Cheng had eyes everywhere—so she ignored him.

Until one drunken night rekindled their affair. Certain she was doomed, she was shocked when Shen Cheng seemed unaware.

Emboldened, she even followed Lu Xingchuan’s suggestion to hire someone to seduce Shen Cheng, then expose him and force a divorce.

Back then, she’d approached Wen Huo just to escape. But after weeks with no results despite the money spent, she called it off.

Then, within days, Lu Xingchuan was embroiled in an insider trading scandal, and her nerves frayed again.

Lu Xingchuan only loved her when times were good. In crisis, he’d sacrifice her without hesitation. He demanded money, forcing Han Bailu back to Wen Huo to resume their deal.

Now, her goal wasn’t just freedom—she needed cash.

She thought the worst outcome would be losing Lu Xingchuan and facing Shen Cheng alone again. But Shen Cheng’s next move was cutting off her income.

Meaning she’d return to that imprisoned existence.

That life of relentless mental torture would kill her. She’d rather die than go back, so she chose to surrender.

Since Canada, neither had spoken of the past, but both knew the truth. Han Bailu never thought she’d confess, yet here she was.

She dropped to her knees, crawling toward him. “It was all my fault. Can’t you forgive me for Yiyi’s sake? Can’t you let me go?”

Shen Cheng feigned confusion. “We’re married. Why would I need to ‘let you go’?”

Tears fell. “You can’t possibly not know what my life was like locked in that house! The injections, the pills—why do you think I used a surrogate? My body couldn’t have carried a child—”

Shen Cheng said lightly, “Is that so?”

Han Bailu knelt before him but didn’t dare touch him. “Please. Anna’s child wasn’t yours. I didn’t kill your baby. Yiyi is yours now, ours. Can’t you spare me…?”

Shen Cheng looked down at her. “Tired of working? You don’t have to. I’ll provide.”

Han Bailu paled, her composure shattering. “No! No! Not the house again!”

Shen Cheng watched her deteriorate with concern. “Not feeling well? Should I call the doctor? Rest at home from now on. Do you like the villa in Yanjiao? Stay there. Don’t worry about Yiyi—I’ll arrange care.”

Han Bailu clutched his arm. “I was wrong! I’ll make it right! I’ll kowtow to Anna—I’ll kowtow!”

She began banging her head on the floor, chanting apologies to Anna, to Shen Cheng…

Shen Cheng, seeing her instability, called for assistants to take her home, summoning her former doctor. As they dragged her away, her screams made her seem truly ill.

What Han Bailu didn’t know was that the sperm used for IVF wasn’t Shen Cheng’s.

Meaning neither Anna’s child nor Yiyi was his.

If Shen Cheng had known Anna’s lie, known about their scheme, known his friend was the father—why play along? Let them think they’d fooled him?

As Han Bailu suspected, Shen Cheng had desperately needed someone to help fend off an obsessive pursuer.

Back then, he hadn’t considered the collateral damage. In his twenties, he’d found it amusing—until rumors of his relationship with Anna drove that person to suicide at dawn.

Only then did he realize his mistake. He hadn’t just rejected someone—he’d sacrificed his own peace of mind.

Using one person to repel another was effective, which was why the tactic persisted across generations, leaving endless casualties.

He’d thought it a minor episode, not worth guilt—but the past refused to release him. For years, he battled emotional dysfunction.

Returning to China, he avoided prolonged contact with family and friends, fearing exposure.

His stoicism wasn’t innate—it was a desperate mask. Not just for emotions, but to hide his severe bipolar disorder.

Years of this disorder had warped him somewhat. So he married Han Bailu, intending to ruin her.

Why? Broken minds don’t need reasons. In their world, there’s no right or wrong—only want. He couldn’t let Han Bailu, complicit in the past, live comfortably while his joke had cost a life and her actions two.

No one had appointed him judge, but suffering made him vengeful. If he couldn’t be happy, why should others?

He started with Lu Xingchuan, then Han Bailu’s parents, tightening the net until she had no escape but marriage.

Having endured psychological torment, he knew breaking someone’s will was crueler than physical abuse. Step by step, he drove Han Bailu to this state.

No matter how guilty Han Bailu was, Shen Cheng had no right to judge. But he didn’t care. If he suffered, so would others.

Just when he thought he’d never grow close to anyone, that tormenting Han Bailu would be his only diversion, Wen Huo appeared—accepting every kink he brought to bed.

He allowed her presence, fully aware of her deal with Han Bailu. Their scheming was too trivial to warrant caution.

He’d assumed their arrangement would end after Han Bailu’s confession. He didn’t care—he’d give Wen Huo what she was owed and part amicably.

But Wen Huo, before even ending things, had started seducing another professor, badmouthing him, claiming she disliked their intimacy.

Shen Cheng knew she lied, knew she didn’t love him. But how dare a paid accomplice act so brazenly?

If she wanted to play, he’d play.

He wanted to see—aside from his incurable disorder—who could possibly make him surrender.

The secretary returned after Han Bailu was escorted out. “Professor Shen, Mrs. Shen has been taken home. Also, Lu Xingchuan of Hanxing Media requested dinner to discuss something.”

About time. Shen Cheng agreed. “Also invite Director Tang and Yan from Guotong Industries.”

The secretary noted it down. “All for tonight?”

“Yes. Tonight.”

Dismissed, the secretary left. Then Wen Huo called.

Shen Cheng didn’t know Han Bailu’s plans for Wen Huo, but Wen Huo likely didn’t know yet—Han Bailu was finished, and the promised money gone.

He certainly wasn’t going to tell her.