Chapter 11

Jiang Yanzhou’s emotions always shifted subtly, like a tranquil lake. Even if someone threw in a pebble, the ripples would quickly vanish, and calm would return.

He didn’t seem angry, gazing at her as though she were a mischievous child.

Not indulgent, but not overly harsh either.

Being too rational was, in another sense, a form of cold-bloodedness.

Song Zhi hated this side of him—it felt as though their relationship had never been on equal footing.

She was always one step lower than him, a feeling that grated on her nerves.

She let go of him and stepped away from his shoulder.

As if nothing had happened, Jiang Yanzhou quietly asked her: “Shall we head back?”

Song Zhi ignored him, tossing her bag onto the bed before storming out.

The little girl wasn’t new to throwing tantrums, and Jiang Yanzhou was long accustomed to it.

He bent down, picked up the bag, and tidied up the mess she had left behind in her fit of anger.

Song Zhi walked briskly, slowing her pace only after reaching the living room. A sweet, obedient smile returned to her face.

Her acting skills were impeccable: “It’s getting late. We’ll be heading off now, Uncle Jiang. Goodbye.”

Jiang Yue nodded, about to say something when his gaze landed on Jiang Yanzhou descending the stairs.

His expression flickered momentarily, and he pursed his lips slightly: “Yanzhou.”

The latter gave a polite yet distant greeting: “We’ll take our leave now.”

Jiang Yue rested his hand on the armrest of the sofa, about to stand up, but upon hearing his son’s tone, he slowly released his grip.

After a long pause, he nodded: “Drive carefully.”

Jiang Yanzhou responded with a faint hum, saying no more.

Song Zhi had grown up in a loving household—her father kind, her mother gentle. Aside from her hot-tempered older brother, she’d been surrounded by love since childhood. Thus, she struggled to understand Jiang Yanzhou’s feelings.

She couldn’t grasp this type of father-son dynamic, nor did she care to.

Once outside the door, Song Zhi completely dropped her act. She snatched the bag from his hands, retrieved her phone, and shoved the bag back into his arms.

Without looking back, she strode forward, and Jiang Yanzhou silently followed behind her.

The night was quiet, the sound of Italian handmade leather shoes stepping on the concrete dull and muted.

In her heart, Song Zhi sneered. It was too late for him to apologize now.

She stopped abruptly and turned around, glaring at him fiercely: “Don’t follow me!”

Jiang Yanzhou paused briefly, then pointed to the intersection ahead: “My car is parked over there.”

Six ordinary words, devoid of any dramatic buildup or emotional inflection.

Yet to Song Zhi, they felt as sharp as a freshly honed blade, piercing straight into her chest.

Some people seemed to possess an innate ability to provoke anger. Compared to a few years ago, Jiang Yanzhou hadn’t lost this skill—if anything, he had perfected it.

When he transferred to school, he shook the prestigious No. 1 High School to its core. With unparalleled looks, a family background so powerful that a single gesture could double the school’s land area, and academic prowess that raised the school’s average scores, Jiang Yanzhou fulfilled every fantasy of the girls—and some boys—at the school.

In Song Zhi’s eyes, he wasn’t much different from those boys who adored pretty girls.

After she said, “Everyone has the right to admire beauty; if you want to look, look longer,” Jiang Yanzhou finally moved away from the icy wall he had leaned against.

He stood upright, staring at her for a few seconds.

Then, brushing his bangs, his voice raspy and detached under the scorching heat, he said: “You’re bleeding.”

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Their first meeting ended with the unexpected arrival of her period.

To this day, hemorrhoid medication was always kept at home.

Rarely considerate, Jiang Yanzhou’s thoughtfulness seemed to manifest only in this area.

...

It was hard to hail a cab here—the neighborhood was both secluded and expensive.

People who lived here didn’t need taxis anyway.

Her ankle throbbed painfully from the high heels, and Song Zhi cursed Jiang Yanzhou twice over in her mind.

At times like these, no matter what happened—even if the world were to end—it was all Jiang Yanzhou’s fault in her eyes.

Fortunately, there was a bench by the roadside. After sitting down, she opened the ride-hailing app.

The app showed that the earliest available driver was fifteen minutes away.

The temperature was cold, and her stomach growled with hunger.

And she still had to wait here for fifteen minutes.

That black Maybach was parked by the roadside, its owner nowhere to be seen.

Song Zhi massaged her ankle, mentally tearing Jiang Yanzhou apart.

There weren’t many passersby here, but there was a drunk-driving checkpoint at the intersection ahead.

Song Zhi, ever the upright and concerned citizen, reported her own boyfriend: “Officer, that Maybach over there seems to be illegally parked.”

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There were no convenience stores nearby, only a small shop hidden behind an alley.

Cars couldn’t enter, so Jiang Yanzhou walked there on foot.

The building was old and dilapidated, likely awaiting demolition. The middle-aged shopkeeper ran it purely to pass time.

The items on the counter hadn’t changed much over the years.

Relying on memory, Jiang Yanzhou picked out a few things.

While checking out, he glanced at the cigarettes behind the glass counter and grabbed a pack of Zhonghua.

The shopkeeper, wearing reading glasses, looked up after pressing numbers on the calculator.

A fleeting hint of confusion crossed his face before he smiled kindly: “Yanzhou?”

Surprised that he was recognized, Jiang Yanzhou nodded politely in acknowledgment.

The shopkeeper glanced at the items he was purchasing—they were still the same things that little girl liked eight years ago.

Old people were nostalgic, especially when seeing former children grow into adults.

“That delicate little girl didn’t come with you today?” He opened the fridge and took out a bottle of jasmine tea. “This is my gift for her. I remember she used to love this.”

Jiang Yanzhou paused briefly, thanked him softly, and pushed the jasmine tea back: “She doesn’t drink this anymore.”

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After paying, he retraced his steps. Song Zhi was still sitting on the bench, frowning at her phone—likely still unable to hail a ride.

He approached and placed the plastic bag beside her.

Song Zhi looked up, glaring at him in annoyance.

Jiang Yanzhou remained silent, taking off his coat and placing it alongside the bag.

From his silence, Song Zhi interpreted nine words:

“Here’s a coat. Wear it if you want.”

Jiang Yanzhou was a smart man. This intelligence wasn’t limited to his decisive actions in business but was also evident in his IQ of 239.

He couldn’t have missed that she was angry. His silence led Song Zhi to only one conclusion:

He simply didn’t care.

Not even willing to utter a word to soothe her.

This was indeed his style—unsurprising.

Having given what he deemed necessary, he turned to leave, knowing she didn’t want to see him and maintaining a respectful distance.

Opening the cellophane wrapper of the cigarette pack, he glanced at the parking violation ticket stuck to the windshield.

Beside it was an extra tissue, lipstick scrawling “SB” across it.

No need to guess who had done it.

He paused briefly, removed the note, folded it neatly, and slipped it into his trouser pocket.

Song Zhi believed that one should have pride in life and refuse charity.

But her stomach kept growling, and a faint ache in her gut hinted at impending pain.

Her pride crumbled like rotten wood, easily breaking into splinters.

She consoled herself: Without food, she wouldn’t even have the strength to maintain her pride.

Taking small bites of bread spread with orange marmalade—her favorite flavor—but having cut sugar for a long time to control her figure, she found that hunger made everything taste better.

The wind picked up, cold gusts creeping up her ankles.

Shivering, Song Zhi hesitated before reluctantly reaching for the coat Jiang Yanzhou had left beside her.

Pulling it over her legs, she kept glancing toward the road, fearing he might see her pitiful state.

Fortunately, the man didn’t look her way. Leaning against a Roman column, his tie loosened, a faint orange glow between his fingers, wisps of pale smoke drifting upward.

Still exuding that aloof, unbothered aura.

Song Zhi wondered: What could possibly matter to a cold-blooded creature like Jiang Yanzhou?

He lacked nothing, possessed everything, and cared for nothing.