Chapter 6

Honesty earns leniency; resistance invites severity.

After hanging up the phone, Song Zhi immediately sent a message to Jiang Yanzhou.

[Song Zhi: Things aren’t what you think. Let me explain.]

[Song Zhi: I was just joking earlier.]

The moment she sent it, a red exclamation mark appeared beside the message.

...He had blocked her outright, not even giving her a chance to defend herself. It seemed he was truly angry.

Song Zhi wanted to slap herself. Why had she called at such a time?

Xu lived in the room below hers. Since the program recording had ended late, Xia Wanyue and a few staff members had gone to a barbecue stall downstairs for a late-night snack.

They brought back a box of fruit salad for Song Zhi.

When Xu came upstairs, the door was open. Song Zhi, fully dressed, was putting on a mask.

Seeing Xu, she handed him the car keys. “You’re just in time. Help me out.”

Xu looked at the Rolls-Royce key in his palm and suddenly felt as if he were holding several apartments—its weight was palpable.

“Are you going out?”

Song Zhi pulled out her room card. “Yeah, I have something to do.”

As an avid car enthusiast, Xu was thrilled at the opportunity to drive such a luxury vehicle. Naturally, he was more than willing to assist.

In the hotel parking lot, Xu stood in front of the Rolls-Royce Phantom for a long while.

Song Zhi, pressed for time, urged him, “What are you thinking about?”

Xu’s face was solemn. “I’m saying a prayer first. It’s basic respect for a luxury car.”

“...” Song Zhi glanced at the time on her Vacheron Constantin watch. “Then hurry up with your prayer. I’m in a rush.”

Xu took a deep breath. “Prayer complete.”

He opened the car door and settled into the driver’s seat.

Finally, he gazed upon the starry ceiling he had long admired. “Damn, this is so beautiful.”

“Song Zhi, why didn’t you bring this car out sooner?”

“I don’t have a driver’s license. How could I drive it?”

Xu looked back at Song Zhi sitting in the backseat, incredulous. “If you don’t have a license, why did you buy the car?”

“It wasn’t me who bought it.”

The car was a Valentine’s Day gift from Jiang Yanzhou. When he asked Song Zhi what she wanted, she said she wanted to stargaze with him.

He agreed quickly.

After spending half a day researching scenic spots and even buying tickets, an unromantic Jiang Yanzhou simply gifted her a Rolls-Royce with a starry ceiling.

The two spent a Valentine’s night in that car, trying every possible position.

That old bastard lacked romance, solving everything with money.

It was infuriating… but also oddly endearing.

One section of the starry ceiling was broken—it no longer lit up. Xu reached out curiously. “Why is this part broken?”

It hadn’t been long since it happened, so Song Zhi remembered vividly. “I accidentally scratched it with my high heel.”

Xu, turning the steering wheel, was momentarily stunned by her sudden remark.

Scratched with a high heel...

He looked up at the ceiling. Judging by the damage, the situation back then must have been... intense.

Song Zhi, oblivious to what she’d said, was mentally preoccupied.

She kept pondering which approach would make her groveling less humiliating—kneeling directly or performing the traditional three bows and nine prostrations.

Since Song Zhi rarely stayed here, the place was only cleaned in the evenings. The living room lights were on, and the maid was carefully dusting an antique vase.

The robotic vacuum cleaner nudged its way to Song Zhi’s feet, but her mind was too chaotic to pay it any attention.

She tossed her bag onto the couch, slipped into slippers, and went to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. While doing so, she casually struck up a conversation with the maid. “Aunt Sun, did Jiang Yanzhou look scary when he came back?”

Aunt Sun, the cleaning maid, was usually quiet. She continued wiping the vase without looking at Song Zhi. “I was busy cleaning. I didn’t notice.”

This was troubling. Song Zhi clutched her glass, worried. If Jiang Yanzhou was in a bad mood, wouldn’t going upstairs now put her directly in the line of fire?

But they were under the same roof. They would inevitably meet sooner or later.

Song Zhi unlocked her phone and sent a desperate plea to Tang Xiaoyan.

[Song Zhi: Which is more philosophical—’Die early and reincarnate sooner’ or ‘Live one more moment at a time’?]

The reply came almost instantly, so fast that Song Zhi suspected Tang Xiaoyan had been waiting by her phone.

[Tang Xiaoyan: If it’s Jiang Yanzhou, I think the difference is between being fucked hard and being fucked even harder.]

Blunt words, but true.

Song Zhi and Jiang Yanzhou’s relationship was more like casual lovers than a romantic couple.

Outsiders claimed he wasn’t interested in women. Before Song Zhi came along, not a single woman had been seen around him for twenty-five years.

Whenever Song Zhi heard such talk, she found it amusing. If he weren’t interested in sex, then perhaps all men in the world were monks.

The absence of women around him was due to his high standards. He wouldn’t spare a second glance at the flocks of women vying for his attention.

In this regard, Song Zhi admired him.

Good taste.

She slowly finished the remaining half of her water, ultimately deciding to face her fate bravely.

After all, the one who got tired was Jiang Yanzhou, and the one who enjoyed it was her. What was there to fear?

Upon reaching the second floor, she headed straight for the study. Whenever Jiang Yanzhou stayed over, aside from the bedroom, he mostly spent his time in the study.

Ancient emperors would skip court for their concubines, but Jiang Yanzhou was a workaholic. She didn’t even have the chance to be a distraction.

Song Zhi held a cup of coffee she had personally brewed for Jiang Yanzhou and carefully pushed open the study door.

Even this slight noise was amplified in the quiet night.

The man lightly raised his eyelashes, glanced at her, and then returned his gaze to the computer screen.

Perfect English emanated from the laptop—likely a senior executive from a branch office reporting to him.

Afraid of disturbing him, Song Zhi tiptoed over and placed the coffee near his hand.

The meeting report was lengthy. By the time the video call ended, nearly half an hour had passed.

The coffee by his side had gone cold, untouched.

Song Zhi eagerly offered, “I’ll go heat it up again.”

Jiang Yanzhou’s voice was indifferent. “No need.”

He picked up the coffee cup and took a sip.

He must have showered already. He was dressed casually, no longer in his formal shirt.

His light gray loungewear was a birthday gift Song Zhi had given him on his twenty-fourth birthday—the first gift she had ever given him.

A fake Dior, eighty yuan apiece on the street, haggled down to thirty-five.

To Jiang Yanzhou, she was worth only that much.

Fortunately, he never paid attention to whether things were genuine or fake.

The thirty-five-yuan counterfeit had poor quality and faded easily. Originally dark gray, after three years of washing, it had turned almost white.

Cold-blooded Jiang Yanzhou didn’t seem like someone nostalgic, yet he had worn this Dior-labeled loungewear for so long.

________________________________________

He was a man of few words, especially when tired. Having just returned to the country, he surely had a mountain of tasks awaiting him.

Tonight, he would likely work through the night again.

To seek forgiveness, one must strike first. Song Zhi opened NetEase Cloud Music on her phone and approached him coquettishly. “Which song do you like?”

She was referring to her earlier vow to Tang Xiaoyan—that if she didn’t curse Jiang Yanzhou, she would perform a pole dance live.

The man remained aloof, his eyes betraying no emotion. He pushed away the phone Song Zhi extended and quietly looked at her.

Even her coquetry failed to move him—proof that he was truly angry.

Recognizing the seriousness of the situation, Song Zhi pressed her lips together like a child who had done wrong, standing obediently. “I’m sorry. What I said today might have been too harsh. I was just upset at the time and spoke without thinking…”

Jiang Yanzhou let out a soft scoff. “You were upset?”

Song Zhi thought back to what she had heard in the dressing room earlier.

Jiang Yanzhou never invested in films, yet this time he had spent fifty million to push someone into a drama project.

Thinking about it made her heart heavy.

It wasn’t because the person pushed into the project was Lin Shanshan, but because the one doing the pushing was Jiang Yanzhou.

She lowered her head. “So you’re still secretly promoting female stars behind my back?”

Jiang Yanzhou’s brow furrowed slightly. When had he ever promoted a female star? He hadn’t even promoted Song Zhi.

Just as he was about to speak, his gaze inadvertently swept past her, and his brows furrowed deeper.

The outfit Song Zhi wore for the show was provided by the production team. After the program ended, she changed back into her clothes from earlier. She hadn’t even showered after returning to the hotel.

Thus, she was still wearing the T-shirt from earlier—the limited-edition piece, with only a hundred units worldwide.

Jiang Yanzhou glanced at the signature on the hem of her shirt, his eyes carrying an oppressive storm.

He closed his laptop and asked calmly, “Did you sleep with him?”

His question pulled Song Zhi out of her tangled emotions. She blinked. “What?”

Jiang Yanzhou patiently repeated himself. “Did you sleep with him?”

Even with a delayed reaction, Song Zhi finally understood whom he was referring to.

So he thought she and He Hanyang had gone to a hotel?

She laughed bitterly. “How could I possibly…”

He seemed to only want a simple answer and showed no interest in her explanation. “Good.”

His cold tone was like a sharp blade.

Song Zhi felt as though her heart had been shredded to pieces.

He was no different from how outsiders described him—cold, ruthless, and like a block of ice that could never be warmed.

That bastard old dog.

His voice softened slightly. “Go out. I still have work to do.”

Song Zhi’s smile remained sweet and charming, but her words were gritted through clenched teeth, almost forced out. “Still, take care of your health. If you happen to die suddenly, you won’t be able to stop me from messing around with other men.”

Even the sweetest cat has its claws.

Jiang Yanzhou paused his actions and glanced at her, his eyes clouded with unreadable emotions.