Chapter 1

There’s an unwritten rule among the newspapers in Hong Kong.

If an entertainment reporter’s performance isn’t up to par this month, they go stake out President Zhong of Bangsheng Group.

He changes lovers every month, flaunting them in public, making it effortless to snap a photo.

Men, after all, a bit of gossip is normal.

But his wife, she has to maintain her dignity and a good reputation.

If you catch her husband’s scandal, just take it to her and name your price-she’ll pay whatever you ask.

Old stories are common, but the situation is always fresh.

A rookie paparazzi from New Territories Daily came to Zhong Yichen with a video, and when he sent him back to me, I had just returned home from the company.

The villa perched atop Victoria Peak, and with a glance, the entire night view of Victoria Harbour was laid out before my eyes.

The voice on my phone kept going, inexperienced yet bold, making outrageous demands.

“Mrs. Zhong, two million is nothing, just the price of a bag for you. Only two million, and you can buy out your husband’s scandal. It’s a great deal.”

“If you’re interested, just call this number…”

This paparazzi wasn’t too bright. His first time tailing, and by the second, he was blatantly knocking on Zhong Yichen’s car window.

Zhong Yichen’s car is actually hard to recognize-he changes cars frequently, with hundreds in his garage, but those days he kept driving the same one.

In the video the paparazzi sent me, Zhong Yichen lowered the window, and in the passenger seat was a woman dressed provocatively.

Last month, when I received photos, that seat was occupied by a popular mainland actress.

Zhong Yichen took off his sunglasses, revealing an almost flawless face to the camera, and beckoned the paparazzi with his finger.

As he approached, he coaxed gently, his tone lazy: “New paparazzi? So clueless. After filming, you go to my wife, not me-I won’t give you a cent.”

“Don’t have my wife’s contact info?”

He grabbed a piece of paper, quickly scribbled a few numbers, and tossed it into the paparazzi’s arms.

Then he looked at the woman beside him and clicked his tongue: “Get out.”

The woman leaned close to him, whining: “Mr. Zhong, didn’t you say three days? It’s only been a few hours…”

Zhong Yichen threw her a card and pressed the unlock button: “Just a few hours and you got caught. Not getting out until I kick you? Get lost.”

I turned off the video and sat calmly at the dining table as the maid laid out the dinner, dish after dish.

The clock in the living room struck eight, chiming several times.