Chapter 2

I looked up; the gift Zhong Yichen brought me from France seven years ago was swinging there, old and worn.

At seventeen, I applied to study at The University of Hong Kong. At eighteen, I met Zhong Yichen.

Back then, aside from his looks, everything about him was understated.

He clearly knew so much, yet insisted on pretending to be flustered, always saying he’d forgotten everything he’d learned and blaming me for having to teach him.

In less than half a month, people who knew him would secretly tell me, “Do you think he’s just a pretty face? He’s the young master of Bangsheng Group, and his father is currently running for committee.”

Later, Zhong Yichen left campus, wouldn’t listen to good or bad advice, and drove between The University of Hong Kong and Central every day.

During those years, we sometimes quarreled, but kept falling in love again and again. My heart closed and opened, opened and closed.

At twenty-five, after endless entanglements and countless trials, I married Zhong Yichen.

That grand wedding is still preserved in the newspapers.

One tabloid, to grab attention, ran a headline that overshadowed the major papers. It had the hype, but was far too disrespectful.

The morning after, Zhong Yichen saw the newspaper, and after reading it, pressed it down with his water glass.

Later, I learned that that grand newspaper article became the last issue published by that tabloid.

One small thing after another, thinking it all through from beginning to end, I suddenly realized that Zhong Yichen and I once loved each other so deeply.

But in the end, how did it become like this old clock, too weak even to sway?

In the silent living room, the elevator numbers flickered, and when it showed the third floor, the door opened.

Zhong Yichen had his suit jacket draped over his arm; the elevator’s overhead light did nothing to diminish the sharpness of his features.

I glanced at him, then looked away, focusing again on the dishes on the table.

A minute later, I heard the sound of clothes being tossed onto the sofa.

Immediately after, the scent of cologne and a man’s body heat enveloped me.

Zhong Yichen stood behind me, both hands braced on the table, as if encircling me in his arms.

His voice was casual: “Good evening, Mrs. Zhong. Let me see, how much is this news worth this time?”

His phone was on the table; he tapped a few times and opened a message: “Two million? These days, reporters’ appetites aren’t even as big as your dinner. Anyone who didn’t know better would think my value had depreciated.”

I put down my chopsticks, straightened my back, always keeping half a fist’s distance between us.

I didn’t respond to his words, but changed the subject: “I don’t agree with Zhang Jiamin parachuting into the Public Relations Department as supervisor. I’ll reject her resume application.”

Sure enough, at the mention of that name, Zhong Yichen straightened up, and that lingering aura instantly vanished.

He sat across from me, hands resting on the back of the chair, eyes looking out at the night through the window: “Her affairs are none of your concern.”

“Or is it-” Zhong Yichen’s gaze returned, chin propped as he looked at me, “you just can’t stand her?”

I looked straight into his eyes, searching for something, but found nothing at all.

Outsiders only know that in the past two years, Zhong Yichen has changed lovers constantly, but no one knows he’s been covering for Zhang Jiamin.

Two years ago, Zhong Yichen sent her abroad for further studies, and now he wants her to parachute into the group.

It’s not that I can’t stand her, but I’m just being objective.

Bangsheng Group’s recruitment requirements are extremely strict; if your first degree isn’t from a top 30 QS university, you’re not considered.

Zhang Jiamin only has a high school diploma, worked in a department store at eighteen, and the school she went to abroad is a diploma mill. Even with unconventional talent recruitment, there’s no breakthrough point.

My voice was very calm: “I’m talking business with you, not mixing in personal feelings.”

Zhong Yichen didn’t reply. After a while, I heard a voice message from his phone.

The voice was coy and flirtatious: “Mr. Zhong, I left my panties in your car. When can I come pick them up?”

The phone’s speaker seemed deliberately turned up, and by the time it reached my ears, it echoed several times.

Zhong Yichen looked at me, brought the phone to his lips, and lazily said, “You sent it to the wrong person, miss.”

I looked at his indifferent expression, trying to recall how he used to look when he loved me.