Chapter 8

When I came to Hong Kong at eighteen, I hoped for a vast future and wanted to put down roots here.

But after a decade of wandering, I think I’m starting to feel homesick.

After handling everything, I set off to return to my hometown, Shu City.

Back then, besides the Zhong Family’s dissatisfaction with the marriage, my parents were equally unwilling.

It was Zhong Yichen, through all four seasons, flying back and forth, who pleaded with them to entrust their daughter to him.

After visiting my parents, I paved my future path toward Shanghai.

If a person stays still, their mind will die.

Neither my knowledge nor my experience would allow me to spend the rest of my life in mediocrity.

In those years with the Zhong Family, at first, I even held the wrong wine glass at banquets.

At that time, Zhong Yichen stood behind me, his presence weighty enough that no one dared to laugh at me.

But I was unwilling to fall behind, so later on, I could deftly navigate among the wealthy madams.

In the early days of the company in Shanghai, I made no secret of leveraging the Zhong Family and Zhong Yichen’s names, riding the momentum to solve many problems.

With no shortage of funds or connections, within a month, I finalized all the details.

Besides being busy with work, I was also busy with myself.

I have to admit, even though that marriage was rotten to the core.

After the divorce, I still suffered emotional backlash.

Sometimes, waking up at night, I’d feel like I was floating, my heart so empty it couldn’t touch the ground.

In the seven years of marriage, during the last three, I was almost like an empty shell.

Now I want to slowly fill this empty shell, whether it’s the hollowness in my heart or the blank spaces in my life.

I began to constantly reshape myself-reading, traveling, socializing-becoming more like my old self.

Once a person has the strength to support themselves upward, the thorns of the past seem to become mere embellishments.

That day, the phone on the table suddenly rang. When I answered, the caller spoke in a familiar accent.

“It’s me, I’m Secretary Song.” He spoke quickly: “Sir is drunk and insisted I call you to ask which hangover medicine he should take. He says if he takes the wrong one, it could kill him.”

On the other end, there was a faint mumbling: “Tell her to come back…”

I glanced at the number: “Secretary Song-”

“Yes, madam, go ahead. Oh, right, sir wants you to return to Hong Kong. When are you coming back to Hong Kong?”

I replied expressionlessly, “I’ve been so busy lately, I actually forgot about you, Secretary Song.”

“What-” Secretary Song didn’t have time to respond. When he looked down at his phone, he realized he could no longer reach madam; she had blocked and deleted him.

He held his phone in deep thought.

Sir was the first one madam blocked; he was the last.

Sir was the head of the chicken, he caught the tail.

Isn’t this, in its own way, something to be proud of?