Chapter 6: What Does She Want With Me Now?

At 6:55, while morning mist still hung in the air, Zhang Cheng parked the Rolls-Royce Phantom outside the gates of Zhou Mingyuan’s luxurious villa.

The air smelled of grass and damp earth. The white European-style house loomed in the mist like a sleeping castle, the reliefs on its columns emerging faintly through the haze. The ornate iron gates stood twice a person’s height, with stone lions guarding the gateposts. A fountain played over the neatly trimmed imported lawn, its spray catching tiny rainbows. A servant guided a mower across the grass, moving quietly as if afraid to disturb the household.

Every visit left Zhang Cheng feeling suffocated. Every brick seemed to proclaim the gulf between their stations; every tile and flower spoke of wealth he would never reach.

In the driver’s seat, his fingers picked at the leather steering wheel while images from the night before returned: Su Qing’s wet hair against her neck, her pale legs beneath her nightdress, the little gasp she’d given when he kissed her. Sweet as the memories were, they made him anxious.

“Damn it, why am I thinking about that?” He pinched his thigh hard enough to make himself wince.

At seven, the iron gates creaked open. Zhou came out in a light-gray Armani outfit, sleeves rolled up to reveal a Patek Philippe watch. His hair was untidy and dark circles shadowed his eyes. Plainly he hadn’t slept well. He scrutinized Zhang Cheng as though trying to see straight through him.

Zhou climbed into the back seat but didn’t tell him to drive. Instead, he watched him in the mirror. “Nothing went wrong last night, did it?”

“No, boss. I stayed in the room and didn’t do anything.”

“What about Secretary Su? She didn’t try to seduce you?” Zhou tapped the leather seat rapidly.

“No, no.” Sweat slid down Zhang Cheng’s temple. “Why would she seduce a poor driver like me? She said she was tired and went to bed early. I spent the night on the sofa. Nothing happened. Maybe because you went home, your wife didn’t come back.”

Zhou snorted, his suspicion undiminished. “The sofa? She didn’t invite you into the bed?”

Zhang Cheng rehearsed his answer before meeting his gaze in the mirror. “She mentioned it, but I refused. I was afraid I couldn’t control myself, and I didn’t want to disturb her. We’re only pretending for your wife, after all.”

Zhou stared at the back of his head for what felt like half a century. Zhang could hear his own heartbeat. At last Zhou waved a hand. “Drive.”

Relief swept through him. His sweaty palms nearly slipped on the wheel as he pulled away. He didn’t dare turn on music or make conversation, keeping his eyes on the road as the quiet villa district gave way to the busy business center.

Half an hour later, the Phantom entered the Juneng Technology campus. Its twenty-story glass headquarters rose above the trees, the company’s name gleaming in metal letters on the roof. Fountains and sculptures stood among the greenery, and uniformed employees hurried past with confident expressions. In the distance, factory chimneys released pale smoke. Zhang had heard that the automated lines produced dozens of sets of core battery equipment a day for giants such as CATL and BYD.

Ten years ago, when he’d begun driving for Zhou, Juneng Technology had occupied a rented bungalow on the outskirts, without even a decent sign. He and Zhou had visited factories and clients together, eating steamed buns by the roadside and sleeping curled up in a secondhand Jetta.

Now the company was an industry giant and Zhou was worth over ten billion yuan. Zhang was still behind the wheel, washing the car, driving and waiting, his salary barely changed.

“I’m just the boss’s workhorse,” he thought bitterly. Zhou’s empire had nothing to do with him; he was a disposable speck in it. Watching white-collar workers enter the building in suits and badges, he felt like an outsider.

He stopped outside headquarters. Zhou got out, then bent back toward the window and spoke close to his ear. “Remember, Secretary Su is my woman. You’re pretending to be her boyfriend, but behave yourself and don’t get ideas.”

“I wouldn’t dare!” Zhang Cheng nodded and bowed. Zhou snorted and went inside.

Zhang’s shirt was soaked with cold sweat. He’d barely relaxed when his phone rang. It was Su Qing.

“Zhang, are you at the office?” Her voice still had the languor of someone newly awake.

“Yes. The boss just went upstairs.”

“I’ll come down and see you.” She hung up.

What does she want? he wondered, puzzled and uneasy.

Less than five minutes later, Su Qing emerged in a white business suit and a skirt just below her knees. Her heels clicked across the marble, drawing the eyes of passing employees.