Zhong Yi never turned around.
Did she blame him?
She wasn’t sure.
They had only truly lost their tempers that once. After that, not a single argument in six months. Both were rational, restrained by nature.
That one outburst had simply been the result of bottled-up emotions hitting a breaking point.
Once it all exploded, they were forced into silence—each trying not to tiptoe around the other, yet both suffering from the distance.
When she suggested the breakup, she already knew how it would end. He was proud—always had been—and in their relationship, he’d been the one making concessions.
Once she said the words, there was no way he’d pretend nothing had happened. And groveling?
That was never going to happen.
He stared at her for a long time. Then finally asked, “You’ve thought it through?”
She nodded.
Before leaving, he made sure everything was taken care of. He had always assumed her family was average, that she had earned her scholarship abroad through sheer merit.
So before he left, he arranged for her housing and living expenses—everything, down to the last detail.
That night, she was working late in his study. He knocked on the door and asked, “Want to come see me off?”
Her fingers paused on the keyboard, trembling slightly. Her mind went completely blank. She didn’t even know what she’d been about to type.
When she didn’t move, he didn’t push.
“Sorry. I’m older than you and still failed to be the more mature one. We ended this… messily.”
They hadn’t spoken calmly like this in ages.
“If you run into trouble and can’t fix it yourself, call Zhan Liang. Or me. I’ll handle it. Just… take care of yourself.”
That was the last thing he ever said to her.
The door closed with a soft click.
She stared at the shut door, stunned, listening as his footsteps grew more and more distant.
From the window, she could see the courtyard below. But she didn’t go. Maybe she didn’t dare watch him leave.
It was raining in Boston that day. Wind rattled the trees, branches scraping against the windows.
She didn’t know how much time had passed before she finally walked to the window. The parking spot next to her car was completely empty.
And just like that, the tears spilled over.
She knew: that was it. There would be no “us” after this.
Later, she would replay that moment countless times. If she’d gone downstairs to see him off—would he still have left?
But even if they hadn’t broken up then… what about later?
The cracks between them ran too deep. Sooner or later, they’d end up just as exhausted.
Because there had always been Lu Cheng, an undeniable shadow between them.
And her relationship with Zhou Shiyi had never been built on love, not the way it had been with Lu Cheng.
There was no undoing that knot.
She was lost in thought when something shifted behind her. Turning around, she saw her canvas bag slipping off the seat. Zhou Shiyi caught it just in time.
“Thanks.”
She reached out to take it, but he didn’t hand it over right away.
Instead, he placed it on his lap, carefully smoothing the creases, eyes settling on the drawing printed on the fabric.
“How old were you here?”
“Three, maybe four.”
She hadn’t been angry before—just stirred up by the past. Now that he was offering a way back into conversation, she took it.
He gave a small nod and lifted the bag by its strap. The seat beside him was wide enough, so he placed it there.
Her gaze shifted between the bag and his sharply outlined profile.
He glanced at the water bottle in her hand.
“Still drinking?”
“No.” She hadn’t been thirsty to begin with.
“Give it here.”
He’d kept the cap the whole time. After screwing it back on, he placed the bottle neatly in the cup holder.
She had once told him she’d been heartbroken after their breakup.
But she had no idea what the past few years had been like for him.
A brief pause.
“If you’re not ready to work on the project, don’t. We’ll talk when you don’t hate me anymore.”
And just like that, the unpleasant topic was closed.
She wanted to say: by the time that day comes, the project might already be long finished.
So she changed the subject.
“The ring from the other day… it doesn’t feel quite right.”
She wasn’t wearing it, but Zhou Shiyi instinctively glanced at her hand.
“Doesn’t fit?”
“No. I just want a second one. Something bigger—for the wedding.”
She didn’t say it was because of her parents. She’d pretend she just wanted two rings.
“Alright. I’ll order one after we’re back from Jiangcheng.”
Zhou Shiyi had already scheduled a private appointment with the flagship store’s manager. His only instructions were: large carat, for wedding wear.
The manager replied promptly: Understood, Mr. Zhou. I’ll be waiting in the store.
As she suspected, the one she’d picked earlier was far too modest—hardly suitable for the kind of grand wedding Zhou Shiyi’s family would host.
And now, she was almost certain: the rare diamond ring he had customized two years ago hadn’t been for her. Otherwise, why would he need to order another for the wedding?
The flight from Beicheng to Jiangcheng took just over two hours.
At 1 PM, the plane landed.
Zhou Shiyi had arranged for a car to pick her up, and escorted her all the way to the vehicle. He didn’t plan to stay in Jiangcheng.
“How long are you staying in town?”
“Need me to come pick you up?”
She tossed the question back at him.
“Do you want to?”
His eyes lingered on her neatly layered short hair—he’d been staring at it a lot these past few days. Then his gaze moved to her face.
“Call me before you leave. I’ll come get you.”
There was really no need to pick someone up from Jiangcheng; they hadn’t spoken much even on the plane.
But if he wanted to come, she wouldn’t say no.
As she settled into the back seat, she noticed he wasn’t getting in.
“You’re heading back already?”
She’d thought he might spend at least a day in Jiangcheng—his cousin lived downtown.
“Yeah.”
They were married now, so it felt appropriate to share his plans.
“Flying to Shanghai.”
She nodded slowly, not asking any more questions.
The black car pulled away. Zhou Shiyi turned and headed into the terminal.
He had a high-profile gala in Shanghai the next night—one of those elite social events he was now frequently invited to ever since taking over Kunchen Auto.
Half of every year, he lived in Shanghai. It was farther from home, quieter.
His parents’ marriage had long lost its substance, yet they remained ever eager to meddle in his.
Over the years, Zhou’s father had tried more than once to arrange strategic matches. But Zhou Shiyi had always resisted—stronger, in fact, than his father.
All those arrangements had fallen through.
Still, this one? The one his son agreed to? It was the match Mr. Zhou had been most satisfied with.
Zhou Shiyi arrived at his Shanghai apartment just as evening fell. As he stepped inside, his phone rang. Ji Fanxing’s voice crackled through with excitement:
“You really picked the day before the concert to announce the endorsement? Kunchen’s PR team is too thoughtful. On behalf of Lu Cheng—thank you!”
He listened in silence, removing his cufflinks.
When she finally paused for breath, his tone was even.
“That all?”
“Of course not! I finally remembered where I saw Zhong Yi before!”
His hand paused midair.
“Where?” he asked, resuming the cufflink removal.
“In your phone. You used her photo as a wallpaper once. Remember?
She had long hair then. Took me a while to realize.”
She’d teased him back then—Ooh, who’s the pretty girl?
She hadn’t expected him to reply. But he did:
“My girlfriend.”
During those years, his lock screen was always Zhong Yi. He didn’t usually like real photos as wallpapers. But she liked it.
And when she snuggled into his arms, smiled up at him, and asked if he’d switch to one of her pictures—how could he say no?
Ji Fanxing said, “So that’s why you suddenly agreed to get married. You two haven’t made up, right?”
No couple that had made up acted like this.
There was silence on the other end. Silence, but not denial.
Ji Fanxing added, “You helped me connect with Lu Cheng. If you ever need anything between you and Zhong Yi, just say the word.”
“No matter where I am—even halfway across the world—I’ll drop everything and fly back to help.”
Zhou Shiyi:
“Actually, there is one thing.”
“Name it.”
“She doesn’t have many friends. If it’s not too much trouble, be her bridesmaid.”
“Trouble? Are you kidding? I’d love to be her bridesmaid.”
After hanging up, Zhou Shiyi checked his email. A few new messages had come in.
One from his assistant, Zhan Liang, nervously reminding him not to forget tomorrow’s 6 PM banquet.
The next day, at 6 sharp, Zhou Shiyi arrived at a five-star hotel along the river.
Since taking over Kunchen, such social events had become routine.
The host greeted him personally at the door.
“Congrats—double blessings!”
Zhou Shiyi smiled politely.
“Taking over Kunchen isn’t exactly a blessing. You should congratulate Zhou Sujin instead.”
“Haha! I’ll give him a call later.” Then, lowering his voice, “Didn’t bring the wife?”
Word of Zhou Shiyi’s marriage had already spread through Shanghai’s elite circles, with rumors flying that his father-in-law was Jiang Jingyuan.
Some were skeptical—Jiang’s third son had famously lost touch with his first love, and supposedly had no children.
“She’s busy,” Zhou Shiyi replied calmly.
They hadn’t chatted long when more guests arrived. The host gave his shoulder a quick pat.
“We’ll talk later.”
Just then, all eyes turned toward the entrance.
The guest who’d just arrived was a living legend—first Grand Slam Best Actress in Chinese cinema.
Famous for her striking beauty, and for the countless controversies she’d survived.
She’d remained a leading figure in the entertainment world for over three decades—never fading.
At 47, she was as radiant as ever. Time hadn’t dulled her, only refined her presence. Wherever she went—even amidst a crowd of stars—she commanded the room.
Twenty-six years ago, she’d shocked everyone by leaving Hong Kong at the height of her fame to pursue her career in mainland China.
People speculated she’d had a falling out with her agency.
But she was still with that agency. And her relationship with the boss? Stronger than ever.
No one ever figured out why she’d made the move.
Among tonight’s guests—actors, artists, CEOs—many were lifelong fans of hers.
Half an hour passed. After the rounds of photos and greetings, the crowd finally thinned.
Zhou Shiyi picked up two glasses of red wine from a passing tray and stepped forward.
She recognized him immediately, nodded slightly.
“Auntie,” he said, handing her a glass.
“I’m Zhou Shiyi. It’s an honor.”
There were others around. He couldn’t very well call her “Mom.”
Zhong Zhuohua accepted the glass, lips curving into a faint smile.
“Pleasure to meet you.”
She hadn’t liked the man who’d hurt her daughter.
But her daughter liked him.
So—for now—he passed.
Her assistant, standing off to the side, couldn’t help but mutter inwardly: He’s a full-grown CEO, not some kid.
Even “Sister Zhong” would’ve been better. Who just walks up and calls her Auntie?
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