Zhou Shiyi offered a quick apology to the table before stepping outside the private room with his phone in hand.
“What are you up to?”
Her voice came through the receiver—casual, almost nonchalant. It didn’t sound like a perfunctory check-in.
“Entertaining clients.”
“This late and still not done?”
“Nope.” Zhou Shiyi loosened the top button of his shirt and added, “It’s nowhere near over.”
“Am I interrupting you?”
“Not at all.” He glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes, twenty, I’ve got time.”
Zhong Yi hesitated, unsure of what to say next.
A few seconds of silence passed.
Zhou Shiyi didn’t prompt her, nor did he try to fill the quiet.
Then Zhong Yi cut straight to the point. “Where are you living?”
“Haven’t you already been there?” His voice was calm and unhurried—not accusatory.
“I’m not familiar with the north side of the city, and I didn’t really pay attention to the name of the neighborhood that day.”
As she spoke, she flicked on the walk-in closet light and moved toward the wardrobe.
Just then, a WeChat message popped up from him: it was his villa’s address.
Zhong Yi opened her GPS app to check. It was only a twenty-minute drive from her workplace.
She saved the address, then started pulling out outfits for her trip to Jiangcheng. With her dad out of town and Zhou Shiyi not in Beicheng either, the house felt especially empty.
She had already booked a flight for the next day at noon.
Zhou Shiyi could hear rustling on her end. “Looking for something?”
“No. Just packing.”
She was taking out her favorite dresses one by one and piling them on the sofa.
“When are you coming over?” he asked. “I can come back to Beicheng and pick you up.”
“No need,” she said flatly. “Don’t trouble yourself.”
“It’s no trouble. I’ve got nothing planned the next two days.” He paused.
“Didn’t I say on the day we got our marriage certificate—whatever you need from me after the wedding, just ask.”
Zhong Yi paused for a second. “Even if I ask you to treat me like you used to… you’d still be willing?”
He answered calmly, “Like I said, be specific with your requests.”
It wasn’t really an answer. Not a real one.
Everything between them now felt different. What used to come from affection now felt like duty.
Zhong Yi remembered how, in the past, she’d shamelessly cling to him, asking for this and that. Back then, she never thought it was a problem.
But now, even the simplest request felt distant.
Returning to the point, she said, “Pick me up at the Jiangcheng airport.”
“Alright.” Zhou Shiyi agreed, then shifted the topic. “Did you ever end up living in the Boston apartment?”
Her hand paused mid-reach for a shirt. After a beat, she resumed packing.
“I did. I stayed there until I came back to China. I just told myself you were away on a business trip and wouldn’t be home for a while.”
It was the only way she could live there—because his presence was everywhere in that home. And she hadn’t tried to erase it.
She lived alone in that apartment for half a year.
She could’ve moved back into the place her father bought for her, but she didn’t.
Before returning to China, she packed up everything from that apartment—and deleted his WeChat.
Four years of memories were stripped away, leaving the apartment as empty as their relationship.
Her father had picked her up from the airport. Seeing dozens of packing boxes, he was stunned. “Didn’t know you had so much stuff.”
The housekeeper chimed in, “Things don’t look like much when they’re in place. But once you start packing…”
Most of it had come from Zhou Shiyi’s apartment.
Her dad wasn’t great at packing and trusted the housekeeper, so it was easy for her to brush it off.
Snapping back to the present, Zhong Yi said, “That coffee you made before you left—I never got to drink it. When I finally saw it that night, the sweet red beans had gone sour. Couldn’t drink it.”
That was why, when she was at his villa for the marriage certificate, she had really wanted a cup of his coffee. But it never came.
He didn’t say anything in response.
She could hear someone calling him from inside the room.
“Go ahead, get back to your dinner.”
But he told his friend to wait and brought the phone back to his ear. “It’s fine.”
There wasn’t much else to say anyway—they were seeing each other tomorrow.
Zhong Yi told him her arrival time and hung up.
She’d be in Jiangcheng until the concert ended, so she packed an entire suitcase.
Only after she was done did she realize—she hadn’t booked a hotel.
She didn’t plan to stay at Ms. Yu’s place this time. That small town held too much significance for Zhou Shiyi.
The next morning, the first thing she did was text her dad:
Zhong Yi: Dad.
Jiang Jingyuan: You’ve got some nerve texting me!
She replied with a smirking emoji.
Jiang Jingyuan: You and Zhou Shiyi really did it this time, huh?
Thinking about it, only those two could’ve known both the license plate number and his floor at the apartment.
His wife always called their daughter a little troublemaker. At the time, he thought she was blaming him for poor parenting. Looking at it now—she wasn’t wrong.
Zhong Yi sent a cute emoji nodding frantically.
Jiang Jingyuan: Don’t think you’re getting off the hook! Type it out!
Zhong Yi: Dad, I miss you.
That instantly melted him. He could never resist when his daughter acted cute.
That’s probably why, despite her years of art classes, she never learned to draw anything properly.
Because when she was a kid, every time he told her to practice seriously, she’d cling to his neck with teary eyes and say, “Daddy, I’m tired. My hands hurt. Daddy, I miss Mommy.”
What could he do? She was only three or four.
And the moment he relented and said she could rest, she’d still have tears on her cheeks—but be grinning like nothing happened.
Jiang Jingyuan: That trick doesn’t work on me anymore!
Zhong Yi laughed and didn’t press further. “Is Mom up yet?”
Jiang Jingyuan: She left for the set hours ago.
Before she left, his wife had said she still hadn’t decided how to settle the score with him.
He’d barely slept a wink and was rubbing his temples from exhaustion.
Still, he couldn’t help asking, “Did you eat breakfast?”
Zhong Yi: Dad, stop worrying about me. Take care of yourself first.
Jiang Jingyuan was torn. If he followed his wife’s advice and stayed silent, it would look like he was admitting to the rumors.
But if he made a statement, it would only give the gossip more oxygen.
His phone buzzed. Secretary Yang was calling to ask for instructions.
“Chairman Jiang, do you have any orders? We’ve started crisis control, but we’ll need your decision on whether to issue a statement.”
“I’ll handle it myself,” he said.
He hung up and told the butler to send 300 afternoon tea sets to the film crew.
Along with the refreshments, Jiang Jingyuan himself showed up at the set.
He returned to his usual Bentley—no more hiding.
Zhong Zhuohua was off rehearsing her lines, fully immersed in her upcoming scene.
Her agent nudged her. “Guess who just showed up?”
She handed Zhong Zhuohua a juice.
“Here—courtesy of Chairman Jiang. You don’t like coffee or sweets, so this is all you get.” She shook her own set. “Ours is more indulgent.”
Zhong Zhuohua barely noticed the juice. Her eyes were locked on the sleek black car nearby.
Jiang Jingyuan had stepped out of the backseat and was walking straight toward her.
He’d clearly cleared it with the crew—no one gets a car onto set without approval.
He must be out of his mind.
Didn’t he know paparazzi were everywhere?
But as he got closer, her heart started racing.
The director was busy shooting someone else’s scene, so Jiang Jingyuan didn’t interrupt.
Under the curious gazes of the entire crew, he walked right up to her and extended a hand to her agent.
“Thanks for looking after her.”
The agent set the juice down and shook his hand. “You’re too kind, Chairman Jiang. Just doing my job.”
After a bit of small talk, she took her assistant and left.
That morning, Zhong Zhuohua had been full of anger. But seeing him now, more than half of it dissolved.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“If I didn’t come, I really would be your ‘sugar daddy.’” It used to be just a rumor. But now?
They’d been caught in the same room, he’d brought her breakfast across cities, had late-night meals—and even stayed the night.
Jiang Jingyuan sat beside her, placing the juice down gently.
“No matter how you respond to the media, I had to show up. People need to see this is a real relationship—not some transactional arrangement.”
“But what about Zhong Yi and Zhou Shiyi…”
“That’s my business.”
He used to tiptoe around her feelings. But lately, he’d noticed—none of that made her happy.
She held the juice, eyes still locked on him.
All she had ever wanted was for him to stand up for her—just once. Like he once did for Yang Jia, when he went against his entire family and skipped his own engagement.
Half an hour later, a video of him swaggering into the set went viral.
“Wait, is this going public?” Ning Que had just finished a meeting with his boss. Sitting in the car, he refreshed his feed and saw the video.
“Twenty trending topics in less than two days! For years he kept a low profile—even skipped summit appearances. Why go public now?”
Min Ting, seated beside him, glanced at the video. “He’s getting old. Probably afraid people will forget him.”
Ning Que: …
Some nephew.
Just then, Min Ting got a message from Zhou Shiyi.
Zhou Shiyi: PR has been handled. It shouldn’t cause any serious problems for Jinghe Group.
After all, his father-in-law was the second-largest shareholder. The company was bound to take some heat.
He’d already instructed Zhan Liang to cool down the other trending topics—leave only the one about his father-in-law showing up on set.
During a public opinion flare-up, PR rarely worked wonders.
“I’ve spoken to Min Ting,” Zhou Shiyi said to the person next to him.
Zhong Yi had just landed in Jiangcheng and was on her way back into the city.
She deleted all her social media apps and turned off notifications. The world went blissfully quiet.
[Hope every day is this happy for you, Zhong-jie ❤️] —she sent that message to her mom.
“Did you bring that old laptop with you?” Zhou Shiyi asked.
“I did. It’s in the suitcase.” Zhong Yi exited the chat, guessing her mom was too busy to reply. “I’ll bring it up to you at the hotel.”
Zhou Shiyi realized he hadn’t asked the obvious: “You’ve booked the hotel already?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Zhong Yi gave the name and passed the address to the driver.
There were only a few five-star hotels in the city center—easy to end up at the same one.
Zhou Shiyi said, “What a coincidence. I’m staying there too.”
Zhong Yi wasn’t sure how to respond, so she simply nodded.
Staying at the same hotel wasn’t the worst thing—they could have breakfast together.
Then again, she remembered he usually had breakfast delivered to his room. No need to come downstairs.
The driver had thought their relationship had softened over the past few days. Zhou Shiyi had even visited her small hometown, shared a ride in a rowboat, and they’d bought pastries together.
But when they got to the hotel, Zhong Yi booked a separate room.
A newly registered couple, and they were still sleeping apart. Clearly, whatever “progress” they’d made was only surface-deep. The rift between them hadn’t healed.
Zhong Yi’s room was one floor down. Just a single level between them.
She was planning to stay a while, so she’d brought two suitcases. Zhou Shiyi helped bring them up to her room and picked up the laptop while he was there.
Like a gentleman, he rolled the suitcase to the doorway and made no move to enter.
Zhong Yi casually placed her canvas bag on the foyer cabinet, gently set down the white suitcase, and put the laptop next to the picture frame.
She handed him the laptop case. “The password’s still the one you set.”
Even after the breakup, she hadn’t changed it.
Zhou Shiyi looked at her for a second before taking the bag.
“Lock the door behind me,” he said as he stepped out.
Zhong Yi started unpacking, hanging her wrinkle-prone dresses in the closet.
Once everything was in place, the golden evening sun slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the carpet.
He was probably busy restoring the wedding photos—not likely to be in the mood for dinner. She wasn’t all that hungry either.
She grabbed some fruit from the mini fridge, called it dinner, and sat out on the terrace nibbling while pondering the kind of life they’d have under the same roof, post-marriage.
When it came to intimacy, neither of them would take the first step anymore.
The last time tempers flared, he’d said:
“Zhong Yi, that so-called love of yours—it’s just physical. Your heart was never in it.”
She had stared at him in silence, trying hard to stay calm—and failed.
Her gaze was turbulent, but her tone was even:
“Yes. And didn’t you know that from the start?”
There had been no dramatic fight that time. But the calm, cutting words had left an even deeper scar.