On a rainy night, a thin layer of mist had condensed on the glass window.
The air indoors was sticky, damp, and hot.
Through the floor-to-ceiling window, the lights outside were blurred, and passing vehicles churned up puddles of water.
Shen Xiying’s back pressed against the floor-to-ceiling window, the icy raindrops seeping through the glass and spreading across her skin.
The man’s breath was at her ear—heavy, deep, hoarse, and carrying a deadly sensuality.
His well-defined fingers rested on her waist, moving upward little by little.
A wave of heat and tingling numbness surged through her.
She tilted her head back, unable to bear it, her vision growing hazy.
Then she reached out and hooked her arms around the man’s neck.
Her voice, laced with breathless gasps, was exceptionally soft and seductive.
Tantalizingly alluring: “…Honey, kiss me here.”
“…”
Shen Xiying jolted awake.
She looked around in a daze—no one was there.
The food on the table hadn’t been touched. Shang Ruzhou still hadn’t come back.
And she had fallen asleep on the sofa waiting for him.
And had a spring dream to boot.
After waking, her waist still felt a lingering tingling numbness.
She pressed her lips together and rubbed her waist.
Then she reached for the light green handbag beside her and took out her phone.
A small red booklet slipped out along with it.
She picked it up and carefully wiped off the dust that wasn’t even there.
Treasure-like, she opened the small red booklet.
It was her and Shang Ruzhou’s marriage certificate.
They had gotten it yesterday—a whirlwind marriage.
She lowered her head to look at the man in the photo and reached out to touch it.
The man in the photo had delicate features, superior bone structure, and a faint, indifferent expression between his brows.
His eyes slanted upward, the curve carrying a hint of sharpness.
His lips were thin, crimson, with a small shadow beneath the lower lip.
Clearly a wedding photo, yet his gaze was exceptionally aloof and distant.
And in the photo, she was smiling brightly.
After looking for a while, she put the marriage certificate away and stored it properly.
She took out her phone, about to call Shang Ruzhou.
Then she noticed an unread message on WeChat.
She tapped into it.
[Shang Ruzhou: Not coming back tonight.]
The message was from ten minutes ago.
Shen Xiying stared at it for a few seconds, held her phone, and glanced at the dishes on the table.
She replied.
[Shen Xiying: Why?]
[Shen Xiying: But I made so many dishes.]
Shen Xiying waited five minutes. Shang Ruzhou didn’t reply.
She made a call.
The phone rang for a while before it was picked up.
Shen Xiying heard the clamor coming through the phone, somewhat muffled.
Then the sound grew fainter and fainter—he must have taken the phone to a quieter place.
Two seconds passed.
Shen Xiying heard Shang Ruzhou’s voice: “What’s up?”
His voice was faint, sounding a bit hoarse.
Shen Xiying guessed he must have been drinking—his tone was especially slow and heavy.
“Why aren’t you coming back tonight?”
Shen Xiying asked.
Shang Ruzhou paused for a moment before saying, “I have things to do.”
Concise and to the point.
“But you didn’t tell me in advance. I made a lot of dishes, all your favorites. What should I do?”
Shen Xiying curled up on the sofa, one hand twirling the long hair that fell over her chest, the other holding the phone, speaking in a calm, unhurried tone.
“All my favorites?”
Shang Ruzhou said, then paused.
A few sycophantic chuckles of “President Shang” came through the phone.
Shang Ruzhou casually responded to them.
Then, holding the phone, his tone carried a faint smile, casual and nonchalant: “We’ve only been married for two days and you already know what I like to eat.”
“Did you install a camera on me?”
Shen Xiying’s heart suddenly skipped a beat. She pressed her lips together before whispering, “No, I didn’t.”
After a long pause, she asked again, “Are you really not coming back?”
Shang Ruzhou didn’t speak.
Shen Xiying let out an “Oh”: “I see.”
Then she hung up.
She set the phone aside.
Her mind went blank for a moment.
She had loved Shang Ruzhou for eight years and thought they would never cross paths again.
Unexpectedly, she saw Shang Ruzhou again because her father, Shen Jieyu, had asked her to go through the motions of a blind date—after all, the other party was the Shang family, a prominent wealthy clan.
It wouldn’t do to snub them.
So she went. She thought her blind date would be the Shang family’s youngest son, but she never expected the person she was meeting was Shang Ruzhou.
He hadn’t changed much, really—just that the look between his brows was more languid and unrestrained, and his every gesture carried a bit more aristocratic grace, tinged with nonchalance.
But he still made her heart flutter.
So without a second thought, she agreed. That very afternoon, they went to get their marriage certificate. A whirlwind marriage.
Thinking about it, she couldn’t help but smile again.
To be closer to him, by his side.
She could see him every day.
Outside the Yunzui private room.
Shang Ruzhou glanced down at the hung-up call, then put his phone in his pocket.
He lit a cigarette.
The corner was quiet, with few people around.
A few people who heard he was there came over specially to greet him.
He responded casually.
The glow at the tip of the cigarette slowly spread, and when it reached the middle, he stubbed it out. He walked back into the private room.
The room was somewhat noisy, with multicolored lights and glass tables reflecting dim, murky light.
Shang Ruzhou walked in and found a corner to sit down.
The people around him approached cautiously yet ingratiatingly to strike up a conversation.
Shang Ruzhou’s hand rested at his side, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the smooth lines of muscle in his forearms.
His fingers were long, with clearly defined knuckles, and a silver ring adorned his index finger.
When others tried to strike up a conversation, he only responded with an air of indifference.
Even with his evident lack of interest and the aloofness that seeped from his very bones, people still approached him with flattering toasts.
After all, there wasn’t a soul in this circle who hadn’t heard the name Shang Ruzhou.
The Shang family—a prestigious clan. They held monopolies across multiple industries in Jianglin City, with assets too vast to estimate.
As for Shang Ruzhou, he had gone abroad at twenty to start his own business. No one had believed in him back then, yet within just two years, major financial newspapers were racing to cover his achievements.
There was even a photo taken of him at an overseas banquet—standing where light and shadow flickered, a cigarette pinched between his fingertips, his whole body slouched casually against the wall. It had been snapped without his knowledge.
That innate coldness, the occasional hint of nonchalance, and his astonishing business acumen had topped foreign social media trends countless times.
Three years later, he returned to the country when Shang Yingnian fell gravely ill. Shang Ruzhou took over the Shang Group, and within a single year, he had brought the company back to its peak.
His name had nearly become a legend within the entire circle.
Even seated in a dim corner, everyone in the private room gravitated toward him.
The room was unbearably dull, and Shang Ruzhou glanced at his phone out of sheer boredom.
Two unread messages.
He opened them.
They were from Shen Xiying, asking why he hadn’t come home.
He paused, involuntarily recalling the first time he’d seen her yesterday.
She had looked up at him, her eyes bright and round, as if holding a pool of spring water.
The corners of her eyes tilted up ever so slightly—seductive without her even knowing it.
Her skin was fair, tinged with a faint blush of pink. The tip of her nose was slightly red, and her lashes were fine and dense, casting a small shadow beneath her eyes.
He had leaned back in his chair, watching her, and said in a flat tone: “I did this to appease my family. This marriage has no feelings behind it—just mutual convenience. If you want a divorce, you can come find me anytime.”
He’d expected her to be a little angry, or at least show some displeasure.
But she did neither.
She simply looked at him, gave a very soft smile, and said, “That works.”
Her voice was gentle.
Like a hook, sinking into one’s heart.
Shang Ruzhou leaned back in his chair, his fingertip lightly tracing the ring.
For some reason, he wanted to hear her voice.
[Dear readers, remember to check the author’s note!]