Three days later.
Lin Yang stood outside the heavy mahogany door of the study and took a deep breath. His fingertips felt slightly chilled. He had been exceptionally busy over these three days, moving with a singular, clear purpose.
Using a hidden private phone, he had managed to contact his former manager, Sister So. On the other end of the line, Sister So was both shocked and delighted that he had reached out with a desire to return to work. Though she was a bit puzzled by his sudden “change of heart,” her confusion was quickly swept away by joy, and she hurriedly promised to start scouting for suitable opportunities immediately.
More importantly, using the excuse of wanting to browse a bookstore, he had the driver, Old Yang, take him to the city’s largest book mall. After weaving through the labyrinth of massive bookshelves for half half an hour, he confirmed that Old Yang was not following him step for step. He quickly slipped out through a side exit and, guided by the GPS on his phone, found a law firm located in an office building.
He was received by a middle-aged female lawyer who looked sharp and capable. When Lin Yang briefly explained his intent to draft a divorce agreement, while emphasizing his desire to protect his basic rights and dissolve the relationship peacefully, the lawyer looked at him with a glimmer of knowing sympathy. In this city, no one was ignorant of Li Chenzhou’s name, and no one had missed the news of the “textbook business merger” of a marriage that had taken place a month ago.
“Mr. Lin, I understand the situation,” the lawyer said, adjusting her glasses. “Based on your description, there are no substantive disputes over joint property, no children, and the marriage has lasted a very short time. Since you have stated you have no intention of claiming any of Mr. Li’s assets, the agreement itself will be quite simple. The core issue is whether the other party is willing to sign, and whether the Li Group will exert pressure out of concern for their reputation.”
The lawyer was highly efficient, drafting the initial agreement on the spot according to his requirements. The moment it was printed, the white paper still carried the warmth of the machine, yet Lin Yang felt it weighed a thousand pounds. This was his first door to freedom. Now, this thin, three-page agreement was clutched tightly in his hand, its edges softening from the perspiration on his palms.
Li Chenzhou had returned late the previous night. Lin Yang, sleeping lightly in the guest room, had heard the faint movement downstairs and the sound of the car engine fading away; he knew it was him. This was his chance. According to Li Chenzhou’s habits, if there was no emergency meeting the next morning, he would be in the study handling business.
The timing was perfect. It was 9:30 AM.
Lin Yang took another deep breath, raised his hand, and knocked on the study door.
“Come in,” a deep, cold voice drifted from inside, devoid of any emotional fluctuation.
Lin Yang pushed the door open. The study was vast, occupying half the floor. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned an entire wall was the bustling city skyline. The opposite wall was lined with ceiling-high bookshelves, packed with leather-bound volumes and economic journals. The air was thick with the scent of old books, cedar incense, and coffee.
Li Chenzhou sat behind an ebony desk so large it bordered on the hyperbolic. Behind him was a massive relief of the Li Group logo. He wore a dark grey cashmere sweater that accentuated his cold features. A pair of gold-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, softening his sharp business edge slightly and replacing it with a sort of refined, ascetic restraint. He was looking down, reviewing a document, while a cup of coffee steamed beside his hand.
Hearing the door open, he did not look up. His fountain pen merely paused for a fraction of a second. Lin Yang walked to the desk and stopped about three paces away. He could clearly see Li Chenzhou’s downcast eyelashes and the well-defined fingers gripping the pen. His heart hammered erratically in his chest, but he forced himself to stand firm.
“Mr. Li,” he began, his voice dry from nerves. “Do you have a moment? I have something I would like to discuss with you.”
Li Chenzhou finally raised his eyes. The gaze behind the lenses was deep and calm, like a frozen lake without a single ripple. He simply looked at Lin Yang, seemingly waiting for him to continue, showing no reaction to his rare, proactive visit. That look nearly shattered the courage Lin Yang had painstakingly gathered. The feeling from his past life, of being utterly ignored like an ant, surged back. He pinched his palm hard; the sharp pain snapped him back to reality.
He could not hesitate anymore. He took a step forward and placed the agreement, now warmed by his grip, onto the smooth ebony surface, sliding it toward Li Chenzhou.
“This is,” Lin Yang paused, trying to keep his voice steady and resolute, “a divorce agreement. I have already signed it. I hope we can dissolve this marriage.”
Having said those words, he had exhausted nearly all his strength. He instinctively held his breath, waiting for the expected thunderous rage or, at the very least, cold mockery. However, there was nothing. The study fell into an eerie silence, broken only by the faint city noise outside and the ticking of the antique wall clock.
Li Chenzhou’s gaze shifted slowly from Lin Yang’s face to the document on the table. On the white A4 paper, the top line was in bold: Divorce Agreement. His eyes lingered on those words for about three seconds. Then, Lin Yang saw him reach out. He did not pick up the agreement. Instead, using a long index finger, he pulled the document closer and flipped through it casually. The paper made a soft rustling sound.
His movements were slow, almost leisurely. The gold rims of his glasses reflected the light from the window, masking any true emotion in his eyes. He skimmed the clauses quickly. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, perhaps showing a hint of surprise at some of the terms, likely the fact that Lin Yang was forfeiting nearly all property claims, but he smoothed his expression just as quickly.
About a minute later, he closed the agreement. Throughout the entire process, his expression never changed. There was no anger, no surprise, and not even a hint of impatience. It was heart-wrenchingly calm. He finally looked up at Lin Yang again, his gaze through the lenses cold and clinical.
“Reason?” he asked, his voice steady, as if inquiring about a data discrepancy in an insignificant report.
Lin Yang froze. The prepared excuses, such as irreconcilable differences or a lack of emotional foundation, suddenly seemed pale and ridiculous in the face of such absolute rationality. He bit his lip and pressed on. “There is no affection between us, and this marriage itself has no meaning. Continuing it is just a constraint and a drain on both of us. It is better to part ways on good terms.”
“Part ways on good terms.”
Li Chenzhou repeated the words; his tone gave no hint of whether he agreed or was being sarcastic. He leaned back slightly into his large leather chair, crossing his hands in front of him, his gaze still locked on Lin Yang.
“Lin Yang,” he called his name, his voice icy. “First, the Li family does not need, nor does it allow, negative news like a divorce at this time. It would impact the group’s reputation and the stability of several ongoing major collaborative projects.”
His tone was strictly business, as if stating a settled fact.
“Second,” he continued, his gaze sweeping over the neglected agreement, “the acquisition of Xingwan Technology is at its most critical stage. Any ripple that might cause speculation among shareholders and the market is unacceptable. My personal marital status is one of the factors used to evaluate management stability.”
He paused, delivering his conclusion or, rather, his notification. “Therefore, there is no need to discuss this matter at this stage.”
There was no shouting, no questioning, and not even a flicker of emotion. He just gave a calm, logical explanation of why the answer was no. It was because of family reputation and company interests. Lin Yang as a person, along with his wishes, his pain, and his fear, was insignificant in the face of these cold metrics. He was not even worth considering.
A massive sense of powerlessness and despair gripped Lin Yang, more suffocating than a direct rejection. He felt as though he had punched a cold, indestructible iron wall. The wall remained unmoved, not even bothering to ask if his arm was hurting from the recoil.
Li Chenzhou had already picked up the document he was previously reviewing. His gaze dropped, as if the conversation had been nothing more than a minor, finished interlude. He even picked up his pen and added a closing remark. His tone was as indifferent as if he were ordering a daily chore. “If you are bored, you can have Butler Chen arrange for a driver to take you shopping, or look into some classes you would like to take. Just maintain the public image a ‘Mrs. Li’ should have.”
The title “Mrs. Li” was enunciated clearly and distantly, like a cold label. After saying that, he stopped looking at Lin Yang, immersing himself back into his business world. The order to leave was silent but unquestionable.
Lin Yang stood there, his hands and feet cold. He looked at the divorce agreement that Li Chenzhou had casually tossed onto a stack of financial magazines at the corner of the desk. The white paper looked so out of place on the dark wood, yet so utterly insignificant. All his courage and determination had been effortlessly crushed by this absolute, frigid logic. It turned out that even escaping was not something he could decide on his own.
His throat tightened, and he could not say a word. Finally, he just turned around stiffly and walked out of the study, step by step. The door clicked shut softly behind him.
Inside the study, absolute silence returned. Li Chenzhou’s hand, holding the fountain pen, did not move for a long time. He remained in a bowed posture, but his eyes behind the lenses were not focused on the document; they were staring blankly at a single point in space.
The sunlight shifted outside, grazing his hard profile and tightly pressed lips. After a long while, he slowly raised his other hand from beneath the desk and opened his palm. There, stark and clear, were several crescent-shaped marks where his fingernails had dug deep enough to draw blood. His fingertips trembled slightly, and then he suddenly pulled his hand back into a tight fist. His knuckles turned white.