"Can we talk about your—"
The benefactor's words were far too strange.
He Cheng's thoughts short-circuited for a few seconds. Calming down, she analyzed his tone—it wasn't anger, but more like teasing her for being timid, afraid her boyfriend would misunderstand out of jealousy. At first listen, it sounded a bit risqué, somewhat ambiguous, enough to make anyone unaware of the situation suspect they shared some unspeakable secret.
But they were completely innocent.
She replied with the key points, logical and well-founded.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to tear your shirt. You suddenly leaned in close, and I got startled, so I accidentally grabbed at it…"
"My apologies." Zong Xubai apologized in a gentlemanly low voice, leaning back and sitting up straight. "That was improper of me."
"I thought you might need help since you couldn't see what was behind you."
After he moved away, the air flowed freely and fresh again, and He Cheng's line of sight brightened as well.
From this angle, he stared expressionlessly at some dark spot ahead, calmly and unhurriedly buttoning up the shirt she had torn open, covering up the tantalizing glimpse of his lean, defined muscles.
His long fingers were slender and nimble, as if he were dressing before the mirror in his bedroom before heading out in the morning—doing something utterly ordinary.
Except that within the warm amber glow, with just the two of them alone, a subtly romantic atmosphere began to take shape.
He remained composed, treating her as if she were air, as if those two buttons hadn't been torn off by her at all.
She averted her gaze, too embarrassed to look again, and inexplicably felt a pang of guilt—she really had used too much force just now.
But whose fault was it that he'd approached her out of nowhere? She could have put on the blindfold by feel, but he'd suddenly come close and caught her off guard.
He'd been a bit too eager just now; he really shouldn't have done that.
Since both of them were at fault, they could just call it even.
Her shoulders sagged as she took a breath.
Then she heard him ask slowly, persistently: "Aside from your boyfriend, are you this guarded with everyone?"
Her heart pounded like a drum, and she couldn't help but furrow her brows. Wasn't having boundaries only natural?
Zong Xubai finished buttoning his shirt and turned his head to look at her, his gaze faint, inscrutable in the dim light. "You still owe me a meal. Surely that won't be voided because of your boyfriend?"
In the amber glow, He Cheng's brows knitted slightly. She had indeed agreed to have a meal with him before.
"Having a meal is normal social interaction. Don't conflate things, Mr. Zong. I just didn't like your physical contact just now."
"Physical contact?" Zong Xubai repeated the four words in a low voice, his pitch-black eyes like an abyssal vortex, pulling her in relentlessly. He reminded her with good-natured intent, "He Cheng, how do you define physical contact? You're the one who tore my clothes off."
"I didn't even touch your hand."
He Cheng found herself unable to refute that, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Rationally analyzing his behavior just now, she suspected he was twisting things around to blame her, but she couldn't find any evidence.
Too annoyed to let it go, she muttered in a low, sullen voice: "That's not true. You just—you just—attempted physical contact but failed."
Zong Xubai watched her quietly, a hint of lingering tenderness creeping into the corners of his eyes. The way she frowned and argued in a low voice was simply too vivid.
It made one want to tease her.
"You've got quite a grip. You even tore the buttons off."
He Cheng lowered her head, feeling somewhat embarrassed. She might look slender, but she was actually quite strong. She'd grown up running through the hills behind her house with her grandmother, carrying pomelos down the mountain on a pole all day long during harvest season. As she grew older, she often joked that if she hadn't carried so many pomelos as a child, she definitely wouldn't be 165 cm now—she'd be 170.
She apologized in all seriousness: "I'm sorry. You can give me the shirt and the buttons, and I'll sew them back on and return it to you? I'm very good at sewing…"
A glint of mischief flickered in Zong Xubai's eyes. "If I give them to you, what would I wear?"
"Oh." He Cheng shut her mouth.
The stiff atmosphere eased, and his gaze softened with warmth. He asked, courteous and polite: "Would you be able to have a meal with me tomorrow?"
A familiar ringtone followed right after his words. He Cheng lowered her head—Ye Yanzhi was indeed calling her right on time.
It wasn't convenient to answer the phone in the car, so she didn't pick up. Afraid the ringing would bother Zong Xubai, she quickly looked up. "Yes, I can. I'll head back now. Goodbye."
Zong Xubai's gaze landed on her phone screen. The three characters "Ye Yanzhi" pierced his eyes like needles.
His expression remained composed as he gave a faint smile. "See you tomorrow."
He Cheng got out of the car and immediately answered the phone: "Hello? Are you done with work?"
Her voice was low and soft, with a hint of sweetness in it. Under the deep blue night, her voice grew fainter, but that sweetness only grew thicker.
Zong Xubai's smile faded, his eyes stung by something. In the dimness, his deep gaze was like a bottomless pit, following her figure closely.
Sunlight pierced through the glass, spilling light across her eyelids. He Cheng groggily opened her eyes, stretched her arms out from under the covers, and rubbed her sore, aching waist.
She hadn't slept well that night.
Liang Jiahao's roar at the stables, the mess scattered everywhere, the fear and helplessness in the restroom—all of it churned together in her dreams, replaying over and over. When she woke, a dull ache spread finely from her waist.
She sat up listlessly, staring blankly into space. Lu Qi on the opposite bed happened to be waking up too, and the two of them, both with disheveled hair, stared at each other.
Lu Qi crawled from her own bed onto He Cheng's, her face crumpled as she said she hadn't slept a wink all night—her dreams were all about the horse racing event. She wished she'd never gone to the races; she felt she had failed He Cheng.
He Cheng patted her shoulder reassuringly and smiled. "It's fine, aren't we here safe and sound?"
Lu Qi was still shaken, letting out a couple of whimpers as she buried her face against He Cheng's collarbone, her attention diverted. "Chengzi, you smell so good. How is your body wash so fragrant…"
He Cheng tilted her head. "Maybe it's cheap perfume?"
After all, the body wash she'd bought was very inexpensive.
The two spent the morning in the dorm, each busy with their own things. Near noon, He Cheng told Lu Qi to cook her own lunch—she was going out to eat.
Lu Qi initially just went "oh, oh" without asking further, but in the end she couldn't hold back, turning her head to look at He Cheng, who was at her desk watching videos to learn a British accent.
"Where are you going to eat?"
"I don't know either." He Cheng didn't look up, seeming thoughtful. "Mr. Zong asked me to have lunch with him."
Lu Qi went "oh, oh" again, restraining herself from saying more. If she started gossiping, her mouth could run on endlessly.
After meeting Zong Xubai, her first impression of him was that he was refined and gentlemanly, a modest and courteous man—but that didn't mean she dared to strike up a conversation with him. The more distinguished someone was, the more she feared being presumptuous, even afraid that her breathing might disturb his aura.
Yesterday, from start to finish, she'd only said two sentences to him.
Thank you when getting in the car, thank you when getting out.
She could also tell that Zong Xubai took special care of He Cheng, so it wasn't surprising that he'd invite her to a meal.
It was already 11:30 in the morning when He Cheng got into the [HK·ZHB6]. She'd brought along the umbrella and the blanket.
He was dressed in white again.
But today's white was somehow different.
The shirt was exceptionally light and sheer—through the fine weave of threads, the outline of a fitted white undershirt beneath was clearly visible. The style was loose and casual, carrying less formality but more of a careless, subtly revealed relaxed sensuality.
The gaze behind his gold-rimmed glasses was filtered into something gentle.
When the word "sexy" flashed through He Cheng's mind, she felt it was almost blasphemous, and quickly averted her eyes to look out the window.
Zong Xubai caught her hurriedly evasive glance, curving his lips with interest, and asked as if deliberately: "What are you hiding from? Am I that unpleasant to look at?"
"No, that's not it." He Cheng looked into his eyes, her cheeks flushing with a guilty warmth. She was too embarrassed to say that his fashionable outfit was so stylish she didn't dare look at him more.
Zong Xubai didn't press further. He leaned down to open the car's mini-fridge and took out a glass filled to eighty percent, handing it to her. "Salted lemon soda—opens the appetite."
"I made it while doing coffee. Wasn't sure if you like sweets, so I didn't add much sugar."
When He Cheng heard the words "opens the appetite," her eyes went wide. "Are we going to eat a lot later?"
Then, thinking of something else, she blinked her lashes. "Did Mr. Zong make this himself?"
Zong Xubai was amused by her unreservedly surprised expression, lazily humming an affirmative. "Just eat until you're full. Try it."
Salted lemon soda.
He Cheng remembered how yesterday Ye Yanzhi had asked if she'd ever had Hong Kong-style milk tea and salted lemon soda. She'd said she'd drink them together with him when he came to Hong Kong.
She never expected to be drinking one today.
Looking at the glass, a few preserved plums and lemon slices rested quietly in the clear, icy water. She was quite surprised that Zong Xubai would personally make something like this.
He didn't even need to hold an umbrella himself.
Clearly someone so detached from worldly matters, yet he'd made her a drink.
It was a bit unexpected and flattering.
One sip—sweet, salty, and refreshingly cold.
She curved her eyes and said it was delicious, thanked him, and took two more sips to prove she meant it.
Zong Xubai's gaze happened to rest on her red lips. The clear glass straw was held between her lips, and through the tube, the cold liquid was being slowly drawn up, her throat giving a slight swallow in response.
He spared a thought: "Is the sweetness all right?"
He Cheng didn't notice his gaze, thinking about how to return the favor—accepting his hospitality without giving anything back made her uneasy.
She wondered if Mr. Zong had overheard her conversation with her boyfriend yesterday, realized she'd never tried it, and made it specially for her.
Absentmindedly, she nodded and said it was just right.
"I never imagined Mr. Zong would know how to make these things. You seem like the type who…" Her words trailed off, and she glanced over cautiously.
Zong Xubai tilted his head to look at her, a smile lingering at the corner of his lips, and followed up amiably: "The type who…?"
"The type who…" He Cheng wasn't sure if this counted as offensive, choosing her words carefully: "Has everything done for them."
Hearing this, Uncle Bing glanced at the rearview mirror.
Indeed—this was the first time his young master had made something like salted lemon soda, a drink kids loved. After making it, he'd given him a glass and asked about the taste—too sweet wouldn't do, too sour wouldn't do either.
He'd used him as a test subject, drinking four glasses.
"First time making it."
A hint of languid ease lingered at the corners of Zong Xubai's eyes. He observed the girl's slightly astonished gaze, and his smile deepened, his voice low and magnetic: "If you like it, I'll bring you some in the future."
When she was surprised, her clear, bright eyes went wide and round, as if she were mulling something over.
He Cheng felt that Zong Xubai was too considerate. Through their time together, she knew he was a man of his word, which inexplicably stirred a trace of unease in her—afraid he might really bring her some in the future.
"No need to trouble Mr. Zong. They sell these everywhere." She paused, then added: "If my boyfriend found out I was often drinking beverages made by another man, he'd get jealous."
At that, she gave a shy smile. "He's a bit hard to coax."
At the words "boyfriend," Zong Xubai's brow furrowed slightly as he stared at her innocent, sparkling almond-shaped eyes.
When she mentioned her boyfriend, there was shyness and joy in her eyes.
It was a look she never had when talking to him.
So she treated people differently.
Those simple words easily drew a line between the two of them.
Her natural, sincere tone seemed to deliberately remind him not to be too good to her, not to cross boundaries—she already had a boyfriend.
The smile at the corners of his eyes slowly froze, and he wanted to use his lips to seal the mouth that so casually mentioned a boyfriend.
He pushed up his glasses frame nonchalantly, his eyes dark and thick, the corners of his lips curling as he enunciated each word clearly and forcefully: "Then don't let him know. This will be our secret."
He Cheng swallowed the mouthful of icy salty lemon soda, her entire body running cold as she felt a shock at Zong Xubai's train of thought.
The word "our" magically bound them together, as if she and he were on the same side.
Her eyes darted around as she stammered, "P-paper can't wrap fire forever."
"What's there to fear?" He looked down at her from the corner of his eye, his mellow tone both instructive and seductive: "You two are long-distance. Even if you dated another man in Hong Kong, he wouldn't know."
He Cheng was stunned. To think those words came from her sponsor's mouth—what did he take her for, some fickle woman who would change her mind at the sight of another man?
She frowned very seriously and said, "One is enough for me. Our country practices monogamy. What you're suggesting is immoral and wouldn't be accepted by society."
"Monogamy?" Zong Xubai seemed to have heard something amusing, the corners of his lips curving into a refined arc, even the gaze behind his lenses tinged with playfulness.
"You're not even married yet—how can you conflate the two?"
His voice was cold and thin like a blade, effortlessly slicing through some naive notion.
"It's just dating. No need to be so devoted."
He Cheng gripped the glass tightly, no longer wanting to drink, but not knowing where to put the cup she'd already drunk from, so she could only hold it over her stiffened thighs. She had things she wanted to refute, but since he was her sponsor, she could only swallow them down.
Zong Xubai noticed her suddenly stop drinking the salty lemon soda, her back rigid, his cool gaze crawling over her at-a-loss expression. Suddenly a wisp of laughter escaped his nose.
As if coaxing a child, his voice softened: "Why the sudden frown and anger? Was I wrong?"
"If that's Mr. Zong's view on love, I have no right to interfere. In the end, many relationships rely on conscience and morality to keep oneself in check."
He Cheng calmed down and said rationally, "I'm not angry."
She wasn't angry, just unnerved by Zong Xubai's words. Many true thoughts slip out unconsciously—what he blurted out was the negative of his mind.
Mr. Zong might be extraordinarily wealthy, from a good family, and a good person, but his view on love seemed quite poor, like a cynical playboy drifting through life.
And he even tried to persuade her to drift through life too.
"Still saying you're not angry? We each stated our views, and since you couldn't out-argue me, you're all huffy and won't even drink your lemon soda." Zong Xubai smiled, his brows and eyes gentle, teasing slowly as if coated in candy-sweet vapor: "He Cheng, you're a sore loser."
His patient, gently teasing demeanor made Uncle Bing unable to resist glancing at the rearview mirror again, marveling that indeed, live long enough and you'll see everything.
He Cheng guiltily took two sips of the salty lemon soda, protesting, "I'm not. It's not that I can't out-argue you."
Suddenly thinking of something, her slightly furrowed brows turned mischievous, the corners of her lips curling up with a sense of triumph, her tone laced with cleverness:
"It's just that I think you've never been in a relationship. What you get from books is ultimately shallow. Once you've experienced it, maybe you'll change your mind."
He Cheng thought she'd won this round. She didn't mean to mock him for never having dated, but since he hadn't, anything he said offhand was just empty talk.
Even though she could barely keep her lips from curling, she still pretended to be composed.
Zong Xubai stared at her for a long while, taking in every expression on her face, his gaze gradually darkening, a faint curve spreading across his thin lips.
"So you're mocking me for never having been in love."
Meeting her curious, slightly smug gaze, his peach-blossom eyes behind the lenses seemed to smile without smiling, like spring water rippling with unfathomable waves.
"I really should date someone."
"Someone like you would certainly be interesting."
He Cheng froze.
The car fell suddenly silent.
Zong Xubai's warm, affectionate peach-blossom eyes refused to let her go, his thin lips pinning her down with words: "Can I find someone like you?"
The car drove into the deep valley cast by the tall buildings, shadows flooding over his face like a tide.
Those eyes hidden behind the lenses glinted faintly in the dark, reflecting the flowing river of lights outside the window and her, motionless.
He looked like he was admiring some masterpiece of the century.
The salty lemon soda in her hand was nearly finished, two ice cubes still unmelted at the bottom. He Cheng's fingertips gripping the cup were cold, and by the last sip her throat carried a bitter hint of lemon. She unconsciously licked her lips.
It could also be that the car's air conditioning was too cold—her skin was breaking out in goosebumps, and a chill ran through her body.
For a moment she was speechless, not knowing what to say.
Leaving the topic hanging there.
"Can I?"
He continued asking, breaking the silence.
The cold air ran wild and unchecked.
Even though the man before her was extremely gentle, gentlemanly, and refined in both gaze and demeanor—a proper, courteous gentleman politely asking for her opinion—she still felt an inexplicable chill run down her spine.
She had the illusion of sinking into a dangerous quagmire, lost in uncertain judgment, not even noticing that the car had come to a stop.
She felt like an examinee.
Wanting to hand in a perfect answer sheet: "Mr. Zong, whatever kind of girl you want to date, I'm sure none of them would refuse."
Under his calm gaze, she added, "Single girls."
Zong Xubai let out a soft laugh at her deliberate emphasis on "single girls." He Cheng didn't know what his laugh meant, but because of it, her nerves relaxed, and her shoulders slumped slightly.
He repeated in a low voice: "Single girls."
His gaze was deep and thoughtful as he reminded her: "Back to the earlier debate topic."
He casually uncrossed his legs and stretched them forward, his posture relaxed, a lazy smile curling at his lips as he said lightly: "I don't care."
That "I don't care" made He Cheng furrow her brows.
Did he not care that other girls had boyfriends, or did he not care that she had a boyfriend? The former she had no right to interfere with; the latter made her scalp tingle.
Zong Xubai watched her lightly knitted brows and decided not to disturb her, boiling the frog slowly step by step, lest he scare her into not daring to have dinner with him.
His gaze shifted from her wary, thoughtful face to the window: "We're here."
He didn't continue the topic, and He Cheng didn't feel comfortable pressing further. Perhaps he was just expressing his views on love, and she happened to fit the standards within his philosophy of love.
A black car passed by downstairs—it was that LOVE YOU one.
He Cheng's alarm bells rang loudly. She looked at Zong Xubai, who also noticed but paid it no mind, so she let it go as well.
No matter how arrogant or reckless the LOVE YOU owner was, they wouldn't be speeding here.
They entered the building, and the elevator went straight to the top floor.
Arriving at the restaurant, the floor-to-ceiling windows stretched like an endlessly expanding giant picture frame, capturing the shimmering waves of Victoria Harbour and the dazzling towers of Kowloon Peninsula without reservation.
A waiter in uniform greeted them respectfully, asking in Cantonese whether it would be the usual spot.
Zong Xubai was a regular here. Whether alone or with friends, he habitually chose the quiet private room, which, though it had a window view, was limited in scope.
He glanced at He Cheng beside him. She was quietly gazing at the window view, her eyes sparkling with light.
"Window seat in the main hall."
The waiter followed his gaze to He Cheng, acknowledged the request, and led the way.
Although it was mealtime, the restaurant wasn't crowded.
Walking behind Zong Xubai, He Cheng saw elegantly dressed men and women along the way, their brows relaxed as they chatted and laughed, dining with composed grace, as if even time slowed its pace for them.
Their seats had an open view. Glancing to the side, Victoria Harbour's emerald waves rippled gently, and Kowloon's glass curtain walls formed a forest of prisms under the clear sky, flowing light and drifting clouds—every frame a painting.
The menu was in both traditional Chinese and English. He Cheng flipped through three pages, inwardly astonished by the prices—this completely overturned her sense of money. Even a simple bowl of congee cost three figures.
She stopped flipping.
She looked up.
She saw Zong Xubai leaning lazily against the back of his chair, one arm extended, long fingers idly toying with the glass on the table, making it spin slowly.
His gaze wasn't on the glass, but passed through the turning crystal, steadily fixed on her.
"Why did you stop looking?"
He Cheng's face flushed slightly, saying she could eat anything.
Zong Xubai didn't ask further and ordered several dishes with the waiter.
One of them was shrimp.
Shrimp pairs well with chilled, crisp white wine. Zong Xubai didn't care for sparkling wines—they lacked texture—but Lin Zhongxi had once mentioned that girls loved this kind of wine, and he kept a good stock of white wine here. Zong Xubai asked the waiter to bring out the white wine Lin Zhongxi had stored.
The waiter quickly returned with an ice bucket and the wine.
"How's your tolerance for alcohol?"
He asked.
He Cheng said she wasn't sure about white wine, but she could drink two bowls of the yellow wine her grandmother brewed at home.
Zong Xubai was amused, and casually asked how the yellow wine was made and what other delicacies her hometown had.
When it came to talking about her hometown, He Cheng became less formal and stiff, introducing things earnestly and happily.
From the method of making yellow wine to other foods.
When she went home on weekends, her grandmother often made bamboo shoot dumplings—using tapioca starch for the skin, stuffing bamboo shoots dug from the mountains inside to form dumpling shapes. After steaming, the skin turned translucent, with a chewy texture and savory filling.
Speaking of this, she swallowed and frowned, saying she couldn't talk about food anymore.
The waiter happened to bring the dishes over. Zong Xubai saw her slightly troubled expression, smiled, and ladled a bowl of fish maw and conch stewed sea duck soup, handing it to her.
He told her about the water source the soup was made from, the unique local ingredients used as the base, the fresh ingredients and dried goods added, and how it had been simmered over low heat for several hours.
But He Cheng thought the soup, with its golden, clear color, looked rather ordinary. She lowered her head and took a sip. Her brows first showed surprise, then she looked up and said it was indeed delicious—extremely fresh and sweet.
From local ingredients to dialects, he then asked whether Xizhou spoke Hakka and how to say certain things.
The people of Xizhou were all Hakka, so naturally they spoke Hakka.
Zong Xubai naturally mentioned that several of Hong Kong's most popular stars also had Hakka ancestry, and noted that the Hakka people were among the important early immigrants and developers of Hong Kong. He asked her to say a few words in Hakka, and after listening to her, asked what it meant.
A hint of excitement flickered across her face as she translated it for him.
He looked at her fresh, lively face and picked another sentence for her to say: "How do you say 'I like you'?"
"Ngai zung yi nei."
"That's pretty close to Cantonese." Zong Xubai hadn't eaten much and was nearly full by now. Seeing that she hadn't touched the shrimp at all from start to finish, he picked up a pair of gloves.
"Do you know how to say that in Cantonese?"
He Cheng shook her head.
Zong Xubai watched her with keen interest and complete focus. His thin lips parted slightly, and out came a flawless, low, magnetic Cantonese phrase: "Ngo zung ji nei."
Then, in Mandarin: "Your turn."
He Cheng had wanted to learn Cantonese properly since arriving in Hong Kong, and now that a local was willing to teach her, she was more than happy to learn.
Her pronunciation was slow and halting, as if to make sure her teacher could hear clearly whether she was right or wrong: "Ngo—zung—ji—nei."
The smile at the corners of Zong Xubai's eyes carried the warmth of spring breeze.
"Not bad. Say it twice more for me."
Encouraged by the praise, He Cheng grew bolder and sped up: "Ngo zung ji nei."
Meeting Zong Xubai's unabashed gaze, she suddenly lost her train of thought.
Her voice came to an abrupt halt.
From this angle, his elbow rested against the edge of the table, his long fingers in gloves slowly peeling the shrimp shell.
On his handsome face, the gold-rimmed glasses caught a fine, cold glint. Behind the lenses, his eyes, in the soft ripple of light, looked at her like lingering, affectionate willow branches—gentle and tender, winding into an obscure, traceless ambiguity.
It dawned on her that something was off.
Why was she repeating "I like you" to Zong Xubai? How forward, how presumptuous, how intimate it was—though he didn't seem the least bit uncomfortable.
The pleasant, easygoing atmosphere instantly froze.