In the expensive restaurant, only the faint clinking of cutlery against plates broke the silence.
The once-pleasant dining atmosphere suddenly fell quiet, leaving He Cheng in an awkward spot—yet another time she experienced the consequences of speaking without thinking around him. On the surface, she remained composed, her back straight.
She didn't understand why Zong Xubai wanted her to repeat those three words over and over.
From his expression, she could tell he seemed to enjoy hearing her say them. Combined with his remarks in the car earlier, she wasn't sure if her judgment was correct.
He was her sponsor. She shouldn't make wild assumptions or wrongfully suspect him just because of a few "coincidental" things.
Zong Xubai could read her thoughts but didn't call them out. He placed the peeled shrimp meat onto a clean plate beside him.
He picked up another shrimp and said warmly, "If you want to learn Cantonese, I can teach you whenever you're free."
She pretended not to hear, lowering her lashes as she chewed her vegetables.
He didn't take her ignoring him to heart and asked again, "What's wrong? Don't want to learn?"
"I do want to learn." He Cheng looked up and explained, "HKU offers Cantonese classes. I can also find videos online or practice with TV dramas on my own. No need to trouble you."
His laugh was faint. "You think I'd be a bad teacher?" He smoothly placed another peeled shrimp onto the plate. "Cantonese has nine tones and six contours—not easy to learn."
"It's easier to start with swear words or sweet talk."
There was a hint of helplessness in his voice. "It wouldn't sound nice for a young lady to be swearing."
It seemed to explain why he'd had her say "I like you" earlier.
His words confirmed to He Cheng that she'd been overthinking.
He sat across from her, peeling shrimp with the same poise and ease he brought to everything—unhurried, composed, everything under his control. Given his status, the people and sights he'd encountered were as numerous as fish crossing a river.
She, on the other hand, came from a small place. Aside from the knowledge she'd gained through years of hard study and an unyielding spine, she had nothing else to offer.
To ease the awkward atmosphere, He Cheng looked at the golden prawns in his hand. "I rarely eat shrimp."
"Don't like them? Or allergic?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"How could I be allergic?" He Cheng let out a soft laugh, then her voice lowered as she recalled the past. "Xizhou is surrounded by mountains on all sides. Our village was very remote—there was no such thing as seafood. When I was ten, my grandmother took me to a wedding banquet. There was so much delicious food. I didn't know I had to peel the shell back then, so I chewed the whole shrimp down. The adults and kids at our table laughed at me, saying I hadn't eaten in eight hundred years and telling the children not to copy me."
She no longer remembered what the shrimp tasted like, but the sharp pain of the shell scraping down her throat, and that raw, rough sensation of swallowing it whole with the hard casing—she remembered that vividly.
After she finished speaking, Zong Xubai peeled another shrimp and set it on the plate. His eyes traced her face inch by inch, from the curve of her brow to the moment her eyes dimmed—slowly, deeply.
He removed one glove stained with golden shrimp juice, cleaned his hands with the hot towel nearby, then picked up the plate. Leaning slightly forward across the table, he set it beside her.
"Shelled shrimp. Eat them while they're hot."
He Cheng was stunned for a moment. She watched him sit back down and put on fresh gloves to continue peeling.
If anyone familiar with Zong Xubai had seen this, their jaw would have dropped.
Those hands—accustomed to the finest things, never lifting a finger—were peeling shrimp for a girl.
"You don't need to do this for me." He Cheng grew flustered and quickly set down her chopsticks. "If I want to eat, I can peel them myself. I told you that story not to win your sympathy or hint that you should give me the shrimp you've peeled…"
She truly hadn't meant it that way. It was almost too much to bear.
Besides, peeling shrimp for a girl was an intimate gesture. They weren't close enough for that yet.
Zong Xubai found her flustered expression endearing. Light gathered in his eyes as he said gently, "I'm treating the little He Cheng from back then. It has nothing to do with the you of now."
He Cheng was stunned again.
He was treating the little He Cheng from back then.
Words could leave a deep impact.
They could draw blood instantly, sear the skin—or warm the heart.
He Cheng's nose tingled. She could almost see her ten-year-old self, at a loss before a plate of bright red shrimp, surrounded by festive noise. And across the long years, Zong Xubai reached out, gently pushing a peeled, warm shrimp toward her, telling her to eat it while it was hot.
That unfinished lesson from her childhood finally found a new answer, years later.
In the end, every last shrimp on that plate went into He Cheng's mouth.
Zong Xubai's reasoning was that he needed to make up for every stage of He Cheng's life. He also said he didn't care for shrimp and didn't want to waste them.
He Cheng couldn't stand waste, so she ate every bite.
Still, having Mr. Zong peel shrimp for her made her terribly embarrassed. She thought about how she could repay him.
Maybe she could clean his house. It was so big that it would take a lot of effort—that would show her sincerity.
Coming out of the restroom, He Cheng decided this plan was viable. She couldn't accept his hospitality without giving something back. She'd propose it to Zong Xubai in a moment.
The thought of being able to repay a favor lifted her steps as she walked back to the main hall. From a distance, she spotted two men standing by the dining table.
Assuming they were Zong Xubai's friends, she paused in place, afraid that going over might interrupt their conversation.
But the more she watched, the more something felt off.
Zong Xubai remained leisurely with his legs crossed, his left back leaning against the chair, fingertips tapping the tabletop in a desultory rhythm. He tilted his head with a sidelong glance, a faint, lukewarm smile hanging at the corners of his lips.
As if he had heard something amusing, the smile deepened slightly.
He Cheng had never seen him smile like that—tinged with cold mockery. His thin lips parted and closed lightly as he said something.
One of the men seemed provoked, while the other immediately grabbed his shoulder to restrain the agitated man. She looked closely and felt the man seemed familiar, as if she had seen him somewhere before.
Suddenly, her eyes flew wide.
It was him—Zong Deming.
The man from the Yixin Education Assistance organization sexual assault case that had been all over the news recently.
That face, and the vile things he had done, were unforgettable to He Cheng.
The news said that Zong Deming's mother, Tao Tao, had been Zong Xubai's grandfather Zong Hanwen's mistress for ten years, publicly recognized as his kept woman in Hong Kong. Originally, Zong Hanwen hadn't planned to marry her, but then she ended up pregnant.
After Zong Deming was born, Tao Tao rose in status through her son, marrying the already seventy-something Zong Hanwen when she was twenty-five.
According to Hong Kong tabloid gossip, the Zong family had even drawn up an agreement.
One million per year, paid into an account under Tao Tao's personal name, under the guise of "living support payments."
If the marriage continued, the payments continued. If they divorced, the payments ceased.
If Zong Hanwen predeceased her, a trust fund would continue the payments until her death.
Zong Deming and Tao Tao could not, in any form, claim any inheritance rights to equity, real estate, trust shares, or any other form of assets under Zong Hanwen's name or the Zong family enterprises. The annual payments stipulated in this agreement constituted complete and final substitution for the aforementioned rights.
When Zong Deming came of age, he could join the Zong Group in a management position. His rank, salary, and promotions would follow the company's unified system, but he would not enjoy equity, inheritance rights, or any special treatment.
Zong Deming himself was also a disappointment—not only did he merely hold a nominal position at the group, but he was also dissolute and arrogant.
News had exposed that Zong Deming used the group's education assistance organization to keep young girls, and his actions were outrageous. The board of directors dismissed him directly without even convening a meeting.
He Cheng had previously doubted the truth of the news, but now it seemed it must be true.
She clenched her fists, silently aiming at his face in her mind, fantasizing about punching him until his teeth scattered across the floor.
Zong Xubai remained calm throughout. Zong Deming grew increasingly agitated, his voice rising as he rattled off in Cantonese, which He Cheng couldn't understand.
Hearing the commotion, a waiter stepped forward to remind and dissuade him. Zong Deming casually shoved the waiter away, then grabbed an unfinished glass of red wine from the table and splashed it directly into Zong Xubai's face.
The air fell into a brief, deathly stillness before the waiters snapped back to their senses. Several of them moved forward to restrain him, in case he made any other aggressive moves.
In truth, the moment the wine was splashed, Zong Deming himself sobered up, unable to believe he had acted on such an impulse.
Meanwhile, Zong Xubai sat there, expressionless and unreadable, as if nothing in the mortal world concerned him.
After freezing for a few seconds, He Cheng swept her gaze to the nearby table—empty of people but still bearing leftover food and unfinished drinks. She hesitated for a moment, then grabbed a wine glass and charged over, splashing it heavily into Zong Deming's face.
The waiters restraining Zong Deming wore shocked expressions once again.
They all turned to look at the newcomer.
Zong Deming, his face drenched, felt his anger surge again and lunged toward He Cheng: "Who the hell are you?"You have the nerve to splash me?" (Who are you? How dare you splash me?)
Zong Xubai had taken off his gold-rimmed glasses, now fogged with moisture, and was calmly wiping them with a handkerchief. Hearing the commotion, he slowly lifted his eyelids.
He Cheng had appeared from somewhere, an empty wine glass clutched in her hand. Those eyes that were always clear, gentle, and soft had now frozen into a hard shell of ice.
Realizing what she had done, Zong Xubai's expressionless face finally regained some warmth. A smile spread from the corners of his eyes, his whole demeanor softening—nothing like the man who had been splashed with wine just seconds ago.
"Splash him again. I didn't see it."
Everyone thought they had misheard. That sentence carried a hint of indulgence.
First, they observed Zong Xubai who had spoken, then turned their gaze to He Cheng.
He Cheng met a pair of clear, gentle eyes. His sharply defined, aloof features—the pale skin clinging to his bone structure—still bore translucent droplets of wine, some hanging half-wet from the tips of his hair and the corners of his forehead. His short hair was soaked through, gleaming with dark, watery sheen.
She took a deep breath, as if encouraged. Setting down the empty glass, she snatched up the white wine she hadn't finished earlier and hurled it at Zong Deming's face.
Cantonese curses followed.
Fearing the situation might escalate further, the waiters hurriedly half-persuaded, half-dragged, half-comforted Zong Deming away. His resentful voice gradually faded into nothing, and the main hall returned to tranquility.
Zong Xubai suddenly laughed hard, his shoulders trembling, the smile at the corners of his eyes spreading richly.
Seeing him smile so happily, and being watched with such a frank, admiring gaze, He Cheng felt as if her face had been scorched by charcoal, flushing hot wave after wave.
She wondered if she had just been too shrewish.
"Mr. Zong, what's wrong with you?" He Cheng didn't understand. "You're still smiling after getting wine thrown in your face."
Zong Xubai looked at her deeply. "Isn't it because you helped me get back at him?"
He Cheng's face grew hot, a flicker of darkness and sorrow passing through her eyes. She kept twisting the hem of her clothes. "It wasn't really to help you. I just thought of the little girls he bullied."
Taking in the dim emotion between her brows, Zong Xubai's smile faded at the corners of his lips. He narrowed his eyes and said with certainty, "You have something on your mind."
He Cheng paused, finding it hard to believe how sharp and attentive Zong Xubai was.
She set down her wine glass awkwardly, avoiding his burning, probing gaze.
His piercing eyes seemed able to see through her face to the truth beneath.
She lowered her lashes to conceal her thoughts. "Yes, I regret not asking you to teach me some swear words. Then I could have put them to use just now."
Seeing that she didn't want to say more, Zong Xubai didn't press further.
If it was what he suspected, it was already in the past. Forcing it open again would only make her fall back into that wound that had only superficially healed.
She had grown up in poverty, in soil lacking love, like a wild weed struggling out from between cracks in stone. She bore wind, frost, rain, and snow all on her own, learning early to keep her spine straight. Naturally, she wouldn't open her heart to a man she didn't know well.
Strong and resilient at her core.
But there would always be a suitable opportunity.
Zong Xubai's good mood sank slightly because of the troubles she was unwilling to mention.
He picked up her thread: "What swear words would a little girl like you learn?"
"If you're still angry, we'll invite him over another day and let you splash him to your heart's content."
Just then, a manager-looking figure ran over, bowing and kowtowing to Zong Xubai while apologizing endlessly, extremely nervous.
Zong Xubai waved his hand. "Mou gan yiu, mou si." (No need, it's fine.)
He took a tissue to wipe the wine stains from his face.
Everything had happened so fast that the manager was caught off guard. The feud between Zong Xubai and Zong Deming was a secret of the wealthy elite. After Zong Deming's sexual assault of financially aided students was exposed, Zong Xubai took the opportunity to fire him, without even going through the board of directors.
It was said that Zong Deming had spent a fortune greasing the police and media to barely suppress the matter, but with his wife from the arranged marriage demanding a divorce and his position lost, it was hard for him to even get a meeting with Zong Xubai. Today, having finally managed to see him and having drunk quite a bit, resentment toward him inevitably brewed, and impulse got the better of him.
The manager couldn afford to offend either of them.
The former still had residual influence despite no longer being as prominent, and couldn't be underestimated. As for the one before him, a single word from him could make the waves of Victoria Harbour think twice.
He had long heard that Zong Xubai was extremely gentle, virtuous, courteous, and modest. Now, seeing that although he had been splashed with water, he was in quite a good mood and didn't mind at all—
He couldn't help but sigh inwardly. The magnanimity of those in high positions was truly different. His composure was remarkable; even when heaven itself fell, he remained unruffled.
He glanced at He Cheng a few more times. This was the first time he'd seen Zong Xubai bring a woman, which was quite a novelty.
She looked like she was from the mainland.
That clean, delicate face clinging to bone carried a youthful innocence. Her chin and long neck tilted slightly upward. Her figure appeared thin and fragile, yet from her bones radiated an indescribable tenacity.
Like green mint growing in a corner, refusing to bend even against the wind—crisp and cool, carrying an unyielding vitality.
So this was the kind of girl Zong Sheng liked.
Coming out of the restaurant, He Cheng noticed that the LOVE YOU license plate car was also gone.
Nothing good ever happened when she encountered that license plate. Last time, it deliberately rammed the sponsor's side mirror; just now, the sponsor got splashed in the face.
Connecting the dots, He Cheng suddenly understood. "The LOVE YOU license plate—is it Zong Deming's?"
Zong Xubai raised an eyebrow, appreciation in his eyes. "How did you guess?"
He Cheng's emotions were stirred up again. She frowned, displeased. Zong Deming was truly a scumbag! Sexually assaulting minors, then speeding at Mr. Zong and splashing him with wine, making Mr. Zong unhappy.
Splashing him in the face just now was too light a punishment.
She should curse him viciously.
Thinking of something, she asked Zong Xubai if he had time to go somewhere with her. It wouldn't take long.
The place He Cheng wanted to go was the bottom of Oi Kwan Road (Canal Road Flyover).
At home, her grandmother believed in Buddhism and the gods. On the first and fifteenth of every lunar month, she burned incense and worshipped, praying to Guanyin to show compassion and keep her only granddaughter safe, healthy, and successful in her studies.
He Cheng held an attitude of reverence toward ghosts and gods. Yesterday when she came with Lu Qi, she didn't worship—she wasn't too willing to spend a hundred dollars to buy peace of mind. But if it was to send blessings of safety and health to her sponsor, and to drive away petty people, then she was more than willing.
At a certain fortune teller's stall.
Zong Xubai stood straight and still. Around him surged the clamor of the crowd—scattered footsteps, murky whispers, worldly desires churning and rolling amidst all kinds of paper talismans and the rhythms of different knocking sounds, converging into a roaring torrent.
And He Cheng, against this noisy, mundane backdrop, knelt quietly before the idol.
With palms pressed together and fingertips lightly touching her brow, the surrounding noise seemed to be sealed off by an invisible barrier—only she was real.
Zong Xubai, dressed in white from head to toe, possessed an aura of a celestial being descending to earth to deliver all sentient beings from suffering amidst the garish surroundings.
He cast his gaze downward at her head.
Thinking, if she wanted wealth and glory, why bother praying to gods and Buddhas?
The fortune-teller had He Cheng state her wish to Guanyin Bodhisattva.
The prayer on her lips fell word by word into devoutness, also drifting into Zong Xubai's ears.
"I hope Mr. Zong is happy, I hope Mr. Zong is happy, I hope Mr. Zong is happy…"
Zong Xubai was taken aback.
He hadn't expected this to be her wish.
After paying respects to the Tiger God, it was time for the "beating the villain" ritual. The fortune-teller took a large red shoe, chanted incantations, and forcefully slapped it against a talisman inscribed with Zong Deming's name until the talisman was beaten to shreds.
He Cheng couldn't help but smile at this procedure—if this could really drive away the villain, that would be wonderful. She looked at Zong Xubai standing nearby, and poked two index fingers toward the fortune-teller who was earnestly beating the villain.
"Beaten to shreds."
Her expression was completely free of gloom.
Frank and innocent.
Finally, the fortune-teller gave He Cheng a small red envelope containing a talisman of the Ninth Heaven Mysterious Goddess, to bless her with safety and health.
After coming out, He Cheng handed it to Zong Xubai instead.
She looked up with a pair of clear, sparkling almond eyes, her dark pupils exceptionally bright, like the clearest pool in a deep abyss, rippling with tiny glittering stars under the sun's refraction, reflecting a pure image of Zong Xubai within them.
He didn't take it, but instead asked, "Why 'Mr. Zong is happy'?"
"Because you're already wealthy enough. In the adult world, genuine happiness is the rarest thing. I can't give you anything else, I just hope you can be a little happier."
Her voice was especially warm and gentle amidst the bustling noise of the crowd, her smiling eyes curved like crescent moons, gathering soft under-eye bags.
At his level of status, he had long grown accustomed to all kinds of exquisite flattery and deliberate sycophancy.
But this young lady before him neither wished him abundant wealth nor hoped for his grip on power. She simply looked up with clean, clear eyes and said she hoped he would be happy.
Like a handful of snow, melting into clean, sweet, unpolluted water.
The corner of his lips curled into a lazy smile as he enunciated each word clearly: "I'm very happy right now, because of you."
"Then I hope you stay this happy always." He Cheng gave a satisfied little tilt of her lips, raising a hand to her forehead to shield the brilliant sunlight outside. She didn't dwell on the meaning of his words.
Zong Xubai was nearly thirty centimeters taller than her. From this angle, looking down, her face was bathed in sunlight, her pupils a translucent amber, even the edges of her hair strands haloed with a soft, fuzzy glow.
He slowly, carefully measured her contours and skin with his gaze. The surrounding clamor gradually faded, leaving only the slow, steady sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.
He Cheng looked up and met his gaze—that look was even more scorching than the sun overhead.
She unconsciously turned her face away, wanting to escape that heat, but after only a few seconds, as if pulled by something, she slowly, hesitantly turned back.
She blinked and said politely, "Mr. Zong, the way you're looking at me is a bit strange."
Please don't look at me like that.
His brow gave a slight raise, his head tilting along with it, carrying a hint of puzzlement, as if asking what was strange.
He Cheng suddenly found it hard to say.
She didn't know if Zong Xubai looked at other women with this same gaze, or perhaps his eyes were naturally amorous—even looking at a dog with deep affection.
She was afraid that if she said it, he'd laugh at her.
Perhaps because the atmosphere of their conversation had been too relaxed and pleasant, her reverence toward him had diminished by more than half.
Her voice was soft and faint, "The look isn't like that of a proper person."
Zong Xubai had the temperament of green bamboo leaning against the moon, warm as jade, yet blessed with features like crabapple blossoms drunk in the sun. When he looked at people, it always seemed to hold the lingering spring in his eyes, and when he smiled, the corners of his eyes tilted slightly upward—the kind of handsome that easily made people let down their guard yet remained unfathomable.
But He Cheng didn't like him looking at her with such a gaze.
Seductive, flirtatious, strange.
Like a hunter spotting prey.
Like a man looking at a woman.
Zong Xubai watched her lower her head, her round head not daring to lift like someone admitting fault. His smile was languid as he asked slowly, "What do you mean, 'not like a proper person'?"
Indeed, what did she mean by "not like a proper person"? What was she saying?
He Cheng wanted to bite her tongue off. She really couldn't think of a better adjective—"improper" was already the more pleasant word in her mind.
But even such a word was a defamation, an insult, and a disrespect to his character.
Seeing that she remained silent, Zong Xubai pressed forward word by word, "Are you trying to say I'm like a male fox spirit? Seducing you? Having improper designs on you?"
He Cheng hastily looked up to meet his probing dark eyes and denied it: "That's not what I meant."
She explained seriously, "It's just that the look you had just now… I found it very familiar…"
Quickly searching for the right words in her mind again: "Very much like a boyfriend…"
"Oh?" Zong Xubai interrupted her lightly, narrowing his eyes, the corner of his lips curving with interest, and declared with perfect calm:
"So you've been having an emotional affair."
These words pierced He Cheng like blades, her heart plummeting suddenly as she hurriedly denied again, "I didn't."
It was truly impossible to defend herself—the more she explained, the more tangled it became. What she meant was that the way he looked at people resembled how a boyfriend looked at his girlfriend, not that she was watching him have an emotional affair. How would she dare harbor such filthy thoughts toward him?
She wished she could worship him like a deity, keeping the mundane world from defiling him.
"Looking at my face, you thought I resembled a boyfriend, but there was no emotional affair?" A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escaped Zong Xubai's nose.
"He Cheng, you always insist on monogamy, but it turns out you're just as two-faced."
He Cheng suddenly found herself at a loss for words, her face flushing as her tongue seemed to tie itself in knots, unable to form a rebuttal.
Zong Xubai smiled, continuing to tease: "Does this count as our second secret?"
Second secret?
He Cheng remembered what he'd said when he brought her the salted lemon soda: 'Then don't let him know—this is our secret.'
The words were incredibly ambiguous.
As if there were many secrets between them that couldn't be spoken aloud.
But they were completely innocent—nothing had happened, not a single line crossed.
"Is it?"
He asked again, deliberately.
The tone was light and casual, yet He Cheng felt an overbearing pressure.
It was as if a quagmire lay ahead, waiting for her to step in without caution.
The sunlight beat down on her directly, and she frowned and blinked uncomfortably.
His tall, slender figure cast a quiet shadow beside her, and then, suddenly, that shadow shifted, enveloping her completely.
Her light amber eyes turned a shade of gray the moment the shadow fell over her.
"I don't think there are any secrets between us." He Cheng straightened her back, her neck stiff as she emphasized again: "This isn't a secret."
With her words, she dismantled the seemingly ambiguous closeness he had constructed, bringing them back to square one.
Zong Xubai stared at that stubborn little face—soft, gentle, and obedient on the surface, but proud and aloof within. She could lower her head and sweet-talk him when needed, but when it came to matters of principle, she had her own opinions and temper.
She wouldn't be led by him.
Every time, she insisted on drawing a clear line between them, and it irritated him.
He lifted a smile, his usual refined and proper demeanor intact, but his flat, airy tone was startling: "Then what about you fantasizing about me just now? How do you explain that?"
He Cheng was baffled by the accusation.
Fantasizing?
She knew that no matter what she said, Zong Xubai wouldn't believe her, so she immediately raised four fingers and swore: "I swear I have absolutely no improper thoughts about you. If I did, I wouldn't be able to graduate from HKU—"
Those rapidly moving pink lips were suddenly covered by two warm fingertips.
He had reached out to cut off her words.
His fingertips were like jade—smooth and soft—pressing gently against her lips. The warmth, the breath that was uniquely his, drifted from that impossibly close distance onto her lips.
Through the tiny gap of her not-yet-closed lips, she caught a faint, cool hint of perilla.
He stood against the light, his handsome face bathed in shadow, only his dark eyes visible—deep and heavy, their emotions unreadable.
He Cheng instinctively leaned her head back, and her lips slipped away from his fingertips. The whole process lasted no more than five seconds, yet she felt as if a snowstorm had swept through her, freezing her in place. She pressed her lips together and watched him warily.
Zong Xubai saw her guarded expression and let out a soft laugh. First, he called out slowly in Cantonese: "Little girl."
Then, in Mandarin: "Adult matters aren't settled that way. What good is a swear?"
He Cheng's fingers twisted the strap of her canvas shoulder bag, her teeth worrying her lower lip until it turned pale.
Being around him meant every word had to be carefully considered, or else the consequences would be like now—if he wanted to pursue it, there'd be no end to it.
She didn't dare look at his face, at those seemingly gentle, alluring eyes that held a forceful pressure. Her gaze shifted to his shoulder: "I just wanted to prove that I really wasn't fantasizing about you."
"Proving that just makes me seem pathetic and terrible." Zong Xubai called her name softly, asking seriously, "He Cheng, am I really that unattractive to you?"