"Are you dating?"
That sentence suddenly popped out—one of those ambiguous, teasing lines exchanged in the push-and-pull between a man and a woman. He Cheng's heart felt like a stone had been tossed into it, stirring up restless ripples.
Mr. Zong was truly hard to appease.
Perhaps it was the innate male competitiveness and rivalry at play. With such an extraordinarily handsome face, after being "rejected" by her time and time again, even the most gentlemanly man would inevitably feel a flicker of irritation.
He insisted on forcing her to give him an answer.
Unconsciously, she gnawed at her lower lip with the tips of her teeth, worrying the flesh until it was a mess—pale from loss of blood, then flushed red with it. Zong Xubai's dark eyes lingered heavily on her lips, like he was examining a treasure in urgent need of restoration.
Before his restless hand could reach out and press against her lips, he said with undeniable force,
"Look up. Answer me."
He Cheng calmed herself and raised her head, gazing at him with clear, cool eyes. "I have a boyfriend. If you think I'm being unfaithful to him, then it's not you who's terrible—it's me who has poor character. Mr. Zong, you've spent so much time with me. Do you really think I'm that kind of person?"
Three repetitions of "terrible," and one rhetorical question that stunned Zong Xubai into silence. A momentary darkness flooded his eyes.
He rather wished she were that kind of person.
Instead of answering, he asked, "Do you remember what I said to you the first time we met?"
What he said the first time they met?
He Cheng searched her mind for the conversation they'd had that day. They'd said so much—how was she supposed to know which line he meant?
She didn't think she was stupid, but right now her brain felt like it had crashed.
Stupid brain. Think. Think.
"It doesn't matter if you don't remember." Zong Xubai didn't give her much time to recall, and he didn't seem to care whether she remembered or not.
She truly couldn't remember which line he meant. Since the matter was finally dropped, and he showed no intention of reminding her, she didn't press further.
Under his cool, appraising gaze, she once again handed over the red envelope containing the Nine Heavens Mysterious Maiden Talisman. "Please take it."
Her tone sounded like she was just checking a task off her list.
Zong Xubai lowered his eyes, glancing at the small red envelope in her hand, his gaze listless.
"I've received your blessing. Keep the talisman. May the Bodhisattva also protect you with safety and health."
Seeing that he had no intention of taking it at all, she thought—this talisman was originally meant for him. She had to get it to him somehow.
"Surely you don't think this red envelope looks beneath your status? I could buy a sachet to put it in so no one would know, and you could even hang it in your car. What do you think?"
"Fine."
He was terse.
He Cheng felt a bit troubled. "Unfortunately, a lot of Taobao shops don't offer free shipping to Hong Kong."
She lowered her head and carefully tucked the red envelope into her canvas shoulder bag, when she happened to spot a sachet inside. She took it out. "Or how about this one?"
A small, exquisite sachet of pink satin, embroidered with fine, dense patterns of flowers and grass, carrying a gentle, old-fashioned charm.
"Yours?"
He Cheng nodded. "If you think it's too old, I can have my boyfriend buy a new one."
The sachet was a gift from Ye Yanzhi during the New Year, reportedly picked up at a wholesale market.
He Cheng loved floral scents, so she'd fill it with different dried flowers depending on the season. Previously, it had held a pouch of dried osmanthus, but after a while the fragrance faded and she'd emptied it out.
He was coming to Hong Kong next week, so she could ask him to buy two.
"He's coming over next week anyway."
Hearing her mention her boyfriend again, Zong Xubai's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
What was worse, the way she mentioned her boyfriend was utterly natural—not showing off, not deliberately bringing it up, just offhand.
The speaker meant no harm, but the listener took it to heart.
Zong Xubai was annoyed and restless, yet helpless. He let out a scoff. "So does he know that the sachet he's specially bringing over is meant for me?"
He Cheng choked, looking up.
Seeing his furrowed brow, he accused with some displeasure, "You really have no sincerity. When you give someone a gift, you have your boyfriend pick it out and buy it for you."
"That's not it." He Cheng's face flushed warm. "I just think some things in Hong Kong are too expensive. The mainland is cheaper. My boyfriend's coming over next week, so I figured he could bring some for me…"
Afraid he might overthink it, she added, "It's not that you're not worth me spending money on."
It was just that she was strapped for cash right now, so she saved wherever she could.
The sunlight fell behind Zong Xubai, gilding his silhouette with a soft, ethereal golden edge. At his temples and the corners of his brow, fine beads of sweat had formed, glinting with translucent light under the harsh sun.
He Cheng remembered that last time, he'd had someone hold an umbrella for him even when walking in the sun. "Maybe we should get in the car quickly. It's too sunny out here."
The car's air conditioning was strong; the moment she sat down, she felt the cool relief.
He Cheng's fingers tightened around the strap of her canvas bag, her gaze drifting to the window, where the street scenes receded rapidly in flowing, blurred patches of color.
The cabin was silent—so silent it made her scalp tingle. She sensed this was the second time today that Zong Xubai's mood had soured.
The first time was because of Zong Deming.
This time, the culprit was her.
He thought she lacked sincerity.
But she didn't think she lacked sincerity.
Uncle Bing glanced at the rearview mirror, a little curious—how had the atmosphere between the two changed so much since they came out from under Goose Neck Bridge?
His young master leaned against the seat back, legs crossed, taciturn, his dark eyes cold and distant.
As the car passed a McDonald's with its giant yellow M sign, a few girls pushed through the doors laughing, holding ice cream cones. The afternoon sunlight fell on their upturned faces and the soft-serve swirls, and the air seemed to carry a light, buoyant joy.
Zong Xubai thought of the candid photo in his phone—the same yellow M sign. He asked Uncle Bing to pull over.
He turned to He Cheng and asked if she wanted ice cream.
She thought he wanted some and was looking for company, so she nodded.
Zong Xubai initially instructed Uncle Bing to buy it. Uncle Bing had already unbuckled his seatbelt when Zong Xubai stopped him.
He would go himself, and he called He Cheng along.
The two of them walked into McDonald's.
There was a long line at the counter, so they joined the queue.
He Cheng watched the cheerful scene inside the restaurant, then heard Zong Xubai behind her ask if she ate at McDonald's often.
She turned around, let out a small laugh, and whispered that this was only her second time inside a McDonald's.
In her eyes, McDonald's was a very upscale restaurant—one burger cost as much as her daily living expenses.
Zong Xubai's face showed no particular expression. He didn't need to ask more; combined with the photo of her eating ice cream that served as Ye Yanzhi's WeChat avatar, he could guess who she'd gone with the first time.
This was actually Zong Xubai's first time stepping into a McDonald's. His life had always followed a precise, orderly track—since childhood, his meals had been carefully planned by nutritionists. Burgers and fast food were, in his parents' eyes, nutritionless junk.
If he wanted something to eat, someone would arrange it and bring it to him. Never had he stood in line for an ice cream cone like now.
When it was their turn, the cashier asked in Cantonese, "Which meal set would you like?"
Zong Xubai glanced at the electronic menu on the wall. "How much for the ice cream?"
His expression was earnest with a hint of childlike bewilderment—not the composed ease he showed in the penthouse restaurant. The slight furrow of his brow struck He Cheng as comical.
This man, so refined he seemed almost otherworldly, now carried a trace of ordinary human life.
He felt more approachable, easier to get along with.
He even turned back occasionally to ask if she wanted fries.
When it came time to pay, Zong Xubai froze for a moment. Born into luxury, he moved between elite banquets and private clubs, never needing to settle a bill himself. His daily expenses were charged to accounts, and he never carried cash or used mobile payment apps.
The cashier told him to download AlipayHK. After downloading and registering, he found he needed to link a bank card.
He had no ordinary savings account. He held several unlimited black cards controlling billions in assets—cards that could swipe at five-star hotels and top luxury brands, but whose bespoke payment privileges couldn't be linked to Alipay.
So those two ice cream cones were paid for by He Cheng with her Octopus card.
Zong Xubai had no idea what an Octopus card even was.
When He Cheng got her ice cream, she couldn't contain the smile on her lips. The thought that Zong Xubai also had things he didn't know, that this was his first time at McDonald's, that he couldn't even pay—it was all too amusing.
So she and Zong Xubai could have things in common after all. In that instant, she felt even closer to him.
There were empty seats by the floor-to-ceiling windows at the entrance, and they sat down side by side.
She licked the ice cream with the tip of her tongue, then glanced up at Zong Xubai. He was looking at the cone in his hand, seemingly pondering how to eat it.
Someone as refined as him probably never ate this kind of snack.
She ran back to the counter and asked if they had spoons.
The cashier handed her a wooden spoon meant for McFlurries.
Clutching the wooden spoon, she ran back toward Zong Xubai. Sunlight streamed through McDonald's thick glass, melting warmly across her face, making even the fine down on her skin glow softly—like a fresh, honeyed fruit. "Use this to eat it."
Zong Xubai laughed despite himself. "I'm not that delicate."
"It's not about being delicate—it's just more convenient this way." Her ice cream was melting fast, and she quickly took another bite. "Hurry and use the spoon, or it'll all melt!"
Zong Xubai didn't take the spoon. He lowered his gaze to the cloud-like swirl of ice cream, and his pale lips closed around the tip. The snowy white cream stained his red lips.
He ate with extreme deliberation, even with a mouthful of ice cream. The thin chill dissolved between his lips, spreading into a moist sheen.
He made eating ice cream seem like feasting on delicacies.
Some people were simply pleasing to the eye by nature.
They sat on high stools, and He Cheng idly gazed out the window.
Passersby were dressed in refined, fashionable clothes, strolling leisurely with milk tea in hand. Weekend days seemed lighter than weekdays.
She squinted contentedly. Today she'd treated Mr. Zong to ice cream. It was a small amount of money, but it made her happy.
When she earned more, she'd treat Mr. Zong to something even pricier.
The blazing sun filtered through the glass, gilding their pupils in gold. Fine dust floated in the air. Zong Xubai's handsome face was bathed in the warm light as he took a few elegant bites, then glanced sideways at her. "Want to take a photo? Girls seem to like taking them."
She raised an eyebrow, not yet processing, when he'd already pulled out his phone and aimed it at her.
She didn't understand why he'd bothered to ask her opinion at all.
Not wanting Mr. Zong to think she didn't want her picture taken, He Cheng held her half-eaten ice cream in one hand and stiffly flashed a peace sign at the camera, looking utterly lost.
After taking a few shots, Zong Xubai reviewed the photos. He Cheng, curious about how they turned out, quietly leaned over to look. Their distance closed, her slender arm hovering near the thin fabric of his shirt.
Her proximity distracted Zong Xubai.
The air carried a faint milky scent. He held his breath, his long lashes lifting toward her as he concealed his thoughts, his peripheral gaze landing on her face.
She tilted her long neck slightly, focused intently on his phone screen. Worried she might strain her neck looking up, he deliberately lowered the screen bit by bit, her gaze following it downward.
She occasionally brought the ice cream to her lips, her lips and tongue a soft pink. When she licked at the cream, her tongue curled and withdrew. His throat itched inexplicably, something dense and prickling crawling across his skin.
It was her tongue.
His nerves nearly snapped in that instant.
Outside, Uncle Bing, sitting in the car, thought his old eyes were playing tricks on him.
By the clean glass of McDonald's, his young master seemed to have regained a youthful spirit—not only sitting side by side with He Cheng eating ice cream, but also using his phone to take photos of her. Then the two drew closer, looking at the pictures on the screen together.
He Cheng, absorbed in the photos, didn't notice how close she was to Zong Xubai. Just as she was about to quietly pull back, she heard him say, "How did they turn out?"
"Your phone takes beautiful photos. Could you send them to me on WeChat?"
Zong Xubai finally had an excuse to openly glance at her clean, plain features. "Post them on Instagram?"
He Cheng shook her head. She didn't use that app. "Send them to my boyfriend."
Yesterday, Ye Yanzhi had asked her to send photos from her outing, but she hadn't taken many. Today she'd taken some, so she could send them to him.
Boyfriend.
Again, boyfriend.
She used the word "boyfriend" like punctuation.
How many times had she mentioned it today? Infuriating.
Zong Xubai's interest evaporated. His eyes dimmed to a dull gray. He turned off the screen and said coldly, "No."
His pale lips, moistened by the ice cream, looked richer in color, a breathable, wet, icy pink.
He Cheng sat up straight, surprised by his two words. This was the first time Mr. Zong had refused her so coldly.
But these were her photos—why wouldn't he send them to her?
Seeming to notice her gaze, he turned his head to look at her, curling his lips in a smile that didn't reach his eyes, and spoke unhurriedly, revealing the reason: "You've provoked me many times today."
He Cheng frowned, unsure where the word "provoke" came from.
She looked at him in confusion.
He ate his ice cream slowly, taking an unhurried lick, then lifted his thin eyelids. His dark pupils held no warmth, and his tone carried a chill of displeasure.
"I'm seven or eight years older than you and have never dated. Why do you keep bringing him up to show off?"
Before she could react, he rose swiftly, walked to the trash can, and tossed the remaining ice cream inside.
Then he headed straight for the door.
Wasting food.
He Cheng quickly finished the rest of her cone and followed his pace.
Pai tuo—what did that mean?
She didn't understand.
She had just come from a small town and wasn't in the habit of searching for answers online. Her fixed way of thinking was to infer from context. But she really couldn't figure out what she had been showing off.
So she could only interpret it literally. Which two characters were pai tuo?
Pai tuo / pai tuo / pai tuo…
She guessed it was like what the fortune-teller had done earlier—using a shoe to slap a charm with a written name on it?
Pai tuo, then.
Pai probably meant to slap or strike.
She wasn't sure which character tuo was—drag, support, or take off.
Probably it meant slapping something?
Something he hadn't done, but she had.
Since it was something she'd done, it was something within her ability. As long as Mr. Zong needed it, she could help at any time.
She got in the car, buckled her seatbelt, and looked at the man beside her, who had crossed his legs and was silently pressing his long fingers against his brow.
"Mr. Zong, is it because you can't find someone that you've never dated?"
Uncle Bing, about to start the engine, glanced at the rearview mirror.
He saw his young master slowly turn his gaze toward her, his features calm and unruffled, but his dark eyes chillingly cold.
Indeed, even someone deliberately picking a fight wouldn't ask such a question.
The temperature in the car dropped. Cold air brushed against her skin from all directions, but Zong Xubai's gaze was sharper than the chill. Seeing his deep, gray eyes, she quickly tried to make amends.
"If you don't mind that I'm young, I can accompany you in pai tuo."
After saying this, He Cheng felt the atmosphere in the car grow even heavier.
Had she comforted him in the wrong way?
Just as she tensed up, thinking she'd said something wrong and about to apologize, Zong Xubai lazily curled his lips and let out a deep, magnetic laugh from his nose. His dark eyes warmed, like a snow-capped mountain long shrouded in gloom finally clearing to reveal a crisp, translucent base.
In a good mood, he tilted his head back, laughing almost uncontrollably, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest.
It was exactly the same reaction as when he'd discovered her throwing water at Zong Deming in the restaurant.
It was genuine joy.
As his laughter gradually subsided, He Cheng's shoulders relaxed.
Mr. Zong really was unpredictable.
The laughter faded, and Zong Xubai glanced at her, his eyes clinging like melted syrup, pouring over her skin strand by strand, sticky and hot, wrapping around her without explanation.
"That's not entirely out of the question."
He Cheng felt as though she were being wrapped in syrup, struggling to breathe.
Mr. Zong said it was fine, meaning it was something she could do, but she was still afraid of stepping into a deep pit. She needed to ask clearly:
"Then, what exactly does 'dating' mean?"
Zong Xubai's gaze lingered on her face with amusement. "What do you think it means?"
"I'm guessing." He Cheng's voice was a little low. "It's about filming something together with you…"
Zong Xubai lazily hummed in acknowledgment, his fingertips tapping his knee as if pondering something. "That could be included."
He Cheng still felt his answer was vague and evasive, so she pressed on: "Then what exactly are we filming?"
Zong Xubai took a soft breath, his brows and eyes softening as he cast her a gentle, tender sidelong glance. Her probing gaze stirred a restless heat in him that he couldn't yet quell, and the rich spring in his eyes threatened to spill over.
He swallowed, his dark pupils glinting with light. "Dating, of course."
"He Cheng."
The last four words were low, husky Cantonese, with a texture like sanded wood, like a mountain spring rushing through the night—cool, languid, and carrying an extraordinarily seductive resonance.