"Want to touch?"
The spacious reception hall was quiet and bright. He Cheng sat alone, feeling ill at ease on the soft, oversized sofa. On the coffee table were fruits, pastries, and drinks brought in by the domestic helper.
Many of the fruits she had never seen before and couldn't name.
The exquisite triangular cakes looked like works of art, and the unidentified juice in the glass was a vibrant color.
She glanced down at what she had brought with her—pomelos grown by her own family, chrysanthemum cakes in rustic yellow-and-red packaging, and salt-baked chicken wings.
The salt-baked chicken wings were the most expensive.
She normally couldn't bear to spend money on such snacks.
Her grandmother, afraid that bringing only things from home would seem too shabby, had made a special trip to the market to buy them, saying they were for others to taste.
Her grandmother had also wanted her to bring a dozen free-range eggs, saying city folks all loved free-range eggs, but she had firmly refused at the time, worried they might get knocked and broken during the long journey.
In comparison, hers seemed a bit hard to offer… Her neck and ears flushed a translucent red.
She comforted herself that the thought mattered more than the gift—Mr. Zong lacked nothing, and he didn't seem like the type to look down on local specialties.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, greenery swayed. Lush foliage stretched beneath a clear, cloudless sky, and Victoria Harbour in the distance looked like a miniature landscape.
The indoor temperature was climate-controlled, and the heat from her uphill climb had dissipated, her flushed skin gradually returning to normal.
"He Cheng."
The three men who hadn't spoken a word in the billiards room earlier appeared before her, greeting her in friendly Mandarin.
He Cheng responded politely.
Among the three, two were television reporters and one was from a magazine. All of them were curious about how she had gotten into Hong Kong University from a poor mountain village, and asked if she could share more details.
She understood their intention—they wanted to interview her, write articles for the newspapers, and produce a news segment for the radio, all using the hook of a small-town exam-taker getting into HKU. But she didn't want to expose herself to the public.
She declined tactfully.
The three exchanged glances, seemingly surprised that she dared to say no. In their impression, people from impoverished mountain areas weren't good at refusing and tended to have people-pleasing personalities.
Reporter Lin from the magazine said, "Why not think it over? All the things you brought to thank him are useless—Zong Sheng lacks nothing. But if your gratitude were published in the newspaper or featured on the news, that would be different."
Zong Sheng again.
Did Hong Kongers like to call men by "Sheng"? Or was Mr. Zong's name actually Zong Sheng?
Then who was the man who had bought her a drink last night—was he Mr. Zong or not?
Before He Cheng could think it through, the reporter urged her to respond.
She understood now. Interviewing her wasn't the main point—the selling point was that Mr. Zong had been quietly sponsoring her for seven years.
She was sharp; a single hint was enough.
"Have you been following the One Heart Charity Foundation? The charity founded by Zong Sheng's company. The student aid program has run into some trouble recently, and perhaps your appearance could turn the foundation's reputation around."
In the past couple of days, news that certain executives of Kai Zong Group had used the One Heart charity's student aid program to sexually assault young girls had caused an uproar.
He Cheng still remembered how the Hong Kong media's headlines had reported it.
[Lecherous tycoon is Kai Zong's deputy general manager Zong Deming—a scumbag playing bodhisattva! A wolf in sheep's clothing!]
[One Heart Charity's student aid program turned into a virgin hunting ground? Female students reduced to goods with price tags, worse off than 'cheap chickens'—the charity's name stained with blood and tears. Can the net of justice catch the wolf?]
So One Heart was founded by her sponsor, Mr. Zong. Whether the scandal of executives sexually assaulting minors was true or false was unclear.
What was happening to those sponsored girls now?
At the thought, He Cheng's gaze went blank. Her fingers curled unconsciously, and her fingertips turned slightly cold.
It wasn't until Reporter He from the television station called out, "He Cheng," that her thoughts snapped back and her eyes refocused.
Her throat felt parched, as if starved of water. Her voice was lower than before: "Is the news true?"
If it was, that person deserved to die a thousand deaths—should be physically castrated.
"Which news are you asking about? The media loves to exaggerate. The day after it happened, Zong Sheng showed great decisiveness and fired the culprit."
So the executives' sexual assault of minors was true, and it was also true that Mr. Zong couldn't tolerate such filth in his eyes.
Thinking of those minors, He Cheng's heart constricted—cold, with a suffocating sensation gripping her throat.
She had helped with the charity fund, but who could those poor girls and boys turn to for help? They thought they had encountered a turning point in their fate, never imagining they had walked straight into a disaster they couldn't escape.
But Mr. Zong had indeed sponsored her for seven years.
To him, it might have been just a small amount of pocket money, but it had allowed her to rely on knowledge to leave the mountains and change her destiny.
She was someone who knew how to repay kindness. If Mr. Zong was in trouble and she happened to be able to help him, she naturally wouldn't refuse.
She quickly waged a mental battle, and in the end, she agreed to their interview and exchanged contact information with them.
They needed to hurry back to prepare the interview outline, so they said goodbye to He Cheng and left the villa.
He Cheng thought about how she had done something beneficial for Mr. Zong, and the corners of her mouth curved up in delight. But then she thought of those violated children, and her smile froze.
Suddenly, a flash of white caught the corner of her eye. She turned sharply to the left, and the blurry figure came into focus.
An extraordinarily handsome man wore gold-rimmed glasses perched coolly on his nose. Behind the transparent lenses, his narrow black eyes gazed over like deep pools.
—It was Mr. Zong.
He had a pair of gold-rimmed glasses on now.
His face was simply a pleasure to behold, and for a moment she forgot to look away, staring blankly at him.
He walked toward her with steady, unhurried composure.
She had grown up in a small town, surrounded by rough-mannered elders and unremarkable classmates. She had never seen anyone walk with such elegance.
Broad shoulders, long legs, effortless grace—his stride was breathtaking.
He carried the refined, gentlemanly air of the upper class from birth.
"Sorry to keep you waiting." Zong Xubai spoke in Mandarin with a slight Hong Kong accent, his voice smooth and cool as if steeped in ice, sharpening the air around them.
It felt completely different from when he spoke Cantonese.
He Cheng, who had been sitting upright and tense, shot to her feet at the sound of his voice, like a student suddenly called on in class.
He was amused by her abrupt rise and made a gesture inviting her to sit. "No need to be nervous. Please, sit. I didn't expect we'd meet again so soon."
He sat down across from her, crossing his long legs in a relaxed posture.
He Cheng let out a small "oh" and obediently sat back down. Facing her sponsor for the first time, she was nervous inside, but also full of admiration and respect for him.
He appeared refined and courteous, yet carried no airs at all—approachable and down-to-earth.
His remark about not expecting to meet again so soon meant he remembered what happened last night.
"I didn't get the chance to thank you last night. If you hadn't stepped in, I'd still be performing."
A faint polite smile lingered at the corner of Zong Xubai's eyes. "You remember me?"
He Cheng thought to herself—a man with such striking looks and bearing was truly a rare sight; one glance would be remembered for years.
She answered honestly: "Anyone who's seen you would find it hard to forget."
Zong Xubai's handsome brows arched slightly, as if surprised by her candid words, or perhaps simply accustomed to such flattery.
A faint smile curled at his lips, so light it seemed to dispel the muggy humidity of the island.
"How did you get up here?"
"Many HKU couples walk up from campus. Have you ever climbed it?"
"I haven't. I took the number 15 bus up. There are lots of uphill slopes after getting off, but the scenery is beautiful, so it doesn't feel tiring."
Zong Xubai tapped his knee absently with his index finger, his gentle gaze fixed on her face as he spoke naturally.
"There are indeed many uphill roads here. In the future, when you come, I'll have Uncle Bing pick you up from school."
His words made He Cheng pause.
She hadn't thought about coming again. Apart from bringing him local specialties, she couldn't think of any reason to keep visiting.
Even if he enjoyed the food, she'd only bring some once a semester.
Occasionally taking the number 15 bus up to enjoy the view didn't sound bad either.
He Cheng assumed her sponsor was just being polite. "No need to trouble yourself. I won't be coming often anyway."
The topic seemed to die right there in her words, plunging them into a few seconds of awkward silence.
She realized belatedly that her words could be misconstrued—Mr. Zong might think she disliked the place or didn't want to come.
Behind the cold lenses, his dark eyes were calm and deep.
Just as He Cheng sensed the awkwardness and was about to explain, Zong Xubai suddenly smiled at her. His narrow, peach-blossom eyes were captivating, carrying a hint of a carefree, romantic rogue's relaxed charm.
It made one feel like giving up everything just to see him smile more.
The distance between them seemed to close slightly.
"Uncertain things in the future—speaking too absolutely about them is also a form of irresponsibility."
He Cheng didn't think it was uncertain at all, but she was too embarrassed to argue with her sponsor.
This place had nothing to do with her life. If not for delivering local specialties, she probably wouldn't even take the number 15 bus up here.
Zong Xubai's gaze lingered on her face, unashamedly fixed on her as he spoke slowly, his voice languid and warm: "This place is close to HKU. Come by often in the future."
"To enjoy the view, and to see me."
Huh?
He Cheng's ears grew warm.
Those words from someone else might have sounded flirtatious, like some cheesy pickup line, but he was different—he was her lofty sponsor. It felt more like a gentlemanly invitation to someone beneath him.
It was just that his expression was too soft, too clinging, enough to make someone with weak self-control or a tendency toward narcissism overthink things.
He Cheng wasn't that narcissistic.
It's just politeness, she understood.
She nodded and said, "Okay."
Her answer made Zong Xubai curve his lips slightly. "Are you adjusting well to Hong Kong? Do you feel lonely?"
After more than a month in Hong Kong, He Cheng still hadn't adjusted.
HKU wasn't very friendly to mainland students. Most teachers and students spoke Cantonese and English, and she'd even hastily picked an English name after arriving: Ivy.
"Not really adjusted yet. Everyone speaks Cantonese, and a lot of the time I can't understand."
"But I'm not lonely. My roommate is very nice."
When she mentioned not being lonely, she only mentioned her roommate.
That meant she had no other friends around.
Zong Xubai's expression showed no change as he picked up on her words. "Do professors teach in Cantonese?"
"Formal classes are in English. After-class communication and group discussions are mostly in Cantonese, mixed with English and Mandarin."
"Your English is good, so I imagine the academic side won't be an obstacle. After-class communication shouldn't be difficult for you either."
English.
He Cheng recalled how attentively he had listened during her English speech at last night's banquet, and felt like she was brandishing a saber in front of Guan Gong. English teachers at small county-town middle schools didn't have standard pronunciation, and it wasn't until she came to Hong Kong that she realized many of her pronunciations were wrong.
Her cheeks burned. "My English isn't good—I have an accent and my pronunciation isn't standard. It's just that I had no other talent last night, so I was pushed onto the stage like a duck being forced to fly."
Zong Xubai's friend had been elected vice dean of the Faculty of Science at HKU this year, and yesterday he had wheedled and cajoled Zong Xubai into leaving his company to attend the annual high table dinner for support.
The high table dinner was boring—nothing more than listening to inspirational speeches from leaders and notable industry figures—until she appeared.
Wearing a white dress, her slender waist wrapped in a blanket. The black blanket pressed against the white dress, overlapping, covering, with an embroidered butterfly resting precisely at her waist.
A strip of white lace from the hem of her dress peeked out at her ankles, black and white in distinct layers, flowing like an ink painting of varying shades.
She stood brightly on stage, timid yet bold, holding the microphone as she recited an English poem.
*"Untie it / like untying / the linen sheet wrapped around life and death / in the darkness of green and red and white / the body of letters / the chrysalis of butterflies / and wrap it again in the sorrow of love / like a mother / for suffering is where light hides.
But whether it moves in the manner of summer or winter / what is desired has already emerged / wishes come true, turning into fulfillment."
Her English pronunciation wasn't standard, but her voice was crisp and gentle—oddly endearing.
He could tell the poem was her own translation. To improvise on stage at a moment's notice and still perform at this level showed remarkable wit and quick thinking.
Her eyes remained bright and clear, even more vivid than they had been on stage yesterday.
Zong Xubai parted his lips. "I understood it. Quite unique."
Warmth spread through He Cheng's heart. She gave an embarrassed laugh, silently vowing to practice until she had a flawless British accent.
The conversation lapsed.
Silence fell around them again.
He Cheng lowered her gaze, her eyes resting on Zong Xubai's hands, which were like polished jade.
After yesterday's speech ended, a boy in the crowd had heckled: "That's not a talent, doesn't count, do it again."
When someone led, others followed: "Exactly. At least dance or sing, pretty girl. Even a magic trick would do."
"Speaking English like that and calling it a talent performance? Are you from the mainland?"
"Mainland students should be versatile, right? Do another one."
The auditorium immediately filled with jeers and heckling, noisy and chaotic.
She stood frozen in place, nervously pinching the hem of her dress.
She looked around anxiously, and across the distance, her gaze met the man in the audience who was propping his chin on his hand.
The next second, he slowly raised his arm and clapped at a leisurely, measured pace.
The applause was clear, solitary, rhythmic.
He Cheng thought she would remember his applause forever.
In the crisp sound, her gaze locked with his. Behind his glasses, his eyes flickered slightly, his composed demeanor a stark contrast to the raucous auditorium—like a snow-capped mountain standing apart from the world.
He Cheng had guessed then that his status was unusual, because the people around him echoed his applause almost without hesitation.
Gradually, more applause joined in.
The students in the back, seeing the vice dean, several school leaders, and honored guests in the front row all clapping, could no longer continue their heckling and stiffly joined the applause.
Seeing these hands up close today, she could tell at a glance they belonged to someone raised in privilege, born into a family of wealth and status—that was why he could command the entire auditorium.
Suddenly, these naturally resting hands—with their distinct knuckles and faint blue veins—opened, revealing clean, clear palm lines.
She heard Zong Xubai's low, magnetic, gentle voice, asking with gentlemanly consideration: "You've been staring for a long time. Would you like to touch them?"