Tang Shen steadied herself, shouting Kejia’s name out loud as she bounced the ball and darted out from behind the tree. Startled, Hao Jie looked up, but Tang Shen remained completely unfazed, pounding the basketball rhythmically and asking loudly, “Hao Jie, have you seen Kejia?”
“No, I haven’t,” Hao Jie said, a complex expression crossing her face.
“What did you say?” Tang Shen asked loudly with a smile, pulling the bouncing ball into her arms. “Sorry, the ball was making too much noise just now, I couldn’t hear you.”
As soon as those words left her mouth, Hao Jie instantly put on her customary, utterly proper smile, as if nothing had happened at all.
Investigating such a matter wasn’t difficult. Through connections, Cheng Baoyi quickly discovered that Hao Jie had a younger brother who rented a small storefront for a small business in Zhuhai and had run into a local dispute. Cross-border legal procedures were tedious and dragged on for a long time. Unfamiliar with the area, the brother was neither willing to spend a large sum of money nor knew how to find a good lawyer, so he had just been dragging things out. As the eldest sister of the family whose parents had passed away long ago, her brother’s affairs were her own.
It wasn’t a major issue; it just required the right person. The people Cheng Baoyi knew happened to be familiar with this field, so she made two phone calls and pulled some strings. Fearing that Hao Jie might be unwilling to accept a favor, she kept it under wraps and only pushed things along from behind the scenes.
The next problem was: how to let Hao Jie know about it.
Tang Shen said, “Let’s wait for the right time.”
A few days later, Hao Jie came to knock on Cheng Baoyi’s bedroom door, bringing a double-boiled bowl of coconut milk and snow frog hash ordered by Old Mrs. Cheng. Cheng Baoyi expressed her gratitude, and after taking the dessert, the two stood at the doorway exchanging casual pleasantries.
As she saw Hao Jie out, Cheng Baoyi remarked casually, “I heard that your brother’s issue over in Zhuhai has been resolved smoothly. There shouldn’t be any loose ends left.”
Hao Jie stopped in her tracks.
When she turned back, the steady, placid smile on her face had vanished. A second later, a sort of smile reappeared. “So it was Miss Cheng who helped.” She had heard her brother’s lawyer mention a “Miss Cheng,” but had always assumed it was one of the women from the First Household.
“Just a small favor.”
The habitual, harmless smile slowly returned to Hao Jie’s face. Smiling, she said, “I appreciate Miss Cheng’s kind gesture. I just don’t know how I can ever repay it.”
Cheng Baoyi smiled slightly. “Hao Jie, I never expected you to repay anything.”
“Miss Cheng, all of you grew up right under my eyes. I understand what kind of person you are, and I know you wouldn’t want me to pay you back.” Hao Jie’s voice was steady. “Precisely because of that, I need to make this clear to you. You helped me, but I won’t say or do anything in front of the old lady just because you helped me. That favor is something I cannot grant.”
Having been in the Cheng family for many years, Hao Jie had seen too many people try to manipulate her. The eldest sister had bluntly tried to shove red packets into her hands, Tan Meiqi invited her out for tea, and even Cheng Kewei had acted spoiled around her when he was young, telling her she was the best. She would only smile, calmly accepting these gestures before finding the right moment to return them.
Cheng Baoyi smiled. “Hao Jie, I don’t need you to work for the Second Household.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want fairness.”
Hao Jie gave a slight start.
“You can see for yourself—between the First and Second Households, there has never been true fairness. Especially in recent years, they’ve squeezed our living space smaller and smaller.”
Hao Jie remained silent.
“I understand you’ve always tried your best to remain neutral. But the problem is, the power dynamic in the Cheng family has long tilted toward the First Household. Right now, everyone respects you because you’re the person closest to Grandma. But one day…” Cheng Baoyi paused for half a second, skipping over the part everyone knew all too well, “…Sister Huan, someone with a First Household background, will replace you.”
Hao Jie didn’t speak, but observing her expression, Cheng Baoyi could tell she was forcefully suppressing an inner shock.
Cheng Baoyi then asked, “Hao Jie, you still have a bowl of snow frog hash in your hands. It must be meant for Cheng Baoxin, right? You should go quickly, otherwise it won’t taste good if it gets cold.”
Approaching Hao Jie was only the first step.
The second step: Cheng Baoyi gathered the old photos and historical formulas from the storefront, organized them into an album, placed them in a wooden box, and asked Tan Meiqi to bring them back. She claimed they were found in the storage room and she wasn’t sure how to handle them, so she wanted to ask the old lady to take a look.
The old lady’s eyesight was still quite good, and she spent a long time looking at each photo one by one. One of them was an old snapshot of herself and her husband in front of the very first flagship store in Macau—she was wearing a qipao, and he wore a suit. The three characters of the plaque, “Cheng Yongtang,” were left behind by their ancestors, picked out from the brushwork of a certain imperial scholar in the Cheng family. In the bottom right corner of that old plaque were even the words “Originating from Xiguan, Guangzhou during the Guangxu Reign.”
“These things were found by Cheng Baoyi?”
“Yes.” Tan Meiqi smiled gently. “She dug them out to show Kejia, introducing our history to him. Kejia listened very intently.”
Old Mrs. Cheng said nothing. She set the wooden box aside, picked up her teacup, and asked how Tan Meiqi had been doing lately. Tan Meiqi started off smiling as she brought up her son, but the moment her words drifted to “he’s looking more and more like his father,” her eyes suddenly reddened. The old lady turned around to comfort her. The two chatted a bit more before parting ways. Back in her bedroom, Tan Meiqi closed the door, her face sinking as her gaze fell like dust onto the photograph of her late husband.
Wasn’t that face the very thing she hated most? Back then, when she caught him sneaking around and kissing his female secretary, even if the photo was blurry, those features were still deeply familiar to her. Those facial features were soaked in her hatred; she had asked for a divorce, but her husband refused. When one had to compete with the eldest branch of the family for power, how could one afford a fire in the backyard? Outwardly, they still walked arm-in-arm with their spouse and child, putting up a picture of a happy family full of mutual affection.
And yet, a face like that had suddenly met a traffic accident, departing alongside the eldest brother. Slowly, those exact same features began to grow out on Cheng Kejia’s face. Looking at her son, Tan Meiqi felt a strange wonder: How odd it was that the exact same face could evoke sheer hatred when worn by a late husband, yet turn into pure love when left upon a son.
After Tan Meiqi left, Old Mrs. Cheng called for Hao Jie and instructed Uncle Zhong to prepare the car so she could head out. Before reaching the storefront, Old Mrs. Cheng had the driver pull over a short distance away. Supported by Hao Jie, she stood quietly and watched. Watching Cheng Baoyi bustle about inside the shop looked just like seeing a younger version of herself.
After a long while, Old Mrs. Cheng spoke, sounding as though she were talking to Hao Jie, or perhaps merely talking to herself, “Is the Second Household getting the short end of the stick?”
With a smile on her face, Hao Jie pretended not to hear.
Old Mrs. Cheng asked again, and this time, Hao Jie finally turned on her ears and tongue. “The First and Second Households are all descendants of Old Mrs. Cheng, they’re all the same. However, this storefront is right near the Ruins of St. Paul’s; it’s not only the core of Macau, but also the face of the Cheng family. To be able to bring such an important storefront back from the dead—that is truly not easy.”
Old Mrs. Cheng remained silent for a long time, gazing toward the storefront before speaking slowly, “Someone told me that Baoyi has been in private contact with the Japanese, wanting to sell them the formulas.”
A jolt ran through Hao Jie’s heart, and she thought: How on earth did Miss Cheng manage to muddy these waters so deeply?
The Cheng family didn’t employ many servants, but they constituted a little jianghu of their own. The winds from Sister Huan’s waters didn’t blow over to Hao Jie’s side. Even things Uncle Zhong and Emily knew about were completely unknown to Hao Jie, leaving her entirely unprepared. However, based on her understanding of Cheng Baoyi, she knew she wasn’t that kind of person, and she understood that since Old Mrs. Cheng had brought it up to her, the old lady likely already had her own conclusion in mind.
Smiling, Hao Jie offered a strictly neutral remark: “From where I see it, every single descendant of Old Mrs. Cheng is exceptionally outstanding—not only good-looking and highly capable, but possessing fine character as well. Besides, Old Mrs. Cheng, you’re still the one calling the shots at Cheng Yongtang, and you see everything crystal clear. Who would be foolish enough to pull petty tricks right under your nose?”
That statement sounded like saying nothing at all, yet it was airtight. Old Mrs. Cheng had already reached her own verdict in her heart; she had simply wanted to sound out an unrelated person. Turning around, she told Hao Jie that the wind was too strong out here and it was time to head back.
The next day was Saturday, and the Cheng family gathered once more for Saturday dinner. Baoxin placed food in Old Mrs. Cheng’s bowl; the eldest sister talked about the business situation of the Hong Kong branch; and Cheng Kewei remained as reticent as ever, speaking only occasionally to superficially discuss industry trends while actually showcasing his own work performance. Meanwhile, Tan Meiqi seized every gap in the conversation to bring up what Kejia had been up to lately. Feeling embarrassed, the fourteen-year-old boy simply buried his head in his food.
Full of worries, Cheng Baoyi picked up a stalk of vegetable with her chopsticks, feeling utterly bored. Lifting her gaze, she noticed Tang Shen wasn’t there tonight, making her feel even more listless.
Cheng Baoxin brought up her upcoming vacation with friends, mentioning that she wanted to take grandma out on a boat ride to play when she had time. Old Mrs. Cheng listened halfheartedly. Once Baoxin finished speaking, she suddenly raised her eyes and said with a smile to Cheng Baoyi, “Baoyi, I remember you take after your daddy in liking iced rock sugar stewed white fungus. I had the chef stew some; let’s all have a bowl together after dinner.”
The eldest sister and her husband exchanged glances. Cheng Baoxin looked at Cheng Kewei, seeing his deliberate expressionlessness, and then glanced at Cheng Keqi, who was smiling as he talked with Kejia about the Zhuhai Airshow. Cheng Baoxin gave him a light kick under the table, but Keqi acted as if he hadn’t noticed, continuing to laugh and chat with Kejia. Watching the old lady’s single sentence stir up such varied expressions among the crowd, Wen Yizhuang found it quite amusing. He glanced across the table, only to regret that she wasn’t there.
After dinner, as Wen Yizhuang walked down the hallway, he noticed the door to Tang Shen’s room was half-open. She was reading a book by the window, with only a desk lamp turned on. The dim, soft light draped over one half of her body.
He paused for a moment. “Didn’t come down for dinner today?”
“Catching a cold.” In the sweltering summer heat, Wen Yizhuang saw she hadn’t turned on the AC; instead, she was draped in a thick jacket and had the window open, making it clear she was genuinely ill and letting the room air out.
“Take care of yourself.”
“Thank you.”
“You didn’t eat?”
“No appetite. Baoyi brought me some congee. I drank half a bowl.”
“Get some good rest.”
“Thank you.”
After two consecutive thank-yous, the conversation should have ended long ago, but Wen Yizhuang showed no intention of leaving. Tang Shen closed her book and looked up at him. “Something you want to tell me?”
Even he couldn’t explain why he was lingering in front of her door. Perhaps beneath this roof, she was the one who could best understand his predicament—his sole kindred spirit, even if there wasn’t much genuine affection in that understanding. But sometimes, enemies are indeed more important than friends.
At that moment, standing by the door, he merely tilted his head to look at her and gave a very faint smile. “I did. But you’re feeling unwell now.”
“Just a cold. What were you going to say?”
“I wanted to say it’s a pity you weren’t there to miss the expressions on everyone’s faces at the dinner table tonight. It was another good show.”
“As long as one stays in the Cheng family for a day, good shows are always around. Just make sure you don’t get too engrossed in the act and become a character trapped inside the drama.”
Wen Yizhuang smiled. “Is that advice for me?”
“How dare I? It’s just a reminder to myself.”
Back in his room, Wen Yizhuang thought of how Tang Shen called Cheng Baoyi “Baoyi.” He himself had never addressed Cheng Kewei by his given name like that. People always said he was Cheng Kewei’s confidant, but just like Uncle Zhong and Sister Huan, he called him Mr. Cheng.
He took off his jacket, lay flat on the bed, and stared at the ceiling. His phone buzzed by the pillow; he fished it out and raised it up before his face.
Cheng Keqi had sent him a message—a single question mark.
Wen Yizhuang replied, “She’s just catching a cold.”