The Peninsula Hotel’s Western restaurant was located on the thirty-eighth floor, offering a view of the entire coastline of Hecheng through its floor-to-ceiling windows.
Chu Yiran arrived ten minutes earlier than the agreed time and was led by the host to a window-side table for two.
After sitting down, she took a sip of water and glanced around the restaurant.
The decor was indeed exquisite—golden lighting, deep green plant arrangements, and delicate patterns on the tableware.
The diners around her, dressed elegantly, were conversing in hushed tones in small groups.
Chu Yiran looked down at her slightly worn dress. It was fine, at least it didn’t stand out.
At half past six, Song Qingwan arrived punctually.
She wore a beige silk blouse, her hair loosely cascading down, with light makeup that made her look far more refined than Chu Yiran.
As she walked in, at least three tables of guests naturally glanced in her direction.
Song Qingwan sat down opposite her, casually placing her sunglasses on the table, and gave Chu Yiran a look.
“You look quite well—not like someone who’s been seriously ill.”
The first jab came right at the start.
Chu Yiran smiled. “I’m almost fully recovered. I’m just still on a restricted diet—no alcohol or seafood.”
“Then let’s order a steak.” Song Qingwan flipped through the menu, ordering a medium-rare filet mignon for her and a Caesar salad with a glass of white wine for herself.
While waiting for the food, Song Qingwan rested her chin on her crossed hands, her gaze casually sweeping over Chu Yiran.
“You’ve lost weight.”
“I didn’t eat much during my hospital stay.”
“Which hospital did you stay at?”
This was the second jab.
Chu Yiran tensed inwardly but kept her expression neutral.
“A private clinic recommended by a friend. It’s small, located in the southern part of the city.”
“What’s it called?”
“Renhe Clinic.”
She had looked up the name in advance. There was indeed a small clinic called Renhe in the southern part of Hecheng, modest in scale, offering general internal medicine and dermatology services.
Song Qingwan hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t press further, taking a sip of water instead.
Seizing the opportunity, Chu Yiran steered the conversation toward Song Qingwan.
“Wanwan, how’s the progress on the Lingang New District bidding you mentioned last time?”
Song Qingwan’s expression shifted slightly.
“Don’t even ask. It’s getting more and more frustrating.”
“The Shen family somehow managed to plant someone in the review committee. My dad was so angry he smashed two cups.”
Hearing the mention of the Shen family, Chu Yiran’s heart skipped a beat, but her grip on the chopsticks remained steady.
“What does Uncle Song plan to do?”
“What else can he do? Keep fighting.”
Song Qingwan raised an eyebrow. “Our Song family isn’t one to be trifled with.”
She speared a lettuce leaf with her fork, asking seemingly casually, “By the way, what’s the name of your new company again? Hengfeng?”
“Yes, Hengfeng Commerce.”
“What does it do?”
“Import and export trade. It’s a small company, just about twenty people.”
Song Qingwan nodded. “Who’s the boss?”
The caution light in Chu Yiran’s mind turned red.
“A middle-aged man surnamed Zhou, in his fifties. He used to work in foreign trade.”
“I haven’t heard of him.”
“That’s normal. There are thousands of small trading companies in Hecheng—you can’t possibly know them all.”
Song Qingwan didn’t respond immediately, slowly chewing her salad as if digesting every word Chu Yiran had said.
The steak arrived, and Chu Yiran picked up her knife and fork to begin cutting.
The steak was indeed well-prepared, juicy and tender, but she couldn’t taste anything as she ate it.
After a few bites, Song Qingwan suddenly set down her fork.
“Yiran, tell me the truth.”
Her tone shifted from casual to serious, her eyes fixed directly on Chu Yiran.
“Have you found a new backer outside?”
Chu Yiran’s knife paused on the steak.
“What backer?”
“You never used to turn down an opportunity to go out with me before.”
“You were always the first to jump at dinner invitations, the first to volunteer for events.”
“Now not only have you declined the chamber of commerce banquet, but I had to remind you three times just to get you to agree to have dinner with me.”
Song Qingwan’s voice wasn’t loud, but every word carried a sharpness that couldn’t be avoided.
“If you’ve found another path, just say so. I’m not the petty type.”
“But don’t try to fool me with excuses like a new job or poor health.”
Chu Yiran set down her knife and fork, looking up to meet Song Qingwan’s gaze.
At this moment, any form of explanation or defense would only come across as guilty.
Song Qingwan wasn’t the kind of person who could be persuaded with a few words—she needed something more powerful to control the situation.
Chu Yiran thought for two seconds and chose a risky but effective strategy.
Half-truths.
“Wanwan, I’ll tell you, but don’t get angry.”
Her voice lowered slightly, her expression restrained, as if she were about to say something she was embarrassed to bring up.
“It’s not just my health. I’ve been chatting with someone online for a few months and have received quite a bit of money from them.”
“Recently, that person has been pushing hard to meet in person.”
“I’m afraid something might go wrong, so I’ve been lying low and avoiding going out.”
Song Qingwan’s eyebrows raised.
“You’ve been catfishing?”
Chu Yiran nodded, her expression tinged with guilt and unease.
This part was true—she just omitted the key detail that she had used Song Qingwan’s photos.
“How much did you get?”
“A lot.”
“What’s their background?”
“I’m not sure, but they’re definitely generous. Lately, though, they’ve been insisting on meeting, and I’m a bit panicked.”
Song Qingwan leaned back in her chair, looking at her. Her expression slowly shifted from suspicion to one of amused understanding.
“So you’ve been avoiding me lately not because you found a new backer, but because your catfishing scheme went wrong and you’re afraid of dragging me into it?”
Chu Yiran didn’t speak. Her silence itself was an admission.
Song Qingwan picked up her wine glass and took a sip.
“You’re bold enough.”
There was actually a hint of admiration in her tone. “Share some of the money with me?”
Chu Yiran thought to herself, you can’t know who’s behind that money, and you definitely can’t know that I used your face to catfish.
“Wanwan, are you short on money?”
“Just joking.”
Song Qingwan swirled her wine glass. “Since you’ve told me the truth, I won’t press further.”
“But there’s one thing you have to promise me.”
“What is it?”
“You must attend the Song family’s annual banquet next month.”
Song Qingwan’s tone wasn’t up for discussion.
“I need company, and you’re the most suitable partner for me.”
“You can keep hiding from your catfish, but on that day, you have to show up for me.”
Chu Yiran quickly assessed the risks in her mind.
The Song family’s annual banquet was purely a Song family event—Shen Yu wouldn’t appear in such a setting.
Compared to the chamber of commerce banquet, the safety factor was much higher.
“Alright, I’ll definitely be there.”
Song Qingwan smiled, as if she had finally caught something.
“That’s more like it.”
The meal concluded in a relatively relaxed atmosphere.
When it came time to settle the bill, Song Qingwan paid with her card. Chu Yiran offered to cover it but was met with a sharp glare.
“Don’t be polite with me when you’re only making ten thousand a month. Go home and focus on paying off your fish debt.”
As they stepped out of the restaurant, Song Qingwan suddenly remembered something.
“By the way, what does that person you met online look like?”
Chu Yiran’s heart skipped a beat.
“I don’t know. We’ve never met.”
“Not even a photo?”
“He doesn’t send photos.”
Song Qingwan clicked her tongue. “You’re pretty bold, accepting so much money from someone without even knowing what they look like?”
Chu Yiran forced a dry laugh.
The two parted ways at the hotel entrance. Song Qingwan got into her private car, while Chu Yiran stood by the roadside, watching the vehicle disappear into the night.
Then she glanced down at her phone.
A new message had appeared in S’s chat window, sent forty minutes ago.
“What are you busy with?”
Chu Yiran stared at the screen, feeling as though everyone tonight was asking her the same question.
What are you doing? Where are you? What are you hiding?
Everyone was probing, and she was the one walking a tightrope between all their inquiries.
She slipped her phone back into her pocket.
Home first. Just get home first.
When she opened the door to her apartment, she noticed a piece of paper tucked under the doormat.
Chu Yiran’s hand froze.
She bent down, pulled out the paper, and unfolded it.
There was only one line of handwriting on it, different from the handwriting on the two notes at the company.
“The evaluation report Sun Wanqing submitted today is fake. The original data leaves traces in the cloud backup.”
Chu Yiran stood in the entryway, her fingers slowly tightening around the paper.
This person had already found their way to her doorstep.