Mu Wen dashed past like the wind. The hastily tied topknot bounced with every movement, loose strands of hair falling around her ears and neck, tousled by the breeze. The paint stains on her work overalls splashed across the fabric in vivid patches, like a palette that had been knocked over. Her assistant, Wang Zhiqiang, struggled to keep up, panting heavily: “Wen-jie… I think I just saw… Xie-zong…”
What rotten luck. Mu Wen had naturally spotted him long ago—why else would she be running? She quickened her pace and called back to Wang Zhiqiang: “Move it, kid! You need more exercise, don’t you?” She didn’t want to run into Xie Chong, or he’d start micromanaging her again. Lately, he’d even been pestering her for commission.
Mu Wen was a “Pixiu”—a mythical beast that devours wealth—once money entered her stomach, there was no getting it back out. Whenever Xie Chong asked her for money, she’d slip away faster than oil on a hot pan, refusing to waste words on him.
“Wen-jie, don’t we need to say hello to Xie-zong?” Wang Zhiqiang braced his hands on his knees, desperately trying to catch his breath: “Xie-zong just gave me a client yesterday, and said—”
“Then go ahead, he gave it to you, not me.” Mu Wen had shaken off Xie Chong and was now rummaging through her large canvas bag for a ruler, notebook, pen… It was a habit she’d developed over the years—stepping into the building materials market was like returning to her happy home; everything worth having had to pass through her hands first.
“But…” Wang Zhiqiang pointed behind Mu Wen, speaking cautiously: “Xie-zong is here. We agreed to accompany the client to look at materials today.” He looked at Mu Wen with a hint of guilt. He could never quite figure out the dynamic between Wen-jie and Xie-zong. Sometimes Wen-jie showed Xie-zong a fake warmth, other times she’d hide from him with undisguised disdain. He was just a green young man fresh out of the gate, utterly confused by Wen-jie. Sometimes he’d try to pledge his loyalty, suggesting, “Should I just stop contacting Xie-zong from now on?” But Wen-jie would frown and say: “Are you stupid? Do you have a grudge against money?”
He thought Wen-jie would be angry with him this time, but instead she quickly stretched her lips into a smile as she turned around, pushing her glasses down to the tip of her nose and squinting at Xie Chong: “Oh, Xie-zong is here too?” He was wearing a long-sleeved henley in a mixed knit pattern, a pair of structured curved-leg pants, and a cap—he looked less like he was browsing a building materials market and more like he was walking a runway.
“You didn’t just see me?” He had just parked his car when he spotted Mu Wen turning and sprinting off—clearly trying to avoid him. Xie Chong was born to be “annoying”—you don’t want to see me? I’ll make sure to get under your skin. So he’d chased after her, circling around to catch her off guard from behind.
“Didn’t see you.” Mu Wen shoved a finger under her glasses to rub her eye: “See these? Decorative frames. I’m blind.”
Xie Chong walked up to her, took the glasses off her face, and held them up to his own eyes, asking casually: “Didn’t you say last time you’d give me commission for referring clients?”
“I never said that.” Mu Wen flatly denied it: “I would never say such a thing. Xie-zong doesn’t need that kind of money anyway.”
Xie Chong put on the glasses and checked himself in a nearby pane of glass—looking every bit the gentleman scoundrel—and decided he wasn’t giving them back: “I recorded it.” He pulled out his phone and played it for Mu Wen. Against a “shady merchant” like Mu Wen who went back on her word, he had his own methods. The recording played Mu Wen’s voice: “Xie Chong, you dare give that client to someone else! You just feel like you’re getting the short end and want to skin me for it, don’t you? Fine, you win—I’ll give you commission!”
“Hear that? You said it yourself in a huff. You admitting it?” Xie Chong deliberately teased her. He knew full well Mu Wen wouldn’t admit it. Mu Wen was the type—when she needed you, you were her ancestor; when she didn’t, you were nothing. In front of outsiders, she was the reliable Mu-zong, Wen-jie, who got things done. In front of him, she was a lying little cheat who’d turn on you in a heartbeat.
Sure enough, the thick-skinned Mu Wen deliberately furrowed her brows and said: “That’s not my voice either. Don’t try to extort me.” Then she turned to Wang Zhiqiang: “Go keep your meal ticket company.” She walked a few steps away, then turned back, snatched the glasses back in one swift motion—you want to take my stuff? Not a chance!
Xie Chong’s reflexes were quick—he grabbed her clothes and pulled her back. Mu Wen kicked him in the leg, and while he was distracted by the pain and let go, she ran off again. Xie Chong let out an unexpected chuckle. Mu Wen’s work hairstyle hadn’t changed in years—it looked both ridiculous and pitiful. He just watched her run off into the distance, not bothering to chase her. They’d be spending the whole day at the building materials market anyway. The two of them were like cat and mouse—one chasing, one fleeing—they’d cross paths plenty of times before the day was done.
Wang Zhiqiang felt a bit awkward, scratching his head: “Xie-zong… I…”
“What’s she so busy with? Aren’t all her clients being handled by other people lately?” Xie Chong asked.
“Wen-jie rented a courtyard long-term in the village. She wants to do an old-house renovation—said it’s cheap there, and she’ll use it as her living space, office, and studio all in one.”
“No office in the city? She’s making clients come all the way to the village?”
“Wen-jie’s boyfriend made some connections and got her a co-working space for cheap—really, really cheap…”
“Boyfriend?” Xie Chong’s expression stiffened: “What boyfriend?”
“Wen’s boyfriend, he’s a really nice guy. He treated everyone at the studio to dinner the day before yesterday,” Wang Zhiqiang said, still too inexperienced to read the room. He chattered on, thinking he was just sharing gossip about a mutual acquaintance with President Xie. “Wen is so happy. He treats her really well. In a couple of days, the two of them are heading to the Maldives… he…” Mid-sentence, he noticed the unusual silence around him. He turned around—Xie Chong was already gone.
Xie Chong called Mu Wen twice, but she didn’t pick up, so he wove through the building materials market looking for her. She seemed to be deliberately avoiding him. Sometimes he’d catch a glimpse of a sleeve, take a few steps after it, and the person would vanish. The upright slabs of flooring and wall tiles partitioned the space into a maze that felt like it had no end.
But there was an end.
He heard Mu Wen’s voice from the other side of the panels, answering a call: “I don’t want to eat out. I want to cook myself. Tell me what you want to eat, and I’ll make it for you.” Xie Chong stopped in his tracks, holding his breath to listen.
Mu Wen’s voice carried a playful, affectionate tone: “If I’m tired, you can take me for a massage—I want to do an aromatherapy spa. Okay, I still have things to do. I need to get going.”
“Of course I miss you.” She was just an ordinary woman in love, being kind to whoever she liked. After the call ended, her “paint-work” outfit appeared before Xie Chong. He didn’t call out to her. Instead, he dialed her number again. The ringtone went off. She glanced at the screen, then tossed the phone back into her pants pocket. She was just a common person with clear likes and dislikes—if she didn’t want to deal with someone, she simply wouldn’t.
Because she’d always played along with him in their little performances, Xie Chong had mistakenly believed they weren’t at this point yet. Surely, with all their history, she might treat him differently—at least not like this. He took in her paint-work attire, which clearly resembled a butterfly spreading its wings, fluttering away gracefully.
Xie Chong was never one to swallow insults. He stepped forward and blocked her path. Mu Wen still tried to play the game with him, pretending she didn’t know he’d called. But he skipped past that and asked her directly: “What do you take me for? You’re dating someone else while constantly taking clients from me. Mu Wen, you should have at least some bottom line as a person.”
Mu Wen instantly realized it was that big-mouth Wang Zhiqiang who’d told Xie Chong about her relationship. It had nothing to do with him, so she hadn’t brought it up. But she wasn’t trying to hide it either—if he knew, he knew. So what?
Still, she needed something from him, so she couldn’t exactly burn that bridge. She slapped her forehead in mock realization, making her messy topknot bounce. In the old days, whenever he was around, even if she woke in the middle of the night, she’d wipe the oil from the sides of her nose—afraid Xie Chong might see her looking disheveled, always wanting to stay beautiful. Now she wasn’t afraid anymore. She was at ease.
“I think of you as a great friend!” Mu Wen said without missing a beat. “Of course I see you as my good friend. Otherwise, you know me—I wouldn’t ask you for clients.”
Xie Chong let out a sudden cold laugh.
The wallpaper, floor tiles, paint, and curtains around them all seemed to blend into Mu Wen. Only he stood out, out of place. He’d pulled several all-nighters, finally got a day off, and dragged himself out of bed early just for Mu Wen’s business. Of course he had his motives—he was always shrewd, never getting up early without a reason. This time, what he wanted was Mu Wen, and he’d wanted her for a long time. She was dating someone else while stringing him along, toying with him like he was some green kid, showing him no pity and no guilt.
Mu Wen stared straight back at him, unafraid of the anger gathering in his eyes. What did she have to fear? They’d been sparring for years; each knew exactly what the other was made of. They were both old foxes—no need for either to play the pitiful victim. If he’d been fooled, it was because he’d walked into it willingly. Go ahead, search all of Beijing—who else could trick a man like him?
Xie Chong grabbed the fabric at her shoulder, gave it a shake, and said in a low, suppressed voice: “You’re just like this outfit you’re wearing—inside and out, nothing about you is presentable!”
Hearing that, Mu Wen took a step back. “So what? Who was it that came crawling up to this unpresentable person for no reason? That was you!” She said it, felt it wasn’t enough, and added more weight to her tone: “Stop meddling in my business from now on. In other words, if you help me, I’ll thank you verbally. If you don’t, I won’t die either.”
“Right, the new boyfriend’s lined up. You’ve got someone else to help you now. Can’t you do business without a man?” Xie Chong said.
Mu Wen lifted her chin and shrugged. “Yeah, you’re right. So what? It’s not your place to tell me what to do!”
With that, she turned and ran, knowing Xie Chong would stand there watching her go. She raised her hand and flipped him off with her middle finger. Afraid he might get angry enough to chase her down and argue, she quickened her pace.
She knew Xie Chong well—he softened to kindness, not force. A little while later, she called Wang Zhiqiang and told him to take Xie Chong out for dinner that night. She coached him on what to say: “Just tell him, ‘My sister Wen is really grateful to you. She’s always saying the company wouldn’t be where it is today without your help. She remembers every kindness you’ve shown her!'”
“Also, Wang Zhiqiang, watch your mouth. Don’t say anything you shouldn’t, got it?”
On the other end of the line, Wang Zhiqiang was mulling over what he should and shouldn’t say, but being slow with words or perhaps afraid of Mu Wen’s mockery, he didn’t dare ask directly. Mu Wen knew he was puzzled about her relationship with Xie Chong, and she no longer wanted to keep it a secret, so she simply said, “Xie Chong is my ex-husband.” Wang Zhiqiang gasped on the other end of the line, and Mu Wen heard it. She said, “It’s fine. Just knowing is enough. You only need to do your job well. Since you want to put down roots in Beijing, don’t bother with all that trivial nonsense.”
She was, of course, well aware of the gossip trailing behind her—any single remark pulled out of the air wouldn’t be pleasant to hear. She didn’t care. She had no use for that kind of pointless pride. She didn’t live for others to see; she only sought her own comfort. She also didn’t hold onto things in her heart—the quarrel she’d had with Xie Chong was forgotten the moment she turned away. She threw herself into the building materials market, measuring, scribbling, and sketching. She ran into Xie Chong a few times in between, and he, with a stern face, accompanying Wang Zhiqiang and his friends, would turn his head away in disgust whenever he saw her.
It wasn’t until evening, when the building materials market closed, that she drove off.
As her car pulled onto the street, the towering buildings receded rapidly behind her, just like time itself, flying back along with them.