About half a month later, Zhong Nian reported to the newspaper office.
While she had been abroad, she’d contacted the chief editor via email and finalized her start date before returning home. Unexpectedly, when she arrived, the chief editor had left on a sudden business trip. The person who received her instead was a man surnamed Sun—everyone called him Brother Sun.
Zhong Nian had assumed that, with her degree from a prestigious overseas university and her glittering work experience at The Times, she would at least be assigned to an important section.
Instead, Brother Sun led her to the Social and Economic section and assigned her first task—a celebrity interview.
It wasn’t that they didn’t value her. The office had been busy lately, and with the chief editor absent, they didn’t quite know where to place her. So wherever they were short-handed, that’s where she went.
“Once the chief editor returns, we’ll make adjustments.”
Zhong Nian merely smiled.
“Adjustments” likely meant evaluating how well she performed on this interview. If she did well, she’d be placed as originally promised. If not, she’d start from the bottom.
She didn’t mind starting from the bottom.
Better than arriving as an airborne outsider. She had no backing. In a newspaper office, gossip spread easily. Better to move forward step by step.
At lunch, everyone naturally formed their own groups. Someone politely invited her to join them; she politely declined.
Some things didn’t need to be said aloud—everyone understood.
A smile didn’t mean affection.
Praise didn’t mean genuine admiration.
Often, compliments were merely polite greetings.
Back in university, she had taken an elective called Social Psychology. Though she was reserved and not fond of socializing, she earned an A.
She might not excel at socializing, but she understood most of its unspoken courtesies.
After lunch, she carefully reviewed the interviewee’s information.
A young, promising entrepreneur—slightly younger than her. In photos, he looked refined and handsome. Peach-blossom eyes tilted upward at the corners. Strikingly pretty for a man. Wealth written all over his features.
But he was notoriously difficult to book.
Understandable. The CEO of a listed company hardly had time for interviews.
And in the age of the internet, print media was gradually fading. No matter how large the headline in a newspaper, it couldn’t rival a trending topic on Weibo.
Just as she was thinking this, someone tapped on her cubicle.
She looked up into a pair of superior, slightly condescending eyes—phoenix-shaped, long, with carefully lined lids.
“This is President Shen’s contact information,” the woman said.
“Thank you,” Zhong Nian replied politely.
She turned the business card between her fingers and read the name silently:
—Shen Fang.
She called. The person who answered was likely his assistant—pleasant voice, extremely polite.
“President Shen does not accept interviews. Apologies.”
As expected. She felt no particular disappointment.
She packed her materials into her bag and headed out.
Reporters rarely stayed still. If you didn’t move, you didn’t find news.
Having just returned, she hadn’t bought a car yet. She took a taxi to the CBD.
Shen Group stood at the very center of the district. Among towering skyscrapers, its deep-blue façade was especially eye-catching. The architect, she’d heard, was a Pritzker Prize laureate.
She entered the lobby.
Large corporation. Strict access control.
She tried negotiating with the front desk, but after wearing out her tongue, the receptionist maintained a perfect eight-tooth smile.
So she reverted to her old method—
Waiting.
She was patient. When she waited, she waited wholeheartedly—no phone, no distractions.
Three days passed.
No Shen Fang.
Every afternoon at three, when the receptionist had tea, she brought Zhong Nian a cup as well.
“President Shen comes to the office less than five times a month,” she advised sincerely. “You should go back.”
Zhong Nian thanked her for the tea but said nothing else.
The receptionist sighed and added, almost sympathetically, “President Shen’s romantic scandals make entertainment headlines every year. He trends on Weibo whenever he wants. Why would he accept an interview from City Evening News? Wealthy people don’t care about this.” She realized she’d gone too far and smiled awkwardly.
Zhong Nian thought she was right.
But everyone had their duties.
That afternoon, just before giving up, she finally saw him.
Shen Fang looked even better than in photos—like a young man stepped out of a manga. Dressed casually in foreign streetwear, youthful and effortless.
She jogged over.
“President Shen, hello. I’m Zhong Nian from City Evening News. Could you spare ten minutes for an interview?”
His assistant reacted instantly, pushing her aside. “Sorry, President Shen does not accept interviews.”
“Hey—” Shen Fang grabbed the assistant and casually tossed him aside. Grinning, he faced Zhong Nian. “Who did you say you were?”
She showed her work badge.
He lowered his gaze to the photo. Shoulder-length hair tied neatly back. A demanding hairstyle—but she was undeniably beautiful. Elegant. Gentle as a spring breeze in Jiangnan.
No wonder Liang Third Young Master had never forgotten her.
Old wine. One sip—intoxicating for a thousand years.
Shen Fang clicked his tongue, tilted his head, and smiled.
“Sure. Come to my office.”
Zhong Nian was surprised.
So were the assistant and the receptionist.
Before leaving, Zhong Nian glanced back at the receptionist. The woman’s look carried faint contempt.
Zhong Nian ignored it.
She lived for herself, not others’ evaluations.
The elevator ascended directly to the top floor.
Inside, Shen Fang leaned lazily against the wall, smiling at her reflection in the mirrored panel. His gaze swept over her—appraising, searching.
But there was no vulgar desire in it.
She met his gaze openly.
In the end, he was the one embarrassed.
“Hey, don’t you feel shy at all?”
She lowered her head and laughed softly.
He suddenly stepped close, faces inches apart.
Her expression didn’t change.
Too damn similar.
That cold, restrained air.
He could almost imagine Liang Yifeng and Zhong Nian together one day—silent even in intimacy.
Boring.
The elevator doors opened. He swaggered out.
The corridor upstairs was silent, muffled by plush carpets. Paintings lined the walls.
At the end stood the General Manager’s Office.
On the door was the surname—
“Liang.”
The name flashed through her mind: Liang Yifeng.
Shen Fang’s assistant tried to stop him. “President Liang is resting.”
“Is this my company or yours?” Shen Fang pushed her aside, dragging Zhong Nian inside.
Door shut.
They sat across from each other.
The interview went smoothly. Shen Fang was cooperative, refined, faintly commanding—a noble young master through and through.
Afterward, Zhong Nian asked, “Our photographer couldn’t come today. If you have time, could we schedule a photo?”
“Sure.”
She packed up. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She stood to leave—
And froze.
Across from her stood a man in gray sleepwear. Collar open, revealing pale skin and half his collarbone. Without glasses, his sharpness softened. Fresh from sleep, his brows looked strangely gentle.
Behind her, Shen Fang called out cheerfully, “Third Brother, you’re awake.”
Liang Yifeng lifted a hand and put on his glasses.
His jaw tightened. His expression turned frighteningly blank.
A low cough broke the silence.
“When did you come?”
“Just now!”
Liang Yifeng didn’t spare Shen Fang a glance.
He only looked at Zhong Nian.
She had never said it aloud—
But Liang Yifeng just after waking was different.
Same face. Same silence.
But his long eyes drooped slightly. His gaze was unfocused. Sickly. Dangerous. Like a ghostly flame in the depths of night.
It was evening. Neon lights outside flickered on one by one.
He stared at her—
As if fire burned in his eyes.
And she was a moth drawn to it.
Zhong Nian had forgotten what frightened her most at sixteen.
There were two things.
One—
Liang Yifeng just after waking.
The other—
Liang Yifeng when woken by someone else.