This special assistant carried the unmistakable green freshness of someone straight out of school, nothing about him screaming “special assistant” at all. Besides, having worked with Shen Xuan for years, no one had ever seen her keep an assistant like this around before.
Wen Zeli propped his chin on one hand, eyes narrowed, watching Shen Xuan.
Shen Xuan watched the young accountant stand, tapping the desk a few more times, urging him along with a rare show of patience. Wen Zeli ground his teeth slightly.
He picked up his phone and typed out a message.
This time, it was Shen Xuan’s phone that buzzed.
She glanced at it.
Wen Zeli: Your lover?
The question, blunt and simple. Shen Xuan read it, expression unmoved, and set her phone back down without even replying.
Wen Zeli: “…”
Damn it.
The young accountant’s name was Zhong Chu. Once introductions were finished, President Yi found himself caught awkwardly in the middle, tapping the table nervously, saying to Shen Xuan, “Director Shen, actually — before you arrived, Director Wen had already arranged for a special assistant of his own to join us as well. This is Mr. Zuo…”
Shen Xuan glanced over and saw a sharply dressed, scholarly-looking man seated beside Wen Zeli. She straightened her watch, thinking to herself — so Wen Zeli had noticed the problems with Chengsheng’s projects too.
She said to President Yi, “It’s a busy time for staffing right now, so let’s keep both of them on. President Yi, my Xiao Zhong here is just getting some hands-on experience.”
Meaning she wouldn’t be stealing the spotlight from whoever Wen Zeli had placed there.
President Yi looked thoroughly torn, glancing at Wen Zeli.
Wen Zeli had already lit a cigarette, lounging with that sharp, careless air of his. He exhaled a puff of smoke, coughed out a laugh, and said, “No need to look at me.”
“Go with what Director Shen says. It’s rare for her to place a special assistant here — of course we should accept him.”
The words “special assistant.”
Wen Zeli emphasized them, just slightly.
Teasingly.
President Yi flinched.
Holy hell.
Was this “lover” secretly some kind of bomb waiting to go off?
This couple — squaring off at a shareholders’ meeting on their very first day of marriage, and now, on day four, the wife sends a “lover” straight to the company, right in front of her husband.
…
Once business was concluded.
Shen Xuan left Zhong Chu behind and departed with Chang Xue.
Wen Zeli stubbed out his cigarette, watching that tall, elegant figure vanish through the doorway, then glanced once more at the young man left behind. He looked away, stood, patted Mr. Zuo on the shoulder, and left with his own assistant in tow.
Down on the ground floor.
He found Shen Xuan and Chang Xue still there, standing by the car, deep in conversation. The wind was strong, tousling Shen Xuan’s hair. Chang Xue, puzzled, asked her, “Out of everyone, why’d you pick my junior colleague specifically?”
Shen Xuan shielded her eyes from the sun with a folder. “He looks the most harmless.”
Wen Zeli had planted his own people too — if she’d sent someone sharp and obviously calculating, it would have raised President Yi’s suspicions immediately. Chang Xue’s eyes lit up with understanding. “Oh, oh, got it.”
She opened the car door for Shen Xuan.
Shen Xuan lowered the folder, about to get in.
But then she spotted Wen Zeli not far off, dressed in a black shirt, hands in his pockets, staring at her.
Their eyes met.
Shen Xuan gave him a polite nod.
Then got into the car.
The door closed.
Chang Xue noticed him too, sneaking a few extra glances. Wen Zeli, seeing Shen Xuan get in, lowered his head to search for his lighter, lit a cigarette, and headed off with his assistant toward his own car.
Once Chang Xue was in the car, she said to Shen Xuan, “Do you think Director Wen figured out what you’re up to? Would you two ever secretly work together on this?”
Shen Xuan: “No.”
Same goal, but no possibility of collaboration.
Since it was Shen Xuan herself who’d arranged Zhong Chu, and given his thoroughly unassuming manner and the slightly awkward nature of his role, he was placed directly into Chengsheng’s finance department.
Over the following two weeks, Shen Xuan returned to the group and continued her usual work, still living at the villa — a sprawling place now occupied only by her and the young housekeeper, Chen Xixi.
Wen Zeli hadn’t come back since that day.
Chen Xixi still felt somewhat intimidated by Shen Xuan, but noticing she liked pork floss and canned yellow peaches, she’d started secretly practicing recipes to make for her.
Shen Xuan neither praised nor criticized any of it.
That was simply her nature.
Which only convinced Chen Xixi further that Shen Xuan was genuinely difficult to get along with.
She kept hoping Lan Qin would hurry up and come back.
Autumn arrived in October.
The mornings and evenings turned chilly, and Shen Xuan caught a bit of a cold, using it as an excuse to move back home for a few days. Shen Xiaoquan, worried about his daughter, gave her some time off. Mo Tian boiled a large bowl of brown sugar ginger tea and sat in front of Shen Xuan, watching her drink it.
Shen Xuan rubbed her nose. “It’s nothing serious.”
“Nothing serious, and yet you catch a fever and a cold at this exact time every single year.” Mo Tian stood to fold her blanket.
Shen Xuan obediently finished the ginger tea. Just then, a video call came in from Chang Xue; she picked it up. Chang Xue’s face appeared, launching straight in: “Lan Qin’s back. Her flight landed this morning, and Young Master Wen went to pick her up.”
Mo Tian’s hands stilled on the blanket, looking toward her daughter.
Shen Xuan, nose stuffed up, breathing a little labored, leaned against the headboard and made a small sound.
Chang Xue watched her. “You’re not worried at all?”
Shen Xuan: “What’s there to worry about?”
Chang Xue sighed. “The news is going to spread again — there’s already some chatter starting up on the forums.”
The Wen-Shen marriage alliance had always drawn plenty of attention on its own; whatever Wen Zeli had pulled on their wedding night had already planted seeds of doubt in everyone’s minds, not to mention this whole Chengsheng business and the fact that the newlyweds weren’t even living together — the whole social circle already knew.
Married, and already living apart.
Tsk.
Now, with the Lan family’s daughter — the woman wedged between this couple — back in town, naturally even more people were watching closely.
Shen Xuan showed no particular reaction.
Seeing this, Chang Xue gave up trying to stir anything.
She figured Shen Xuan had no real interest in fighting for Wen Zeli’s affections, and there was no point in her own anxiety over it. She asked instead, “Feeling any better?”
Shen Xuan, looking somewhat run-down. “Not yet.”
Chang Xue, helpless. “You get like this every single year, and it always takes forever to shake off. Have you actually seen a doctor?”
Shen Xuan: “Already did. Nothing serious. I’m going to sleep for a while.”
Chang Xue: “Okay.”
After hanging up.
Shen Xuan set down her phone, and only then did Mo Tian come back to herself, shaking out a thin blanket to cover her daughter.
Watching Shen Xuan’s sleeping face, Mo Tian glanced at the nightstand — a single framed photo of Shen Xuan sat there. She hesitated, then opened the drawer.
Shen Xuan and Wen Zeli had gone for wedding photos before the ceremony, but there weren’t many photos of the two of them together — mostly individual shots. On the wedding day, after digging through everything for a long while, she’d finally found one taken on a beach: Wen Zeli lifting Shen Xuan, in her white dress, up into the air, the camera held up to partially obscure his own face while his other arm wrapped around her waist.
Shen Xuan, in a mermaid-cut gown, hips lifted, leaning against his shoulder.
It had been the least conventional, most unguarded photo of the two of them.
But also the most beautiful.
That was the very photo that had once been tucked into this drawer. Now, the drawer sat entirely empty — the photo nowhere to be found.
Shen Xuan had always been the type to discard things she no longer wanted around.
Mo Tian closed the drawer, a flicker of worry crossing her face.
Shen Xuan slept through until dinnertime, feeling considerably better. Shen Lin had come home today too, and the whole family sat down together in the dining room. Partway through the meal, Shen Xiaoquan’s phone buzzed; he glanced at it, and his expression changed at once.
Turning extraordinarily grim.
An indescribably dark, heavy look.
The whole family froze, noticing.
Shen Lin: “Dad, what’s wrong?”
Shen Xiaoquan turned the phone around, showing it to Shen Xuan. “Wen Zeli and Lan Qin just went into a hotel together.”
Shen Xuan paused, setting down her chopsticks.
The whole table drew a sharp breath.
Mo Tian gripped Shen Xuan’s wrist. “This is a scandal.”
Shen He swore under his breath, starting to rise from his seat. “I’ll go find him.”
Shen Xiaoquan looked at his daughter, then turned to Shen Lin, who sat perfectly composed, adjusting his glasses, clearly uncomfortable and unsure what to say.
He and Wen Zeli had always been close friends.
He hesitated, then said, “He probably wouldn’t… would he? Let me give him a call.”
He reached for his phone as he spoke.
Shen Xuan picked up a tissue, wiping her palms. “No need. I’ll handle this myself.”
Shen Lin paused.
And quietly set his phone back down.
Kaliston Hotel.
A black sedan pulled up smoothly at the entrance; Wen Zeli, in his black shirt and slacks, stepped out and casually stubbed his cigar out in the trash bin by the door.
His assistant stayed by his side as the two of them headed upstairs.
They stopped on the eighth floor.
The assistant swiped the room card open. Wen Zeli stood in the doorway; inside, Lan Qin, in a white dress, sat on the sofa, her eyes rimmed red.
Seeing him arrive.
Lan Qin’s eyes welled up further, tears threatening to spill; she clenched her jaw.
Wen Zeli’s eyes narrowed. After a moment, he walked in and said to his assistant, “Wait outside.”
The assistant made a small sound of acknowledgment.
The door behind him closed with a soft thud. Wen Zeli walked further in, sat down in a single armchair — the luggage in the living room still unopened, everything exactly as it had been when she’d landed that morning.
He tugged at his collar, leaning back, arm resting on the chair. “I’ll talk to your family for you.”
Lan Qin, eyes red, sat properly, hands folded in her lap. “They never wanted me to come back in the first place. Now I’ve even upset my professor.”
“My family won’t let me come home, so I… have no choice but to stay at a hotel.”
“That apartment your family arranged for you — just clean it up and move in. Why stay at a hotel?” Wen Zeli rubbed the corner of his mouth, his whole demeanor thoroughly arrogant.
Lan Qin’s eyes reddened further. “It was only just renovated, it’s not livable yet.”
Wen Zeli said nothing.
Watching her for a long moment.
Then, suddenly, he leaned forward, both hands braced on his knees, fingers well-defined, hanging loosely. His eyes narrowed. “Lan Qin, if you’d shown this kind of vulnerability two years ago, would we have ever fought the way we did?”
Lan Qin startled, staring blankly at him.
Her fists, resting on her knees, instinctively tightened.
Wen Zeli glanced lightly at her clenched fists, then rubbed the corner of his mouth with a smile. “It’s fine. I’ll talk to your family for you.”
“Don’t worry.”
Lan Qin was still staring at him, dazed.
His emotions shifted so effortlessly — she found herself, for once, unable to read him at all.
Or perhaps.
She’d never really been able to read him.
Wen Zeli checked his watch. “You haven’t had dinner yet, have you? Come on, I’ll take you to eat.”
With that, he stood, hands in his pockets, glancing sideways at her.
A little imposing.
It made Lan Qin instinctively rise to her feet too, following him toward the entryway.
“What do you want to eat?” Wen Zeli asked, one hand in his pocket, the other reaching for the door handle, glancing back at her.
Lan Qin opened her mouth, about to answer.
The door pulled open.
And a dozen or so buckets of cold water came crashing down like a waterfall, the sheer volume and speed of it enough to steal the breath from anyone’s lungs. Lan Qin shrieked, instinctively ducking to one side.
Wen Zeli, standing directly in the line of fire, was drenched from head to toe, his long narrow eyes sweeping across the scene with cold, sharp fury.
Shen Xuan stood in the doorway, heels planted firmly, rubbing her wrist with one hand, a few strands of hair falling loose against her cheeks, watching them both with cool detachment.
Seeing this.
Wen Zeli started laughing.
A few seconds later, he tugged at his collar, stepped forward, grabbed Shen Xuan’s wrist, turned her around, and pinned her against the wall, glaring down at her with fierce intensity.
Yet in her eyes, he found only a faint sheen of moisture — the two of them locked in a standoff, neither backing down. Beyond the physical trace left by her fever.
She showed no emotion at all.
Catching the scent of her perfume, Wen Zeli paused, then asked with a cold laugh, “Director Shen, what exactly is this? Catching me in the act?”
Shen Xuan answered flatly: “Just passing by.”