Sheng Mingzhi took a straight break for half a month, eating, drinking, and playing with Shen Ling as they flew all over the world.
His WeChat Moments were updated almost daily, always featuring high-quality “nine-grid” photo layouts. From the auroras in Norway to private yachts in Hawaii, fashion shows in Paris, and the debauchery of Las Vegas nights. Every post screamed the exquisite and extravagant private life of this young master.
There were plenty of likes. Scrolling down, they were all from “plastic” wealthy heirs he didn’t really know, or elders and relatives from his family.
There was no Lu Jiayan.
Sheng Mingzhi scrolled back and forth through his Moments several times, checking them at least thrice.
Shen Ling couldn’t understand his confusing behavior. “What are you doing? Admiring your own beauty?”
Sheng Mingzhi was the kind of eccentric who would post a selfie and then open it five times just to appreciate it.
But then, she realized. “Why hasn’t your husband liked your posts?”
Sheng Mingzhi: “…”
“Who said I was looking for that?”
“…” Then what are you doing? Making a wish upon your phone?
She hadn’t expected Sheng Mingzhi to care so much about the ritual of this plastic marriage. Is liking Moments a requirement written into your marriage contract?
Shen Ling knew when to stop talking, and after checking a few more times, Sheng Mingzhi found it boring too.
He didn’t really care if Lu Jiayan liked his posts or not. After all, their last meeting had been quite unpleasant. The Great CEO Lu was occupied with a myriad of affairs; he had likely long forgotten he had a spouse at home to pay attention to.
Sheng Mingzhi gave a mocking laugh and quickly forgot the little episode.
Recalling the message his assistant Xiao Wang sent before he boarded the plane, Sheng Mingzhi opened his Weibo which he hadn’t touched for half a month. He carefully selected a few scenery photos from his Moments and added a selfie of himself skiing in France.
The ski suit didn’t make him look bulky; instead, it made his skin appear even fairer. His vivid, striking face shone brilliantly against the snow and of course, the 5-million-yuan Patek Philippe mechanical watch on his wrist was equally dazzling and prominent.
His “show-off” intentions were practically written on his forehead.
After carefully confirming the background hadn’t been warped by Photoshop, he clicked ‘Send.’
@Sheng Mingzhi: The mountains, rivers, sun, and moon—lovely and ordinary. Recording a few small fragments of time. [heart emoji]
With luxury cars and yachts in the background, the photos exuded an aura of flaunting wealth. In less than five minutes, Sheng Mingzhi’s comments and anti-fans arrived as scheduled.
• [Dumbass, the first result on ‘Xiaohongshu’ for ‘classy social media captions’ is exactly this sentence. Put some effort into your faking next time.]
o (SMZ Reply: “Get lost. [Heart emoji]”)
o
• [Where have you been dead for the last two weeks? I already bought a grave for you; remember to pay the final balance yourself.]
o (SMZ Reply: “Where did you buy it? I’ll go straight there to pick up your urn.”)
o
• [Was your life expectancy stolen? Is that why you haven’t posted in so long?]
o (SMZ Reply: “Don’t be annoying. If I steal some, I’ll give you an extension.”)
o
• [Pass it on: Teacher Sheng paid in full for the Patek Philippe and the luxury yacht. He didn’t rely on anyone; he relied entirely on his own ability to steal photos.]
• [It’s actually impressive to gather so many fakes at once.]
• [Transfer me five bucks and I’ll tell you how to clear your name. Here’s a link: “…2021, the best time to reclaim Taiwan.”]
• [Lmao, I’ve seen people fake it, but this is too much. Does anyone actually NOT know that the yacht ‘Prince’ in photo six was a wedding gift from Shengjia CEO Lu Jiayan to his wife?]
________________________________________
He was long used to the spectacle of anti-fans’ mockery and didn’t take it to heart. He scrolled down a bit more until an abrupt message appeared in the comments.
Sheng Mingzhi’s finger paused.
• [Have some shame. Qiao Yan has already lost two endorsements and a movie. Posting at this time—you’re just dying to let everyone know you’re being passive-aggressive, aren’t you?]
Qiao Yan lost endorsements and a movie?
Now this was something that could keep Sheng Mingzhi awake.
He replied to the comment with pure schadenfreude:
“It’s a pity to get to know him this way. [candle emoji]”
In an internet shouting match, this 18th-tier flop feared nothing.
Immediately after replying, Sheng Mingzhi received a push notification from a gossip account:
@EntertainmentLittleGoose: A certain two-character artist starting with ‘Q’ has no hope of signing with Hemu this year, and his movie role is gone too. [eating melon emoji]
The description “two-character artist starting with Q” was basically like not censoring the name at all. As his arch-nemesis, Sheng Mingzhi would recognize him even if he turned to ash. Who else could it be but Qiao Yan?
The comments were already exploding:
• “Where are the Qiao Yan fans who were bragging earlier? Come out and take a walk?”
• “He must have offended someone. Losing two major projects in a row.”
• “I heard he lost two endorsements too. [melon.jpg]”
• “Lmao, the Sheng fans mocking Qiao Yan better watch it. Don’t think we can’t tell who your master is. [vomit]”
The last one was a snide remark from a Qiao Yan fan. The wind in the comment section started to shift from that point.
• “?”
• “Your comment is actually a personal attack.”
• “I feel dirty; I was just labeled a Sheng Mingzhi fan.”
• “Let it be known: Sheng Mingzhi only has haters, no fans.”
Sheng Mingzhi ignored the wall of hate and specifically picked out the comments kicking Qiao Yan while he was down. The real-time feeds were full of Qiao Yan fans demanding justice, tagging movie organizers for a statement, or tagging Hemu Entertainment’s official Weibo for an explanation. The red-on-white text graphics were a headache to look at.
Sheng Mingzhi watched with gusto for a while until the feed refreshed. A post suddenly jumped into his view:
[Wtf, a minute ago I searched for ‘Qiao Yan’ and the tags for him and the Shengjia CEO were there. Now they’re all gone. I’m stunned. The news is gone too. (melon)]
Sheng Mingzhi blinked. He decisively opened the search bar and typed in Qiao Yan’s name. The results following it were “Qiao Yan contract termination,” “Qiao Yan relationship exposed,” and “Qiao Yan and Huo Yuzhe sweet birthday.”
The keyword “Qiao Yan Shengjia CEO,” which should have been locked at the top, had vanished. Just like the post said, Sheng Mingzhi searched for related news, and that widely circulated “sugar baby” theory had disappeared as well.
Searching for the name “Shengjia CEO” only showed recent major corporate moves and news of Lu Jiayan’s return. Further back, it was the news of Lu Jiayan’s marriage to him.
As a titan of the capital world, Lu Jiayan was very low-profile online. You could find almost no photos of him; the only one was a blurry side profile taken three years ago at their wedding.
In contrast, Sheng Mingzhi’s photos and scandals were everywhere. But likely no one would guess that this 18th-tier flop was the young master of Mingchen Bank, born with a silver spoon, and the legal partner of the Shengjia CEO.
After finishing his search, Sheng Mingzhi felt a bit strange.
No way.
Did that old man Lu Jiayan delete those posts?
What does he mean?
Is he making a peace offering?
Sheng Mingzhi looked down on such low-level courting. Didn’t he know a peace offering should come with 20 million in cash to show sincerity?
He hesitated for a long time before switching to WeChat and opening his chat with Lu Jiayan. Only then did he remember he had blacklisted him a month ago. No wonder the guy hadn’t liked his Moments.
The moment he unblocked him, his phone buzzed.
Lu Jiayan sent him a message: . (A period)
The timing was so perfect that Sheng Mingzhi’s heart skipped a beat.
Soon, the other party sent another message: ?
Lu Jiayan’s behavior was incomprehensible. Sheng Mingzhi waited patiently for a follow-up, but ten minutes passed with nothing. The empty chat window held only a period and a question mark.
Moreover, that last question mark felt incredibly provocative. Whenever Sheng Mingzhi sent a question mark, he usually didn’t think he had a problem; he thought the other person had a problem.
Judging others by himself, the question mark Lu Jiayan threw over seemed to be saying: Are you sick?
Sheng Mingzhi stared at the chat window with a “death glare” for a while, his anger rising as he retracted his previous thought.
If that dog Lu Jiayan came to make peace, the sun would have to rise in the west! How could I have such a ridiculous idea?! Expecting me to win Best Actor this year is more realistic!
It felt like a lump in his throat, but following the “social rule” that whoever replies last loses the upper hand, he didn’t respond all evening.
It wasn’t until dusk fell that this one-sided cold war was forced to end. On his way to stay at a hotel, Sheng Mingzhi received a call from his father.
His father, Sheng Yuan, had retired behind the scenes at Mingchen, but his authority was undiminished. Sheng Mingzhi was arrogant and willful, and combined with a strict father, the relationship had always been strained.
Sheng Yuan’s powerful voice came through the phone: “Mingzhi, where are you right now?”
Distant and cold as always, with a hint of interrogation. Hearing that tone annoyed Sheng Mingzhi. He curled his lip mockingly, thinking: Does this old man really need to pretend to ask? Does he not have people monitoring me twenty-four hours a day?
It was a formal question with a scripted answer. So, Sheng Mingzhi replied with silence.
Seeing his dismissive attitude, Sheng Yuan’s anger flared: “I’m asking you a question, can’t you hear me? You haven’t been home for half a month. You’re not a child anymore; stop acting so spoiled and reckless!”
Sheng Mingzhi rolled his eyes. “Did Lu Jiayan go to you to tattle?”
“If Xiao Lu came to tattle, would I only just now find out you’ve been fooling around outside?!”
“Oh.”
“What do you mean ‘oh’? Lu Jiayan has been back for half a month, and you’ve been running wild for half a month. Do you even care about this marriage?” Sheng Yuan scolded him harshly. Sheng Mingzhi let out a cold laugh.
That laugh was fuel to the fire. Sheng Yuan raised his voice: “What kind of attitude is that? I know the family did you wrong back then, but you can’t hold onto that grudge forever…”
At this, Sheng Mingzhi’s expression truly changed. The flippant indifference vanished, and his lips thinned into a line.
Sheng Yuan continued: “Your marriage with Jiayan isn’t a joke. You understand the interests involved; this is a win-win for both groups.”
Sheng Mingzhi’s face went cold, and he abruptly hung up. Not only that, but before Sheng Yuan could call back, he blacklisted his father’s number.
Sheng Yuan’s ability to morally kidnap him was still top-tier; even years later, it could still make his mental state collapse.
Sheng Mingzhi fumed in “powerless rage” for a while, and even his mood to go have fun at the hotel vanished. He stood up Shen Ling and sat in the Maybach to calm down.
He had to admit, Sheng Yuan had a bit of a point. His marriage with Lu Jiayan was never simple. From the first day he arrived at the Lu house, he didn’t just represent himself. He represented all of Mingchen.
If the couple stayed in a cold war for half a month, things would get serious enough that even if Sheng Yuan didn’t call him, Grandpa Lu’s call would follow shortly.
Sheng Mingzhi took a deep breath and muttered: For my future glory, wealth, luxury yachts, villas, private jets, and sports cars… I can compromise a little. It’s not impossible to reach out to Lu Jiayan first.
The Maybach turned around on Riverside Road and headed toward Xishan No. 1.
Inside the car, Sheng Mingzhi picked up his phone and opened the chat with Lu Jiayan. The last record was still Lu Jiayan’s question mark.
Sheng Mingzhi hesitated: Should I ease the atmosphere on WeChat first? Since he was going to make a move, he wasn’t going to be pretentious about it.
He immediately sent a sticker: [Observing in secret.jpg]
To his surprise, Lu Jiayan’s reply came almost instantly.
[Seems you still remember that WeChat has a chat function.]
Sheng Mingzhi: […]
He could hear Lu Jiayan’s signature tone right through the screen. Sarcastic and punchable.
WeChat also has a block function, do you want to keep testing it???
Sheng Mingzhi angrily typed a long paragraph in the box, then calmly deleted it.
Forget it. Don’t argue with idiots.
Heh.
Sheng Mingzhi shot back: [Then do you know WeChat also has a ‘Like’ function for Moments?]
Did I post a dozen times in half a month to record my life’s work?? Or was I writing a graphic epitaph?!
After he sent this, the chat went quiet. Sheng Mingzhi suddenly had a bad feeling. Sure enough, a second later, a dozen notification prompts popped up for his Moments.
…
Did this old man really go and like every single post one by one?
Sheng Mingzhi opened his Moments expressionlessly. Without any surprise, all the notifications were likes from Lu Jiayan. It was the height of boredom and childishness.
[…]
Sheng Mingzhi suppressed the urge to grit his teeth and sent a calm message: [Is there anything else you want to say besides liking them?]
Commenting after liking is basic social etiquette for Moments, OK?
The old man from ’95 really has a generation gap with us ’00s kids.
[There is.]
Lu Jiayan replied and sent a picture.
The picture was one Sheng Mingzhi had taken on a beach in Hawaii. He was smiling brightly, wearing only a white cardigan that revealed his pale torso and thin abs, paired with knee-length beach shorts.
Lu Jiayan followed up: [Even my eyeglass cloth has more fabric than your clothes.]
Sheng Mingzhi: “…”
He came to make peace, not to start a war, right?