Chen Man nodded quickly, went around the car, started it, and merged into the evening rush hour traffic.
The car was quiet.
Liang Jinfeng leaned against the back seat, eyes closed, expressionless. If not for the strong smell of alcohol coming off him, you couldn’t tell he was drunk at all.
Chen Man didn’t dare speak, staring at the traffic ahead, palms slightly sweaty.
The car pulled into the underground garage at Huafu, and Liang Jinfeng opened his eyes.
He glanced at Chen Man through the rear-view mirror. She suddenly seemed to snap to her senses, hurriedly got out, and went around to open his door.
Liang Jinfeng stepped out of the car, and the moment his feet hit the ground, he swayed.
Chen Man took a step back.
Liang Jinfeng tilted his head to look at her. Shouldn’t a normal person offer a hand to steady him?
His gaze caught the vegetable leaves in the canvas bag hanging on her arm, and only then did he notice the alcohol had roasted his stomach raw. “You can cook?”
Chen Man nodded, gripping the canvas bag.
“I haven’t eaten tonight. You cook, and I’ll count it as overtime pay.”
With that, he walked into the elevator.
Chen Man hesitated a little, but her feet had already followed him in.
In the elevator, Chen Man took out her phone, which had been buzzing nonstop, and gave it a quick glance. Zhong Kaihui had been sending her question marks after question marks.
Her mother-in-law’s calls—there were already more than forty.
Not a single one asked whether she was safe. Instead, they raged: Why don’t you just die out there?
Chen Man’s eyes darkened, and she tightened her grip on the phone.
The elevator walls were polished like mirrors. In his peripheral vision, Liang Jinfeng caught the content on her phone, and looked at Chen Man one more time.
“You can go now.”
Before stepping out of the elevator, Liang Jinfeng spoke again.
Chen Man frowned, her deep eyes fixed on him. “Didn’t we agree on overtime pay? What would President Liang like to eat?”
The vegetables wouldn’t be fresh anymore if she took them home.
Rather than going back to cook for that mother and son, she might as well earn some overtime pay.
Liang Jinfeng didn’t answer.
Chen Man added, “The pledge rate should be 59.18%, not 49.18%. The person on the phone just now reported it to President Liang wrong.”
He had completed the acquisition of Hengtuo less than three months ago—a pile of bad accounts. Even with him personally overseeing things, the people below couldn’t sort out those numbers.
Liang Jinfeng raised an eyebrow. “Yang Jun said you’re from the Business Development Department.”
Why would someone from Business Development know the finance figures so well?
Chen Man nodded. “Yes.”
Liang Jinfeng entered the code on his luxury flat’s lock. “Make yourself at home.”
Chen Man got her overtime as wished and walked to the kitchen to boil water and prep the ingredients, her movements extremely deft.
Liang Jinfeng leaned back on the sofa, suit jacket open, tie loose, exposing a bit of shirt collar.
From the open-plan dining area, he could clearly see Chen Man working in an orderly manner, along with her phone on the island counter, screen flashing nonstop inside her bag.
The range hood’s noise irritated Liang Jinfeng somewhat, and he regretted letting Chen Man in.
But soon, mingled with the sound of simmering broth, a fresh, savory aroma spread through the air.
Chen Man stood by the stove, looking down at the pot, gently stirring with a spoon in hand. The light fell from the side, tracing the line of her slender neck and her slightly lowered lashes.
Her stirring was gentle, stroke by stroke, unhurried.
A patient person—probably good with numbers too.
Liang Jinfeng opened his laptop, checked the documents sent before the of the workday, and verified that string of numbers.
Not much time had passed.
Chen Man turned off the stove and carried the bowl over.
“President Liang.” She set the bowl on the coffee table, a strand of jet-black hair slipping down from behind her ear with the motion, and spoke softly. “Have a little something to eat. I’ll be going now.”
Chen Man picked up her bag and walked out the door, sending the photos she had just taken to Yang Jun with a message attached: Assistant Yang, President Liang said to give me overtime pay. Thanks.
Inside, Liang Jinfeng looked down at the bowl of noodles.
The broth was milky white, dotted with a few scallion segments, the noodles nestled in the soup with several pieces of fish alongside. Steam curled upward into his face, carrying the distinctive fresh fragrance of crucian carp.
It stirred his appetite, rare as that was.
He picked up his chopsticks, lifted a bite of noodles, and put it in his mouth.
The noodles were soft, soaked through with the freshness of the fish broth.
He took a sip of the soup.
The moment it entered his mouth, he froze.
The flavor of the fish had fully melded into the broth—rich, mellow. The soup slid down his throat, and warmth spread through his stomach bit by bit.
He finished the entire bowl of noodles, down to the last drop of soup.
/
Ten o’clock at night.
Chen Man caught the last bus and arrived at the bottom of her apartment building.
Smash—
Just as she was about to step into the pitch-black entrance of the building unit, a dark object came hurtling toward her.
The motion-sensor light flicked on. Shattered on the ground was the succulent pot she kept on her balcony. Chen Man frowned and tilted her head up to look at the seventh floor.
On the seventh-floor balcony, her mother-in-law leaned against the stainless steel window railing, her vicious expression impossible to hide even in the darkness.
In her hand she held another succulent pot—clearly, the first one had been thrown deliberately. Chen Man felt an indescribable tangle of emotions.
Her mother-in-law raised her voice mockingly. “Oh my, who’s this? Out and about in the middle of the night? What decent married woman wanders the streets at this hour? Has someone forgotten she’s a wife with a family?”
The voice was dripping with sarcasm, unbearably spiteful.
Chen Man had raised this with Zhong Kaihui before, but he’d said: old people all talk like that, don’t take it to heart. When she pressed him, he promised he would talk to Liu Hongjuan, but nothing ever changed.
This was an apartment building that wasn’t exactly new, with poor soundproofing. Not wanting anyone to overhear an argument, Chen Man climbed the stairs to the seventh floor in silence.
But the key wouldn’t open the door.
She tried several times. A surge of fury nearly made her kick the door down, but in the end, she lowered her hand helplessly.
“Mom, Kaihui, open the door and let me in,” Chen Man called.
Inside, the sound of the television grew louder, mixed with Liu Hongjuan’s voice hurling veiled insults.
Chen Man tugged hard at the door, as if to pretend that it wouldn’t budge only because she was too weak. “I was working overtime today,” she said.
No one answered.
As if she were a stranger who had come to the wrong door.
Her rain-soaked clothes were damp and cold, chill creeping up from the soles of her feet. If she stood out here all night, she would certainly catch a cold by tomorrow.
Chen Man had only one relative—her maternal grandmother in the countryside. There was nowhere else to go.
She suddenly realized that in her three years of marriage, because her mother-in-law disliked her going out, Chen Man had lost touch with even her friends.
In an instant, the loneliness was almost pitiable.
Chen Man called Zhong Kaihui. Inside, his phone rang, along with the faint sounds of a video game, but the call went unanswered.
The next day.
Zhong Kaihui finally opened the door. Chen Man was slumped against the stairwell entrance, and at the sound, she opened her weary eyes.
Zhong Kaihui looked refreshed, completely oblivious. “Wife, why didn’t you come in? Did you go out to buy breakfast? Did you get my favorite pan-fried buns?”
Chen Man stared at him deeply and said in a hoarse voice, “Your mother locked me out all night. I called you countless times.”
She said this with surprising calm, as if clinging to a self-deceiving answer.
Liu Hongjuan shoved past, bumping her shoulder hard. “What nonsense are you spouting? You came home late and didn’t know to open the door yourself? Hurry up and make breakfast—don’t make my son late for work.”
Chen Man took a deep breath. “Don’t speak. I’m asking Zhong Kaihui.”
Zhong Kaihui met her gaze, embarrassment flashing in his eyes. “I was asleep last night and didn’t hear anything. Wife, go catch up on some sleep. Let my mom make breakfast.”
His words ignited Liu Hongjuan’s anger all over again.
Hearing that she had to cook, Liu Hongjuan put her hands on her hips. “Catch up on sleep? I bet you didn’t come home all night—you’re just putting on an act!”
“Mom, do me a favor and say less.”
Zhong Kaihui gripped Chen Man’s shoulders, seemingly soothing her, but really it was a kind of coercion. “Okay, okay, don’t take your anger out on Mom. If the neighbors see, they’ll gossip about you. Let’s go inside.”
Liu Hongjuan gave a cold snort and stepped aside.
Was it really Zhong Kaihui’s mediation that had prevented this argument? Chen Man thought—hadn’t he always been the cause of it all?
Yet he always managed to vanish perfectly.
He always got to play the good guy.
Chen Man entered the room. Seeing the clothes and smelly socks scattered on the floor and bed, the sheets twisted into a ball—all from just one night of her absence—she could hold back no longer, and her nose stung with the urge to cry.
Irritation surged in her heart, yet her mind grew clearer. She turned to Zhong Kaihui and said, “Let’s get a divorce.”
“Okay.”