Without changing his expression, Chen Mo took out his phone and glanced at the photo Old Zhou had sent. Then he lifted his head and replied in the same calm tone,
“Chamomile, carnations, eucalyptus leaves, and one champagne rose.”
Fu Linfeng said nothing.
His fingers tapped lightly on the mouse once, then again. The document on the screen flipped forward by two pages before he released the mouse.
“Understood.”
Three words. Calm and emotionless.
Chen Mo nodded, turned around, and walked out of the office, quietly closing the door behind him.
The moment the door shut, he stood in the hallway for two seconds, taking a deep breath before slowly exhaling.
In the five years he had followed President Fu, he had seen him calmly force back three shareholders who had united against him during a board meeting. He had seen him destroy the other side’s entire negotiation line with a single number at the conference table. He had seen him sign billion-yuan contracts without changing expression in the face of crises.
But he had never seen President Fu ask about a woman during work.
Never.
Chen Mo lowered his head and glanced again at the photo on his phone screen.
The girl in the photo was holding a cheap bouquet, smiling so brightly that her eyes curved. Sunlight fell across her white sneakers—
No, not sneakers today.
She was wearing shallow flats, a light blue knit sweater, and cream-colored pants.
Suddenly, he remembered the first time he had seen Wen Xi.
A white dress. Old sneakers. Standing in the corner of Fu Group Corporation’s top floor, completely out of place among all the carefully dressed girls around her.
Back then, he had not understood why President Fu had chosen her.
Now it seemed… he understood a little.
Chen Mo put away his phone, adjusted his tie, and headed toward the conference room.
Inside the office, Fu Linfeng sat at his desk, staring at the computer screen for about ten seconds.
Then he picked up his phone and opened the message Old Zhou had sent.
Chen Mo had forwarded it to him. There was no text, only a photo.
The picture was poorly taken—the angle crooked, the lighting uneven, shadows from the alley covering half the frame.
But she was visible.
Wen Xi was walking through the alley with the bouquet in her arms, her head lowered as she looked at the flowers. The corners of her lips were lifted slightly, a few strands of hair blown loose by the wind, sunlight falling perfectly across the side of her face.
Fu Linfeng looked at the photo without any change in expression.
His finger paused on the screen for a second before he locked the phone and placed it face down on the desk.
“Champagne rose.”
He repeated the three words silently in his mind, then picked up the fountain pen on the desk and continued reviewing the documents in front of him.
By the time Wen Xi returned to the villa, it was nearly noon.
She carried the bouquet into the living room and stood in front of the coffee table, looking left and right, unsure where to place it.
After circling around once, she finally found an empty crystal vase on the side cabinet near the fireplace.
The vase was crystal clear and obviously expensive.
She stood on tiptoe to take it down, filled it halfway with water, and carefully arranged the flowers one by one inside.
The white of the chamomile, the pink of the carnations, the green eucalyptus leaves, and that single champagne rose stood quietly in the center.
The petals opened slightly, like a tiny embrace.
Wen Xi stepped back two paces and tilted her head to examine it. Then she stepped forward again to adjust the angle, turning the rose so its prettiest side faced outward.
Only then did she retreat two steps again and nod in satisfaction.
She stared at the bouquet for a long time.
Back when she was still working at the factory, Lin Manman had often said she wanted to give her flowers.
Whenever the flower shop received a new variety, Lin Manman would excitedly send her photos, saying, “This bouquet suits you perfectly. I’ll save one for you.”
But every single time, Wen Xi refused.
“No need, no need. I don’t even have a vase.”
“They’ll wilt in a few days anyway. What a waste.”
“You should keep them and sell them. Don’t give them to me.”
She had found a hundred excuses, but the truth was simply that she did not want to accept them.
She already owed Lin Manman too much.
Money could be repaid.
But how was she supposed to repay the hands that had reached out to her when she was at her lowest? The late-night phone calls where Lin Manman had cried with her? The countless “It’s okay, I’m here” promises?
How could she ever repay those things?
She did not dare accept more. She was afraid the debt would become so heavy she would never finish repaying it in this lifetime.
But now, things were different.
Now she had a vase.
She had a place to put flowers.
She finally had… a little confidence.
Not because she had become rich, but because she could finally say to Lin Manman, “Let me help you,” instead of always saying, “Thank you for helping me.”
Wen Xi reached out and gently touched the petals of the champagne rose.
The petals were soft and cool, trembling lightly beneath her fingertips.
She smiled.
The afternoon passed quickly.
Wen Xi wandered around the villa for a while, sat beneath the osmanthus tree in the garden for a bit, then returned to the living room and curled up on the sofa with her phone.
She searched for articles about running flower shops.
The more she read, the more serious she became. She even opened her notes app and carefully wrote things down.
“Key factors in choosing a location: foot traffic, target customers, surrounding businesses…”
“Flower sourcing channels: local wholesale markets vs. first shipments from Kunming…”
“Online operations: Meituan, Ele.me, Xiaohongshu…”
She took notes meticulously, stroke by stroke, just like when she used to take notes in high school.
Without realizing it, the sky darkened.
The lights in the living room came on—whether automatically or turned on by a servant, Wen Xi did not notice.
She was curled up in the corner of the sofa with a notebook spread across her knees. Her phone screen glowed with a lengthy article titled How Flower Shops Create Differentiated Branding.
She was deeply absorbed in reading, her brows slightly furrowed, lips unconsciously pressed into a line.
“Madam, President Fu is back.”
The servant’s voice came from the entrance.
Wen Xi froze briefly and looked up.
Fu Linfeng was standing in the entrance hall changing his shoes.
Today, he wore a dark gray dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up twice, revealing lean forearms.
His tie was dark blue and perfectly tied, emphasizing the sharpness of his jawline.
After changing into slippers, he placed his car keys onto the tray in the entrance hall. The metal hitting porcelain made a crisp sound.
Then he lifted his head and swept his gaze across the living room.
Wen Xi was curled up on the sofa hugging her notebook, her hair tied into a loose ponytail with a few stray strands falling beside her ears.
On the small round table in front of her lay her phone and a sprig of chamomile she had apparently absentmindedly taken from the vase while reading.
Her eyes shifted from the phone and met his.
“You’re back.”
Wen Xi spoke hurriedly, sounding like a student caught daydreaming after being called on by a teacher.
She subconsciously straightened up, put the chamomile back onto the table, and tucked her hair behind her ear.
Fu Linfeng responded with a simple “Mm.”
His gaze swept across the room—from the notebook on the sofa, to the phone and chamomile on the table, and finally to the side cabinet beside the fireplace.
The bouquet stood quietly inside the crystal vase.
The small white chamomile petals looked especially soft beneath the lights, while the champagne rose drooped its head slightly as if dozing off.
Beside the vase sat the pink wrapping paper and twine—she had not even thrown away the packaging, neatly folding and placing it beside the flowers.
Fu Linfeng’s gaze lingered on the bouquet for one second.
Then he looked away and expressionlessly walked into the dining room.
Wen Xi sat on the sofa watching his back disappear through the doorway, an indescribable feeling suddenly rising inside her chest.
She lowered her head to glance at the chamomile on the table.
She really had been absentmindedly twirling it in her fingers for a long time just now. The petals had already begun to wilt slightly from all the touching.
Quickly, she set the flower down properly, closed her notebook, straightened her clothes, and followed him.
In the dining room, dinner had already been prepared.
Tonight’s dishes were stir-fried vegetables, sweet-and-sour pork ribs, boiled shrimp, hot-and-sour soup, and a plate of sliced fruit.
The two sets of utensils were still placed at opposite ends of the long table—with the entire length of the table separating them.
Wen Xi sat in her usual seat, picked up her chopsticks, and took a small bite of pork rib.
But her mind was not on the food at all.
Thoughts kept spinning in her head—
How should she say it?
When should she bring it up?
Would he disagree?