Qin Sang wore a sleeveless champagne-colored qipao that hugged her exquisite curves, radiating a delicate, captivating charm. Her long hair was loosely pinned, with a few stray strands brushing her shoulders. She was surrounded by a group of men at a bar, coughing repeatedly after taking sips of alcohol—but she didn’t even look remotely embarrassed or consider leaving.
In front of her lay stacks of cash, which she took casually with each sip. Every drink consumed meant taking another stack of bills under the cup.
Drink after drink, stack after stack. Even when she nearly choked, she continued, as if life, dignity, and shame were expendable—a picture-perfect hostess in every sense.
Ye Huai, watching from nearby, frowned, unable to contain himself: “Qin Sang… what is she doing here? Is she… working as a hostess—?”
He swallowed the last word.
Sheng Yu, who had just moments ago claimed that she wasn’t worthy of his heart, recognized her instantly from a few faint coughs alone in the noisy bar.
A few coughs—and he knew it was her. Impossible as it seemed, he had never let go of her, not for a single moment in all these years.
Ye Huai didn’t need Sheng Yu’s response to feel the sudden drop in temperature beside him. It was as if the world itself had frozen, the air pressing down so heavily it was hard to breathe. Even the faint creak of fists clenching could be imagined.
Standing in the glow of the bar lights, his eyes fixed on Qin Sang, Sheng Yu radiated an icy intensity that seemed to seep into bone and marrow. Anger, disbelief, and—he couldn’t hide it—an almost painful tenderness.
He didn’t move immediately. His legs felt like they were filled with lead. Time seemed to stop. The world around him vanished, leaving only the figure he had dreamed of countless nights—the figure that now appeared almost unreal, like a fragile bubble of memory.
One wrong move, and it would shatter.
Even after all these years, she still had the power to control his emotions completely.
Ye Huai subtly signaled to the bodyguards, who immediately sprang into action to protect her.
They didn’t touch Qin Sang directly. One hand snatched her half-empty glass, the other slammed the ringleader’s head onto the bar while smashing the glass on it.
A sharp, agonized scream ripped through the air.
“Ahhh! Who the hell—dare you—!”
The man, clutching his head, froze mid-curse, suddenly trembling as he looked up to see Sheng Yu standing before him. The sheer force of his presence was terrifying, and the man stammered: “Sh-Sheng… Sheng Ye…”
But Sheng Yu’s gaze never left Qin Sang. Not once. His eyes burned with a fierce mixture of restraint, longing, and unspoken resentment.
Her hair was messy, her champagne qipao soaked with spilled alcohol, the scent of booze lingering. She slumped unsteadily on a high stool, dazed, head hanging low, looking as if the world had abandoned her—and yet still enduring humiliation.
The men who had harassed her were swiftly taken away by the bodyguards for punishment elsewhere.
A quiet fell over the scene. Qin Sang slowly lifted her hazy, intoxicated eyes—and met Sheng Yu’s unrestrained, icy stare.
Her heart skipped a beat.
For a moment, she closed her eyes in disbelief, then tilted her head, raising a hand to shield her left eye, trying to steady her vision and confirm what she saw.
It was him.
It really was him.
Tears stung her eyes. She clenched her fists tightly.
Five years had passed. Now, their eyes met again. The kaleidoscope of lights around them blurred into nothingness; the noise of the bar faded, leaving only the thudding chaos of her own heart.
Seasons had turned, years had passed—but even after five long years, seeing him still made her heart race uncontrollably.
Yet she hadn’t expected their reunion to look like this.
He stood towering above her. She was a mess.
Qin Sang had secretly followed every report about him. Sheng Yu now wielded power that could move clouds and command the rain—feared and respected across every circle of influence.
And now he stood barely a step away, tall, broad-shouldered, in a black shirt and trousers, with a long black coat trailing to his knees. The light caught him perfectly, highlighting his sculpted form.
His wet, cropped hair slicked back, a strand falling across his forehead. Cold, aristocratic, almost untouchable. A face that was impossibly handsome, with dark, seductive eyes that seemed both merciless and alluring.
The aura he radiated was lethal—bewitching, yet terrifying.
Sheng Yu suddenly reached out. Qin Sang recoiled instinctively.
Her small movement triggered his cold, furious possessiveness. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him, his voice deep and icy:
“Qin Sang! Do you only know how to refuse me?”
He had just witnessed those men surrounding her, coaxing her to drink. She hadn’t resisted at all, even while coughing violently. And now, merely out of concern, he tried to steady her—and she flinched.
Her chin hurt under his grip. She met his intense eyes, nervously biting her lip. Before she could protest, Sheng Yu bent, his strong arms wrapping around her back and legs, lifting her effortlessly and heading for the exit.
Weightless, Qin Sang clutched his arm in panic. “Wh-what are you doing? Where are you taking me?”
He said nothing, carrying her out of the bar.
Outside, a black Maybach waited. The driver opened the door in time, and Qin Sang was gently but firmly placed into the back seat. Dazed, she held her head, glaring at Sheng Yu who followed immediately.
“What the hell are you doing? Where are you taking me?”
Sheng Yu turned slightly, removing her hand from her forehead, then pulled her closer into his arms. Her body leaned against his chest. Seeing her faint discomfort, he was torn between concern and frustration.
He tightened his hold slightly, forcing her to look at him. Finally, he answered:
“You weren’t working here for money… but now you’re with me. Name your price—I’ll give it. Anything.”
He meant it. Anything.
Why had she let those scum taint her, yet never come to him?
All these years, her number hadn’t changed, not once.
His hand on her waist tightened, almost painful. Though every fiber of his being ached for her, his voice remained cold and unyielding:
“Miss Qin… a night? How much a night?”
The words, cruelly suggestive, made her flinch. Her eyes went blank as she stared at the man she knew so well, yet felt so alien now. He thought she was engaging in a shameful transaction.
But she wasn’t.
Did she need to explain? Could she even?
Let it be a misunderstanding. After tonight, she wouldn’t allow herself to be dragged into this further.
Hiding her resentment, she met his cold, ruthless gaze with her own stubborn, tender eyes:
“Give me whatever you usually pay, Mr. Sheng. That’ll be enough.”