This guest room was much larger than the bedroom Meng Xinghui and Gao Jiade had previously rented.
Their old room had been no bigger than the balcony of this one, perpetually dark and damp. It was lit only by a dim incandescent bulb. The two of them had shared a secondhand iron-frame bed. To ensure Gao Jiade slept as comfortably as possible, Meng Xinghui often curled up against the wall, his nose filled with the smell of moldy plaster. He dared barely to move, fearing the bedframe would creak. Holding such a position all night left his back and legs aching, yet he never complained, accepting it all willingly.
On the nightstand, a 10-inch screen was embedded into the wall. It displayed the message: I am your smart butler, Xiao Ai. How may I assist you? Below the screen was a neat row of gray buttons, each labeled with a function, just like in a hotel.
Meng Xinghui’s eyes glinted. “Hello, Xiao Ai,” he said suddenly. “I want to open the curtains.”
A gentle, feminine voice replied, “Of course.”
The beige satin curtains stirred and slowly drew open. A scent of flowers drifted in, mingled with a cool breeze that ruffled his dark hair.
Meng Xinghui lay on the soft mattress. Even with his arms outstretched, he couldn’t reach the edge of the bed—it was large enough to fit three of him. He turned his head to look at the spacious balcony, a faint smile touching the corners of his lips. Keep it up, he thought. Someday, all this money will be paid back.
Cheering himself up, he began to unpack, hanging his clothes one by one in the wardrobe.
They occupied less than a quarter of the space. Many of the garments were years old, the fabric worn and creased with time.
Once finished, Meng Xinghui immediately went downstairs to clean. He bustled about like a diligent bee—sweeping, mopping, wiping windows, and more.
On the laptop screen, Shen Qiu watched the surveillance footage of Meng Xinghui vacuuming the floor.
“His injuries just healed, and he’s already back to work. What am I going to do with him?” Shen Qiu had never met anyone like this—someone who gave everything for another person without complaint or regret, even knowing that person could never belong to him again. The thought of Meng Xinghui caring for the family of three made Shen Qiu’s vision go dark with a wave of nausea.
He reached out and tapped the screen over Meng Xinghui’s head.
Shen Qiu focused his attention on his laptop screen. His phone had been off since six in the morning, and he imagined the group headquarters must be in utter chaos by now. He couldn’t help but picture Shen Ziqi’s current state—desperate and helpless, screaming into the void. A wild smile spread across his face as his fingers danced across the keyboard.
The account balance was skyrocketing at a rate that would baffle even the top securities firms. He had secured a definitive first place in the 18th International Securities Investment Competition, with a maximum drawdown of less than 5%. Any company that could hire such a talent would be getting a guaranteed pillar of stability and a top-tier performer. The forum instantly erupted with speculation about the identity of the user nicknamed “X.”
Some guessed it was someone from Wall Street HQ in Country M; others claimed it was from the Huadu KJ Organization. Countless theories swirled, but Shen Qiu simply skimmed past them. He was only interested in the prize money. After confirming his bank account details with the competition committee, the funds were scheduled to arrive tomorrow afternoon.
With a light click of the mouse, he switched to another wealth management app. The balance on his real investment account was already an astronomical sum. For Shen Qiu, this virtual investment competition had been nothing more than a minor game.
He snapped the laptop shut. When he turned on his phone, the call log showed 234 missed calls from the head of the Shen Group’s administrative office, 12 from Father Shen, and a single call from Yang Wenlun.
“Hey, buddy, where’s my wife?” Yang Wenlun’s voice crackled through the line. “I went to the Shen Group, and they told me she resigned! Did you make her quit?”
“It was her choice. I didn’t interfere,” Shen Qiu replied calmly, taking a sip of his coffee. Ever since he had joined the company, Lin Yi had been his right-hand man. Her decision was entirely expected. Consider this a vacation, he thought. Lin Yi hasn’t had a proper break in ages.
At the Shen Group’s revolving doors, Yang Wenlun stood frozen. He looked down at the homemade mousse fruit cake in the bag, his heart sinking. He had spent an entire day at Lin Yi’s favorite spot, Lingta Cake Shop on Yulin Street, pleading with the owner to teach him how to make it. The table had been piled high with ruined sponge cake.
“So where did Lin Yi go?” Yang Wenlun demanded. “I made him a cake—I even went to his favorite shop to learn how! Tell me where he is, and I’ll deliver it right away.”
Shen Qiu paused. Lin Yi had mentioned the Aurora Borealis to him several times, his eyes shining with the desire to see it in person.
“He went to the Arctic,” Shen Qiu said. “He told me a few times that he’d always wanted to see the Northern Lights and polar bears.”
“Now is the best time to see it.”
Hearing the word “Arctic,” Yang Wenlun felt as if he had been transported to a frozen wasteland. The hospital had been so busy lately that he had neither the time nor the means to take a vacation. He could only glare at the sky in frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“You didn’t ask,” Shen Qiu replied, thinking Yang Wenlun was absolutely obsessed. He and Lin Yi were fundamentally incompatible; people with such opposite personalities could never end up together. Besides, Lin Yi had always only loved one person, and that person had long since returned to dust.
Downstairs, the floor was polished to a mirror shine. Meng Xinghui stood there, fastidiously wearing a baseball cap to block the sun and dust. A light blue disposable surgical mask made his face look small. He was scrubbing vigorously with a deep purple rag, sweat trickling down his hair as he balanced on the toes of a retractable ladder that swayed with his movements.
Shen Qiu’s brow furrowed slightly. He set down his coffee cup and went to tap on the floor-to-ceiling window. “Stop. Meng Xinghui, come in.”
Meng Xinghui blinked, his almond-shaped eyes filled with confusion. His lips parted slightly, as if to ask, What are you talking about?
Shen Qiu gestured for him to stop and come inside.
Meng Xinghui thought his six-hundred-yuan employer was suddenly going to find fault. He glanced at the “battlefield” he had just finished cleaning—not a speck of dirt or water mark remained. Using the hem of his pants to wipe his hands, he hurried over to Shen Qiu and pulled down his hot mask. “What’s wrong? Is there somewhere I didn’t clean well?”
“No, on the contrary, you cleaned it very well.” Shen Qiu praised him, then added, “In the future, if you’re wiping high-up windows, call me or have a second person present. I don’t want any casualties in this house.”
Faced with Shen Qiu’s sudden concern instead of a complaint, Meng Xinghui’s earlobes felt hot. Was he being a petty person who had misjudged a gentleman’s intentions? No, he wasn’t a petty person. He wasn’t petty at all.
“Got it,” Meng Xinghui said, pressing his dry lips together. I’ll just clean them secretly next time. The manual labor he did was nothing compared to wiping floor-to-ceiling windows. In the early years when he accompanied Gao Jiade to Kyoto, he had worked many temporary jobs—hauling bricks and cement at construction sites, moving furniture and appliances, and even doing high-altitude work. On a 127-story building, with only a safety rope for protection, looking down would cause immediate nausea and dizziness. A single gust of wind would send his whole body swaying.
Wiping the first-floor floor-to-ceiling windows was a piece of cake.
Shen Qiu stared at the circular swirl of hair on Meng Xinghui’s crown. His gaze drifted to the gauze bandage on Meng’s forehead, lingering for a moment. “Let’s go.” He turned and walked out, his posture clearly indicating he intended to help. Meng Xinghui stiffly lifted his legs, following behind like a little assistant.
Shen Qiu glanced at the still-dazed Meng Xinghui. “Give me the rag.”
Shen Qiu’s hands were clean and fair, without thick calluses or the marks of hard labor.
Meng Xinghui quickly handed the rag to Shen Qiu, then grabbed both sides of the ladder to steady it, ensuring his employer wouldn’t be in any danger.
The sun beat down mercilessly. Shen Qiu’s obsidian-black eyes were fixed on the glass in front of him as he wiped it methodically. Sweat beaded at his temples. His white shirt gave him a disciplined, alluring air, and his suit trousers were straight and crisp.
It wasn’t until a rag was thrust into his hand that Meng Xinghui snapped out of his daze. He immediately ran over to Shen Qiu, speaking cautiously, “I made corn and pork rib soup, stir-fried vegetables, and pork with chili.”
“You’re really capable!”
Hearing this, Meng Xinghui’s pace quickened as he replied softly, “You bet.” He hurried into the kitchen to serve the food.
Shen Qiu hadn’t expected Meng Xinghui to finish cleaning and prepare a full meal in just a few hours. He was a high-quality worker—a real keeper. He couldn’t let such talent go to waste; he needed to make proper arrangements.