The next day, Huo Shize received another call from the main house, saying there were guests at home—Mrs. Huo's younger sister, Huo Shize's own aunt, had returned from abroad. There would be a welcome dinner at home that evening, and he was told to come home early for the meal.
Mrs. Huo's younger sister was a fairly well-known embroidery designer in the industry, with the English name Lisa, written in Chinese as Lisha. She was fifty-eight years old, still single, and had long been based in France. This time she had returned because she was opening a clothing store in Shanghai and would also be serving as a judge for an embroidery competition, requiring her to stay in the country for a while.
Mrs. Huo and her female secretary were in the kitchen discussing the menu for tomorrow's cooking class. Lisa wandered in for a look, then came out, laughing: "Your kitchen, with that old chopping board—you can tell it's actually used regularly. Not like those other wealthy households where the kitchenware is just for show."
Mrs. Huo said: "Of course. Whenever my husband and son are home, I cook their meals with my own hands."
Lisa let out a scoffing laugh: "A woman with real design talent, willingly giving up her career and dreams just to cook for her husband and kids every day—how truly, deeply moving."
Mrs. Huo was unbothered: "Everyone has different priorities. Why must one suffer to be a genius?"
Back in the day, Mrs. Huo and Lisa had been a pair of gifted sisters, both studying fashion design abroad in their youth, both aspiring to become fashion designers. Unfortunately, Mrs. Huo married early, and from the moment she became a daughter-in-law of the Huo family, she took it upon herself to care for her husband and children, completely abandoning her dreams. In recent years, feeling occasionally bored, she had opened a cooking school and devoted herself wholeheartedly to teaching wealthy ladies how to cook.
Lisa, meanwhile, was a staunch feminist who looked down on women who gave up their careers and ideals for men. Mrs. Huo had been cooking for Mr. Huo for half her life, and had been mocked by Lisa for just as long. Mrs. Huo had a bit of a short temper, and when she couldn't take it anymore, she'd argue back.
The older generation had all passed away, and their remaining relatives were growing fewer. The two sisters were incompatible by nature—they fought every time they met, yet still made a point of seeing each other regularly.
Mocked by Lisa again, Mrs. Huo remained unruffled, saying only: "They say it's hard to have all three. It's rare for one person to simultaneously enjoy marital fortune, children fortune, and career fortune. I've got two of the three—that's enough. I'm content."
Lisa laughed through her nose: "Why be modest? You're a woman who has it all—husband fortune, children fortune, everything."
Mrs. Huo said: "My life is very good right now. Though I no longer work in design, I'm very satisfied with my cooking school. Besides, my cookbook is about to be published—it's in preparation right now."
Lisa said: "Stir-frying dishes, simmering soups—any third-rate chef can do those things. They just don't get the chance to publish a book. And are those rich lady friends of yours really gathering in your living room to improve their cooking skills? Do you really not know why they come? Isn't it for their husbands' business deals!"
Lisa's words were sharp, and Mrs. Huo felt deeply offended. Angrily, she said: "Don't be so smug. If I'd kept working back then and competed with you, you wouldn't have the standing you have today!"
"I only said you had some design talent—I never said you were better than me. I'm two years younger than you, yet I won the newcomer award a year before you did. Isn't that proof enough?"
"That award-winning piece of yours—didn't I help you make it!"
"I don't recall you helping me. You're not even sixty yet—how can your memory already be so unreliable?" She studied her sister's face. "At your age, not a single nasolabial fold on your face. You must never laugh at home, do you?"
Furious, Mrs. Huo called for reinforcements: "Son, why aren't you back yet! Your Aunt Lisa misses you!"
Huo Shize was at the mall picking out a gift for her, and only said: "Almost there."
Mrs. Huo hung up, and the old sisters continued their argument. Just as they were going back and forth, Mr. Huo arrived home. Lisa took one look at him and laughed: "Oh, look—our layering master is back."
Mr. Huo liked to layer his clothing. In late autumn, when it wasn't yet too cold, he was wearing four or five layers at once—thermal underwear, a plaid shirt, a knit cardigan, and over the cardigan, a down vest.
Mr. Huo had been on a business trip abroad for nearly half a month. A brief separation in old age is sweeter than a honeymoon. He and Mrs. Huo held hands, gazing at each other's aging faces, smiling softly, exchanging words of longing after their time apart.
Lisa laughed through her nose, mockery beginning: "Oh my, accidentally happy again, are we?"
After half a month apart, seeing her beloved husband finally lifted Mrs. Huo's spirits a little. She smiled and said: "Our big boy here just likes to dress this way. He thinks he looks good, and no one can change his mind."
Lisa rolled her eyes at her sister: "Your 'big boy' is two years away from celebrating his seventieth birthday."
Mrs. Huo said, "I remember seeing an interview with an elderly couple on TV a while back. They said they had carved each other's youthful appearances into their DNA, so even in their seventies and eighties, what they still saw in each other was the way they looked when they were young. I think that makes a lot of sense. Looking at our big boy here, he's still as handsome and graceful as ever."
Lisa burst into giggles. "Mm, quite the self-touching moment. The city government should award you a certificate for 'Top Ten Virtuous Wives and Four Great Mothers.'"
When Huo Shize finally made it home, Mrs. Huo was truly happy at last, though she still playfully scolded him with a smile, "Why are you so late?"
After greeting Lisa, Huo Shize handed Mrs. Huo a gift bag. "For you."
Mrs. Huo took out a jeweled brooch and immediately pinned it to her chest, beaming with joy. "I know—this must be to celebrate the thirtieth anniversary of your father and me getting married, right?" She shot a triumphant glance at Lisa. In her heart, she felt that even though she had given up her youthful dreams and spent most of her life as an ordinary wealthy housewife, having this son made it all worth it.
The thirtieth wedding anniversary of Mr. and Mrs. Huo, combined with the welcome dinner for Lisa, was a formal occasion. They had specially hired a chef to cook at home, and because Lisa loved her drinks, they also brought in a bartender. The bartender's cocktails were quite good—two glasses of vodka mixed with orange juice went down smoothly, and a pleasant tipsiness crept in. Lisa turned around and forcibly gave Huo Shize, seated beside her, a hug, asking with a laugh, "Dear Jason, how have you been lately? Any heartbreaks? In the past year, have you been dumped at all?"
Huo Shize smiled and answered truthfully, "I just went through a breakup recently."
Lisa was intrigued. "Auntie loves hearing about this kind of thing—being dumped. You must tell Auntie all about it."
"As for being dumped, that was a long time ago. I was young back then and too fond of playing around."
"Come here, let Auntie feel sorry for you." Lisa set down her glass and forcibly gave him a cheek-to-cheek greeting, asking with warm concern, "You've been forced to take over the hotel recently, haven't you? Still have time to practice taekwondo? So, how does it feel—failed romance, shattered dreams of dominating the arena?"
"It feels just like that. If I had to put it into words, I'd say I have some trouble sleeping."
Lisa laughed even more gleefully. "No worries, keep at it. You young people should date as much as possible—do your part for the country's birth rate."
"OK, I'll do my best."
Unlike Mrs. Huo, Huo Shize's emotions were extremely stable. No matter what moves Lisa made, no matter how clever or powerful they were, they crashed against him like mud sinking into the sea, fists hitting cotton. But she had already mocked her elder sister's entire family of three, so it was about time she cooled off. She shut her mouth and focused on her drinking.
The topic of romance reminded Mrs. Huo of her son's blind date the day before. The young lady and her parents had been very satisfied with him, saying they would definitely have the two young people spend more time together and hoped they could develop a relationship.
Mrs. Huo smiled warmly, looking her son up and down—her proudest work in life. He had superior looks, charm in every detail, yet remained low-key and reserved. Add the family name on top of that, and even by the most critical standards, her son was a rare and precious catch, in every sense of the word.
A few glances at her son put Mrs. Huo in an excellent mood, sweeping away the frustration from Lisa's repeated jabs. She even asked her with concern, "Where are you staying tonight? At the house or the hotel?"
Lisa said, "I have a bit of a cold, so I won't stay at your place. I'll go to the hotel."
As Mrs. Huo was about to arrange a car, Huo Shize said, "After dinner, I'll drive her."
After dinner, Huo Shize drove Lisa to the Boyue. He instructed the front desk to handle the check-in procedures in the guest's room, and told the front office manager, "The guest has a slight cold. Have someone send over some dried herbal flowers for her bath later."
That she didn't like taking medicine when she was sick—he still remembered. Lisa looked at Huo Shize, scrutinizing him with the picky, seasoned eyes of a staunch feminist, and found no fault. She thought sourly to herself: as the heir of the Huo family, raised in luxury since childhood, pride and sharpness naturally showed through—yet deep down he was so considerate and thorough. No wonder her elder sister was so proud to have a son like him.
Thinking of her elder sister, Lisa's mood turned restless again. She scanned the hotel lobby and offered her critique: "The scent is clean enough, and the staff's deportment is passable. The only shortcoming is the lobby flower arrangement—too busy, not enough beauty. Mediocre."
The following week, on one particular day, Huo Shize left the hotel a bit earlier than usual and headed straight to the dojo, training in martial arts until past eight in the evening before returning to his Xujiahui residence. Guests had already arrived before him—Du Song with his two young girlfriends, and also a certain Zhu Ling. The group had already toured his residence from top to bottom, and then from bottom to top, covering nearly every corner. Du Song had stayed with him for a few days before transferring schools, so he moved through the place as if no one else were there.
When Huo Shize arrived home, Du Song was in the middle of explaining to Zhu Ling a hobby room in the basement, which was dedicated to housing his various collections. He had a rugged, sturdy aura, and this hobby room reflected that same minimalist yet powerful style. There was a mobile clothing rack holding dozens of motorcycle riding suits in various styles, an entire wall of figurines, trophies and certificates from his past taekwondo competitions, a massive punching bag, a gaming corner, and scattered across the walls were ghost-face paintings done by his artist friends. There were also several dehumidifier cabinets for his DSLR cameras, containing a number of lenses. And so on, and so forth.
Du Song was meanwhile playing footage of Huo Shize's early competition days for Zhu Ling, narrating as he went: "So, what do you think? You'd never guess, right? Looking at him in his suit and shirt, would you ever imagine he's a sixth-degree black belt? He won two major championship titles back in university. I've watched him spar with several instructors at the dojo—his combat power is off the charts. That raw strength, man, it's insane. Honestly, an average big guy couldn't survive a single kick from him. If his family hadn't made him come back to work and take over the hotel, he would've been famous worldwide and gone down in history…"
As Zhu Ling listened to Du Song's commentary, she felt a gaze settle on her. She turned around and saw the master of the house—Huo Shize. He had been standing there for who knows how long, arms crossed, leaning casually against the doorframe, quietly watching her.
Before Zhu Ling had come over with Du Song that afternoon, she hadn't known who this "big brother" he kept talking about was. It wasn't until she saw the name "Huo Shize" on the trophies and in the competition footage that she remembered he was the man she'd seen at the school's ribbon-cutting ceremony. She'd been surprised, and now, suddenly seeing him in person again, she couldn't help but steal a few extra glances. He had just come back from the dojo, wearing a military-green flight jacket—absolutely stunning.
Du Song also noticed Huo Shize was back and, eager to show off, called out his title from the dojo: "Young Master! This is a friend from my school—also my senior! The one you saw at the school event last time, remember?"
Huo Shize didn't move from his position, a faint, ambiguous smile on his face. "You two didn't skip class today, did you?"
They both shook their heads in unison.
Du Song suddenly remembered that his two girlfriends were still downstairs in the physiotherapy room, enjoying the sauna, and that he needed to go up and call them out. When they'd first arrived, his two commoner girlfriends had been utterly dazzled by the famous old-money garden villa in Xujiahui. They'd lingered in the garden for ages, plucking flowers and sticking them on themselves and in their hair. Then they'd spotted the two rows of white Roman-style columns in the front hall on the first floor, and something had snapped in their brains—they'd gone crazy, saying the columns were perfect for playing "the King comes to catch me." They'd actually started chasing each other around the front hall, one moment Daji catching the King, the next the King catching Daji. They'd run around for ages, laughing and shrieking, leaving the household's auntie and dog utterly stunned, frowning in bewilderment.
Du Song was worried the auntie would tattle to Huo Shize and badmouth him, and if Huo Shize also discovered that the physiotherapy room had been trashed by his two girlfriends, he'd definitely be banned from coming over in the future. So he quickly said, "Young Master, I'll go grab you a drink." Leaving Zhu Ling behind, he scurried upstairs to alert his two girlfriends.
Zhu Ling today was wearing a tiny camisole, a micro-miniskirt, dark circles under her eyes, bold red lipstick, and feathery lashes that fluttered as she blinked. Every time she moved her hands, the skull bracelet on her wrist jangled; the cross necklace around her neck clinked and clattered. Today she was the rebellious, fearless, decadent punk girl—Lord of All Spirits—so she faced him with complete composure, meeting his almost intense gaze while chewing on gummy candy, and told him, "We just watched your old competition footage and played a round of games. Thanks—your hobby room is really interesting. I'm off now, bye!"
Huo Shize remained leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, watching her without saying a word.
As she passed by him, he suddenly spoke: "Every time I see you, it seems like you're eating gummy candy."
"Yeah, I like the texture of gummy candy, and it also helps me get my vitamins." She fished a few pieces out of her pocket and held them out to him. "Want some?"
Without a second thought, he declined outright: "I'm good."
She looked a bit surprised. "But you look exactly like someone who'd love gummy candy."
He let out a small laugh, then added, "I read in a magazine somewhere that the softness of gummy candy was supposedly modeled after a mother's breast."
"Huh? That's a thing? You seem to be pretty interested in and knowledgeable about breasts." After her initial surprise, she crossed her arms over her chest. "Hey, don't look at me!"
Because of her movement, his gaze inadvertently fell on her collarbone, lingered for a few seconds, then shifted away. He cleared his throat with a clenched fist and said, "Don't hang around Du Song anymore from now on. He'll be a bad influence on you."
"Whether a person is good or bad, I can sense it. He's not great, but he's passable—not a bad person." She looked up, sizing up his attire, and began to critique, "Your flight jacket looks really good today—handsome and elegant. Man, I have to say, you really have great taste in clothes."
Here we go again. Here we go again. As always.