The reception was being held in a small banquet hall on the third floor.
It was called a small banquet hall, but it was actually quite spacious. It was only small in comparison with the main auditorium of the Grand Bright Theater.
Several round tables were arranged around the hall, covered with pristine white tablecloths. Silver candlesticks and vases overflowing with tuberoses adorned the tables.
Several crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, scattering their light into countless fragments that fell across people’s faces, making everyone look radiant—or perhaps making everyone’s features blur into indistinct shapes.
The moment Shen Che stepped through the door, people surrounded him.
Secretary-General Sun from City Hall came forward, smiling so broadly that his eyes narrowed into slits.
“Young Marshal, what an honor to have you grace us with your presence. I had no idea when you returned, or I would have arranged a proper welcome banquet for you.”
Several men in suits gathered around as well, wineglasses in hand, their faces wearing just the right amount of warmth and enthusiasm.
Shen Che dealt with them one by one, maintaining a polite, faint smile.
He had spent a year in Beining and had long since grown accustomed to the sound of gunfire and the smell of smoke and war. Surrounded by smiling faces and flattering words now, he found himself strangely uncomfortable instead.
Zhou Muqing had disappeared somewhere a long time ago.
Shen Che picked up a glass of champagne and merely touched it to his lips. His gaze traveled over the crowd and settled on a figure in the corner.
There she was.
She had changed her dress.
The dark green qipao had been replaced by one in a soft lotus-root pink. The fabric was light and delicate, embroidered with a few understated sprigs of orchids. A jade brooch was pinned at her collar, its excellent clarity catching the light with a deep, muted green glow.
She held a glass of wine but did not drink from it. Instead, she gently turned the stem between her fingertips, her gaze resting indifferently on the view outside the window.
Beyond the glass was Linjiang City’s nighttime skyline.
Neon lights traced the outlines of the streets—red, green, purple—overlapping like paint spilled across a palette. In the distance came the muffled horn of a ship, low and melancholy, like a sigh rising from beneath the water.
She stood by the window, separated from the lively atmosphere of the banquet by an invisible barrier.
The rustle of fine clothes, the laughter and chatter—all of it seemed to retreat several feet the moment it reached her.
It wasn’t that there was no one around her.
A young man in a white suit approached her with a grin and said something.
She turned and glanced at him.
Her gaze was as cold as the river in the depths of winter, and the man awkwardly backed away.
Then an older man came over with two glasses of wine, eagerly offering one to her.
She didn’t take it. She merely shook her head slightly, not even bothering to say more than a word.
Chen Maocai of Dahua Pictures—the Manager Chen from the lounge earlier—had been weaving through the crowd all evening. Every now and then, he glanced in her direction, an insincere smile lingering on his face.
Shen Che watched him, his brows drawing together slightly.
“Young Marshal?” Secretary-General Sun’s voice sounded beside him. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Shen Che withdrew his gaze and drained the champagne in his glass.
Halfway through the banquet, the atmosphere grew even livelier. The band struck up a jazz tune, and several couples slipped onto the dance floor. High heels clicked crisply against the floor.
Some guests were playing drinking games, others were laughing loudly. A woman in a red dress sat beside the piano, playing a series of hopelessly off-key notes that sent the crowd into fits of laughter.
Yu Shuang never left the window.
She switched the wineglass to her other hand and turned slightly, as though she were looking at something outside.
The glow of the neon signs reflected across her face, one moment red, the next green, making her features seem to flicker between light and shadow.
She seemed completely indifferent to the liveliness filling the room, as well as to the glances constantly falling upon her—some curious, some covetous, some malicious, and some simply appreciative.
She cared about none of them.
Shen Che stood in the center of the crowd, surrounded by people, yet his gaze remained fixed on the figure by the window.
She was like an orchid growing on the edge of a cliff, never bowing her head no matter how fiercely the wind blew.
Just then, footsteps sounded behind him.
A young waiter carrying a tray threaded his way through the crowd. Several glasses of champagne rested on the tray, the golden liquid gently swaying in the crystal.
The boy was around fifteen or sixteen. He was thin and small, and the white uniform hung loosely from his frame. He had rolled the sleeves up twice just to expose his fingers. Keeping his head lowered, he carefully maneuvered around the dancing guests toward the window, presumably delivering an order.
As he passed the edge of the dance floor, someone stepped onto a patch of water on the floor. Someone must have spilled wine earlier, and the waiter hadn’t had time to clean it up.
The boy’s foot slipped.
His whole body pitched forward.
The tray flew from his hands.
Three glasses of champagne traced graceful arcs through the air, the wine sparkling like shattered amber beneath the lights—
Then every drop splashed onto Yu Shuang.
“Crash!”
The glasses shattered on the floor, the sharp sound ringing through the hall.
Everything fell silent.
The music stopped. The dancers froze. The people playing drinking games fell quiet.
Every gaze turned toward the window.
Yu Shuang stood there, the lotus-root-pink qipao soaked from her chest all the way down to the hem. Champagne stains spread across the fabric, trickling downward in droplets that fell onto the floor.
A few strands of her hair were wet as well, clinging to her cheek as droplets slid from the ends.
Yet somehow, the glass of wine she had been holding remained perfectly steady in her hand—not a single drop had spilled.
She lowered her eyes to herself, then glanced at the broken glass on the floor, momentarily stunned.
The young waiter had fallen hard. One palm had landed directly on the shards, cutting it open.
He didn’t seem to feel the pain. He scrambled to his feet, his face white as paper. His whole body trembled, his lips shaking as he tried to speak, but no words came out.
“Miss… Miss Yu…”
At last, he managed to force out the words, his voice breaking with tears.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”
With that, he dropped to his knees.
His knees struck the broken glass, but he didn’t seem to notice. He kept bowing his head over and over.
“I’m sorry, Miss Yu… I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry…”
People around them drew sharp breaths. Some whispered among themselves. Others watched with barely concealed interest, eager to see how things would unfold.
Manager Chen pushed his way through the crowd, his face livid. He pointed at the waiter and shouted,
“You blind fool! Do you even know who you just spilled wine on—”
Before he could finish, Yu Shuang bent down.
She placed the untouched wineglass on the windowsill, then reached out and took the boy by the arm.
“Get up,” she said.
Her voice wasn’t loud, but everyone in the hall heard it.
It was clear and cool, without anger or pity, as calm as a still pool of water.
The boy raised his head, his face streaked with both tears and blood, staring at her in a daze.
“Get up,” she repeated.
She tightened her grip and helped him to his feet.
At that moment, two men in black suits from Dahua Pictures hurried over.
One of them rolled up his sleeves and reached for the boy’s collar.
“Miss Yu, don’t worry about this. We’ll take care of—”
Yu Shuang raised her eyes and looked at him.
The glance was faint and effortless, yet it was like a thin blade slicing cleanly through his words.
“It’s fine,” she said.
The man froze, then glanced back at Manager Chen.
Chen’s expression darkened even further. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he didn’t dare.
Yu Shuang was one of Dahua’s leading stars. If she decided to walk away from them, the losses would amount to far more than the price of a few glasses of champagne.
The two men exchanged a glance, nodded, and withdrew.
Yu Shuang released the boy’s arm and lowered her gaze to his palm.
Several shards of glass were embedded in it, and blood was still welling up, mixing with the champagne and making the injury look rather frightening.
She pulled a handkerchief from her handbag and pressed it into his hand.
“There are pieces of glass in your hand. Go somewhere and have it treated.”
There was no unnecessary concern in her voice. She said it as calmly as though she were stating the most ordinary thing in the world.
The boy clutched the handkerchief.
It was white, embroidered with a tiny orchid.
His tears welled up again.
“Miss Yu… I-I’ll pay you back… I…”
“You can’t afford it,” Yu Shuang said.
The corners of her lips lifted slightly, though it was unclear whether it was a smile or a sigh.
“Go.”
The boy still wanted to say something, but one look from her silenced him.
He bowed deeply, clutching the handkerchief tightly in his injured hand, then stumbled through the crowd and disappeared through the doorway.
The banquet hall remained silent for a moment.
Then someone began to applaud.
No one knew who had started it. A few scattered claps sounded before quickly dying away.
Everyone exchanged glances. Some looked impressed, some unconcerned, while others whispered among themselves.
Yu Shuang stood by the window under the scrutiny of dozens of eyes, yet her expression remained unchanged.
She looked down at her soaked qipao, pinched the edge of the fabric between her fingers, and gently wrung it.
Champagne dripped steadily onto the floor.
Only then did a trace of embarrassment appear on her face.
Just a trace.
The tips of her ears turned faintly red. Her lashes lowered, concealing the emotions in her eyes.
Standing there drenched from head to toe, her hair disheveled, she somehow looked even more beautiful.
It was a different kind of beauty from before.
Earlier, she had been an orchid clinging to a cliffside.
Now she was a white magnolia in the rain, its petals dampened by the water and somehow made even more pure and cool.
She reached up to smooth back her hair. Her fingertips brushed against the dripping ends, and she frowned slightly.
Just then, a suit jacket was draped over her shoulders.
She looked up sharply.
Shen Che stood before her.
At some point, he had made his way through the crowd and walked over without making a sound.
When he handed her the jacket, he simply draped it over her shoulders, the gesture so natural it seemed as though he’d done it countless times before.
The tailored jacket still carried the warmth of his body. Heavy and comforting, it settled around her and wrapped her almost completely.
He was a head taller than her. The jacket’s broad shoulders slipped down her frame, nearly swallowing her whole.
She tilted her face up to look at him, her eyes wide. The crystal chandelier overhead was reflected in her pupils, shining like a pool of shattered stars.
This was the first time she had ever been this close to him.
His features were even more striking up close than they appeared from a distance. His brow was high, his eye sockets deep-set, his nose straight, and his lips pressed into a faint, restrained curve.
Yet there was something in those eyes.
Not coldness. Not warmth.
Something deeper, something impossible to put into words, like the winter night sky—distant, yet impossible to look away from.
Her lashes trembled faintly.
Shen Che lowered his eyes to her.
The scent of champagne on her drifted toward him, mingled with a faint fragrance of orchids—perhaps from the jade brooch at her collar.
Several strands of her hair were wet, clinging to her cheeks and making her already fair complexion appear even more delicate.
Her eyes were remarkably bright.
Bright like water in a mountain stream, so clear that one could almost see the smooth pebbles beneath the surface.
His heart stirred.
It was like a pebble dropping into a still lake, sending ripples outward before he even had time to suppress them.
“Go to the suite,” he said.
His voice was low and carried an unquestionable certainty.
“There are clothes prepared there. You can change.”
It wasn’t a question or a suggestion.
It was a statement—as though the matter had already been decided and all she needed to do was nod.
Yu Shuang looked at him in silence for several seconds.
During those few seconds, everything around them seemed to freeze.
The light from the crystal chandeliers hung suspended in the air. The murmurs of the crowd seemed separated from them by an invisible barrier. Even the air itself seemed to hold its breath.
Then she nodded.
“All right.”
Her voice was soft, like a feather landing on the surface of water.
“Thank you, Young Marshal.”
She didn’t refuse. She didn’t offer any polite excuses. She didn’t hesitate.
That simple “all right” was spoken with such frankness and ease, as though she trusted him—that he wouldn’t take advantage of her, that his gesture was nothing more than an act of kindness.
A trace of an almost imperceptible smile flickered across Shen Che’s eyes.
It vanished in an instant, quick as a shooting star across the night sky, leaving anyone who saw it wondering if they had imagined it.
He stepped aside and extended an arm in a gesture inviting her to go first.
Yu Shuang gathered the jacket more securely around her shoulders and started forward.
Her qipao was still wet, making it somewhat difficult to walk. The fabric clung to her calves, darkened by the moisture.
Yet she walked at an unhurried pace, her back perfectly straight, as though she weren’t wearing soaked clothes at all, but the most exquisite gown in the world.
Shen Che walked beside her, half a step away—not too close, not too far.
The people in the banquet hall watched them leave as though witnessing the final scene of a play.
Some whispered to one another. Some looked thoughtful. Others wore knowing, suggestive smiles.
Manager Chen stood among the crowd, his face dark as the bottom of a cooking pot.
Zhou Muqing emerged from somewhere in the corner and leaned against the doorframe, watching the two retreating figures.
An unlit cigarette hung between his lips.
He smiled, half amused and half knowing.
“Interesting.”
He removed the cigarette and rolled it between his fingers.
“Very interesting.”
The corridor was quiet.
Their footsteps echoed through the spacious passageway, one light and one heavy, like the rhythm of an unspoken understanding.
The dim yellow wall lamps illuminated their figures, stretching their shadows long across the opposite wall until the two shadows overlapped.
Yu Shuang suddenly spoke.
“Young Marshal, why did you help me?”
Shen Che turned his head toward her and was silent for a moment.
“The wine was cold,” he said.
Yu Shuang’s footsteps faltered slightly.
She turned and looked at him.
She didn’t press him for an explanation. Instead, she turned back and continued walking.
At the end of the corridor stood a set of double wooden doors.
A waiter was waiting outside. The moment he saw them approaching, he hurriedly pushed the doors open and bowed.
“Young Marshal, Miss Yu, please come in.”
Shen Che nodded and stepped aside, allowing Yu Shuang to enter first.
As she passed him, the jacket slipped slightly from her shoulder.
She reached up to catch it, and her fingertips accidentally brushed against the back of his hand.
The contact lasted only an instant.
Her hand was cold as ice.
Shen Che’s fingers curled slightly before relaxing again.
The suite was spacious, with a living room, bedroom, and bathroom, all fully furnished. The decor was Western-style, and a fire burned in the fireplace, casting a warm orange glow across the walls and filling the room with a cozy, tranquil atmosphere.
A cashmere blanket lay draped over the sofa.
A vase of fresh lilies sat on the coffee table, droplets of water still clinging to the petals.
The bathroom light was already on. Hot water had been run into the bathtub, and wisps of steam drifted faintly through the open doorway.
A brand-new velvet robe hung on the clothes rack, moon-white in color. Beside it were clean towels and a fresh change of clothes.
Someone had prepared everything quickly.
Yu Shuang stood in the middle of the living room and looked around before turning back.
Shen Che remained by the door without entering.
One hand rested on the doorknob, as though he were ready to leave at any moment.
The light behind her outlined her figure with a thin halo.
Wrapped in his jacket, her hair slightly disheveled, she looked somewhat disheveled herself—and yet possessed an almost unreal beauty.
“The clothes are inside,” he said. “Change first. I’ll wait outside. Once you’re done, I’ll have someone take you home.”
Yu Shuang looked at him, her eyes clear as water.
“Young Marshal,” she said.
“Hm?”
She lowered her head slightly and removed the jacket from her shoulders, carefully folding it.
Then she raised her face and smiled at him.
It was the first time that night he had seen her truly smile.
Not the faint, elusive smile she wore on the silver screen, nor the polite smile she used at social gatherings.
It was a very light, very gentle smile, like a spring breeze brushing across the surface of water and creating a tiny ripple.
The smile spread from her eyes to the corners of her lips, settling in the shallow dimples of her cheeks.
“Thank you,” she said.
Two simple words, spoken softly, yet somehow carrying tremendous weight.
Shen Che looked at her, his Adam’s apple moving slightly.
“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice so low it seemed to resonate from deep within his chest.
He closed the door.
The moment it shut, he leaned against the wall in the corridor and tilted his head back, staring at the dim yellow wall lamp overhead as he let out a long breath.
He remembered the glance she had given over her shoulder on the silver screen.
He remembered the calmness in her voice as she helped the young waiter to his feet.
He remembered her slightly disheveled hair.
And he remembered the tiny fragments of light that danced in her eyes when she smiled.
Outside, the night in Linjiang City had grown deep.
The neon lights still flickered, and the distant horn of a ship drifted through the darkness—one long note, then one short, like the sigh of this city that never slept.
Shen Che remained standing outside the door for a long time.
Long enough for the corridor lights to dim slightly.
Long enough for the laughter from the banquet hall in the distance to gradually fade away.
Long enough for him to hear the occasional sound of water and footsteps from inside the room.
Separated by that heavy wooden door, the sounds were indistinct, as though they belonged to another world.
He didn’t know what he was waiting for.
He only knew that tonight, somehow, Linjiang City didn’t seem quite as cold as it had when he arrived.