Shen Che sat in his study for a very long time.
Long enough for the pearl earring to grow warm from the heat of his palm. Long enough for the sound of wind moving through the pine trees outside to gradually die down. Long enough for the distant clock tower to strike midnight, each deep chime echoing heavily, like a sigh rising from the bottom of some unfathomably deep water.
He sat there in the darkness, his mind circling the same thought over and over.
He didn’t want to hold back anymore.
Two months of restraint and self-control. Two months of standing in the shadows, watching her from afar, listening to every little detail about her life with another man.
He’d had enough.
He was the Young Marshal of the nine provinces of Jiangbei, commanding an army of millions. When he stamped his foot, all of Jiangbei trembled.
When had he ever suffered such indignity?
When had he ever needed to tread so carefully just to please someone?
He wanted her.
He was going to take her from that man.
That man wasn’t worthy of her.
A sixth-rank civil servant earning thirty-six silver dollars a month, renting a room in a narrow alley behind Avenue Joffre.
What could he possibly give Yu Shuang in the way of a good life?
What right did he have to occupy the place beside her?
Shen Che abruptly rose to his feet, walked to the door, and pulled it open.
“Someone come here.”
Two attendants were standing in the corridor. The moment they saw him, they bowed.
Without even looking at them, Shen Che said in a deep voice, “Bring Deputy Officer Zhou here.”
Deputy Officer Zhou was Zhou De’an, the man under Shen Che in charge of “special affairs.”
To put it plainly, he handled matters that weren’t suitable for the public eye. He was in his early thirties and had a fair, clean-cut appearance, looking more like an accountant than anything else. But his ruthless methods were notorious throughout the nine provinces of Jiangbei.
Less than ten minutes later, Zhou De’an arrived.
He was dressed in a perfectly pressed military uniform and stood respectfully at the study door before saluting.
“Young Marshal.”
Shen Che leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers lightly against the desktop twice.
After considering his words for a moment, he said, “Lin Ziheng. A clerk in the Civil Affairs Section of the municipal government. Do you know him?”
Zhou De’an froze for a moment as he quickly searched his memory.
He handled far too many affairs, and a minor clerk like Lin Ziheng would normally never have crossed his radar. But if the Young Marshal was asking about him, then clearly the matter wasn’t minor.
“I’m not familiar with him, sir. I’ll look into it immediately.”
“No need.” Shen Che’s voice was calm. “I’ll tell you about him. He’s a sixth-rank civil servant and has been working in the Civil Affairs Section for more than two years. I want you to deal with him…”
He paused.
The words suddenly felt difficult to say.
When had Shen Che ever needed to resort to such methods to obtain a woman?
If word got out, wouldn’t people laugh at him?
But he truly didn’t want to endure it anymore.
“I want you to find a way,” Shen Che said, lowering his voice slightly, “to get him out of Linjiang City. Transfer him somewhere else, send him on assignment, whatever you have to do. Just make sure he stays far away from Yu Shuang.”
Zhou De’an’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his face remained completely expressionless.
He had been in this line of work for too long. He had learned long ago not to ask why.
Only how.
“Yes, sir.” He nodded. “I’ll make the arrangements tomorrow. Moving someone out of the Civil Affairs Section is nothing more than a word from us.”
Shen Che nodded.
Zhou De’an turned to leave—
“Young Marshal!”
Zhao Jiaming strode into the study.
His military uniform was immaculate, but something about his expression was off.
His brows were drawn together, his lips tightly pressed, and he held a document in his hand.
He never came at this hour.
Shen Che’s heart sank.
“What is it?”
Zhao Jiaming glanced at Zhou De’an, then at Shen Che, seemingly unsure whether he should speak in front of another person.
“Speak.” Shen Che’s voice left no room for hesitation.
Zhao Jiaming drew a deep breath and placed the document on the desk.
“Young Marshal, something has happened to Lin Ziheng’s mother.”
Shen Che’s gaze fell on the document, but he didn’t touch it.
“She fell seriously ill. They took her to the hospital and discovered that she has tuberculosis. The illness requires long-term treatment and medication, and the money is disappearing like water.”
Zhao Jiaming lowered his voice.
“Lin Ziheng’s salary isn’t enough. He’s borrowed from every relative and friend he can, but he’s still far short.”
Shen Che’s brows drew together slightly.
He didn’t care what happened to Lin Ziheng, but he had a vague feeling this matter was somehow connected to Yu Shuang.
“And?”
Zhao Jiaming hesitated, apparently choosing his words carefully.
“Then… Miss Yu found out.”
Shen Che’s fingers stopped tapping against the desk.
“She gave Lin Ziheng all the savings she’d accumulated over the past two years. Six thousand silver dollars in total.”
Zhao Jiaming’s voice grew quieter.
“That still wasn’t enough. She sold some of her jewelry as well. Among them was a jade brooch Dahua Pictures gave her when she landed her first leading role. She treasured it very much. There was also a pair of diamond earrings…”
The study became so quiet that the crackling of the coals in the fireplace could be heard clearly.
Shen Che sat there without moving.
She had done it for Lin Ziheng’s mother.
For that man’s mother.
Something seemed to explode inside Shen Che’s mind.
It wasn’t a violent, thunderous explosion. It was silent and scorching, like a fire suddenly blazing to life inside his chest, burning through his throat and into his eyes until his entire body felt feverishly hot.
He was furious.
A rage he could barely contain.
That man—
That man named Lin Ziheng—
What gave him the right?
His own mother was sick, he couldn’t afford her treatment, and yet he let Yu Shuang empty her savings and sell all her jewelry?
A grown man, a full seven chi tall, earning thirty-six silver dollars a month, unable to support even his own mother and forced to rely on his fiancée’s money to save her life?
Was he worthy of her?
Shen Che shot to his feet.
The chair toppled backward with a loud crash, slamming into the bookcase. Several books were shaken loose and scattered across the floor.
Zhao Jiaming and Zhou De’an both jumped, instinctively taking half a step backward.
Shen Che stood behind the desk, his chest heaving.
Both hands were braced against the desktop, his knuckles white, veins standing out along the backs of his hands and running toward his wrists.
There was no outward expression of fury on his face.
But his eyes—
Those usually deep, cold, and restrained eyes were now churning with a dark tide that was almost frightening to behold.
“Young Marshal…” Zhao Jiaming ventured cautiously.
“What did she sell?”
Shen Che’s voice was so low it seemed to vibrate from deep within his chest.
“Besides the brooch and the earrings, what else did she sell?”
Zhao Jiaming quickly opened the list inside the envelope.
“A gold necklace, a jade bangle, and a sapphire brooch. All of them were things she’d saved up over the past two years.”
Shen Che closed his eyes.
He remembered her at the reception that day, wearing that jade brooch at her collar. Its lustrous green glow had been exquisite beneath the lights.
She had treasured that brooch so much.
It had been given to her by the company when she landed her first leading role. It marked the beginning of her career, a testament to how she’d clawed her way up step by step from that little attic in the South District.
And now she’d sold it.
For Lin Ziheng’s mother.
Shen Che opened his eyes and looked at Zhao Jiaming, his voice cold and hard as ice.
“Find them. Find out where every piece was sold. The jade brooch, gold necklace, jade bangle, sapphire brooch, and diamond earrings. Find every last one.”
Zhao Jiaming immediately straightened.
“Yes, sir!”
“Buy them all back, no matter the cost.”
Shen Che’s voice was utterly calm, yet every word carried the weight of lead.
“No matter how much money it takes. No matter what price the sellers demand. Buy them all back.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go.”
Zhao Jiaming turned and strode out of the study. His footsteps gradually faded down the corridor before finally disappearing at the staircase.
Silence returned to the study.
Shen Che stood behind the desk, both hands braced against it, his head lowered, his shoulders rising and falling slightly.
The firelight cast his shadow across the wall, huge and silent, like a beast lying in wait.
Zhou De’an was still standing at the doorway, waiting for further instructions.
“Young Marshal,” he said cautiously, “what about Lin Ziheng? Should I still make arrangements?”
Shen Che remained silent for a long time.
A coal popped in the fireplace. Sparks flew onto the stone floor, flickered a few times, and went out.
He raised his head and looked into the heavy darkness beyond the window.
Far away on the river, the last boat light went out.
Everything was swallowed by darkness.
“No need.”
His voice suddenly sounded tired.
“He has enough trouble taking care of himself already.”
Zhou De’an answered with a quiet “Yes, sir” and withdrew.
Only Shen Che remained in the study.
Slowly, he sank back into his chair. It sat crookedly after being knocked askew, but he didn’t bother straightening it.
He simply slouched there, one hand supporting his forehead, his eyes closed.
The fire inside him was still burning.
But beneath that fire was something else.
Heartache.
A terrible, aching heartache.
She had given away every bit of her savings.
Six thousand silver dollars.
Money she’d earned by working on one film after another, enduring take after take, scene after scene.
And she’d sold the jewelry she treasured most.
She had sold those things, exchanged them for money, and used it to pay for Lin Ziheng’s mother’s treatment.
Shen Che’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
And what had her fiancé done?
What had he done?
He’d taken Yu Shuang’s money to treat his mother, accepted his fiancée’s help without hesitation, and hadn’t even had the decency to tell her not to do it?
Shen Che’s hand tightened around the armrest.
His knuckles turned white, and the wooden armrest gave a faint creak beneath his grip.
She had given this man everything—
Her savings.
Her jewelry.
Her trust.
Her future.
And that useless man couldn’t even handle his own mother’s illness.
Shen Che felt a sharp pain in his chest.
It was a deeper, more complicated kind of pain.
The kind you felt when there was someone you treasured with all your heart, someone you couldn’t bear to see suffer even the slightest injustice, yet she willingly went to another man and placed everything she had into his hands without even blinking.
Shen Che opened his eyes and stared at his hands in the darkness.
These hands had held guns.
They had held knives.
They had held the power over the nine provinces of Jiangbei.
Yet at this moment, they were empty.
They couldn’t hold on to anything.
He rose and walked to the window, pushing it open.
The night wind rushed inside, cold and biting, blowing away the faint heat that lingered on his face.
The river in the distance was pitch-black. Nothing could be seen.
Only the wind blew.
Only the pine trees whispered.
Only the sound of his own heartbeat remained, deep, heavy, and powerful.
“Yu Shuang.”
He murmured her name.
How could you be so foolish?
At the same time, in a small hospital on the other side of Linjiang City, Yu Shuang sat on a long bench in the corridor, waiting for the doctor to come out.
The lights in the corridor were dim. The walls had been painted a pale green, but the paint was so chipped and weathered that it was barely recognizable.
The air was thick with the sharp smell of disinfectant mixed with traditional Chinese medicine, making her throat tighten.
Lin Ziheng sat beside her, his hands clasped together, his knuckles pale.
A thin layer of condensation fogged his glasses. His eyes were red, his lips dry and cracked, as though he hadn’t slept properly in days.
“Shuangshuang…”
His voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible.
“I’ll pay you back every cent of that money. I promise.”
Yu Shuang turned to look at him.
The corridor light fell across his face, making his exhaustion and guilt impossible to hide.
His eyes were sunken, his cheekbones pronounced, his face unshaven.
“You don’t need to say that.”
Yu Shuang’s voice was soft, carrying a gentle warmth meant to soothe him.
“What matters is your mother’s illness.”
“But your jewelry…”
Lin Ziheng’s voice caught.
“That brooch was given to you by the company when you got your first leading role. You treasured it so much…”
Yu Shuang fell silent for a moment.
She really had treasured that brooch.
It was a witness to the beginning of her career, a mark of how she’d climbed her way out of that little attic in the South District.
But so what?
Jewelry was only an inanimate possession. People were alive.
She couldn’t stand by and watch Lin Ziheng’s mother die simply because they couldn’t afford her treatment.
“They’re only worldly possessions.”
Her tone was light, as though she were talking about something insignificant.
“Your mother’s health matters more than anything else.”
Tears finally slipped down Lin Ziheng’s cheeks.
He removed his glasses and hastily wiped his face with his sleeve, his shoulders trembling slightly.
Yu Shuang reached out and took his hand.
It was ice-cold and still trembling.
“Don’t cry.”
Her voice remained soft.
“Once your mother gets better, we’ll save up again. We have plenty of time ahead of us.”
Lin Ziheng said nothing.
He simply turned his hand over and held hers tightly, as though he were afraid that the moment he let go, he would lose everything.
Just then, the hospital room door opened.
A doctor in a white coat stepped out, holding a medical chart.
“Family of Lin Ziheng?”
“I am.”
Lin Ziheng immediately stood up, and Yu Shuang rose with him.
The doctor looked at the chart, then at the two of them, and sighed.
“The patient’s condition isn’t very optimistic. As you know, tuberculosis isn’t something that can be cured in a day or two.
“Our facilities here are limited, and there are certain medications we can’t provide. If your circumstances allow, I’d recommend transferring her to Renji Hospital. They have imported medicine there, and the treatment should be much more effective.”
Lin Ziheng’s face paled.
“Renji Hospital… How much will it cost?”
The doctor named a figure.
Lin Ziheng’s lips trembled, but he said nothing.
Yu Shuang’s fingers tightened slightly before she quickly relaxed them.
“Doctor, we’ll transfer her.”
Her voice was as steady as though she were simply reciting a line from a script.
“When can we complete the paperwork?”
The doctor glanced at her and nodded.
“Tomorrow morning. Go home and get some rest tonight. We’ll take care of the patient here.”
Yu Shuang nodded and turned to Lin Ziheng.
He stood there with his head lowered, his shoulders slightly slumped, like a reed bent beneath the wind.
“Ziheng, let’s go home for now.”
Yu Shuang gently tugged at his hand.
“We’ll come back first thing tomorrow morning.”
Lin Ziheng said nothing. He only nodded.
He followed Yu Shuang toward the exit.
But when they reached the door, he suddenly stopped and looked back toward the hospital room.
The door was closed. Nothing could be seen through it.
Yet he stood there as though something weighing a thousand jin had been placed on his shoulders, making it impossible for him to take another step.
“Let’s go.”
Yu Shuang tugged gently at his hand again.
Lin Ziheng finally looked away and followed her out of the hospital.
The night wind blew straight into them, carrying the chill of late autumn.
Yu Shuang shivered.
She was wearing a thin wool coat, but the space at her collar was bare.
The jade brooch was gone.
Her earlobes were bare too.
There was nothing there.
Lin Ziheng noticed.
His lips moved as though he wanted to say something, but not a single word came out.
“Shuangshuang…”
His voice was rough, like sandpaper scraping against wood.
“I…”
“Don’t thank me.”
Yu Shuang interrupted him.
Her voice was still soft and calm, as though she were speaking about something completely ordinary.
She raised her head and looked at Lin Ziheng, her eyes clear as water.
“When you took that knife for me back then, how many times did I thank you? Did you count?”
Lin Ziheng froze.
“You never asked me to repay you.”
The corners of Yu Shuang’s lips lifted into a faint smile.
“So I don’t need you to repay me either.”
Lin Ziheng’s eyes reddened again.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something. His Adam’s apple moved several times, but he couldn’t get a single word out.
He simply reached out and gently pulled Yu Shuang into his arms.
Yu Shuang rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes.
The night wind swept past, stirring her hair. A few strands drifted across her cheek, but she didn’t bother brushing them away.
“Let’s go,” she whispered.
“We have to get up early tomorrow.”
Lin Ziheng nodded and released her.
He gently adjusted the collar of her coat for her.
When his fingers touched the empty space where the brooch had once been, he paused.
“Let’s go,” he said, his voice rough.
The two of them walked side by side out of the hospital and disappeared into the night.
At the corner of the street, a single streetlamp swayed slightly in the wind. Its glow flickered in and out, illuminating their retreating figures.
They grew farther and farther away, smaller and smaller, until at last they disappeared into the heavy darkness.
Meanwhile, in the study of Ting Song Studio at the Shen residence in the northern part of the city, the lights were still on.
Shen Che stood by the window, staring at the distant river.
The river was pitch-black. Nothing could be seen.
Yet he remained there, perfectly still.
His hand was tucked inside his trouser pocket, his fingertips touching the pearl earring.
He had taken it out of the drawer that day and placed it in his pocket.
He hadn’t put it back even once.
Small.
Round.
Smooth and warm.
Resting in his palm, it was like a drop of frozen moonlight.
Shen Che closed his eyes and tightened his fingers around the pearl earring.