“Did you hear? Su Qingsi is coming back!”
“Really? Didn’t she say she wasn’t coming back?”
“Absolutely true! The flight’s already booked—tonight!”
“Tsk, this is going to be interesting. What about that little Su Qingsi lookalike by President Fu’s side?”
Xie Yu’an was lounging on the sofa in Fu Linzhou’s office, legs crossed, scrolling through his phone.
He looked at the gloating comments in the group chat, raised an eyebrow, and glanced at Fu Linzhou behind the desk.
The man wore a dark gray shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, signing documents.
His profile was cold and hard—approach at your own risk.
Xie Yu’an drawled, “Zhou-ge, I heard Su Qingsi is coming back.”
Fu Linzhou’s pen didn’t pause; he continued signing his name at the bottom of the document.
The strokes were sharp, the force penetrating the paper.
“No reaction at all?” Xie Yu’an didn’t believe it.
“She dumped you and went abroad back then, and now she says she’s coming back just like that—you really don’t care at all?”
Fu Linzhou set down his fountain pen, leaned back into the spacious chair, and looked at Xie Yu’an, his gaze cold.
“Who?”
Xie Yu’an froze for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Faking it. Keep faking.”
“Su Qingsi. Your first love. Your white moonlight. Forgotten?”
Fu Linzhou said nothing. He wasn’t faking—he genuinely couldn’t remember clearly.
Su Qingsi’s face was like a veil had been draped over it in his memory.
He knew she was beautiful. He knew she liked wearing white dresses. He knew her eyes curved into crescents when she smiled.
But what she actually looked like—the shape of her eyes, whether her lips were dark or light, the curve of her mouth when she smiled—he couldn’t recall.
It had been too long.
Three years. Over a thousand days and nights. Enough for a person to completely evaporate from your life.
What he remembered most clearly, ironically, was that last text message.
“Let’s break up. Don’t look for me.”
He stared at that message for a long time—so long the screen went dark on its own.
Then he locked his phone and threw himself back into that bloody battle for family power.
From then on, Su Qingsi became a symbol.
A symbol representing the fact that he’d been dumped.
Fu Linzhou had lived twenty-seven years, getting whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it. She was the only one—the first woman who dared to dump him.
Xie Yu’an crossed his arms and tilted his head to look at him. “Zhou-ge, honestly, were you really into her back then? So into her that even after she dumped you, you couldn’t bear to touch her?”
Fu Linzhou looked up. “Why are you asking?”
“Curious.” Xie Yu’an smiled, a gossipy glint in his peach-blossom eyes.
“What kind of person are you, Fu Linzhou? You repay the smallest grievance tenfold. Your heart’s smaller than a needle’s tip.”
“Whoever crosses you, you make their whole family miserable for ten years.”
“But Su Qingsi? She dumped you, and not only did you not blacklist her, not only did you not destroy the Su family, you let her live peacefully abroad for three years.”
“That’s not your style.”
Fu Linzhou was silent.
Xie Yu’an was right. It wasn’t like him.
But with Su Qingsi, he truly couldn’t bring himself to do it.
That innocent, clean first love was too beautiful—so beautiful that even after he later seized power and became the feared heir of the Fu family, he couldn’t bear to tear that memory apart with his own hands.
“Her family’s not doing well lately.” Xie Yu’an changed the subject, his finger swiping across his phone screen.
“That project in the east of the city that Su Mingyuan had his hands on fell through. His capital chain is about to break. He’s begging everyone he can think of.”
Fu Linzhou tapped his fingers on the armrest but didn’t respond.
“Su Qingsi is abroad—I wonder how she’s doing.” Xie Yu’an continued, stealing a glance at Fu Linzhou’s expression.
“I heard she’s kept a low profile these past few years. No dating, no running around with the crowd like the others in our circle.”
“How do you know?” Fu Linzhou asked, his tone unreadable.
“I looked into it, obviously.” Xie Yu’an said matter-of-factly.
“She’s your ex-girlfriend and first love—how could I not keep an eye on her for you? If she got bullied abroad, you’d be worried sick.”
Fu Linzhou glanced at him, and the coldness in his eyes made Xie Yu’an shut up immediately.
His phone rang.
Fu Linzhou looked at the screen. The contact name was: Yirou.
He picked up, his voice noticeably gentler than before.
“Mm?”
Wen Yirou’s voice came through the receiver, soft and tender. “Linzhou, are you coming home for dinner tonight? I made yam and pork rib soup, and sweet and sour spare ribs too.”
Fu Linzhou’s brow relaxed slightly. “I’ll be back.”
“Then I’ll wait for you.” There was a clear smile in Wen Yirou’s voice.
“Okay.”
Fu Linzhou hung up.
Xie Yu’an watched from the side and let out a whistle. “Wen Yirou?”
“Mm.”
“Nice going, Brother Zhou.” Xie Yu’an leaned in and lowered his voice.
“Weren’t you two supposed to be a contract girlfriend situation, just acting for the old man? What’s this—half a year in, and the act’s become real?”
Fu Linzhou put away his phone and said flatly, “She’s good.”
Pure, kind, gentle, sensible.
For the past six months, she’d made him different dishes every day, waited for him to come home and fallen asleep waiting without a single complaint.
When he drank too much at business dinners, she’d get up in the middle of the night to make him hangover soup.
When he was in a bad mood, she’d just sit quietly beside him and keep him company.
Like a gentle flower that understood everything—never noisy, never demanding, always just right.
Xie Yu’an thought of something. “By the way, the Qin family’s banquet tomorrow night—are you going?”
“Qin Se’s coming back to the country. They’re throwing quite the event. Half the circle’s been invited.”
“I’m going.” Fu Linzhou stood up and grabbed the suit jacket draped over the back of his chair.
“I’ll bring Yirou.”
Xie Yu’an raised an eyebrow. “Making it official?”
“Soon, probably.” Fu Linzhou put on the jacket and straightened his cuffs, his tone casual.
“It’s been half a year. She deserves a proper status. I’ll bring her out to show her face first.”
Xie Yu’an nodded and didn’t tease him further.
He could tell—Fu Linzhou might not have that passionate, all-consuming love for Wen Yirou, but there was genuine feeling there, responsibility, habit.
This was probably what adult marriage looked like. Compatibility mattered more than love.
Xie Yu’an followed him out. Just as they reached the door, his phone rang again.
He glanced down. It was a message in the group chat.
“Holy crap! Su Qingsi’s flight number just came out! It’s tonight.”
Xie Yu’an stopped in his tracks and looked at Fu Linzhou.
He waved his phone. “Brother Zhou, Su Qingsi’s on the eight o’clock flight tonight. She’s really coming back.”
Fu Linzhou paused—just for a moment, so brief that Xie Yu’an almost thought he’d imagined it.
Then he heard Fu Linzhou say, “It has nothing to do with me anymore.”
Xie Yu’an shrugged and opened the door to leave.
The office fell silent.
Fu Linzhou stood by the window, the sunset light falling across the side of his face.
Three years ago, after Su Qingsi sent him that last message, she’d vanished without a trace.
Now she said she was coming back, just like that?
Fu Linzhou let out a cold laugh, turned, and grabbed his car keys, ready to leave work.
He was going to eat the spare ribs Wen Yirou had made.
As for Su Qingsi—she could come back or not. He didn’t care.