Pei Huaijin wore a navy blue single-breasted suit with a notch lapel, its lines clean and sharp. His suit was tailored in the Italian style—natural shoulder lines without any trace of padding, a waist that was fitted but not tight, the overall silhouette smooth and relaxed. The fabric was of exceptional quality, shimmering with a subtle sheen under the light.
Instead of the traditional shirt and tie, he wore a dark high-neck cashmere sweater underneath, devoid of any unnecessary embellishments.
His style was completely different from Pei Cheng’an’s.
If Pei Cheng’an was the old-fashioned, solemn type—a presence like a mountain that couldn’t be ignored—then Pei Huaijin was another kind entirely: modern, restrained, and unassuming. His attire wouldn’t catch your eye at first glance, but if you looked a little longer, you’d realize that this very “inconspicuousness” was the epitome of refinement.
He stood there, relaxed and composed, as if nothing mattered much to him, yet everything seemed to be under his control.
He must have sensed Shen Qingyu’s gaze, for he turned to look at her.
Their eyes met in the air.
His eyes, once again, held that cold, distant quality, as if something stood between him and the world. They were deep, like the sea at midnight.
Her breath hitched for a moment, her heart pounding against her chest. The feeling was all too familiar—so familiar that her fingertips began to turn cold, so familiar that she could almost smell the scent of cedar.
The person from that night…
No, it couldn’t be him.
Shen Qingyu stood rooted to the spot, unconsciously clutching her coat, her knuckles turning white. She felt she should do something—smile, nod, say “hello”—but her entire being seemed to have been put on pause.
Pei Huaijin watched her.
His expression remained unchanged, still that faint, indifferent look. But Shen Qingyu noticed the corner of his mouth twitch—ever so slightly, so subtly that if she hadn’t been staring intently at his face, she would never have noticed.
It was a smile.
Not a polite, social smile, but one that seemed to say, “So it really is you.”
Shen Qingyu was puzzled.
“Qingyu?” Manlin Jiang’s voice called out. “What’s wrong? Come in, don’t just stand at the door.”
Shen Qingyu snapped back to reality, realizing she was still standing at the entrance, clutching her coat, her posture stiff as a frozen doll.
She let go of her coat and stepped inside.
Her high heels tapped lightly against the oak floorboards. Each step felt as if she were walking on cotton—unsteady, unreal.
Manlin Jiang naturally took the camel-colored coat she had removed and handed it to a nearby attendant. The moment the coat was taken away, Shen Qingyu felt as though she had lost a layer of protection. Her pale yellow dress shimmered softly under the light, the diamond nestled in the hollow of her collarbone swaying gently. She was now fully exposed to the warm air of the private room.
And exposed to his gaze.
“Qingyu, come, meet your Aunt Lin,” Manlin Jiang said, taking her hand and leading her to Lin Wanru.
“Aunt Lin, hello,” Shen Qingyu spoke, her voice steadier than she had expected.
Lin Wanru took her hand, looking her up and down with eyes full of warmth. “Manlin, your daughter is simply stunning. I thought she looked lovely in the photos, but seeing her in person, the pictures don’t do her justice at all.” She glanced over at Pei Huaijin, who was standing nearby. “Huaijin, don’t you agree?”
Shen Qingyu felt that gaze settle on her.
“Mhm,” Pei Huaijin responded softly.
Shen Qingyu didn’t look at him, keeping her eyes fixed on Lin Wanru’s smiling face, her own lips curved into a perfectly polite smile.
“Qingyu, say hello to your Uncle Pei,” Manlin Jiang continued the introductions.
“Hello, Uncle,” Shen Qingyu offered another courteous smile.
Pei Cheng’an nodded toward Shen Qingyu, his expression neither cold nor overly warm. “Qingyu, welcome back to China. I heard you earned your J.D. from Stanford—truly impressive.”
“You flatter me, Uncle Pei,” Shen Qingyu replied.
“Huaijin, you and Qingyu haven’t greeted each other yet. Come on, shake hands and get acquainted,” Lin Wanru said cheerfully to Pei Huaijin.
“Miss Shen,” he said, extending his hand. “Hello.”
Shen Qingyu looked at that hand—long fingers, distinct knuckles, neatly trimmed nails. On his wrist was a minimalist platinum watch with a deep blue dial that subtly matched the color of his suit.
She reached out and shook it.
“Mr. Pei, hello.”
His hand was dry, his palm warm. The handshake was firm but not forceful, lasting just the right amount of time—neither so brief as to seem perfunctory, nor so long as to feel deliberate.
“Alright, let’s not all stand around. Please, have a seat,” Lin Wanru urged everyone to sit down.
Pei Cheng’an and Shen Huaiting naturally took the seats of honor, with Lin Wanru and Manlin Jiang beside them. Shen Qingyu and Pei Huaijin ended up sitting directly across from each other.
The waitstaff began serving the dishes.
The meal had been pre-ordered, and each course was brought out one by one—exquisitely presented, yet not overly ornate.
Lin Wanru and Manlin Jiang took charge of keeping the conversation lively, and naturally, the topic turned to their children.
“Qingyu has already graduated, right?” Lin Wanru asked, her tone genuinely admiring.
“Yes, Auntie,” Shen Qingyu set down her chopsticks and replied politely. “I graduated just recently.”
“It must have been quite challenging all these years? Being so far away on your own, not used to the food, and without family around.”
“It was manageable. You get used to it,” Shen Qingyu answered.
“Our Qingyu has never given us much to worry about since she was little,” Manlin Jiang chimed in. “All these years abroad, her father and I hardly had to look after her—she finished her studies entirely on her own.”
“Yes, Qingyu is such a good girl,” Lin Wanru said with a smile. “But Huaijin was different—he gave us plenty of headaches when he was young.”
“Mom,” Pei Huaijin spoke up, his voice calm yet carrying a hint of resignation.
“Oh, but Huaijin has been outstanding since childhood too,” Manlin Jiang picked up the thread. “And to take over the Pei Group at twenty-seven, managing the company flawlessly for three years—Wanru, you’ve raised your son wonderfully.”
“Not at all, you’re too kind,” Lin Wanru demurred modestly, though the delight in her eyes was unmistakable.
Pei Cheng’an raised his wine glass toward Shen Huaiting. “Huaiting, you’ve raised your daughter well. A Stanford J.D.—that’s no small feat.”
“You flatter me.” Shen Huaiting raised his glass in return. “She’s just diligent on her own. Her mother and I haven’t had to do much.”
The two fathers clinked glasses and each took a sip.
Shen Qingyu noticed that when Pei Cheng’an drank, Pei Huaijin’s gaze subtly swept over his father’s glass before shifting away. The glance was fleeting—so quick it was almost imperceptible—but she caught it. It was a habitual, restrained, and subtle form of concern.
She withdrew her gaze and continued eating.
“What are Qingyu’s usual hobbies?” Lin Wanru asked again.
“I mostly read law books. Occasionally, I attend concerts or visit art exhibitions,” Shen Qingyu replied. “At Stanford, I took a painting class. Though I don’t have much talent, I still enjoy painting.”
“That’s perfect. Huaijin also enjoys visiting art exhibitions,” Lin Wanru said with a smile. “He can take you along later. There are a few good exhibitions in Beijing recently.”
“Alright…” Shen Qingyu’s tone carried a hint of perfunctory politeness.
Pei Huaijin did not respond. From the moment he entered, the number of times he had spoken could be counted on one hand.
His silence was not the awkward, uncertain kind but a composed, natural one. It was as if he simply had no need to speak, as if sitting here, eating and listening to others converse, was enough for him.
Lin Wanru was clearly accustomed to his silence and made no attempt throughout the meal to draw more words from him. Manlin Jiang didn’t mind either, continuing her casual conversation with Lin Wanru. Shen Huaiting and Pei Cheng’an chatted among themselves, and whenever Pei Huaijin was mentioned, he would respond briefly with a word or two before quietly resuming his meal.
Shen Qingyu thought this was just fine. She wasn’t the type to engage in lively conversation with strangers either. Both of them staying silent felt more comfortable.
But she soon noticed something.