Under the same night sky, inside Pei Huaijin’s private residence, he stood before the floor-to-ceiling window in his bedroom, holding a half-finished glass of whiskey.
He picked up his phone and opened the chat interface with Shen Qingyu.
He tapped on her profile picture and entered her social media feed.
She had set no privacy restrictions on her feed—everything was visible.
The most recent post was from yesterday: a photo of the arrival hall at Beijing International Airport, captioned, “Home at last.”
Scrolling further back, he noticed a post from June—a graduation photo from Stanford Law School. Wearing a black doctoral gown and holding her diploma, she stood in front of the law school building, smiling brightly. The caption read, “Finally.”
Further back were scattered glimpses of her daily life—a library window, a cat in a café, a clumsily drawn sketch, a concert program. Each post was simple, without deliberate embellishment, just a girl sharing snippets of her everyday life.
If not for that night, he too would have thought she was the epitome of a well-behaved, proper young woman.
Pei Huaijin placed his phone on the windowsill and took a sip from his glass. The sharp burn of the whiskey slid from his tongue down his throat, eventually igniting a small fire in his stomach.
He recalled how she had been that night in San Francisco—a woman who had drunk too much, lost control, and thrown caution to the wind.
Which version of her was real?
He set down his glass, picked up his phone again, and stared at the graduation photo.
In the picture, she was smiling radiantly, her eyes free of guard or calculation, filled only with the pure joy of having accomplished something significant.
He gazed at it for a long time.
Pei Huaijin remained by the window for another five minutes or so. The ice in his glass had mostly melted, diluting the amber liquid into a pale gold.
His phone vibrated.
He glanced down at the screen—a message from his mother.
“Huaijin, ask Qingyu if she’s free tomorrow. Take her out for a meal, then go shopping, visit an art exhibition, or do whatever you young people enjoy. You just met tonight—strike while the iron is hot and spend more time together. Don’t let things cool off.”
After reading it, Pei Huaijin’s brow twitched slightly. He replied, “Mom, I can’t get away from the company tomorrow. There’s a lot of work waiting for me.”
He sent the message, placed his phone back on the windowsill, and took another sip from his glass. The chilled water mixed with whiskey slid down his throat, a blend of coolness and sharpness burning its way up.
His phone vibrated again almost immediately.
“Huaijin, I know the company keeps you busy, but one day won’t make a difference. You have so many people under you—let them handle some of the tasks. You’re the CEO, not everything requires your personal attention. Be good and focus on building a connection with Qingyu. That’s what matters most right now.”
Pei Huaijin didn’t reply immediately. He gazed out at the night view beyond the window, silent for a few seconds.
His phone vibrated once more.
“If you keep making excuses like this, I’ll introduce you to other girls—one after another, until you’re willing to spend time with someone and eventually marry. Remember, you’re the only son of the Pei family, the future helmsman of the Pei Group. Your marriage isn’t just about your personal wishes. Think it through carefully.”
Pei Huaijin stared at the text for a long time, his brow furrowing deeper.
Mother was right—his marriage was indeed not merely his personal affair, something he had known since the very first day he took over the group. As the only son of the Pei family and the future helmsman of the group, his every move was tied to too many things—stock prices, reputation, the continuation of the family legacy, the future of the group. A suitable marriage alliance was no less significant to the Pei Group than a billion-dollar merger.
He had seen how his father navigated the business world over the years and how his mother paved the way for the Pei family in social circles. A stable family alliance, a dignified CEO’s wife—in this circle, sometimes these mattered more than an impressive financial report.
He understood all these principles perfectly well.
Pei Huaijin’s fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before he began typing.
“Understood. I’ll ask her.”
Six words, as concise as the emails he usually approved. After pressing send, he picked up his glass and downed the remaining wine in one gulp.
Pei Huaijin glanced at the time—9:40 p.m.
He wondered if she was asleep at this hour, but based on his experience, people adjusting to jet lag were usually still awake around this time.
He opened the chat window with Shen Qingyu.
His fingers paused over the input box for a few seconds before he began typing.
“Hello, Miss Shen. Are you free tomorrow? I’d like to invite you to dinner, and there’s an art exhibition nearby. If you’re interested, we could visit it together.”
He read it over once, feeling the wording was appropriate, and pressed send.
.
Shen Qingyu was tossing and turning in bed—jet lag was truly unbearable. Her exhausted body and wide-awake mind were at war, making it impossible to find a comfortable position.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to count sheep.
One sheep, two sheep, three sheep…
Just as she reached the seventeenth sheep, her phone vibrated.
She reached out, fumbled on the nightstand, grabbed her phone, and squinted at the screen.
It was a WeChat message from Pei Huaijin.
She abruptly sat up.
The blanket slid off her shoulders, her hair was a mess, and the collar of her pajamas was askew. But she paid no attention to any of that, clutching her phone with both hands, eyes wide as she stared at the name on the screen.
Pei Huaijin?
Pei Huaijin was messaging her?
She tapped open the chat window.
“Hello, Miss Shen. Are you free tomorrow? I’d like to invite you to dinner, and there’s an art exhibition nearby. If you’re interested, we could visit it together.”
Shen Qingyu stared at the message, reading it once, then again.
Tomorrow. Dinner. Art exhibition.
She set her phone down, leaned back against the headboard, and took a deep breath.
So he really was inviting her to dinner this soon.
Clearly, both sets of parents were pushing hard.
Otherwise, how could Pei Huaijin be so proactive? Someone like him—how could he possibly take the initiative to invite someone to dinner? Unless he was forced, just like her.
Fine, she’d go.
After all, she’d already had dinner with him tonight. Tomorrow would just be another meal—no big deal. The art exhibition could be treated as a casual visit; she did enjoy exhibitions anyway. As for who she’d be going with—she’d just consider it as getting to know another poor soul being pushed into a marriage alliance by their parents. Misery loves company; they could just go through the motions together.
Shen Qingyu took a deep breath and tapped a few times on the screen.
“I’m free. What time tomorrow?”
She pressed send.
Shen Qingyu placed her phone face-down on her chest, leaned back against the headboard, and stared at the ceiling.
About a minute later, the phone vibrated.
She flipped it over to look.
“Eleven o’clock tomorrow morning, I’ll pick you up. Could you send me the address?”
Shen Qingyu stared at the words “I’ll pick you up” and froze for a moment.
Pick her up?
She had thought they would meet at some designated place, never expecting him to say he would come get her.
After hesitating briefly, she still sent the address over.
“Alright, see you tomorrow,” Pei Huaijin replied.
Shen Qingyu didn’t respond further. She placed the phone on the nightstand, lay down, pulled the blanket over herself, and closed her eyes.
After sending the message, Pei Huaijin set his phone on the nightstand and turned off the light.
In the darkness, he lay in bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
See you tomorrow, good girl.