Xi Tang couldn’t care about that now. She grabbed her and said: “Don’t tell her there’s someone else here.”

She ran upstairs.

As she ran, she could feel her heart pounding loudly. By the time she reached the second floor, she could already hear Wu Zhen Zhen’s nervous yet excited, ingratiating voice from downstairs: “Hello, Auntie!”

Terrified, her vision darkened as she pulled open the large wardrobe in the master bedroom and plunged inside, still clutching two slippers in her hand.

Inside the cabinet, it was completely dark.

The sounds around her quieted.

She was safe.

Downstairs, there were faint, indistinct sounds, but she couldn’t hear clearly. Xi Tang listened intently with extreme nervousness. After a while, she heard the sound of a car leaving—perhaps Wu Zhen Zhen had left.

Wu Zhen Zhen has gained decent fame in recent years and maintained a very good image without any negative news. What she didn’t know was that a woman like Mrs. Zhou, despite her proper upbringing, couldn’t hide the coldness and disdain in her bones. Mrs. Zhou had also worked at the grassroots level and dealt with people from all walks of life. Even her smile was well-trained—not a bit more, not a bit less. Their social interactions were stratified, layer by layer. She looked down on people from their profession. She might treat you politely on the surface but would never engage in casual conversation with you.

Xi Tang’s heart was almost in her throat, fearing footsteps might come to the second floor. But the sounds continued to move around the first floor, and she gradually relaxed.

Her breathing slowly calmed down. Only then did she realize she was sitting at the bottom of the wardrobe with a whole row of Zhao Ping Jin’s shirts above her head? Fortunately, Zhao Ping Jin was extravagant. He rarely came to Shanghai, maybe just a few times a year, so there were dozens of unopened shirts and Western-style trousers. The wardrobe was ridiculously spacious. She carefully rolled up one of his pairs of jeans and tucked it behind her waist to make herself more comfortable.

Xi Tang sat there and gradually dozed off.

Then she was awakened by hunger. She roughly knew it must be around two or three in the afternoon.

Usually, when busy on set, lunch would be eaten quite late, but her limit was always around two or three o’clock. Now, she still didn’t dare to go out.

She felt dizzy due to low blood sugar, and her vision began to blur.

Cold sweat slowly spread across her back. She felt unwell, with a dry, bitter taste in her mouth. As she was silently enduring this, the door suddenly creaked open.

Xi Tang’s back gave a sudden jolt.

Zhao Ping Jin’s voice: “Teacher Zhou, you came without even letting me know?”

Mrs. Zhou’s high heels tapped on the wooden floor, a dull sound that stopped in the living area outside the bedroom: “I’m your mother. Can’t I come to my son’s place?”

Zhao Ping Jin glanced into the open bedroom doorway, his voice still relaxed: “When did you arrive?”

“At noon. This house was given to you by your maternal grandparents. Don’t bring just anyone in here.”

“Who did you see?”

“A female celebrity called something like Zhen Zhen or whatever.”

“How did she end up here,” Zhao Ping Jin pondered to himself, then tentatively asked: “You didn’t see anyone else?”

Mrs. Zhou keenly asked: “Who else?”

Zhao Ping Jin immediately answered: “No one.”

He then complained: “I’m an adult. Can’t you respect my privacy a bit?”

Mrs. Zhou had spoiled her son well into his thirties, and only symbolically advised him: “Zhou’er, these women—you need to cut ties cleanly after marriage.”

Zhao Ping Jin fell silent for a moment.

“I met your Aunt Yu this month. You’re getting married at the end of the year. Ying Zi graduates this summer and should be coming back too.”

Zhao Ping Jin said nothing.

“Before, you always said she wouldn’t marry while she was abroad. Now she’s back, and you know about your grandmother’s illness. How much longer do you want her to wait?”

Zhao Ping Jin finally answered: “I understand.”

Mrs. Zhou’s voice was full of affection: “I’m going back now. I have a meeting this afternoon. Your father might be reassigned after the spring conference. Be careful yourself.”

Zhao Ping Jin maintained his usual style and joked: “Another promotion?”

Mrs. Zhou had high hopes for her only son: “Your uncle wants to retire in a year or two. After your marriage to the Yu family is settled, hand over Jing Chuang to someone else as soon as possible. You need to prepare to take over your uncle’s team.”

Zhao Ping Jin accompanied her out: “I know. Should I drive you?”

They finally went downstairs.

Xi Tang’s heart rose and fell in the darkness.

There was a bitter taste in her mouth, probably from hunger and thirst.

Last night when she asked if he was married, she knew that he most likely was.

When they were together, his family had always hoped for him to get married, but it had nothing to do with her. People of his social class had their suitable daughters—political marriages or political-business alliances.

Xi Tang’s intrusion had forcefully stood in opposition to this favored son’s path to power, wealth, and a perfect marriage, practically turning the Zhao and Zhou families upside down.

Of course, she didn’t want to mention the outcome anymore. No matter how unbearable it was, she had moved on.

Since she had moved on, she should have lived well.

Zhao Ping Jin stood in the middle of the bedroom: “Alright, come out now. They’ve gone.”

Xi Tang still didn’t dare to move.

The next moment, light suddenly flooded in. Zhao Ping Jin held the cabinet door, his tall silhouette backlit into a black cutout: “Come out.”

She had to crawl out, holding her slippers, barefoot, looking disheveled.

As soon as Zhao Ping Jin saw her, his expression changed: “You stepped on my clothes with your shoes?”

He had severe cleanliness issues. Xi Tang had once experienced his trembling rage when she sat on his bed wearing jeans she hadn’t washed for two days.

Xi Tang slammed her slippers onto the floor: “No, I didn’t!”

Zhao Ping Jin sneered: “It was just my mother. Was it necessary to be so afraid?”

Xi Tang suddenly smiled. She smiled often now, smiling sweetly at everyone, though the smile rarely reached her eyes: “I was afraid Mrs. Zhou would get angry if she saw me.”

Zhao Ping Jin mocked her lightly: “Weren’t you not afraid of her back then? Even banging on the table and arguing with people?”

Back then, she was young and ignorant, believing that truth and justice could conquer all. Only after experiencing it did she understand what life was really like.

Xi Tang didn’t defend herself, nor did she mention the past. She just smiled ingratiatingly: “Later I realized I was wrong.”

Before she could finish speaking, she fell straight down.

Zhao Ping Jin reacted extremely quickly, reaching out to catch her. His voice even changed a little: “What’s wrong?”

Xi Tang took a deep breath, fighting the dizziness in her head, and smiled a bit embarrassedly: “Hungry.”

Zhao Ping Jin didn’t know who to be angry with at that moment. His face turned pale with anger: “I told you to eat more!”

He picked Xi Tang up and placed her on the bed. She was very light, and he couldn’t help but frown to himself.

Zhao Ping Jin went back downstairs and soon returned with a glass of honey water.

Seeing the small face in the bed, wrinkled with hunger, he couldn’t help but continue scolding: “I told you long ago not to starve yourself just to be some celebrity. Filming these worthless shows with hardly any screen time—who cares if you’re round or flat? Have you gone crazy wanting to be famous!”

Xi Tang’s eyes dimmed slightly, but the next moment she quickly lowered her eyelids, her long lashes hiding the emotions in her eyes. She silently climbed out of bed, her face regaining its smile—that good-natured smile that had long since stopped caring about anything: “Well, everyone’s like this. Otherwise, you can’t get roles.”

Zhao Ping Jin seemed to be stung by that smile. He was silent for a few seconds, and finally lowered his voice: “Drink some of this sweet water, then go downstairs to eat.”

That evening, Xi Tang sent him off as he left Shanghai. Zhao Ping Jin had a nine o’clock flight back to Beijing, and she needed to return to the film set.

He had no assistant or secretary with him, so Xi Tang had picked up his boarding pass.

Xi Tang wore a black short-haired wig and light makeup, looking lively and cute. As she walked from the end of the corridor, several foreign gentlemen who passed by couldn’t help but turn to look.

She was completely unaware, walking straight to his side, handing him the boarding pass, and smiling: “Mr. Zhao, I’ve fulfilled my duty of greeting you and seeing you off.”

Zhao Ping Jin frowned with displeasure: “Don’t be sarcastic.”

Just then, his phone rang. The VIP lounge was quiet. He walked away to take the call. After finishing, someone suddenly patted his shoulder: “Zhou Zhou, you’re in Shanghai, huh?”

Zhao Ping Jin turned to see Fang Lang Qi.

Only then did he remember that Fang Lang Qi was holding a photography exhibition in Shanghai.

Zhao Ping Jin asked: “How’s the exhibition going?”

Fang Lang Qi raised his eyebrows: “Just sending a basket of flowers is too perfunctory.”

Probably Shen Min had arranged for someone to send it. He had been absent-minded lately. Even while in Shanghai, he hadn’t made time to attend his second brother’s event. As soon as work was done, he just wanted to go home, only thinking about Huang Xi Tang being alone in the house. He had to go back. He didn’t even know what he was doing anymore.

Zhao Ping Jin smiled: “You know I studied science and engineering. I don’t understand your art.”

Fang Lang Qi pushed his shoulder unceremoniously: “Come on, with your handwriting guided by a national master, don’t be so modest.”

Xi Tang sat in the waiting lounge, seeing Zhao Ping Jin chatting animatedly with a young man outside the glass door.

She naturally recognized the man. Fang Lang Qi had grown up in the same military compound as Zhao Ping Jin. Later, when the old military compound was demolished, their two families moved into new residences together. They had attended the same schools from elementary through university. Fang Lang Qi was the same age as Zhao Ping Jin, a few months older it seemed. Back then, she had frequently hung out with them. Among Zhao Ping Jin’s childhood friends, Fang Lang Qi had been relatively close to her.

At that moment, Fang Lang Qi’s wife, Ou Yang Qing Qing, came over with coffee and greeted Zhao Ping Jin: “Oh, Brother Zhou Zhou.”

Ou Yang Qing Qing, holding Fang Lang Qi’s arm, asked: “Are you alone?”

Zhao Ping Jin looked back, and hesitated for two seconds: “There’s one more person.”

Fang Lang Qi saw a thin leg, the silhouette of a profile, but the door blocked the actual person.

It was his wife Qing Qing who let out a soft exclamation.

Fang Lang Qi smiled: “You broke up with the one old Gao introduced last time, and got a new one? This one seems quite calm.”

Qing Qing smiled and looked inside: “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Zhao Ping Jin felt a bit irritable. He took out a cigarette and put it in his mouth, responding vaguely: “Not now, I have things to do. Let’s meet up in Beijing.”