“Have you ever considered that one day, He Ji’cheng might do something to harm you?”

Knowing what the future held, Shen Yi couldn’t tell Yao Zhengxing outright what was coming — but he still wanted to nudge him, in some oblique way, toward awareness.

Yao Zhengxing drew on his pipe in silence. After a long moment, he said: “That… may well be what I deserve.”

Shen Yi’s eyes grew quietly still. He glanced at Rong Qian. She, too, had furrowed her brow.

Yao Zhengxing continued. “His father was my closest brother. Back then, on the surface, they said he died in an accident. In truth — I was far from blameless in what happened.”

Shen Yi didn’t interrupt. He sat quietly, drinking his tea.

He Ji’cheng’s father had died in a fire. At the time, Yao Zhengxing had made it out. He Ji’cheng’s father had not. Why he hadn’t made it out — Yao Zhengxing had never offered a single explanation.

According to what Yao Zhengxing now told Shen Yi, the fire had been his fault. But the one who paid the price was He Ji’cheng’s father.

In the moment, Yao Zhengxing had tried to save his brother. But the situation was desperate — delay any longer, and neither of them would have survived.

He Ji’cheng’s father had chosen, of his own will, to give up his life so that Yao Zhengxing could walk out alive.

From that day forward, Yao Zhengxing had always felt as though he were living on a foundation built from the body of his brother — and so he had raised He Ji’cheng as his own son.

But what Yao Zhengxing saw as “making amends,” He Ji’cheng had long since come to read as “paying a debt.”

Yao Zhengxing let out a heavy sigh. “So even if, one day, He Ji’cheng truly comes to settle accounts with me — I won’t complain. Let him do what he must.”

Shen Yi turned his teacup slowly in his hands and said nothing.

Yao Zhengxing was still imagining He Ji’cheng as a far more temperate person than he actually was. What He Ji’cheng intended was not some quiet scheme — quietly draining his accounts or poaching his casino’s business.

What He Ji’cheng intended was to take both Yao Zhengxing and his daughter with him.

“Shen Yi, I want to say something to you — words straight from my heart.” Yao Zhengxing reached beneath the table and produced a bottle of clear liquor. He didn’t say it outright, but his meaning was plain enough: he wanted to speak with Shen Yi alone.

Rong Qian read the situation. Rather than put Shen Yi in an awkward position, she offered the excuse of needing the restroom and slipped out first.

Rong Qian wasn’t particularly curious about what the two of them would talk about. She suspected Yao Zhengxing had things he wanted to confide — things that felt too exposed to say with a woman in the room.

“Miss Rong, how did it go? Did anything come of it?”

The moment she stepped outside, Xu Mo — who had been waiting at the door — rushed over with questions. Rong Qian replied only that it was nothing much, then turned and walked away.

Xu Mo hurried after her. “Miss Rong, where are you headed? I’ll come with you!”

“The women’s restroom.”

“You go ahead!” Xu Mo desperately wished he could pretend the last few seconds hadn’t happened. He stood there, too embarrassed to lift his head.

Rong Qian laughed openly and without mercy. She hadn’t actually been planning to go — she just wanted to wander and explore — but since he’d asked, she hadn’t been able to resist.

The casino was vast, rivaling a five-star hotel in scale. Rong Qian made a circuit of it, and by the end she had a solid sense of its layout and geography.

On her way back, passing the entrance to one of the VIP rooms, someone suddenly came barreling out — and without any warning, Rong Qian nearly collided with them and was almost knocked off her feet.

She grabbed the wall to steady herself, but her ankle still rolled in the high heels, and she winced in pain, teeth clenched.

The person who had run into her glanced at her with a cold, indifferent look, then turned and walked away.

He was dressed entirely in black and wore a black baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes. But Rong Qian still caught a glimpse of his face.

He was American — scruffy with a day or two of stubble, blond hair, blue eyes, and likely no older than thirty.

For just a fleeting moment, Rong Qian had the odd sensation that she had seen him somewhere before — and then again, perhaps she hadn’t.

“Miss Rong, what happened to you?”

Xu Mo looked up to find Rong Qian making her way back with a noticeable limp, and hurried over.

“Science has confirmed,” Rong Qian said, completely serious, “that high heels are weapons. They injure others and damage yourself.”

“Huh?”

Rong Qian waved a dismissive hand. “I just twisted my ankle — not a big deal. People who don’t normally wear heels twist their ankles. It happens.”

“I’ll go tell the boss!”

Xu Mo was a man of action. He was already moving toward the door when Rong Qian stopped him.

“Let them finish their conversation. I’ll wait in the car. It’s nothing serious — no need to make a scene.” With that, she didn’t wait for Xu Mo to offer an arm. She slipped off her high heels, held them in one hand, and walked out barefoot.

Xu Mo quickly sent Zhang Jin and one of the other bodyguards after her so she wouldn’t be alone.

By the time Shen Yi emerged from the VIP room, it was nearly ten o’clock.

From Xu Mo, he learned that Rong Qian had already returned to the car. Not wanting to waste any time, Shen Yi headed back directly.

When he got to the car, he found Rong Qian already asleep, leaning against the window.

Xu Mo was about to say something, but Shen Yi made a gesture for quiet. The words died on Xu Mo’s tongue before they could leave his mouth.

Shen Yi removed his outer jacket, climbed into the car, and draped it gently over Rong Qian’s shoulders, then told the driver to take it slow.

Even so, the moment the car pulled away, Rong Qian woke up. She rubbed her eyes, saw that Shen Yi was already in the car, and asked him: “What did Yao Zhengxing talk to you about?”

“He had a fair amount to drink, and he told me quite a lot about his past. He also said the reason he thought so highly of me was that I reminded him of his late brother.”

That brother — Rong Qian didn’t need it spelled out. She already knew it was He Ji’cheng’s father.

“By the way — did you drink?”

She caught a hint of liquor in the air, leaned over slightly, and sniffed. Shen Yi admitted honestly, “Just one glass.”

“Really?” Rong Qian wasn’t convinced.

Shen Yi thought for a moment, then held up his fingers to show a small gap. “Maybe just a tiny bit more than that.”

“Make sure you take your medicine when you get home!” Rong Qian said in an exasperated tone.

“Alright.” The corner of Shen Yi’s mouth curved into a smile, his voice warm and indulgent. He looked, for all the world, as though being fussed at was actually making him happy. This kind of concern — the sort that felt like something shared between family — filled him with a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time.

The driver, overhearing their exchange, assumed they were husband and wife. Once Rong Qian had drifted off to sleep again, the driver smiled and remarked to Shen Yi: “Your wife really does dote on you!”

Shen Yi paused.

He looked at Rong Qian — her head resting against his shoulder, asleep — and the corners of his mouth curved upward. His eyes, warm and full of feeling, were soft as still water.

His throat moved. He let out a single sound, low enough that only he could hear it.

“Mm.”