After a while, Liang Xing pulled herself free from Jiang Han’s embrace, and the cool, defiant curl of her lips was back.

“Jiang Han, you can keep running from it. But I’m advising you to think this through carefully. The moment Liang Meng and Young Wang’s blind date succeeds, everything that’s supposed to happen between them will happen. They’ll go on romantic dates, then sweetly plan a wedding, honeymoon at a hot spring resort. Young Wang will accompany a heavily pregnant Liang Meng to her prenatal checkups. And then — you’ll see their wedding photo on the wall of the villa, see them strolling arm in arm through the courtyard, side by side…”

Even after all these years of steeling himself internally, Liang Xing’s verbal onslaught and her deliberate, concrete rendering of those images still worked like a sharp blade, carving at him one cut at a time.

Liang Xing knew exactly how devastating a vivid picture could be.

“Are you willing to accept that?”

If Jiang Han were that easy to provoke, he wouldn’t be Jiang Han.

But long after Liang Xing had gone, Jiang Han sat alone in his chair, unmoving.

He knew full well that Liang Xing’s sudden visit today had to be driven by some purpose of her own.

But his eyes, heavy with a reluctance he couldn’t suppress, and his fist, clenched tight at his side, answered the question — he was not willing.

Something you love — the thought of another person even glancing at it feels like theft.

Let alone someone he had ached for all this time.

Jiang Han stepped willingly into Liang Xing’s trap, and sank into a state of gnawing, unrelenting agitation.

Baoshan Cemetery.

Liang Xing’s assistant held a black umbrella over her as she stood with a bouquet of white flowers in hand.

Among the dark green pines and cypresses, she stood for a long time without saying a word.

The gray headstone before her read: Beloved Father, Liang Youren. Beloved Mother, Ning Yanhong. Together at Rest.

Liang Xing crouched down and gently traced the three characters of “Ning Yanhong” with her fingertips. The night before her mother died — those memories were etched as deep as the letters carved into the stone, impossible to smooth away.

“What is this?! You explain to me — what is this?!”

Her mother had shaken a letter furiously, directing her fury at Liang Xing, who sat hunched over her homework at the desk.

“You’re nearly in your third year of middle school — and I was wondering why your mock exam scores were so terrible! So this is where your attention has been! On things you should be ashamed of!”

Her mother’s expression was one of profound disappointment.

Liang Xing, flushed with shame, had buried her face in the crook of her arm.

The love letter she had written to Jiang Han had been discovered. Caught in her “early romance,” she was too ashamed to meet her mother’s eyes.

“How old are you? And you’re already having these kinds of thoughts? Have you no shame at all?!”

Her mother’s face was red with fury, the letter still trembling in her hand as she kept yelling.

“Jiang Han? What kind of person does he think he is? He works for this family! He’s not worthy! Without your father, Jiang Han would be nobody. Liang Xing — we took you in so you could write love letters to some nobody?!”

Tears blurring her vision, the young Liang Xing held herself still, enduring every lashing word that fell from her mother’s lips!

The volume rose — and Liang Xing’s father heard it from another room.

Without a word, his face an iron gray, he walked in, took off his shoe, and proceeded to hit Liang Xing over the head with it, blow after blow!

“If the ridgepole is crooked, the whole structure goes crooked. All of you, shameless. Absolutely shameless! Cheap and dirty, the lot of you!”

“Dad! Dad! Stop hitting her!”

Liang Xing covered her face and bit down on her sleeve, not making a sound.

She could barely recall how her mother had managed to pull her father away.

She only remembered that once they were behind their bedroom door, an even more violent argument erupted, punctuated by the sound of a slap.

It went on until deep into the night.

Then her mother emerged — hair undone, eyes and cheeks red and raw, clothes disheveled.

The moment she laid eyes on Liang Xing, the tears spilled uncontrollably.

The young Liang Xing sat alone on the bed, eyes wide with fright, watching her mother.

Her mother reached out toward her — and Liang Xing flinched, instinctively drawing back, expecting another blow!

But instead her swaying figure pulled Liang Xing tightly into her arms.

Her mother was practically sobbing.

She dared not make a sound. She only wept silently, tears and mucus soaking into Liang Xing’s back — cold and clammy in the depths of winter.

“Xing’er. You’re still too young right now. The flower that blooms earliest withers the soonest. When you grow up and fall in love, remember what mother told you — you must find a man with ability, ambition, and real capability! Only an exceptional man is worthy of your love.”

The young Liang Xing had been bewildered — bewildered by what she felt for Jiang Han, and even more bewildered by what her mother’s words meant.

Perhaps because she was so young, the violence of her parents’ reaction had frightened her deeply.

That very night, Liang Xing swore to herself she would cut off whatever feeling she had for Jiang Han, no matter how much it hurt.

The next day, both of her parents fell from the building.

And in the same moment, she watched Jiang Han stumble and slip his way down from the crane.

Jiang Han, sitting on the ground, had stretched out his hand — hoping Liang Xing would pull him to his feet.

Their eyes met for a long moment. In the end, Liang Xing bit her lip, held back her tears, and walked away.

In the instant she turned her back, Liang Xing felt nothing anymore.

From that day forward, she and Jiang Han — even though they might see each other every single day — were already strangers on opposite ends of the earth.

Years later, on the night of their wedding, Liang Xing lay back-to-back beside Jiang Han in bed and asked herself: had she ever loved him?

The answer was: No.

The hazy, formless feeling of adolescence couldn’t be called love.

When the feeling fades and time and circumstances have long since moved on, what remains between two people who still face each other is nothing more than the slow erosion of each other’s remaining years.

The Jiang Han of today satisfied every requirement her mother had once set for a future son-in-law: capable, driven, accomplished — outstanding in every regard.

But regrettably, Liang Xing was ultimately not her mother. And the word “cheap and dirty” her father had howled at her all those years ago had branded itself on her heart like an ugly scar, permanent and indelible.

To love someone is to make yourself vulnerable.

Australia.

Clear blue skies, not a cloud in sight.

Inside a golf course stretching green and endless in every direction.

Lu Zhou swung his arm straight out in a clean, fluid arc — the ball soared! Immediately, the crowd erupted in applause!

“Tiger Woods himself couldn’t do better than that!”

“This Lu Zhou — he’s truly a rising star.”

“It’s no surprise Lu Zhou won the championship last season. His greatest strength is his relaxation.”

“Exactly! For a golfer, ‘relaxation’ is everything!”

“True relaxation comes from absolute confidence.”

“When this season wraps up, he should have no trouble signing endorsement deals back home.”

Lu Zhou’s manager listened to the murmurs around him, the smile unable to stop spilling from the corners of his eyes.

He truly had an eye for talent — discovering a “rising star” like Lu Zhou.

As long as tonight’s final round went the way it always had, with Lu Zhou playing his steady, reliable game, the Grand Slam title this season would be his without question.

This would also be the best result any Chinese athlete — and indeed, any East Asian athlete — had ever achieved on the international circuit.

That absolute, unshakeable confidence was something Lu Zhou alone possessed.

But what if that confidence were to disappear?

The frightening thought flashed through his mind, and the manager immediately pushed it away — he was letting his worry get the better of him, spiraling over nothing.

The Wang Family Residence.

Mrs. Wang: “I am absolutely opposed to this blind date business! The Liang family — what kind of family is that? Our Zaiwu is handsome, came back from studying abroad! Outstanding in every way — and somehow it ends up being that girl?!”

President Wang: “If you don’t know what you’re talking about, stop talking.”

Mrs. Wang was dissatisfied, her face twisted with distaste.

“Never mind all the rumors that have been swirling around the Liang family these past years — just the fact that Liang Meng is ‘without father or mother’ is reason enough for me to refuse! Who knows whether her birth chart is too overbearing — she might have brought misfortune on the whole family. Our Zaiwu is clean-cut and presentable in every way. Why wade into murky waters like that? Sending him to be ‘cursed’?”

“Stop talking,” said President Wang, snapping his phone case shut. “Your son’s birth chart is no gentler than hers either.”

Mrs. Wang went immediately quiet.

Her husband was pointing the finger at her.

Every pot has a blackened bottom, and the Wang family had their own buried skeletons. Wang Zaiwu had an older brother named Wang Zaige, the same age as Liang Meng, who had died abroad during his overseas studies at the age of eighteen.

The family told the outside world it was illness. In truth, it was suicide.

It was after Wang Zaige’s death that President Wang had completely changed course from his “survival-of-the-fittest” approach to parenting, and began to indulge Wang Zaiwu without limit. Mrs. Wang, having endured the agony of losing a child, went to the opposite extreme with the one son she had left, practically smothering him with an obsessive, almost pathological love — turning him into what could only be called a hopeless mama’s boy.

If he wanted the stars from the sky, Mrs. Wang would have reached out to a satellite launch company on the spot.

Old Wang’s meaning was clear: two people with equally “overbearing” birth charts might as well be a matched pair.

“Let’s not get into all that,” Mrs. Wang redirected. “That Liang Xing — what kind of background is that? An abandoned infant picked up from a temple and sent to an orphanage! Her origins are completely unknown! We’d be joining families with her? She’s worthy of that?”

Having said her piece, Mrs. Wang spat onto the Persian carpet from between her crimson lips.

“Background?” President Wang rolled his eyes and set about straightening out his wife. “Does our family have a throne to pass on?”

Wang Xiancheng stood up indignantly: “I have already made my decision on this matter! Go and get yourself ready, and make sure your son is sharp tonight! If he botches this blind date, I’ll freeze his allowance for six months — then we’ll see how much he parties!”

“But — it’s not like that, Old Wang… It’s like the Liang family put a spell on you, the way you’ve suddenly decided they’re such a prize catch… Old Wang! Old Wang!”

Mrs. Wang craned her neck, chasing after him from the living room all the way to the black Maybach out front, and still couldn’t sway Wang Xiancheng.

“Mom!”

Just then, Wang Zaiwu came padding down the second-floor staircase in cartoon-print pajamas, tousled hair sticking up in every direction, working some styling paste between his palms — clearly fresh out of bed.

“Oh, you impossible child!”

Mrs. Wang grabbed him by the arm: “I’ve been worrying myself to pieces over you, and you’re over here sleeping like a log?!”

“What’s going on, Mom,” said Wang Zaiwu, still working the paste into his hair.

“It’s your father! He’s arranged for you to go on a blind date with some Liang Meng from Longquan!”

Mrs. Wang dropped onto the living room sofa in exasperation, face full of grievance.

“I’d already promised Madam Tao from Jianghai Bank. Her daughter just came back from studying at Imperial College London — one meter seventy-four! Pretty girl, fair-skinned, so fair, honestly — arms like just-peeled hard-boiled eggs! And in secondary school, same as you — Fourth School! Now that’s a proper young lady of good standing. Your father has lost his mind. That Liang Meng is just a fake socialite… What is he thinking?!”

Wang Zaiwu listened to his mother’s complaints in silence, entirely unmoved.

To him, neither the well-bred Tao family daughter nor Liang Meng stirred so much as a ripple in his inner world.

Wang Zaiwu was two years younger than Liang Meng. As a top-tier second-generation rich kid of Shanghai — practically born blessed — his life had been one of absolute ease and freedom!

Wang Xiancheng, in his fifties, still cut a sharp, distinguished figure in the business world. Mrs. Wang was a quick-witted local girl with a certain neat charm of her own. Combining their genes, Wang Zaiwu was, in terms of looks, the very image of an idol group trainee.

And he was loaded!

Over the years, Wang Zaiwu had drifted through a sea of adoring women without a single one leaving a mark on him. He had seen all manner of fawning and flattery, tasted every variety of admiration — and as a result, his threshold had been raised to an extremely high level.

There wasn’t much left in this world that could move him. Perhaps living well and enjoying each day in comfortable leisure was his life’s KPI.

“Mom, do you really need to upset yourself over such small things?! Look at you — you’re getting wrinkles! Let’s go get a facial treatment this afternoon. I need some hydration too.”

Wang Zaiwu wrapped an arm around his mother’s shoulders and gave her an easy, practiced coax.

Mrs. Wang resigned herself. The blind date tonight would still have to happen — she didn’t dare cross President Wang.

“But what if that Liang Meng ends up clinging to you?” she asked, clutching her son’s sleeve with extreme misgiving.

Because in the eyes of many a devoted mother, her son was nothing short of perfect and priceless — what girl wouldn’t fall for him?

“Mom! The facial appointment time is almost here! Worry ages a person!”

A blind date, to Wang Zaiwu, ranked far below “getting a facial treatment” in the order of importance.

Wang Zaiwu wasn’t the least bit effeminate — he was simply a Virgo, always chasing perfection, holding himself to an extremely high standard in all things, including his appearance.

On top of that, having been placed on a pedestal his entire life, he had also developed a slightly fastidious personality — anyone who could win him over had quite the task ahead of them.

Mrs. Wang, with no enthusiasm whatsoever, hauled herself to her feet, picked up a Birkin bag in rare leather, and headed out the door arm in arm with her son.