Xi Tang returned to Shanghai and went to the company to try on clothes. The company’s styling director, Argon Lee, brought out two rows of fully loaded racks. Xi Tang tried on long dresses, short skirts, jeans, and sweaters, and had to match them with hats, necklaces, and accessories. The hairstylist came over repeatedly to tie her hair in a ponytail, let it down, braid it, then loosen it. Xi Tang preferred choosing simple colors—a round-necked white shirt paired with light blue jeans. She signaled to Li Ya with her eyes, asking: “Does this pass?”

Argon sat cross-legged on a crimson sofa outside the fitting room, holding coffee and shaking his head.

Xi Tang had no choice but to grab a hat and pair it with a yellow trench coat. She turned around with her hands on her waist, flashing a sweet smile. Argon finally nodded with satisfaction.

Another hour passed, and for the first time in her life, Xi Tang felt that wearing new clothes was a painful experience. She strongly protested and demanded to finish. Argon agreed and signaled his assistant to package the matched outfits. The company’s makeup artist, Xinni, helped her draw her eyebrows in front of the mirror: “Miss Xi, everyone in the company says you’re going to make it big.”

Xi Tang smiled: “You believe that too?”

Argon stood up, pinching his fingers in an orchid gesture: “Someone’s backing you, you’ve got popularity, and there’s gossip. Everything’s in place.”

When female celebrities go out wearing casual clothes, they all look naturally carefree as if they just grabbed something and left. Who knows if they, like her, had tried on outfits eight hundred times in front of a mirror beforehand?

Xi Tang returned to Ni Kailun’s residence, panting and carrying bags of clothes. Her schedule was already full. The next day, her busy work began, starting with promotional activities for two dramas she had recently appeared in. She wasn’t the lead in either of these dramas, but once she appeared, she still attracted significant media attention. They kept asking her about the matter with Zheng Youtong. She had begun to have fans too, who sporadically called out her name at the venue, gave her gifts, and asked for photos with her.

The gossip about Zheng Youtong ultimately made her popular.

Ni Kailun arranged for the company’s publicity department to apply for a verified social media account for her. Since its registration, her followers have been steadily increasing.

Xi Tang herself had never used it. The company had publicists specifically responsible for managing artists’ accounts. The publicity team had asked her for photos several times. Xi Tang didn’t have many selfies, so she sent over some landscape photos and some pictures of working with colleagues on set.

When news broke about Zheng Youtong confessing to Xi Tang, her social media account responded with a post on one of Xi Tang’s workdays.

That day, Xi Tang attended the celebration party for “Broken Sword,” also late at night. Huang Xi Tang’s verified account reposted Zheng Youtong’s message with a line of text: “From school uniforms to costumes, from classmates to colleagues, let’s work hard together.”

She added a cute smiley face.

This PR text was written ambiguously and indirectly, leaving no loose ends.

That night, her followers increased by one hundred thousand overnight.

At that time, personal social media had just begun to flourish—it was the best era at the beginning of everything. Both the virtuous and the grassroots rushed into this new arena overnight, commenting on affairs of the state and criticizing current issues. The internet marketing model for the entertainment circle hadn’t yet formed on a large scale. Most drama reviews were still from genuine film and drama fans. Xi Tang had shot many terrible movies during her years in Hengdian, but she mostly played roles without lines. The latest was a role as a young nun in “Broken Sword.” This drama was just undergoing preliminary publicity preparation for broadcast. Subsequently, the search volume for this drama immediately surged upward. Then someone dug up the earliest “Orange Youth,” which also attracted a batch of genuine fans who admired her. These fans would continue to follow her for many years. Xi Tang occasionally logged in herself, and she read through all the replies judging her acting skills very carefully.

The company wanted to arrange an assistant for her. Ni Kailun naturally took charge of her again, but since a performer’s assistant needed to take care of the artist’s personal affairs, they still needed to consider her wishes.

One day, Xi Tang was at the company when Xiao Ning came in knocking on the door.

Since the last drama, Wu Zhenzhen had abandoned her, and during this period, she could only do odd jobs at the company. Her days weren’t easy.

In the past, they were just colleagues, often eating boxed meals together on set. When Xiao Ning came in, her face bore a smile, her demeanor very soft: “Sister Xi Tang, would you take me on? I will work very hard.”

Xiao Ning, apart from being a young girl with some star dreams, was otherwise fine. She was also familiar with the work in the entertainment circle. After all, they had been colleagues. Xi Tang nodded and said: “Okay.”

That day, she took her to a recording. Xiao Ning was very attentive, serving tea and bringing clothes. She even went out to chat with her fans for a while. That night, Xi Tang told Ni Kailun, “Let’s use her.”

About a week after returning to Shanghai, the small landlord couple called her. They said the matter with the family hotel had been resolved. The public security bureau had clarified the case and said the small landlord’s family had made a meritorious report. They sent two police officers with gongs and drums to award a silk banner. The entire Xianju Town had spread this news, creating quite a commotion. They renovated the entrance and reopened for business, hanging Xi Tang’s drama photos in the lobby.

This even attracted many customers.

Xi Tang asked with concern: “How did you manage to fix the relationship later?”

The small landlord’s wife said in puzzlement: “We didn’t fix anything. Strangely enough, they refused to see us the day before, and then the police station people came to us on their own the next day.”

Xi Tang made a sound of acknowledgment, and her heart gradually calmed down. She probably knew who was behind it.

Xi Tang composed a message on her phone: “The small landlord’s matter is resolved, thank you.”

After staring at the phone screen hesitantly for a while, she deleted it and changed it to: “Thank you for your help, the matter is resolved.”

She deleted that too, and finally, it became just three words: “Thank you.”

She pressed send.

Xi Tang worked during the day. Waking up hazily in the middle of the night, the first thing she did was reach for her phone. Zhao Pingjin still hadn’t replied.

Of course, who was Zhao Pingjin? He had always been proud and aloof. To handle any matter, he just needed to give a command. How would he have time to reply to such trivial matters?

Xi Tang lay in the dark room, watching the phone screen slowly go black again.

Ni Kailun took her to a hotel to sign a contract. The company had decided that she would take on a major historical drama set in the late Qing Dynasty. Her hair had just grown to her shoulders. The company’s stylist specially prepared a type of shampoo for her to use to promote hair growth. They also invited a teacher to specifically teach her Beijing opera, and she needed to learn the gait and etiquette of aristocratic households.

After signing the contract, they came out and Ni Kailun linked arms with her as they got into the car. She glanced at her indifferently: “Haven’t seen that person lately?”

Xi Tang nodded. She had been busy since coming back; it seemed it had been almost a month.

Ni Kailun got into the car and said, seemingly casually: “The day you came back, I happened to see him on the plane. He seemed to be sick.”

Xi Tang hesitated for a long while and called Shen Min that night.

Shen Min was in the company’s conference room. The top two floors of the Jingchuang Technology Company’s office building, reserved for executive-level offices, were still brightly lit. The chief engineer and two vice presidents were still working overtime with the big boss. Tomorrow, the company will participate in a bidding for a new civilian airport’s air navigation system project. The entire company had been busy with this project for more than a month. Additionally, Li Ming had just gone to South America on a business trip, and Zhao Pingjin had recently been ill. Having just recovered about seventy to eighty percent, he had returned to the company to prepare for this bid.

The phone kept ringing on the sofa. Zhao Pingjin impatiently signaled him to answer it. Shen Min looked at the caller ID on the screen and quickly answered: “Xi Tang?”

Zhao Pingjin had been looking down at the final R&D budget submitted by the finance department. Hearing this, he froze.

Xi Tang asked somewhat embarrassedly: “Sorry to disturb you, I heard from Kailun that he was sick?”

Shen Min quickly glanced at Zhao Pingjin. Not daring to say much, with a roomful of company leaders, he wasn’t sure whether to step outside to take the call. He could only walk a few steps toward the window: “Yes, he’s working overtime at the company now.”

Xi Tang asked: “Is he okay now?”

Shen Min could feel Zhao Pingjin’s gaze steadily directed at him from behind. He had answered calls from various girlfriends of Zhao Pingjin before. Even the well-known one from the Yu family would sometimes call him when she couldn’t reach Zhao Pingjin. Having served as Zhao Pingjin’s confidential secretary for many years, he was well-versed in handling such matters. If Zhao Pingjin didn’t want to take a call, he would politely or bluntly fend it off with or without an excuse. But now it was Huang Xi Tang. Even after so many years, their tumultuous past was still vivid. He wasn’t clear about how far Zhao Pingjin wanted to go with Huang Xi Tang now, only knowing that Zhao Pingjin deeply cared about this ex-girlfriend, checking his phone repeatedly when he was sick, yet never taking the initiative to contact her.

Shen Min’s voice was tense and extremely low: “He’s fine now. Do you want to speak to him?”

With so many people around, he didn’t dare mention that he was still staying up late every night.

Zhao Pingjin pushed away the computer in front of him and stood up.

Xi Tang said: “It’s good that he’s fine. I won’t disturb you all.”

Shen Min quickly called out: “Eh, eh, Xi Tang, wait a moment—”

Huang Xi Tang had hung up the phone.

Zhao Pingjin’s expression darkened, and he slowly sat back down.

Seeing the situation wasn’t good, Shen Min quickly put down the phone and sat back at the conference table.

The conference room lights stayed on until two in the morning. Once everything was confirmed and ready, Zhao Pingjin waved his hand, letting everyone go home.

Secretaries and assistants came in to clean up the documents and coffee cups. Shen Min followed him into the office, standing at the desk waiting for his instructions.

Zhao Pingjin’s face showed an abnormal paleness. Shen Min looked at his complexion. It had been like this for several consecutive nights. After a full day of meetings and work, his face was so white it was almost bluish, with his eyes full of bloodshot. Zhao Pingjin’s eyes were heavy with fatigue as he slowly said: “You can go home.”

Shen Min looked at him with concern: “Shall I call the driver to take you back?”

Zhao Pingjin took the cigarette box from the table: “No need, it’s just a short distance. I’ll drive myself.”

Shen Min said helplessly: “If I don’t make sure you eat and rest properly, the old master will scold me again.”

Zhao Pingjin held a cigarette in one hand and pressed his temple with the other, enduring the vague headache: “The company is busy. You’ve all been working hard these days too. Even my grandson isn’t as good as you. Thanks a lot for often going to the old master to keep him company over tea.”

Shen Min’s father had been the old master’s guard when he was young. Later, during the ten years of turmoil, he went to Qinghai. To support the country’s development, he never returned to the city, settling down locally to marry and have children. Later, the couple had a car accident at Qinghai Lake while working. At that time, Shen Min was still in swaddling clothes and was sent back to Beijing to be raised by his uncle and aunt. The old master had always financially supported Shen Min’s education and would invite him to his home during holidays and festivals. Outside people knew that Zhao Pingjin highly trusted this confidential secretary, but few knew they had this relationship. Thus, Shen Min could speak somewhat casually with Zhao Pingjin.

Zhao Pingjin took a drag on his cigarette: “Xiao Min, don’t always think of yourself as an outsider.”

Shen Min smiled: “The old master’s care is my blessing. I can’t be ungrateful. You should go back and rest early.”

Shen Min didn’t disturb him further, nodded, and left.

Outside, the main lights in the conference room were turned off one by one. The administrative secretary said goodbye to several executives in the corridor. Footsteps gradually dispersed. Soon, only silence remained in the darkness throughout the enormous office floor.

The light in the chairman’s office was still on.

Zhao Pingjin got up, walked a few steps, and sat on the sofa. His temples throbbed with pain, his vision was a bit blurry, and he felt utterly exhausted. Tomorrow, there was still a tough battle to fight. He knew he needed to go home to rest. After lying on the sofa for a while, he stood up, supporting himself with the armrest.

The elevator descended to the underground parking garage. The driver was waiting at the elevator exit and dutifully approached: “Mr. Zhao?”

It seemed Shen Min had still made the call.

Zhao Pingjin nodded. The driver opened the door, and he sat in the back seat. The car drove out of the Guomao business district, past Jianguomen Outer Street and the East Third Ring Road. The city under the Guomao Bridge was still brightly lit. He closed his eyes to rest for a while, then took out his phone.

The message Huang Xi Tang had sent him almost a month ago contained only three words: “Thank you.”

During the week after he returned from Shanghai, he had been sleeping deliriously in the hospital. By the time he had the strength to pick up his phone, it was already more than a week after receiving her message.

He yearned to hear her voice, especially when he was extremely tired. She was like a poison deep in his marrow, breaking down his strong willpower, and making him completely vulnerable. He could only avoid her, yet he missed her so much that his heart became anxious. The more he felt this way, the more he knew he shouldn’t. He and Huang Xi Tang were living on borrowed time, destined to separate.