A month later, in front of Hong Kong’s New World Theatre.

As evening approached, the setting sun’s afterglow gradually enveloped the earth, and the theatre also officially entered the busiest hour of the day.

The neon lights had just lit up when the manager over there directed the staff to hang a huge poster on the display window—the poster bore photos of Wen Tingli and Yu Peiling, the two of them standing on either side, with the giant characters Resistance written large in the middle.

The lettering was blood-red, as if a blade had split them apart from the center, and interestingly, the two actresses’ expressions each differed, both dramatic and eye-catching—as soon as it went up, it drew countless onlookers.

“Look, that one on the left is the one who played Fu Zhenzhen in Sherlock Detective!”

“What Fu Zhenzhen, that’s Wen Tingli. Fu Zhenzhen is just the name of the character she played.”

“Right, right, right, Wen Tingli, I really liked her in Southern Belle.”

“Hmph, I don’t like her, her acting’s too heavy-handed, I think she’s nowhere near as good as Yu Peiling.”

“You’re talking nonsense! Miss Wen is a natural actress with real talent, how could that vase Yu Peiling compare to her.”

“You’re the one talking nonsense! Yu Peiling has long since transformed successfully, haven’t you seen her new film Garden of Paradise? So many people cried watching it in the theater.”

The theatre manager, listening, laughed with delight: “Everyone, don’t argue for now—the two film stars are working together in this one, aren’t they? Whose acting is stronger, come see for yourselves at the cinema when it opens, and you’ll know.”

Wen Tingli sat in the hotel lobby across from the theatre, quietly watching this scene.

Young Philip sat beside her.

In just twenty-odd minutes, the crowd below the poster was already packed solid. Young Philip, watching, couldn’t help but beam: “Miss Wen’s poster design is really clever—the film hasn’t even opened yet and it’s already generating this much attention and discussion. Looks like there’s no need to worry about box office anymore, this heart of mine hanging in the balance can finally settle back down.”

Wen Tingli adjusted the sunglasses on her nose bridge, saying with a smile: “Mr. Philip’s Chinese keeps getting better and better.”

“Nowhere near as fast as Miss Wen learning Cantonese. What I admire most about Miss Wen is that you know how to adapt to your environment better than most people—smart people are smart precisely because of this quality. We humans are, after all, social animals.”

Wen Tingli didn’t take up the topic, only looking distractedly out the window,

“Could Miss Wen be waiting for someone?” Young Philip glanced at his watch. “You sit, I’ll head back to the factory first.”

Once Young Philip left, Wen Tingli’s expression sobered. Looking at the time—it was already six o’clock exactly—she couldn’t wait, asking the waiter for the day’s evening paper, and read through it with full attention.

She didn’t miss a single corner, even reading the advertisements carefully twice over.

There was actually news of someone familiar in today’s paper, in quite a prominent spot: 【Shanghai’s old textile family scion Mr. Qiao Xingchu formally announces divorce from his wife, Miss Bai Liyun.】

Wen Tingli had already heard about this. As for the reason behind their divorce, opinions outside varied, with no consensus.

But the paper directly drew a conclusion: “The biggest trigger was undoubtedly that the Qiao family’s fortunes are already declining, and the Bai family is unwilling to sink along with this ‘broken ship,’ hence choosing to split up early.”

Wen Tingli flipped past the paper indifferently—she didn’t care about this, she only cared about the situation in Shanghai.

Others didn’t know, but she knew Lu Shicheng would surely come find her safe and sound. These days, under an anonymous identity, she’d been running the same advertisement day after day in several of Hong Kong’s highest-circulation newspapers.

【Every evening I wait for you at Hong Kong’s Gros Hotel, from six o’clock until ten, rain or shine—Little Orange.】

This was a secret belonging only to the two of them; even Kuang Zhilin was kept completely in the dark. Today, she’d once again arrived punctually to keep watch here, watching the setting sun sink bit by bit, the light in her eyes dimming bit by bit along with it.

Looks like tonight would be another disappointment.

Dejectedly, she stirred her coffee with a spoon. A shadow suddenly fell across the table in front of her; someone had come to stand across from her.

Wen Tingli slowly raised her eyes—this person’s watch and clothing were quite refined, clearly a young man from a wealthy family.

This made her heart suddenly leap; she hurried to look up, but was immediately disappointed—it wasn’t Lu Shicheng.

She recognized this person too. Qiao Xingchu.

She recalled the news article just now, saying that immediately after the divorce, Bai Liyun had gone off freely by herself to Chongqing to set up a factory.

This outcome made her look at Bai Liyun in a new light.

Qiao Xingchu pointed to the chair across from her: “May I sit here?”

Wen Tingli made a casual gesture of invitation.

Several years had passed, and the name Qiao Xingchu no longer held any meaning for her. Now she looked at him with eyes as flat as if running into some neighbor on the street by chance.

The feelings in Qiao Xingchu’s eyes, however, were far more complex. He sat down and ordered himself a coffee, but didn’t drink it, only gazing at the cinema’s poster across the way—or more precisely, studying her image on the poster.

Things were different now; she was no longer that girl who’d once fled the Qiao residence in a sorry state. Her success was so dazzling that even those who least wished her well couldn’t help but admit it.

In the current world, achieving this was extremely difficult. As a wealthy young man who’d held every advantage, he understood this all too well.

He wanted to sincerely say “congratulations” to her, but somehow couldn’t get the words out.

He felt ashamed.

The thought that their Qiao family had once driven her to the brink of desperation stung him—he’d been one of the accomplices. If she’d been even slightly weaker in character, she might have long since perished under society’s merciless hand. This reunion was absolutely not what he’d wished for; he’d originally intended to keep maintaining his silence, but somehow, as if possessed, he opened his mouth. “I got divorced.”

Wen Tingli showed no reaction. He read the indifference in her eyes clearly, and couldn’t help a bitter smile crossing his lips.

Just two years, and already things were so different, people had changed so much. His first love, their Qiao family’s glory days, his marriage—all of it could never come back.

An air of melancholy drifted through the atmosphere; even Wen Tingli sensed it. Both of them lost in their own thoughts, gazing at the crowds under the night lights.

The good thing about the south was that even this late, the streets were never desolate, but this bustle was no comfort to the heart of a lonely person—rather, a spiritual irritant. The more one walked into the lively crowd, the stronger this loneliness grew.

Like now, all around laughter and chatter filled the air, yet their table alone sat in silence, as if an invisible wall separated the two of them from the lively atmosphere around them. They had no way to blend in.

After a silence that felt like a century, Qiao Xingchu finally turned his gaze back to her face: “Take care.”

He left.

Wen Tingli raised her coffee cup, drinking from it alone as she watched his retreating back—not without feeling some emotion, after all he’d been a man who’d briefly lingered in her life, only that period of time had already grown blurred in her memory beyond recognition. Naturally it couldn’t stir up much feeling.

Drinking this mouthful of coffee, she thought of it as commemorating that once-innocent version of herself.

Just as she set the cup down, a shadow fell across the table again—someone else had come.

Wen Tingli looked up abruptly.

Meng Qiguang.

Hah, what day was today.

Meng Qiguang, without preamble, pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.

This was the difference between him and Qiao Xingchu—he was much more domineering.

“What a coincidence.”

Meng Qiguang waved the waiter over and ordered a tea.

“Waiting for someone?”

Wen Tingli said “Mm” in response.

Meng Qiguang didn’t press further about who she was waiting for, instead looking at her across the table with deep, intent eyes.

Wen Tingli couldn’t ignore this somewhat aggressive gaze.

“Is Mr. Meng just passing through Hong Kong, or planning to settle here?”

“I’ve come to find someone.”

To find someone?

“Shanghai has fallen, and I don’t want to hide away in the French Concession playing the idle gentleman, so I’m planning to go to America.”

Facing Wen Tingli’s slightly surprised gaze, his tone grew increasingly casual: “As for me, I’ve never had much in the way of principles—born an adventurer, wherever there’s a good opportunity, that’s where I go.”

Yes, this very much fit his usual style—he was thoroughly an opportunist; no matter what era he found himself in, he’d never let himself do badly.

“But—” he gazed at her meaningfully, “if I find the person I’m looking for here in Hong Kong, I might not leave either.”

Wen Tingli didn’t take up this thread, instead changing the subject: “How’s Baoxin doing lately? I’ve just changed addresses recently, and haven’t had a chance to write to her yet.”

“Quite well.” Meng Qiguang looked out the window casually. “She’s adapting well at school, even successfully applied for a scholarship this semester, but since she’s cut off contact with the family, money’s always been tight—often she can only afford two meals a day. Breakfast is bread with milk, dinner is milk with bread.”

Wen Tingli couldn’t help but laugh.

“She won’t accept help from me or her mother, saying she wants to be self-reliant, but she’s always keeping close track of the domestic war situation, determined to return and contribute to the country the moment she graduates. Oh right, you should know she doesn’t go by Qiao Baoxin anymore.”

“Mm, her new name is Jiang Ming.”

Baoxin had also told her that once she returned to the country, she wouldn’t set foot in the Qiao household again. This step of leaving home, Baoxin had walked quite thoroughly.

Come to think of it, these past two years, everyone had changed—some transformed completely, some broke new ground, some lost their former glory. And Baoxin was among those who’d changed the most, from her name to her personality, bidding farewell to her former self entirely. As a friend, she was sincerely proud of Jiang Ming now.

Only, mentioning Baoxin couldn’t help but make her think of those people and things in Shanghai.

“I only just found out Sister Qinfang went to Chongqing. I left in such a hurry, I didn’t even get to properly say goodbye to her. I’m very concerned about her situation, I’ve been waiting for her to contact me.”

“Right. Miss Dong took her entire Xinxin Department Store staff and went to Chongqing together, planning to build a new Xinxin Department Store there.”

“Brought along the entire staff?”

“To be precise, including the employees’ family members too—a whole large group, sweeping out of Shanghai. Miss Dong declared that as long as she has one meal to eat, she’d never mistreat her long-time employees.”

Wen Tingli laughed with a sigh: “Sister Qinfang really has grit.”

“Everyone has their outcome.” Meng Qiguang turned his gaze back to her. “What about you?”

Wen Tingli said nothing.

Meng Qiguang glanced at the pile of newspapers beside her: “Still no news of Lu Shicheng?”

The coffee in her cup was already empty; Wen Tingli waved for another cup. Meng Qiguang watched her slowly sip the pale brown liquid, his lips curving: “These days, do you wait here every single night?”

Wen Tingli remained silent still.

“Have you considered—if Lu Shicheng were still alive, he’d have come find you long ago. You, such a clever person, why won’t you accept reality?”

Wen Tingli showed a hint of displeasure: “Reality? What do you call reality?!”

Meng Qiguang said nothing more, instead lowering his gaze to stare at the tea in front of him, dropping his usual cynical attitude for a rare seriousness. After a moment, he shook his head self-mockingly: “Actually, why should I even try to persuade you—am I not also waiting for someone myself?”

He fell silent for a long while, then took out a box from his jacket pocket and set it on the table. “Nearly two years of searching, and still nothing to show for it. If I ever see this person someday, one word from her would decide whether I stay in Hong Kong or go to America.”

The box lid opened, revealing an enormous diamond ring inside.

“It’s a pity this friend of mine held prejudice against me from the very start, always suspecting my feelings for her weren’t genuine—she doesn’t know, though, that people can change. Just because I didn’t take things seriously back then doesn’t mean I won’t take them seriously now. If there’s ever a chance, I’ll tell her personally: I like her, and this liking now contains nothing else, it’s just for her, this person. If she’s willing to accept me, I’ll make her the happiest woman in this world.”

Having said this, he slowly raised his eyes to look at Wen Tingli, his gaze so deep it seemed able to see straight into her heart.

“Miss Wen, do you think I’ll be able to find this person?” he asked her, his words carrying a double meaning.

Wen Tingli looked at the ring, unmoved—that glittering brilliance was truly striking.

For Meng Qiguang, this was undoubtedly the most sincere confession he’d ever made.

But her heart showed no ripple at all.

“No, I think Mr. Meng probably hasn’t found the right person yet.” She shook her head at him, saying in an equally sincere tone, “Perhaps you and this friend of yours aren’t as suited to each other as you imagine, there might even be places in your views that could never be reconciled—that’s why she’s never considered accepting your feelings. Rather than waiting hopelessly, it would be better to go find someone else who truly resonates with you sooner rather than later.”

A clever person never needs things spelled out too plainly. Meng Qiguang was silent for a moment, then shifted his gaze out the window—the Wen Tingli on the cinema poster seemed to be smiling toward this direction too, one being the living her across from him, the other the her in the poster, one inside the glass window, one outside it, both real and unreal, like a dream and yet not.

He thought bitterly to himself, everything in this mortal world was but a beautiful dream—being a guest within the dream, why take it too seriously? He laughed lightly: “You advise me not to be too attached—what about you yourself, how long do you plan to wait here? Three months? A year? Two years? Suppose in the end you never do wait for Lu Shicheng to come—will you regret having been with him at all? He only accompanied you for such a short while.”

“No, if that day really comes, I’ll only feel fortunate to have had such a beautiful time with him. I’ll carry this precious memory with me, and live my life well, wholeheartedly.”

Meng Qiguang suddenly felt a flash of realization. Her fundamental nature was so different from his—for her, life was like a journey without calculating gains and losses; no matter what happened along the way, in her eyes it all became a scene of its own, from which she’d draw nourishment from every good and bad event, then keep moving forward.

Everyone said he, Meng Qiguang, lived freely and unrestrained, but looking at it this way, had he ever truly been free? Perhaps what she said was indeed right—the two of them had never been the same kind of person from the very start.

He looked, not without mockery, at his own reflection in the glass—it was time to head to America. He was alone in this world, nothing left to linger over. He took money from his trouser pocket to settle the bill, but just as he stood up, he paused: “I’ll be staying in Hong Kong for a while. If there’s anything you need help with, feel free to find me anytime.”

Wen Tingli silently watched his retreating figure as he walked away with such abandon—he would never plainly say to her: “Wen Tingli, I like you.”

Even in the moment of confessing his feelings, this person still kept reservations everywhere, always leaving himself a way out—this way, even if rejected to his face, he could preserve his own dignity. She sighed inwardly—he was still too shrewd, too good at protecting himself. A woman with him could never truly feel relaxed from the heart.

Perhaps she was too picky, she reflected—after all, having been loved by a man like Lu Shicheng, a love even slightly inferior could no longer satisfy her heart.

At this moment, someone pushed the door open at the lobby entrance, bringing in a gust of night wind, very refreshing, inexplicably reminding her of spring nights in Shanghai. Suddenly, she found herself missing Lu Shicheng to the bone.

In Shanghai, there had been countless such nights—she and Lu Shicheng eating together, laughing together, talking heart to heart, saying everything to each other, kissing too, embracing too…

Those unforgettable days and nights.

Loneliness swept over her heart again. Someone came over again, but before Wen Tingli could look up again in anticipation, she heard the waiter say politely: “Miss, our tea lounge is about to close.”

It turned out she’d unknowingly sat there until ten o’clock.

Wen Tingli walked out onto the street, the neon lights flickering, the street still crowded with pedestrians, all coming to the theatre to watch films.

Wearing sunglasses and a hat, she needn’t worry about being recognized. She walked alone, her thoughts unconsciously drifting far away. Someone nearby was hawking something; she paid it no mind, not expecting someone to catch up to her, a bouquet of flowers thrust obliquely in front of her.

This scene, so achingly familiar, made Wen Tingli’s mind go blank for an instant. She hurried to turn around, but it was just a flower-selling child.

“Miss, want to buy flowers?”

Wen Tingli felt a pang of loss—of course it wouldn’t be him. In this vast sea of people, how could she possibly expect Lu Shicheng to recognize her on the street.

Dejected, she accepted the bouquet and gave the child some money, turning to keep walking forward, but the child chased after her again. Wen Tingli smiled helplessly: “Little brother, I already bought your flowers earlier.”

But the child, without another word, stuffed a huge armful of flowers into her arms, saying breathlessly: “Sister, are you the one called Little Orange? That gentleman behind me told me to give these flowers to you. He said his shoulder’s a bit injured so he can’t run fast right now, and he was afraid you’d leave, so he told me to hurry and catch up with you.”

Wen Tingli turned around blankly, and at a glance caught sight of that tall, slender figure. Under the neon lights, that person was beautiful as an apparition—no, not an apparition, because that shadow was moving, with difficulty, in her direction.

Tears instantly welled up in Wen Tingli’s eyes.

The flowers in her hands fell to the ground with a soft thud. She took off running toward him, afraid of not running fast enough.

Her speed was much faster than his, but he wouldn’t stay rooted to the spot either, doing his best to close the distance toward her bit by bit, as if even this short distance made him worry they might be separated again by the crowd.

Her vision blurred with tears, but she didn’t dare blink. Finally, closer and closer, he stopped and opened his arms wide to her, and she rushed forward like the wind to embrace him tightly.

In the room, Wen Tingli held Lu Shicheng tightly, unwilling to let go or even blink.

This was a large estate the Lu family had established in the mountains years ago; over the years only a few old Lu family servants had stayed to look after the house. With Lu Shicheng’s return this time, the stewards, as if surviving a great catastrophe, had the whole building astir with excitement.

They soon discovered Lu Shicheng had a gunshot wound on his shoulder. The head steward brought people to bring a small bed to carry Lu Shicheng up to the second-floor bedroom; going upstairs proved rather inconvenient, but Lu Shicheng still wouldn’t let go of Wen Tingli’s hand. Wen Tingli, deeply moved, stayed close beside him the whole way up.

Once everyone had withdrawn, she anxiously examined that wound she’d already examined once on the way. Lu Shicheng tried to prop himself up, but she immediately bent down to wrap her arms around his shoulders: “Don’t move, quickly tell me what exactly happened that night.”

As she spoke, her hot tears fell onto his forehead; he was no better off than her, repeatedly touching her cheek with his hand, to confirm he’d truly returned to her side.

Back to this story.

He’d already told it twice along the way, but Wen Tingli seemed unable to hear enough of it. Having survived the catastrophe, both their hearts felt as shaken as if bombed by an airplane, and only by ceaselessly listening to each other’s voices could they feel a sense of reality.

Regarding the entire plan, the two of them had actually already reached a consensus: spare Qiu Lingyun’s life, set up a trap to lure in Lu Kejian, thoroughly destroy the pharmaceutical factory—but she’d truly never expected that night Lu Shicheng would lure Qiu Lingyun to Dasheng Pharmaceutical Factory. The Japanese probably still believed to this day that the “Lu Shicheng” who died together with that group of Japanese was the real one.

He bent his head to kiss her fingertips, patiently telling it again: “You know, back in August, I discovered Lu Kejian had colluded with the Japanese—”

Lu Kejian had gone completely mad, making promises to those Japanese army officers that if they helped him eliminate Lu Shicheng, he’d hand over all the Lu family’s industries in Shanghai to these Japanese, so they could claim credit with their superiors.

In Lu Kejian’s view, this was an extraordinarily good deal, because Shanghai’s assets were only a small portion for the Lu family—handing them over to the Japanese, he could still return to Nanyang and wield power as before.

Lu Shicheng could neither allow this Third Uncle of his to get his hands on Dasheng Pharmaceutical Factory, nor could he let his mother’s life’s work fall into Japanese hands. Destroying it prematurely wasn’t realistic either—in wartime, this factory’s single night’s output could help save countless wounded soldiers at the front.

He had to wait until the front lines could truly no longer hold before implementing his plan.

He’d never even considered having his subordinates stay to help complete this final step—if things failed, this group of subordinates would surely die at the hands of the Japanese. This was his own obsession, concerning his personal grudge with Lu Kejian; there was no reason to have uninvolved people die alongside him.

So he’d decided from the start to do it himself.

Purchasing explosives, setting up secret passages, acquiring an old car and a new identity…

He’d carried out his plan methodically.

He’d deliberately leaked word to Lu Kejian, letting them think he planned to secretly leave Shanghai at night, destroying the thousands of machines in the factory before departing.

Several Japanese officers, having long coveted Dasheng Pharmaceutical Factory, indeed took action that very night.

As for Qiu Lingyun, keeping this man alive back then had been precisely to deal with Lu Kejian.

When Qiu Lingyun woke up, he found only a few Bailong Gang brothers around him, mistakenly believing he’d survived purely by sheer luck. Under the care and encouragement of a few Bailong Gang “elders” around him, besides continuing to hate him and Wen Tingli, Qiu Lingyun had also developed intense hatred for Lu Kejian—if Lu Kejian hadn’t refused to help that day, his father wouldn’t have died so miserably.

Once everything was arranged, Lu Shicheng had people lure Qiu Lingyun near Dasheng Pharmaceutical Factory. Qiu Lingyun believed that night there would be a negotiation between uncle and nephew, specially bringing a pistol along—on one hand, planning to seize the moment to kill them both together, on the other, planning to use this as leverage to return to the Bailong Gang as a hall master. Little did he know, he was knocked out by Lu Shicheng halfway there. Afterward, Lu Shicheng put his own clothes and watch on Qiu Lingyun, tied him up, and threw him in the trunk.

As for that ring, first, he couldn’t bear to take it off to put on Qiu Lingyun’s hand, and second, he also wanted to tell Wen Tingli through this method: everything was going according to plan, he’d come find her soon.

He knew the area around Dasheng Pharmaceutical Factory was riddled with watching eyes; that night, he deliberately drove the car into the factory alone, to lure Lu Kejian into acting quickly.

He bet that Lu Kejian would surely come—this Third Uncle of his not only wanted to reclaim the family fortune, but wanted him dead too. It was rare to catch him alone, and even knowing full well this could be a trap, he’d take the risk anyway.

He’d guessed right. Lu Kejian came very quickly.

As soon as he entered the factory, he parked the car in the secret passage behind the trees, and following the pre-planned route, transported Qiu Lingyun through the secret passage to the third-floor office, propping Qiu Lingyun up in the chair by the window at the desk, feeding him a grain of potassium cyanide, then turning on the office light, lighting a stove, and throwing some unimportant scrap paper into it to burn.

This was the most crucial step.

A total of three explosive charges had been buried in the factory: one in the elevator, one in the production workshop, and the most important one, buried in the corridor outside his office. To lure Lu Kejian upstairs, he had to fabricate the illusion that he was still in his office destroying important Lu family documents.

Right after, he came out of the office, taking the fastest route down the secret passage, leaving the Rolls-Royce he usually drove in the factory grounds to continue confusing them, while he himself climbed over the back courtyard wall, walking over a mile on foot, and found a used car he’d prepared in advance by the roadside.

Getting in the car, Lu Shicheng didn’t rush to leave, instead sitting quietly waiting inside.

He’d already forgotten what he’d been thinking at the time—he only knew his whole body was taut as a fully drawn bow, his throat tight, his eyes sharp as blades, like a hunting leopard waiting for the moment of the kill.

About ten-odd minutes later, a rumbling boom came from behind.

He sagged with relief, collapsing onto the steering wheel, and only then did cold sweat begin dripping from his forehead.

Without time to calm his rapid breathing and heartbeat, he drove out of Zhabei at top speed, then proceeded to leave Shanghai that very night according to plan, but the trouble was, being already a “dead man,” he could no longer command troops and deploy resources under the name Lu Shicheng.

The bigger trouble was, he even had to keep Kuang Zhilin in the dark, because this move hadn’t just successfully eliminated Lu Kejian, but had also successfully blown up four Japanese military officers as intended.

Though the Japanese side still had doubts, after all Lu Shicheng’s “corpse” had also been found at the fire scene—now everyone believed uncle and nephew had brought this tragedy upon themselves fighting over control of the family fortune, and with the Lu family suddenly losing its head, the Lu family members’ reactions had to appear “logical and reasonable.”

If Uncle Kuang didn’t appear sufficiently grieved, or if the Japanese side discovered Uncle Kuang was secretly in contact with him, they’d quickly figure out what this whole scheme was about, and then either him or Uncle Kuang, or both, would be targeted by the Japanese.

He also hadn’t let Zhou Wei and the others follow him south—under such a complicated situation, the Lu family was practically a piece of “fat meat” coveted by all sides. Faced with such immense benefit and threat, anyone could potentially sell out their conscience.

Success required secrecy, so he had to be cautious, careful.

Fortunately, the subsequent events went reasonably smoothly. He disguised himself a bit and quickly boarded a ship bound for Wuhan.

After arriving in Wuhan, worried Wen Tingli might do something reckless, he’d gone to the post office to telegram her, unable to help himself. At the time, Wuhan was in an extremely tense atmosphere, and that telegram had been intercepted right away; soon someone came to the hotel to attempt an assassination on him.

Though she’d heard this twice already, hearing it again still made Wen Tingli’s heart clench tight: “Was it the Japanese? Or someone sent by the Chongqing side?”

Lu Shicheng, leaning against the headboard, said with a wry smile: “Could have been anyone. My telegram was vague, and I used a fake name too—this behavior alone was suspicious enough. Maybe they suspected I was a Japanese spy, or perhaps, took me for a traitor among their own ranks…”

In any case, he had no identity, no way to defend himself. If he’d fought back with a gun, that would have made him look even more suspicious. In any case, after many twists and turns he managed to escape safely; the man was safe, but he’d taken a bullet in the shoulder, and the wound had kept bleeding since. Traveling injured would inevitably draw attention, so he’d had no choice but to stay in Wuhan for a while.

“If not for this turn of events, I would have arrived in Hong Kong to join you long ago. No need to have kept you worried for so long.”

Though he spoke in a light, understated tone, Wen Tingli listened with her heart aching intensely—this whole journey, whether it was rushing out of Shanghai overnight after blowing up the pharmaceutical factory, or figuring out how to escape from that assassination squad in Wuhan, every step had required him to rack his brains to the utmost, one misstep away from dying without even a whole corpse left.

She began to cry again.

In this chaotic world, how difficult it was to stay alive.

Lu Shicheng, putting on a show of lightness, went to kiss away her tears: “This is what’s called surviving a great disaster and reaping great fortune afterward.”

But the more he kissed away her tears, the more they flowed. He suddenly hissed in pain.

She indeed stopped crying, examining his wound worriedly, anxiously: “Does it hurt again?”

At this point she had no time to think of anything else, hurrying to undo his shirt buttons to check herself—it wasn’t as simple as he’d made it sound, the wound clearly hadn’t healed yet. “Why isn’t the doctor here yet? Let me go press them again.”

He gripped her hand: “When it’s time, they’ll come naturally. You still haven’t told me, how have things been in Hong Kong these days? Where are Xiao Taozi and Zhou Sao?”

“They’re in Kowloon Tong. Sister Huang and I rented a factory building there, the front for a soundstage and offices, the back for staff dormitories. Everyone’s temporarily living there for now, we just finished re-shooting the rest of Resistance, it should be releasing any day now—how did you know I’d be at the Gros Hotel tonight, did you see the newspaper?”

“Mm.” He gazed at her with a smile.

Never wrong again.

That was the unique password known only to the two of them.

She too finally showed a relaxed smile—now she truly believed he’d returned. Joy filled her heart; she gently rested her head on his chest: “I knew you’d come find me. My Mr. Lu has never once broken his word.”

Lu Shicheng rested his chin on the top of her head, and suddenly said: “Wen Tingli, let’s get married.”

That morning, Kuang Zhilin was brought to this place. The day he’d left Wuhan, Lu Shicheng had found a way to send Kuang Zhilin a secret message. Kuang Zhilin had quietly arranged everything, and rushed at top speed to meet Lu Shicheng in Hong Kong.

Seeing Kuang Zhilin’s haggard expression, Lu Shicheng felt indescribably guilty: “Uncle Kuang, I’m sorry.”

Kuang Zhilin’s eyes brimmed with hot tears: “No need to say anything—this was a last resort. In any case… just glad you’re safe.”

Wen Tingli sighed with deep emotion—these days, everyone couldn’t help but comfort themselves with a phrase like “as long as you’re fine” whenever they met. And for family and friends, “as long as you’re fine” truly did surpass everything else. Reddening around the eyes, she came forward to embrace Kuang Zhilin: “Uncle Kuang.”

Lu Shicheng was stunned for a moment, then immediately smiled happily—this was the first time she’d followed his lead and called Kuang Zhilin “Uncle Kuang,” and it had come so naturally, so warmly. Clearly, in her heart, she’d already long since regarded Kuang Zhilin as her own family.

Kuang Zhilin’s eyes reddened even more, nodding as he responded over her shoulder, then let go and looked at her, then at Lu Shicheng, saying with great feeling: “To think, the first time I met Little Wen, it was backstage at Huangjin Theatre—so much time has passed already. Little Wen is no longer that Little Wen, and Shanghai isn’t that Shanghai anymore either.”

All three of them were struck with grief. Sitting down, Lu Shicheng, mind full of worries, poured tea for Kuang Zhilin, while Wen Tingli anxiously asked Kuang Zhilin about the war situation in Shanghai.

She was most worried about Dean Deng and Liu Xiangzhi. Kuang Zhilin thought for a moment and said: “Cixin Hospital seems to have temporarily merged with the Red Cross Hospital. In this Battle of Songhu, Cixin Hospital’s medical staff successfully saved many of our soldiers. That day a friend saw that Dean Deng at the hospital—said the old lady, despite her advanced age, still insisted on performing surgery on the front lines herself, spirit undiminished, her reactions even quicker than the young people’s. That kind of fearless spirit truly commands respect.”

Wen Tingli listened somberly. Hearing Dean Deng’s name, her mood sank once again, but thinking of how she’d spent her whole life faithfully being herself, she felt her own worry was somewhat unworthy of Dean Deng’s teachings to her.

She didn’t press further about Liu Xiangzhi—even if she asked, Kuang Zhilin wouldn’t have any impression of a mere internal medicine ward’s head nurse. She assumed Liu Xiangzhi, like Dean Deng, was also fighting to defend the country, which comforted her heart somewhat.

She nodded, tears welling.

That night, Kuang Zhilin settled into the back building, and Lu Shicheng sent someone to bring Zhou Sao and Xiao Taozi from Kowloon Tong as well. This night, the Lu family’s old estate was unusually lively—in wartime, people seemed to understand and care for each other more than before, and knew better how to be kind to one another too. Xiao Taozi, sensing that warm, harmonious atmosphere, ran back and forth among the adults, laughing nonstop.

One morning, the head steward hurried in with a newspaper, his expression anxious. Wen Tingli was talking with Lu Shicheng in the study, and one look at his expression told her this was major news.

She and Lu Shicheng sat down together to read it.

The headline read: 【Renowned patriotic industrialist—Nanyang Hongye’s Mr. Lu Hongjun, devastated by his youngest son’s collusion with the Japanese, has unfortunately suffered a relapse of an old ailment and passed away at three in the morning tonight.】

This was major news enough to shake the entire business world.

The body of the article read:

“Though Lu Kejian had already been expelled from the family, at Old Master Lu’s insistence, his name remained in the clan genealogy, presumably intending to readmit his beloved son into the family at an appropriate time in the future… After this incident, the Lu clan members felt deeply ashamed, unanimously agreeing to completely remove the second branch from the clan genealogy, to avoid tarnishing the Lu family’s patriotic reputation built up over the years. As soon as this news came out, the second son, Lu Ke’an, who had been paralyzed for many years, suddenly vomited several liters of blood, dying on the spot. Old Master Lu, too, fell critically ill, and passed away in Nanyang just days later—”

At the end of the article, the writer, with a biting sarcastic tone, wrote: “This paper perhaps should no longer refer to this traitor as ‘Lu Kejian.’ This scoundrel has been completely removed from the clan; there is no longer any ‘Lu Kejian’ in this world, only ‘a nameless man’—a hateful, shameless, contemptible nameless man devoid of any human decency.”

Wen Tingli’s heart filled with immense satisfaction; she quietly glanced back at Lu Shicheng, and unexpectedly saw a trace of malicious smile at the corner of his mouth—this made him look both like a child who’d gotten his wish, and like a bloodthirsty demon.

In this instant she clearly realized: this was precisely Lu Shicheng’s dark side.

This whole scheme, playing out to this point—every move of every piece had been within his calculations. Calculated precisely enough, no surprises.

Every single person who had once harmed his parents—whether the direct perpetrator, or the indirect accomplices—Lu Shicheng had let none of them go. He didn’t just want them dead; he wanted these people to lose everything they valued most first, then die in agony.

This method was precisely as cruel as the way they’d once treated his parents.

But she embraced him again without reservation—having gone through so much, she’d seen through every side of him, whether light or dark, both were Lu Shicheng, and she understood, accepted, and loved him regardless.

An expression of relief crossed Lu Shicheng’s face; he silently kissed her eyelids. She thought he was about to say something, but unexpectedly the first thing he said was again: “Wen Tingli, let’s get married.”

Over the following days, he said this to her almost three times a day.

In the morning, the two of them sat facing each other at the rattan table in the garden eating breakfast, her eating her rice cake, him drinking his juice; out of nowhere, he’d put down his cup: “Wen Tingli, let’s get married.”

In the evening, they walked hand in hand along the flower-lined mountain path, Wen Tingli gazing at the orange sunset glow, her heart filling with joy, pointing her finger toward the sky and chattering away excitedly, he’d say again: “Wen Tingli, let’s get married.”

At night, he and she read the newspaper under the moonlight, the light too dim to make out much of anything. Eventually, Wen Tingli simply tossed the paper aside, cupping his face to kiss him, when he suddenly dodged his face away, looking at her and saying: “Wen Tingli, let’s get married.”