Dong Qinfang’s birthday party was held at the Dong residence.

The Dong family had always been savvy at managing appearances, and Dong Qinfang was the most valued member of the younger generation of the Dong family—the moment word of her birthday got out, most of Shanghai’s high society came.

A long line of luxury cars was parked out front. A steward came to open the door for Wen Tingli, and she walked into the hall smiling along with the crowd, when an enthusiastic greeting rang out ahead.

“Our big star has arrived.”

Countless gazes converged on Wen Tingli’s face; everywhere was a riot of flowers and a glittering shimmer of figures—for a moment she couldn’t tell who was who. While she was still dazed, a gust of perfumed air swept up in front of her.

“Tingli.”

Wen Tingli held out the gift in her hands to Dong Qinfang. “Sister Qinfang, happy birthday.”

Dong Qinfang casually handed the champagne glass in her hand to someone beside her and solemnly opened the box, breaking into a delighted smile the moment she saw what was inside. “This is far too exquisite—I love it. Honestly, you coming was enough, why go to the trouble of preparing a gift?”

Wen Tingli knew perfectly well that Dong Qinfang probably didn’t think much of this gift, but her sincere tone made it believable she genuinely liked it.

She really is such an endearing person, Wen Tingli thought with a smile.

“Come with me, there are lots of young friends over there who want to meet you.” Dong Qinfang, in high spirits, pulled Wen Tingli into a lounge to the side, where quite a few guests sat, both men and women.

“So this is Miss Wen?”

“Yes, she’s a schoolmate a few years below us, currently a freshman at Hujiang University, and she’s also the champion of our Xinxin Department Store’s first beauty pageant.”

“So this is the one Director Huang keeps praising—I’ve long admired your name!”

Among these people, Wen Tingli recognized some, but had no impression of most of them. Still, she knew how important first impressions were in social settings, so she put on her most charming, sincere smile and shook hands with each of them in turn.

“There’s no need for introductions between Miss Wen and me, is there—she’s my sister’s classmate, we’re practically old friends by now.”

The one speaking gave Wen Tingli a mischievous wink—it was none other than Gao Xiaowen’s older brother, Gao Tingxin.

“Since when are you and I old friends, Wen Tingli? She hasn’t even said two sentences to you.” Gao Xiaowen rolled her eyes at Gao Tingxin, and pulled Wen Tingli over to sit down. “Ignore him.”

Huang Yuanshan was playing bridge at a table nearby, and turning to see Wen Tingli sit down beside her, lowered her voice. “Yue Zhaoyun’s coming to Shanghai in a few days—look how happy that made you. She heard the film’s about to wrap and figured she should come check in on the set no matter what.”

“Which hotel is she staying at? I’d like to invite Sister Yue to dinner privately.”

“‘Sister Yue’? Since when did you get so close with Yue Zhaoyun? Fine, fine, once she arrives I’ll give you her room number, you can arrange it yourself.”

Wen Tingli didn’t understand bridge, and after sitting alongside for a while without catching on, Gao Xiaowen suggested, “Let’s go for a walk in the garden.”

The garden was bright as day, filled with guests everywhere. The Dong family’s garden had a half-Chinese, half-Western style—an enormous green lawn with a Suzhou-style rockery garden built right on it, though the grounds were spacious enough that it didn’t look out of place. Even the refreshments and tea served to guests came in both Chinese and Western sets—some drank champagne on one side, while on the other, staff poured green tea for the older guests, all quite harmonious.

The two of them had barely sat down in the pavilion when they spotted Mrs. Qiao among the crowd. Mrs. Qiao looked especially radiant tonight.

“Have you heard about the Qiao family?” Gao Xiaowen said idly, watching Mrs. Qiao.

“Oh, what happened?” Wen Tingli, quite interested, was observing the other guests in the garden—the only Qiao family member she still cared about was Qiao Baoxin, and Qiao Baoxin was doing fine in Beiping these days; as for the rest of the family, she couldn’t care less.

“Master Qiao’s a business failure—everything he touches loses money. A few months ago, for whatever reason it struck him, he handed over a pharmaceutical factory in Hong Kong to his cousin Meng Qiguang, with an agreement that the Qiao and Meng families would each hold half the shares, with Meng Qiguang running the factory—basically, trying to squeeze some quick cash from his cousin using a pile of junk. Guess what happened?”

Before Wen Tingli could respond, Gao Xiaowen excitedly took a sip of her drink and said, eyes shining, “Meng Qiguang single-handedly revived that junk factory! You know that Children’s Health Tonic and Monthly Warmth Capsules that are selling like crazy on the market right now? Guess whose company makes them—Meng Qiguang!”

This piqued Wen Tingli’s interest. She’d recently bought “Children’s Health Tonic” for Xiao Taozi, and sure enough, after taking it, Xiao Taozi’s appetite had improved. She’d looked at the formula too—nothing but a few traditional spleen-tonifying ingredients plus some Western vitamin pill formulas mixed in.

“According to my brother, when Meng Qiguang agreed to take over his brother-in-law’s junk factory, it was mostly out of consideration for how hard his cousin had had it these years, and he lent a hand to the Qiao family. After going to Hong Kong to see the factory, he renamed it Ruilin Pharmaceutical Factory, then went to Beiping and paid top dollar for a few old imperial palace formulas, combined them with Western doctors’ vitamin approach, and quickly produced a few health supplements—which, wouldn’t you know it, sold extraordinarily well. Just these past few months, Monthly Warmth Capsules alone have sold twenty thousand bottles. The Qiao family did nothing at all and just sits back enjoying half the profits—look at how happily Mrs. Qiao’s smiling tonight. I hear the Shanghai branch factory is opening in a couple of days.”

As Gao Xiaowen spoke, she craned her neck, looking around. “Huh, didn’t they say Meng Qiguang came back from Hong Kong? I haven’t seen him in nearly half a year, and I was hoping to run into him to pick his brain a bit.”

“You want to ask him for business advice?”

“Of course—when it comes to bringing a dying business back from the brink, Meng Qiguang beats my brother by a mile. I’m planning to learn a thing or two from him, and while I’m at it, ask about the Hong Kong market—who knows, maybe one day I’ll open a branch out there myself.”

Getting carried away, Gao Xiaowen’s old habit kicked in—sitting there gesturing wildly, she accidentally spilled her drink down the front of her dress, and stamped her foot in frustration. “This new Lanvin dress, ruined after only one wear.”

Wen Tingli hurriedly pulled out her handkerchief to help wipe it. “Quick, go find Sister Qinfang, she’s sure to have a solution.”

Before leaving, Gao Xiaowen nudged Wen Tingli with her elbow, gesturing for her to look at the group of wealthy wives across the way.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you—that one on the left is Boss Xiang of Chunyang Fashion Company, and that one on the right is the wife of Boss Pan of Yuanmeng Company.”

Wen Tingli’s ears perked up. Yuanmeng Company! That was the very company that had been interested in signing her for a bicycle ad—the contract should’ve been finalized days ago, yet strangely nothing had come of it since.

She’d later learned from Huang Yuanshan that the boss of Yuanmeng Company had originally done business in Tianjin, and had only recently expanded into Shanghai—when it came to hiring stars for ads, he was being rather cautious about it.

Apparently Mrs. Pan had raised objections. She’d said Southern Beauty hadn’t even released yet—whether it would actually be a hit was anyone’s guess—and she was against hiring a newcomer with only a bit of buzz for the ad, preferring to pay a higher price for established stars like Xiao Diejun or Yu Peiling instead.

So the matter had been shelved.

Wen Tingli quietly kept an eye on Mrs. Pan’s every move from where she sat. Mrs. Pan had a plump build, a pleasant expression, and while chatting with others, kept sneaking glances at the little cakes on the long table in the garden.

Those were cream cakes laced with brandy—their novel look and taste made them a great hit among the guests. Judging by the number of forks piled in front of Mrs. Pan’s seat, she’d already had more than one, and yet still didn’t seem satisfied, only holding back for the sake of appearances from getting another.

Wen Tingli made up her mind at once. Just then a waiter happened to pass by with a bottle of wine; she smiled and borrowed his tray, went over to the long table to arrange things herself, then walked over that way.

“Mrs. Pan, Boss Xiang, Sister Qinfang was worried about neglecting you two, so she specially sent me over with some refreshments.” She greeted them very politely.

The two of them looked her over. “And you are?”

“My surname is Wen, I’m a friend of Sister Qinfang’s.” Wen Tingli said with a sweet smile, setting out the pastries one by one in front of each person.

Boss Xiang got a plate of his favorite butterfly cookies, while Mrs. Pan had two brandy cream cakes placed specially in front of her.

Both of them smiled slightly. Mrs. Pan raised her eyes and studied Wen Tingli closely for a moment, then laughed. “You look a bit familiar, little one—have we met before?”

Wen Tingli set a pot of tea down on the small table beside Mrs. Pan and, taking the opportunity, sat down next to her. “You’re absolutely seeing me for the first time—otherwise you’d surely remember my name.”

Mrs. Pan was amused by Wen Tingli’s liveliness and confidence, and laughed to the others, “This girl’s got a funny way of talking. But I really have seen your photo somewhere—you’re even prettier in person.”

Wen Tingli asked curiously, “Where did you see my photo?”

Mrs. Pan only smiled without answering.

Wen Tingli didn’t push, instead unhurriedly pouring tea for her and Boss Xiang. Mrs. Pan, having eaten too many sweets, was feeling a bit sick of them, and Wen Tingli’s gesture suited her perfectly. She took a sip of tea, chatted a bit more with the others, then turned to see Wen Tingli still busying herself at the table without any airs, and asked on her own initiative, “How old are you? Still in school, or already working?”

She’d sorely underestimated Wen Tingli’s ability at small talk—within a mere ten minutes, the topic had drifted from desserts all the way to Mrs. Pan’s own daughter.

“My eldest daughter is your same age,” Mrs. Pan sighed, “but her temperament is completely different from yours—she doesn’t go out much, always has her nose in a book at home, I worry she’s bored stiff cooped up in there.”

Wen Tingli chimed in eagerly, “I have an old classmate from Wuben Middle School named Yan Zhenzhen, she’s studying diplomacy at St. John’s University, but privately she loves reading too—if she met your daughter, they’d surely have a mountain of things to talk about. Next time we go out, why don’t we bring your daughter along too?”

Mrs. Pan said, “Nothing could be better—we’ve just moved to Shanghai, and the children are still getting used to the surroundings. Children need to spend time with others their own age.”

This conversation carried on until Mrs. Pan was called away by someone.

Mrs. Pan waved to Wen Tingli, clearly still not quite ready to part ways. Wen Tingli watched her go, then glanced down at the business cards from Mrs. Dong and Boss Xiang and the others in her hand—tonight’s haul was quite something.

She suddenly felt someone’s gaze on her from the side, and turning her head, found Meng Qiguang looking at her. He stood in a corner of the garden, surrounded by a crowd of people, dressed in a dark suit, exuding an air of relaxed elegance. Months had passed since she’d last seen him, and he seemed to have lost a bit of weight.

He glanced first at the smile lingering at the corner of her mouth, then at the business cards in her hand—needless to say, he’d witnessed the entire process of her making connections with Mrs. Pan and the others just now.

Wen Tingli searched the garden but couldn’t find Gao Xiaowen, so she headed back to the main house first.

Just as she entered the restroom, the sound of high heels came from behind her—she assumed it was another lady coming in as well, and paid it no mind. But by the time she’d finished touching up her makeup inside, that person still hadn’t come in.

Wen Tingli suddenly felt something was off, and turned back out to look—the hallway was already empty, yet that person had clearly been about to follow her into the restroom…

Puzzled, she followed the direction the footsteps had come from, but there were no other exits along the corridor—only at the very end was there a glass door leading to the garden.

She stood before the glass door, looked left and right, then quietly walked down the steps, and unexpectedly ran headlong into someone on the path.

Wen Tingli’s nerves, already strung taut, made her jump with fright.

“Mr. Meng.”

Meng Qiguang, following her gaze, instinctively glanced back behind himself before turning his eyes back to Wen Tingli’s face.

“What did you see, to be that scared?”

Wen Tingli forced herself to steady her nerves. “Nothing, I’m looking for Miss Gao.”

She smiled at Meng Qiguang and moved to walk past him.

But Meng Qiguang stretched out an arm to stop her. “Don’t go yet, Miss Wen—could I have a word with you?”

Wen Tingli thought to herself, why bother dodging him every time we meet, and nodded, walking with him over to the trellis by the path.

At first Meng Qiguang said nothing, only stood with his hands in his pockets, looking Wen Tingli up and down.

Wen Tingli glanced up at him—this man had eyes too sharp, too direct; the way he looked at people wasn’t like studying their appearance, but rather like he was trying to see straight through the surface to the bone underneath.

She didn’t like this feeling of being seen through so completely. “Is there something you need from me, Mr. Meng? If not, I need to go find my friend.”

“Strange, isn’t it, that you always want to leave the moment you see me—do I have thorns growing on me?”

“Perhaps it’s because Mr. Meng and I aren’t well acquainted.”

Meng Qiguang glanced, seemingly by chance, toward the spot where Wen Tingli had been chatting with Mrs. Pan earlier.

“But as far as I know, you’re quite fond of socializing, whether acquainted or not.”

Wen Tingli fell silent.

Meng Qiguang’s smile receded slightly. “Let’s not beat around the bush tonight. I came looking for you because I want a certain person’s contact information: where is Tong Zhaohui now?”

Wen Tingli’s heart lurched violently.

“Tong what?” She glanced off into the distance on tiptoe. “Mr. Meng, I’m sorry, my friend’s probably looking all over for me by now, I really must go.”

Meng Qiguang stopped her again with his arm. “Enough pretending. Miss Wen, what you did four months ago may fool others, but it doesn’t fool me. Before Baoxin left Shanghai, she only called you a handful of times. Later I found out she’d hidden a grown man in an old house belonging to my cousin, tending his wounds. That man had been shot—he stayed a full half month recuperating there before leaving. An injured person needs food and medicine; with Baoxin under family surveillance around the clock, there’s no way she could’ve managed all that alone.”

He suddenly lowered his voice. “Miss Wen, since when do you have such wide connections?”

Wen Tingli stared back at Meng Qiguang blankly.

“I really don’t understand what you’re getting at, Mr. Meng. Baoxin and I did talk on the phone a few times, but that was just girl talk between classmates. What Tong Zhaohui, what Beiping—I know nothing about any of it.”

While she spoke, Meng Qiguang watched every change on Wen Tingli’s face with interest, as if no matter how she tried to talk her way out of it, he wouldn’t be angry, only found her rather amusing.

When she’d finished, he unhurriedly took something out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

Wen Tingli stopped talking the moment she saw it.

Meng Qiguang: “You two were clever, knowing the more dangerous a place is, the safer it seems—hiding him right in my cousin’s private residence. But even Baoxin didn’t know that, although that old house has been empty for years, an old servant of our Meng family still lives nearby. This person happened to see you and Baoxin sneaking out the back door of the house, and having seen the newspaper stories about you, recognized you on the spot. If you still refuse to admit this has anything to do with you, I’ll simply have to hand this sketch over to the Qiao family to deal with.”

Wen Tingli’s temples throbbed—Baoxin was still too inexperienced, to have gotten caught out like this by her own uncle.

Meng Qiguang raised his long eyebrows. “If you still think this evidence isn’t enough, I could just as easily trace your background thoroughly—I’m rather curious myself how you managed to save Tong Zhaohui ‘single-handedly,’ and whether anyone else was involved in the whole affair.”

Wen Tingli smiled. “By the time Baoxin called me, that Lawyer Tong had already been rescued by someone. The reason I went with Baoxin to that house that day was only to bring medicine for him—I know nothing else about it. If you want someone, why not ask Baoxin directly instead of me?”

“Don’t play that game with me. This sketch is proof enough that you were involved in Baoxin’s escape that day. Baoxin refuses to come back to Shanghai now—if I don’t ask you for her whereabouts, who should I ask?”

Wen Tingli sighed. “Mr. Meng thinks I could persuade Baoxin to come back? Don’t you know why she ran away in the first place—her family was forcing her into arranged meetings with a bunch of good-for-nothing young men, and if she hadn’t run, she’d have ruined her whole life. Now she has teachers in Beiping she respects, and a whole group of like-minded friends her own age at school. As far as I know, Lawyer Tong respects her too. Compared to the cage-like life she had before, she’s as free now as she could ever want to be. Never mind me trying to persuade her—no one could talk her out of it.”

She turned the question back on Meng Qiguang.

“Aren’t you, her uncle, in favor of her striking out on her own too? Otherwise why would you agree to let her hide at your place, and consistently turn a blind eye to what she’s been up to? This shows you disapprove of your sister and brother-in-law’s methods too. Besides, if you’d really wanted Baoxin back in Shanghai, you’d have dragged her back long ago.”

Meng Qiguang laughed dryly. He’d have loved to drag Baoxin back, but the moment she’d arrived in Beiping she’d changed her name—it was only after much effort, once he’d come back from Hong Kong, that he’d finally tracked down the school where Baoxin studied, only for her to run the moment she saw him. Not wanting to embarrass her in front of her classmates, he’d chosen to leave first.

“How about this—help me pass a message on to Baoxin: half a year ago the Qiao family was in dire straits, and that’s why they resorted to pinning their hopes on their children’s marriages. Now the Qiao family’s situation has improved, and with my persuasion, my sister and brother-in-law have dropped the idea of forcing Baoxin into an arranged match. As things stand, Baoxin’s off in Beiping every day getting mixed up in student revolutionary activities with her friends, and the family’s worried about her safety. I’m worried about that too. As for that Tong Zhaohui—”

Meng Qiguang thought it over.

“I had someone look into his family background—turns out he’s from a respectable scholarly family. As long as his character isn’t bad, there’s no reason he couldn’t be Baoxin’s boyfriend, but on the condition that I meet him in person first.”

“You want me to relay all this to Baoxin?”

“Yes.”

Wen Tingli looked troubled. “I—I’ll try, at least.”

“You have to make it happen.” Meng Qiguang said, smiling at her, his gaze so direct it seemed to probe straight into her thoughts. “After all, without Miss Wen’s help, they couldn’t have pulled off their escape so smoothly in the first place.”

Then, curious, he glanced toward the direction she’d come from and asked quietly, “Why were you so frightened just now?”

This made his tone sound unusually gentle. Wen Tingli said nothing—though Meng Qiguang had checkmated her tonight, she had to admit he understood human nature remarkably well, and his concern wasn’t entirely fake either.

Of course she wouldn’t tell him she suspected someone was following her, only shrugged. “I need to go find my friend.”

She’d only taken a couple of steps when Meng Qiguang’s voice came from behind her. “It’s fine if you don’t want to say. But let me remind you of one thing—a person’s instincts don’t lie. If you feel someone’s trying to harm you, that’s probably true. You should stay on guard at all times. If you run into any trouble, you can call me—Baoxin’s room number goes through the main switchboard.”

Wen Tingli’s steps faltered slightly.

“Don’t push yourself too hard alone in this world—no one gets far fighting solo. If someone’s willing to help, that’s your good fortune, nothing to be embarrassed about.”

She glanced back to see Meng Qiguang walking off smiling in the other direction.

Over the following two days, Wen Tingli stayed on guard everywhere, but nothing else strange happened; it was smooth sailing throughout.

Having warned Li Chengying beforehand, she wasn’t too anxious, and during this time she also called Qiao Baoxin once, relaying what Meng Qiguang had said that night.

On the other end of the line, Qiao Baoxin fell into silence.

Wen Tingli didn’t press Baoxin for an answer—she’d only been responsible for passing the message along; how to handle it was Baoxin’s own decision to make.

Fortunately, Meng Qiguang hadn’t pressed her either—in some ways, he did know how to keep his distance.

Before she knew it, the solar New Year had arrived, and Southern Beauty had only one final scene left before wrapping.

Since morning, Wen Tingli had been somewhat absent-minded. When getting dressed, she’d originally put on a plain duck-egg blue quilted qipao, but then went back to her room and changed into a beige Western-style coat, put on a black beret, and paired it with black kidskin gloves.

Zhou Sao’s eyes lit up.

“Whose birthday is it today?”

Wen Tingli spotted the chocolate and black tea still piled on the table and asked Zhou Sao, surprised, “Didn’t I ask you to give those gifts to Mrs. Liu across the way a few days ago?”

“Don’t even mention it,” Zhou Sao said. “I’ve knocked on their door every day, but there’s never anyone home at the Liu family’s place.” “I figure the couple must have gone back to visit her parents.”

Wen Tingli frowned slightly. Having lived next to them for so long, she knew at least something of the Lius’ routine.

Mr. and Mrs. Liu both worked at a bank, leaving home every morning at eight and returning around seven or eight in the evening—that never varied, except on Sundays when they’d go visit her parents.

But today was only Wednesday—why would they be away all day… She thought again, maybe they’d taken leave to go somewhere, and said offhandedly, “Why don’t you hold onto it for now, and some day when I’m home, I’ll personally take Xiao Taozi over to thank them.”

At the set, Wen Tingli’s outfit was a huge hit—almost everyone who saw her couldn’t help but compliment her.

“Why so beautiful today?”

“New Year’s coming soon, wearing new clothes puts me in a good mood,” Wen Tingli answered with a smile.

At the midday wrap, Huang Yuanshan came to find Wen Tingli. “Mrs. Pan from Yuanmeng Company wants to invite us to Carlton Hotel tonight for dinner and a show. You free tonight?”

“Even if I had plans, I’d cancel them for Mrs. Pan, wouldn’t I?” These connections with Mrs. Pan had been hard-won, and she was still hoping to nail down the ad contract soon.

Since it was New Year’s Day, the set wrapped earlier than usual. Wen Tingli left the studio with Huang Yuanshan and the others at only five o’clock.

The sky was somewhat overcast, looking like it might snow.

The streets were lively, many shop windows pasted with bright red paper-cuts for the holiday, the dark gray streets filled with festive spirit. Huang Yuanshan was in good spirits, chatting about the filming the whole way, and drove straight to the Carlton Hotel, heading up to a private room.

Mrs. Pan had already ordered the dishes—a whole table of glittering, bejeweled ladies, who broke into smiles the moment they saw Wen Tingli. “The big star has arrived.”

Partway through the meal, one of the ladies said, “Oh right, Mrs. Ma, I saw your son earlier outside the Garden Hotel in the International Settlement—when did he get back from England?”

“He got back last month. I don’t know if he got tired of foreigners’ airs over there, but he’s like a changed man since he stepped off the boat, going on and on about revitalizing national industry, and the moment he got back he apprenticed himself at his father’s company. Today he even went with his father to the Nanyang Chamber of Commerce’s patriotic merchants’ annual meeting in Shanghai.”

Everyone laughed. “That’s the whole point of studying abroad! Young Master Ma really is growing up.”

Hearing the words “Shanghai Nanyang Chamber of Commerce,” Wen Tingli couldn’t help but go blank for a moment—if Huang Yuanshan hadn’t nudged her, the soup spoon in her hand would’ve grazed her collar.

After the meal, the group headed to Mrs. Pan’s for cards as planned—it happened that the Pans’ newly purchased house was near the Garden Hotel.

Getting out of the car, Wen Tingli glanced casually across the street—the hotel’s enamel glass doors stood wide open, white Russian doormen in round flat-topped caps stationed on either side of the steps, a steady stream of finely dressed guests filing in. It looked like the annual meeting was already underway.

At Mrs. Pan’s, the card table was already set up. Huang Yuanshan, though she loved making friends, deeply disliked the social obligations of the mahjong table, and started yawning partway through, finding an excuse to leave before nine o’clock.

Wen Tingli, on the other hand, handled this kind of occasion effortlessly, sitting energetically beside Mrs. Pan the whole time, tossing out the occasional witty remark to keep the mood light, and even helping draw a hand of cards when Mrs. Pan’s luck ran cold.

Her luck was good—every hand she drew turned out favorable, and Mrs. Pan won four rounds in a row, delighted, calling Wen Tingli her little lucky charm.

By half past ten, the lady across the table came down with her old headache trouble again, and Mrs. Pan, though still not quite satisfied, wrapped up the game.

Before leaving, Mrs. Pan kept Wen Tingli behind alone, had a servant bring her a freshly stewed bowl of bird’s nest soup, and asked, “Will you be at the company tomorrow morning?”

“I will.”

Mrs. Pan said with a good-natured smile, “My lawyer’s already looked over the ad contract, no more concerns on our end. I’ll come by your company tomorrow morning to sign, so come in early too.”

Wen Tingli’s heart leapt with secret joy—it was done!

This ad fee was practically sky-high—not only would her worth rise from here on, but crucially, the Pan family’s shops were everywhere across the city, meaning she’d have a familiar face with the public even before the film released.

Coming out of the Pan residence, Wen Tingli could no longer hide the smile spreading across her face. Mrs. Pan seemed simple-hearted, but was actually quite shrewd—dealing with her, being too polished wouldn’t do, and being too clumsy wouldn’t do either.

One’s manner shouldn’t be too eager, or it would seem overly opportunistic. But it shouldn’t be too aloof either, or it would only strain the relationship.

All in all, that balance of neither too humble nor too proud was hard to strike—the only secret was careful observation, and respecting the other party’s preferences as much as possible.

Someone with fragile pride handling this would’ve gotten upset before even accomplishing anything, but confidence and tenacity were the very things she had no shortage of.

Regardless, she’d built up this network of connections and gotten what she wanted. Walking along in high spirits, she suddenly felt something cold on her forehead, and looking up, found snow falling from the sky in a great swirl. The ground had already been dusted with a thin layer of white she hadn’t even noticed forming; hardly any pedestrians remained on the street, but a few were still cheering, “It’s snowing, it’s snowing!”

Wen Tingli couldn’t help smiling—this was the first snow of the year, falling right on New Year’s Day, truly a good omen.

She strolled along happily and slowly through the snow, then suddenly remembering something, subconsciously turned her gaze toward the garden mansion across the way.

She’d been so preoccupied with her own affairs she’d nearly forgotten the Nanyang Chamber of Commerce meeting hadn’t ended yet. The hotel’s front doors were shut tight, a row of lampposts quietly illuminating the entrance hall, the whole building solemn and dignified, as if however loud the street outside got, the sound couldn’t reach inside.

That was simply another world entirely.

Glancing over just briefly, Wen Tingli decisively looked away—she needed to get back to the French Concession, and the rickshaw pullers on this street likely only held licenses for the International Settlement, so she’d have to go around the garden to another street to hail a rickshaw.

She pulled her scarf tighter and hurried across the street, just as the hotel doors swung open, elegant music and laughter spilling out from within—a great crowd of finely dressed guests emerging; it seemed the meeting had ended.

Wen Tingli looked straight ahead without turning, but the moment she rounded the corner she saw a black Rolls-Royce parked on the road ahead, and her heart nearly leapt out of her throat—only for a group of wealthy merchants speaking Cantonese to walk up laughing and get into the car, driving off.

Wen Tingli turned her head and kept walking.

There was snow underfoot, her shoes crunching with each step, and on this late-night street, that faintly mechanical crisp sound carried an oddly comforting quality.

Suddenly, mixed in with the sound of footsteps in the snow, came another sound.

Footsteps. Had it not been for the previous night’s events, Wen Tingli might not have paid it any mind, but this time she immediately glanced back warily, and caught a glimpse of a figure quickly shrinking back into the shadow of a wall corner, and she narrowed her eyes.

She tried quickening her pace, and the footsteps behind her sped up to match.

She kept her expression unchanged, but her right hand quietly reached for the pistol in her coat pocket, while she scanned her surroundings—after all this time training with Sister Li and Liu Xiangzhi, she could handle a lone tail without much trouble.

Though this area was a bustling part of town, it wasn’t a residential district—on her right was the hotel garden’s high wall, and on her left the road held only cars whizzing past one after another; not a single pedestrian in sight anywhere around.

A gunshot would surely draw attention—before making a move, she needed to plan her escape route first.

Ahead was the back entrance of the Garden Hotel—being a main entrance, there’d surely be a doorman there. She quickened her pace, walking along the base of the wall toward the streetlamp by the back door—but this would also expose whoever was following her.

Just then, someone happened to come out through the hotel’s back door. Wen Tingli meant to slow her steps to see who it was, but lost her footing for a moment and bumped right into them.

This person was tall and quite alert, stepping back before Wen Tingli could touch him, but once he got a clear look at her face, he was visibly stunned.

There was snow on the ground, and from the collision Wen Tingli’s feet slipped—the person instinctively caught her. She couldn’t steady herself right away, only stared blankly at him—this young man’s looks and bearing were first-rate, unmistakable—who else could it be but Lu Shicheng.

“Young Master Lu, are you all right?” someone nearby asked. Lu Shicheng shook his head to indicate he was fine, his eyes still on Wen Tingli, gaze very deep.

Just then, Wen Tingli, still unsteady, swayed again, and he caught her once more, then, steadying himself, nodded to her and walked toward the roadside.

It turned out his Rolls-Royce was parked at the hotel’s back entrance.

By now Wen Tingli had gathered her wits, her expression steadying too. Once he turned away, she withdrew her own gaze without hesitation, steadied her nerves, and kept walking, not noticing that the snow had covered a crack between the paving stones—her boot heel caught in the gap, and no matter how she pulled, it wouldn’t come free. She had to hold onto a roadside parasol tree and bend down to yank at it with all her strength.

She couldn’t get it free even after a good while, and let out an irritated “tsk” where she stood.

Lu Shicheng, having just reached his car door, heard the commotion and couldn’t help but glance back at her.

Fortunately, just then Wen Tingli finally managed to pull her boot free and put it back on her foot, then straightened up and strode forward. She’d walked a good while before remembering that ahead lay a large residential district, and at this hour, on a snowy night, hailing a rickshaw would be next to impossible—and if she kept trudging on through the snow, her legs really would freeze.

Thinking it over, the best option was to go back to the Garden Hotel and have the staff call her a car. But hearing the sound of Lu Shicheng’s car driving off, she immediately turned around and headed back, only to find the hotel’s back door already closed.

She realized the back door had probably only been opened temporarily for Lu Shicheng’s convenience. Wen Tingli regretted it deeply—she should have had her own driver come pick her up here.

With no other option, she had no choice but to lean against the roadside parasol tree and keep waiting for a rickshaw.

Watching the snowflakes dance gracefully down, her heart regained a sense of peace, and she couldn’t help reaching out to catch a few flakes, when suddenly she heard a rustling sound overhead—a great clump of snow fell right onto her face, too fast to dodge, drenching her from head to toe. Just as she was awkwardly patting the snow from her hair, the sound of a car engine suddenly rang out on the road ahead.

She glanced up crossly, and suddenly froze.

It was him—he’d made a U-turn ahead and driven back.

Lu Shicheng drove the car straight up beside Wen Tingli and stopped, got out, walked around from the front to the side, and opened the car door in front of her.

He wasn’t looking at her, but off in another direction.

Wen Tingli kept her face turned resolutely the other way.

A cold gust of wind blew past, and she couldn’t help but shiver, yet her feet seemed rooted to the spot, refusing to move.

If this standoff continued, the two of them really would freeze into icicles right there on the street.

Fine by her.

But—

It wouldn’t matter if he froze to death, but she still had to become the next generation’s Empress of Film before she’d allow herself to die. And remembering someone had been following her earlier, a gentleman doesn’t stand beneath a crumbling wall—if that person came back, she couldn’t very well fight them off barefoot.

She shot him a resentful glance—in just that short time, snow had already settled on his coat, in his hair, on his shirt collar too…

By the look of it, unless a car came to fetch her, he wasn’t going to leave her there alone. She bit her lip and turned her gaze his way, saying flatly, “Thank you.”

Not looking at him at all, she bent down and climbed into the car.