“Ugh!”

On the weekend, Lin Qing woke up in the sprawling 400-square-meter penthouse, shuffled to the bathroom to brush her teeth with her hair in chaos.

“Oh!”

She walked into the living room and nearly ran straight into Jiang Han — who was in the middle of a workout, lifting weights and drenched in sweat. Lin Qing got the fright of her life.

This… this…

Was this the kind of thing a small fry like her could witness for free — an absurdly wealthy CEO’s live morning workout?

Sure enough, Jiang Han shot her a cold look. “What are you staring at? Get out of here.”

“Yes sir.”

Lin Qing retreated immediately — didn’t even look back.

After washing up properly and coming back out, Lin Qing felt considerably more human.

She sneakily grabbed her bag, hoping to slip out for a McDonald’s breakfast.

But Jiang Han called out, “Where are you going?”

“To… to eat breakfast.”

“Come eat here.”

Jiang Han beckoned.

Lin Qing had no choice but to put her bag down and walk over, her heart in her throat.

The imposing pressure of a domineering CEO.

She felt it now.

Fried eggs. Smoked salmon salad. A variety of vegetable salads Lin Qing didn’t recognize. Milk in a carton covered entirely in English text.

An upper-tier spread.

Lin Qing’s heart sank. It was a perfectly good weekend — all she wanted was something high in oil, sugar, and carbs. These “health-conscious” offerings made her stomach turn just looking at them, and she’d have to use cold stainless steel cutlery on top of it all.

The moment the words “stainless steel” entered her mind, Lin Qing’s appetite disappeared entirely. She sat there looking thoroughly dejected, waiting for time to pass so she could escape.

Lin Qing had been planning to finish breakfast and then head downstairs to the small garden to intercept her mother and check in on her.

Jiang Han sat across the wide wooden dining table from her, and Lin Qing had the distinct feeling that a morning board meeting was about to commence.

And sure enough.

The moment Lin Qing sat down, Jiang Han’s very first sentence was: “Sansheng’s losses this quarter…”

“Stop right there!”

Lin Qing crossed her knife and fork over her plate in a firm X.

She was not working on her day off.

She refused to work on her day off, dead or alive!

She would never work on her day off in this life or any other!

It had been the same working under Liang Meng, and it was the same here with Jiang Han.

A humble ant could not stop a predator — but a humble ant could choose not to confront a predator on a Saturday morning, and instead go out for a leisurely stroll.

Jiang Han, being no fool, read the situation at once, set down his fork, and stood up. “All right, let me make you a latte. Do you want hot or iced?”

Congee! Congee! Congee!

Lin Qing was practically hearing her own stomach cry out.

And right then, Jiang Han, completely oblivious, carried on beside her: “Liang Meng always likes hers hot, with sugar. Not white sugar — has to be brown sugar. Goodness knows how she manages her breakfast now that I’m not around.”

Lin Qing fumed internally: Liang Meng is definitely right now sipping the freshly made mixed-grain porridge her mother brewed early this morning, eating a fresh hot egg pancake her mom just flipped off the griddle, paired with one warmed-up Telunsu premium milk and two tea eggs simmered in Lipton red tea bags…

Bliss.

And Liang Meng’s seat across from her probably had the warm, sunny, gentlemanly Lu Zhou smiling back at her…

“Ugh!!”

Lin Qing, in a burst of irritation, stamped her foot with a muffled growl.

Jiang Han looked baffled. “Is it that bad? My cooking really tastes that awful?”

Lin Qing looked up at him with the most pitiable expression she could manage and finally blurted out a question she’d wanted answered for ages — a question about wealthy people that she’d had no one to ask.

“CEO Jiang, why is it that once people get rich, even their eating habits change completely? Didn’t you grow up eating wontons, soy milk and fried dough, and jianbing?”

Jiang Han, about to hand over a steaming cup of coffee, paused, then set it gently in front of her with a smile. “You’re not wrong. I did eat those things growing up.”

“Then how did it become… eating grass?”

Lin Qing poked the one vegetable she could identify — a piece of green lettuce — with her fork and asked.

Jiang Han smiled and naturally picked up his knife and fork again.

“Lin Qing, do you remember when I told you that clothing is about image?”

“Yes. I understood that.”

“Right. And in a room full of people dressed in period costume, you can’t have one person show up in jeans and a T-shirt, can you?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, lifestyle is the same.” Jiang Han said, “Think of it this way — for someone like me, which is more fitting: eating this, or heading out to the corner stall for a big greasy jianbing?”

“I suppose that would be…”

Lin Qing thought about the image that would conjure, then looked at the refined, distinguished face of Jiang Han sitting across from her.

“Eating grass, I suppose,” Lin Qing answered. “More fitting with your image.”

But thinking it over, she was still puzzled, and asked, “But at home, alone, with no one around — why bother?”

Jiang Han answered, “Life is a performance, and performance is everything. If you want to play a role convincingly, you have to first lose yourself in it. Only when you yourself have become the character — when you’ve even fooled yourself — can you fool others. If you want to become wealthy, you must first think and live like a wealthy person.”

“CEO Jiang, I don’t quite understand…” Lin Qing said, somewhat at a loss.

“You will, in time.”

“Thank you for teaching me these life philosophies, CEO Jiang,” Lin Qing said, her gratitude visibly strained.

Jiang Han looked at her pained expression, set his fork down, and grabbed his jacket. “All right, let’s go. Stop stabbing that lettuce — you’ve practically turned it into lace. If you don’t want this, we’ll go out. Jianbing, fried dough, whatever you want!”

“No more keeping up with the image?” Lin Qing’s face lit up.

“Consider it a nostalgic meal. Let’s go!” Jiang Han said decisively.

Heh heh heh heh.

Lin Qing was overjoyed. She snatched up her bag at lightning speed and followed Jiang Han out the door.

Jiang Han really was someone worth spending time with!

Once all this was over, she was going to talk Liang Meng into marrying him without delay.

Whatever old wounds, whatever buried resentments — stop being dramatic about it!

What in the world could compare to a domineering CEO who was cold on the outside and warm on the inside, gorgeous to look at, and perfectly put together?

If it weren’t for Lu Zhou, even she might fall for him!

Oh, for shame.

Lin Qing quickly gave herself a mental slap. Her best friend’s love interest — that was practically a different species. Off-limits!

At the breakfast stall.

Lin Qing had a youtiao in her left hand, an egg pancake in her right, and kept dipping her head to slurp from the bowl of century egg and pork congee in front of her.

This, truly, was paradise.

Jiang Han, on the other hand, pinched a small half of a youtiao between elegant fingers, took one tiny bite, and stared intently at Lin Qing’s eating style.

“Did she just get released from prison?” he thought to himself.

Lin Qing had wolfed down half a meal before she finally had a spare moment — and a spare mouth — to chat with Jiang Han.

“CEO Jiang, you clearly care for Liang Meng — so why can’t you just pursue her openly and be with her?”

Jiang Han set down the youtiao that had gone cold in his hands, and wiped his fingers with a napkin.

The way he wiped his hands was elegant, like a character from an animated film.

“Lin Qing, let me give you a new hypothetical for what happened back then — and see if this helps you understand it.” Jiang Han said, “Right now, Wang Xiancheng and I are in a zero-sum game. If we win, he has to go bankrupt, doesn’t he?”

“Right, of course.”

Lin Qing nodded. These days, that was precisely what they’d been working toward.

“But hypothetically — say we succeed, and Wang Xiancheng goes bankrupt. He can’t take the blow and jumps off a building. Liang Meng is still Wang Xiancheng’s biological daughter. If she learns the full truth, do you think she could still love me? Could the two of us ever be together without that shadow between us?”

The egg pancake in Lin Qing’s mouth instantly lost all flavor.

What a comparison. It went down like sawdust.

She frowned at Jiang Han, turning the scenario over in her mind, and suddenly felt a pang of something like sympathy for the man sitting across from her.

But almost as quickly, she caught herself.

Stop that!

Feeling sorry for your boss is a recipe for lifelong misery!

Lin Qing fell silent and picked up the soy milk beside her for a long, hearty gulp.

That was when Lu Zhou walked in, leading Liang Meng.

“Your mother went out to dance early this morning. We might as well grab breakfast here,” Lu Zhou said to Liang Meng.

Seeing them, Lin Qing immediately half-covered her face with her hand.

Oh no.

Of all the timing.

Lin Qing instantly regretted it — why on earth had she brought Jiang Han to this particular breakfast stall, the very one Lu Zhou always took her to?

Probability theory was wasted on her.

They had collided head-on.

“You go find a table. I’ll order,” Lu Zhou said.

Lu Zhou headed toward the counter, while Liang Meng, sunglasses on, scanned the room for an open seat.

Liang Meng’s eyes landed on Jiang Han first, and her heart lurched.

That silhouette was far too familiar.

She could even identify him by the sliver of black sock visible below the hem of his dark trousers as he sat with one leg crossed over the other — that was Jiang Han.

Jiang Han and Liang Meng both preferred light, plain food. Yet here he was, having accompanied Lin Qing to this noisy, boisterous place?

A dense, suffocating wave of jealousy surged up from somewhere deep inside her.

Liang Meng stood frozen in place. From behind her sunglasses, her expression was hidden from Jiang Han.

But he could guess. Right now, she was almost certainly looking at him with eyes full of jealousy and resentment.

“I don’t want to eat anymore.”

Liang Meng said to Lu Zhou, who had just paid and walked back over.

Lu Zhou followed her gaze and spotted Lin Qing and Jiang Han as well.

Lu Zhou’s heart ached just as Liang Meng’s did, but retreating from the battlefield was not the style of a world champion.

He preferred to face things head-on. Even when facing something painful, confronting it was the fastest way to find the truth.

So Lu Zhou calmly took Liang Meng by the hand and walked them both straight over to Jiang Han and Lin Qing’s table.

“Mind if we share?” Lu Zhou asked, open and at ease.

“Not at all.”

“I mind.”

Jiang Han and Lin Qing answered at the exact same moment, in entirely opposite directions.

Lin Qing shot Jiang Han a sideways glare of reproach: Why were you so quick to answer?!

You and Liang Meng are Romeo and Juliet — at least let me and Lu Zhou try to be Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai.

Wait — didn’t Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai turn into butterflies?

Lin Qing covered her eyes in despair. Of all the mornings — what rotten luck this is!

She absolutely did not dare look up into Lu Zhou’s eyes, and instinctively hunched over her plate, not wanting anyone to witness her staggering food intake this early in the morning.

“What a coincidence,” Lin Qing managed, unable to stay silent forever, grasping for something to say.

Jiang Han said nothing — but through it all, he was in a self-imposed torment of his own making.

Every time Lu Zhou passed Liang Meng a pair of chopsticks, he seethed.

Every time Lu Zhou poured Liang Meng a drizzle of vinegar, he snapped a chopstick clean in two under the table.

Lin Qing couldn’t take it. She kicked Jiang Han under the table, gesturing desperately: Let’s just go!

But Jiang Han sat there like he enjoyed the torment, immovable.

In the end, it was Liang Meng — the one with the bigger agenda — who moved first. She looked down, sipping quietly at a small bowl of wontons, and said, “Wang Xiancheng called this morning to let me know he’s agreed to lease me the Baoquan brand name, patents, and production lines. The price is my 15% stake.”

“Who are you talking to?” Lin Qing wasn’t sure she followed.

Was Liang Meng talking to the wonton? Or to Lu Zhou?

From the look of things, she seemed to be deliberately letting Jiang Han hear.

Jiang Han stilled. He calmed down considerably — and the other chopstick under the table narrowly survived.

Jiang Han said nothing at first. Then he suddenly turned to Lin Qing and asked, “You’re comfortable enough at my place, I hope?”

Lin Qing snuck a cautious glance at Lu Zhou, reluctant but with no way out. “It’s… it’s fine.”

Fine, my foot.

Lin Qing used to have a lot of fanciful ideas about living in a mansion.

But now, having briefly experienced it firsthand, she understood — no matter how vast a home was, if it held no laughter, no warmth, no life — it was nothing but a half-deserted midnight basketball court.

At night, Lin Qing slept curled up tight under her covers, terrified that something might creep out of some dark corner.

Jiang Han’s room was two bedrooms and a whole living room away from hers. If she screamed for help, he probably wouldn’t even hear her.

Lu Zhou was visibly withering her with a look of silent disdain.

Lin Qing wanted to stand up on the table and shout: It’s not what you think! It’s all fake! Lu Zhou, look me in the eyes — am I, Lin Qing, really the kind of person who chases wealth and status?!

But she couldn’t say a single word.

Jiang Han added, “Then stay another two months. I’ll sort out a new place for you after that.”

Lin Qing and Lu Zhou were both spiraling internally in their own private pandemonium.

Liang Meng, however, caught Jiang Han’s real meaning immediately. People who had spent enough time in business developed an acute sensitivity to prices and timeframes.

Jiang Han had said: two months.