Rong Qian stepped out of the hotel and saw a car parked by the roadside with the rear door standing open — clearly waiting for someone.
She looked around. It was the only vehicle parked there, so this had to be it. With that thought, she walked over.
The driver wore dark sunglasses and a black suit. In the front passenger seat sat a bodyguard, expressionless and unsmiling.
In the rear seat, by the window, sat a woman in a tailored professional outfit. The V-neckline hinted at graceful curves, drawing the eye. Her long hair was swept up, exposing the long, fair line of her neck. She had a gentle oval face, refined makeup, a shapely figure — and the overall impression she gave was of a high-achieving, elegant, and formidable woman.
Was this Shen Yi’s secretary, Sheng Wanqing?
As Rong Qian studied her, Sheng Wanqing gave her a haughty, dismissive glance in return. Compared to the women she’d dealt with before, this one was remarkably plain.
No makeup at all, and wearing the most unflattering combination possible — a plain white T-shirt and jeans — an outfit that put all the focus squarely on one’s face. With a complexion that wasn’t looking its best, this woman was, at most, average-looking.
From the way Rong Qian was dressed, Sheng Wanqing filed her away under “low-income” — the type that was easiest to send packing.
“You must be Miss Rong? Go ahead and get in.” Sheng Wanqing spoke first.
Hearing those words, Rong Qian confirmed the woman’s identity and climbed in. Without waiting for the other woman to say anything, she asked directly, “Did Shen Yi send you to pick me up?”
“Shen Yi?” Sheng Wanqing found this almost amusing. This woman might actually be delusional. “Miss Rong, I’ll be direct. You claim to know my employer — so I’d like to ask: when exactly did the two of you meet?”
“Didn’t you tell him my name?” Rong Qian narrowed her eyes, instinctively sensing the woman’s bias.
Sheng Wanqing tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She said unhurriedly, “I did. But he doesn’t know you.”
“You’re lying.” Rong Qian stared straight at her eyes and called her out without mercy.
Sheng Wanqing paused. With the women she’d dealt with before, they were either cowering nervously or clinging stubbornly to their pride and throwing tantrums. This was the first woman who had remained entirely calm from beginning to end.
“I’m not lying.” Sheng Wanqing had fought her way to her current position through far worse — one blunt accusation wasn’t going to throw her off.
Rong Qian had already seen through the situation: Sheng Wanqing hadn’t told Shen Yi anything at all. She’d come on her own initiative.
Since she wasn’t going to admit it, Rong Qian didn’t press. She simply said coolly, “I don’t know what you’ve misunderstood, but since you don’t believe me, there was no need for you to make this trip — and certainly no need to lie to me.”
“That little reverse psychology tactic is quite clever, but I’m afraid thinking you can see Shen Yi is pure fantasy. He would never — not under any circumstances — agree to meet someone like you.” Sheng Wanqing was imperious, as if Rong Qian were a sparrow dreaming of becoming a phoenix.
Rong Qian looked at her and asked, “Do you know him that well?”
“Of course. I am the woman closest to him — no one understands him better than I do.” The corner of Sheng Wanqing’s mouth curved with undisguised satisfaction.
A flash of irritation rose in Rong Qian’s chest. She had seen through it clearly now: Sheng Wanqing’s motives were as transparent as her namesake. She had feelings for Shen Yi, which meant she would never let another woman have any chance of getting close to him.
Realizing this, Rong Qian knew at once that getting to Shen Yi through her was essentially impossible. She got out of the car without hesitation.
Watching Rong Qian get out — apparently flustered and storming off — Sheng Wanqing called after her, “Miss Rong, I hope you’ll refrain from telling others that you know Shen Yi from now on. Otherwise, I’ll be coming to find you again — or perhaps I’ll send someone else.” Her gaze flicked pointedly toward the bodyguard in the front seat, the implication unmistakable.
Rong Qian understood she was being threatened. She might have let it go if Sheng Wanqing had said nothing — but those words lit a fire in her that her temper simply would not allow her to ignore.
She stepped forward, placed one hand on the car roof, and leaned down to bring her face level with Sheng Wanqing’s. Expressionless, she said, “Remember what you said today, Secretary. We will be seeing each other again.”
With that, Rong Qian withdrew, shut the car door with a firm slam, then swung her bag over her shoulder and walked away with unhurried composure.
Sheng Wanqing watched Rong Qian’s retreating figure, her brow furrowed. After a long moment, she finally told the driver, “Back to the office.”
At four in the afternoon, Sheng Wanqing returned to the company building. In the lobby downstairs, she ran into Xu Mo, who happened to be on his way out. Xu Mo looked at her and remarked, “Secretary Sheng, where have you been? The boss has been looking for you.”
“Really? I’ll head right up!” A visible brightness lit Sheng Wanqing’s face, and she hurried into the elevator.
Xu Mo watched her go, muttering to himself, “Why is she so happy? The boss just wants to ask her about work.”
When Sheng Wanqing reached the door of the president’s office, she straightened her neckline, gave a light cough, and knocked.
“Come in.” The man’s voice was low and resonant, carrying the settled weight of a mature man.
Sheng Wanqing pushed open the door. The man sitting at the desk didn’t look up, continuing to sign the documents in his hand.
His suit jacket had been removed and draped casually over the back of the chair. His white dress shirt was immaculate — pristine, not a crease out of place — with the top button at the collar left undone, revealing the faint line of his collarbone. He wore a pair of gold-wire-rimmed glasses; the hair at his temples was swept neatly back, exposing his forehead. A small lock of hair had fallen forward — he hadn’t noticed it — and its effect, against his otherwise precise appearance, was a touch of rakish, magnetic dishevelment. It was the particular allure of a focused, mature man.
Although Sheng Wanqing had been working by Shen Yi’s side for some time, every time she saw him, her heart couldn’t help but quicken.
This man could draw her in at any moment, without even trying.
“Mr. Shen, you were looking for me?” Sheng Wanqing stepped closer to ask. On the matter of address, she’d never liked calling him “boss” — it felt too common. His fans preferred to call him Young Master Shen, but Sheng Wanqing felt only “Young Master” and “Mr.” were fitting for a man like him. So, on her own initiative, she had taken to calling him Mr. Shen in all settings, whether within the company or outside it.
Shen Yi didn’t look up. His long, fair fingers leafed through the documents. “Any plans for tonight?”
Sheng Wanqing fixed her gaze on his face and, entranced, forgot to answer for a moment. Not until Shen Yi set his pen down on the desk did she come back to herself. “Tonight is the eightieth birthday celebration of the chairman of Lin Film and Television Group. The invitation has already been delivered. Given that it’s the Lin chairman’s birthday banquet, it wouldn’t do to decline — you’ll likely need to attend, Mr. Shen, even if it’s just to show your face briefly.”
“Understood. You may go.” From start to finish, Shen Yi had not once looked up at her.
A shadow fell over Sheng Wanqing’s eyes. The world knew Wei Long as a man of warmth and refinement, one who always wore a faint smile and almost never showed any temper.
But only Sheng Wanqing knew that beneath that exterior, Shen Yi was, in truth, cold and detached.
Though he always met people with a smile, it never reached his eyes. Especially when working, he almost never smiled at all, which meant working beside him felt like walking on thin ice — every step uncertain. Yet for all that, Sheng Wanqing still wished she could thaw this glacier of a man. She believed that one day, he would come to see her worth.