Sheng Wanqing wanted so desperately for Shen Yi to notice her.

So, before leaving, she couldn’t help reaching toward his jacket draped over the back of the chair, intending to hang it up for him.

But just before her hand made contact, Shen Yi spoke.

“Secretary Sheng, I’ve told you before — don’t touch my things. If you’ve developed other intentions toward me, then I’ll have no choice but to let you go.”

Sheng Wanqing’s outstretched hand froze mid-air. Feeling Shen Yi’s eyes on her, she pulled it back hastily and scrambled to explain. “I don’t have any other intentions, I was only—”

“Good.” Before she could finish, Shen Yi had already cut her off.

The words caught in Sheng Wanqing’s throat. She bit her lip and swallowed them back down.

“Is there anything else?” Seeing her still standing there with no intention of leaving, Shen Yi spoke.

Sheng Wanqing shook her head. “No, nothing.”

Shen Yi said nothing, but his meaning was clear: she was free to go.

Sheng Wanqing left the office reluctantly, and only once she had shut the door and leaned her back against it did she finally let herself relax. She exhaled a long, slow breath.

She told herself it was all right. There was plenty of time.

Perhaps because Shen Yi showed no interest in any woman, Sheng Wanqing didn’t feel particularly threatened. After all, she was currently the woman standing closest to him — no one could compare to that. As long as she kept pushing, there would come a day when Shen Yi would yield to her charm.

Back in the office, once Sheng Wanqing had gone, Shen Yi finally let himself slump back in his chair, exhausted.

He frowned, removed his glasses, pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, then put them back on. He reached for the coffee cup on the desk and took a sip.

The coffee had gone completely cold. It tasted bitter. Shen Yi drank it without interest — his sense of taste had been off lately, and food had become meaningless to him. Eating was now nothing more than the daily routine of filling his stomach.

Shen Yi glanced at the desk calendar.

October 5th, 1984.

Four years, three months, and eight days since Rong Qian had last left.

He still remembered their last meeting — four years ago, in America. Yet Rong Qian had seemed strange that day, as though she no longer knew him.

Still, he had taken off his watch and fastened it onto her wrist. A gift.

How she had left after that, he could no longer clearly recall. He vaguely remembered a photograph being taken, and then — by the time he and Butler Fu had registered what had happened, she was already gone.

She had stayed such a brief time that visit. So brief, Shen Yi sometimes wondered if he had only dreamed her.

After that, he had counted the days, each one, waiting for her to appear again. But day after day passed, and she never came.

Sometimes, Shen Yi found himself wondering — was he not that important to her?

He knew that years of time, to Rong Qian, passed in what felt like only a short while. Perhaps only a matter of days.

What he couldn’t understand was why, every time, she made him wait years before coming to find him. And why, when she did come, she couldn’t stay by his side a little longer.

Perhaps it was because, in her heart, he simply didn’t matter that much.

This feeling between them — from the very beginning, he had been the one putting everything in. From start to finish, he had been the only one fooling himself…

“I want to see Shen Yi!”

Meanwhile, across the hotel, Rong Qian had Ke Wenguang pinned against the wall by his collar. Her teeth were clenched. “Mr. Ke, you’ve got some nerve, setting me up like that.”

“How did I set you up? I did everything you asked,” Ke Wenguang protested, struggling — but no matter how he fought, he couldn’t break free from Rong Qian’s grip.

Rong Qian laid out his crimes. “You knew perfectly well that Sheng Wanqing wouldn’t do what you told her to. And you didn’t believe a word I said. You sent her over just to get rid of me, didn’t you?”

“Well… that’s…” Caught out, Ke Wenguang was momentarily at a loss for words.

Rong Qian didn’t care that he hadn’t believed her — she wouldn’t hold that against him. But there was one thing he absolutely had to do. “Since you played me first, you’re not getting off the hook today until you get me in front of Shen Yi.”

She had started out fairly restrained — after all, she was the one asking for a favor — but Ke Wenguang’s attempt to play her had genuinely made her furious.

“You really want to see him that badly?” Ke Wenguang was exasperated. Picking up a fan like this was his bad luck.

“Absolutely,” Rong Qian said with complete conviction.

“Fine. Tonight is the eightieth birthday banquet of the chairman of the Lin Group. A lot of well-known actors and entertainers from the industry are invited — including the Wei Long you’re so desperate to find. I’ll bring you along. That should settle things, right?” Ke Wenguang gave in.

Rong Qian looked at him skeptically. “You’re sure you’re not setting me up again?”

“I swear — I promise — I am not lying to you!” Ke Wenguang even raised his hand in oath. Only then did Rong Qian believe him.

So that evening, Ke Wenguang brought Rong Qian to the event under the guise of her being his manager.

The Lin chairman’s eightieth birthday celebration was held at a hotel. Ke Wenguang arrived in a rather eye-catching red suit, and once inside, promptly abandoned Rong Qian to go drink and chat with the actresses.

The managers, secretaries, and assistants brought by the various guests were settled in a separate private room, with a few tables set out and food served — they were to eat and wait there. Rong Qian was led there as well.

She scanned the room and spotted a familiar face at the farthest table inside — Xu Mo.

Six years had passed, but he hadn’t changed much at all. He was sharing a meal with several colleagues he knew, smoking as he talked — every man at the table seemed to smoke, and the entire private room was thick with drifting haze.

Xu Mo’s table was all men; the women all sat together at a separate table. Even if the women’s table became overcrowded, none of them would squeeze in among the men — the risk of being talked about, of people thinking they had ulterior motives, was too real.

So when Rong Qian walked over and sat herself down in an empty seat right next to Xu Mo, it was, without question, instant subject of every pair of eyes in the room.

Noticing all eyes suddenly fixed in his direction, Xu Mo turned in puzzlement — and the sight hit him like a shock.

He inhaled at exactly the wrong moment. The smoke caught in his throat, and Xu Mo was seized by a painful coughing fit, managing between coughs to splutter, “You — you — Rong Qian? How did you—”

“That’s enough. Have some water,” Rong Qian said, her mood in a terrible state. She poured him a glass and pushed it toward him. Xu Mo drained it in one go, staring at her in disbelief. “Rong Qian? You’re really Rong Qian?”

“Who else would I be?” Rong Qian poured herself a small glass of something, took a cautious sip, decided it was acceptable, and poured a bit more.

Xu Mo’s reaction was dramatic. “Miss Rong! Where have you been these past six years? Not a single word of news! My boss has been waiting for you the whole time!”

He thought of all those years Shen Yi had spent waiting and couldn’t help feeling indignant on his behalf.

Six years. She had walked off without a word and reappeared just as casually — had she ever spared a thought for what Shen Yi was going through? How could she be so heartless?