But Shen Fenran’s smugness didn’t last long before the police arrived.

Following Rong Qian’s plan, Shen Fenran had indeed fallen into the trap — but no matter how meticulous Rong Qian’s plan was, there were still oversights.

For instance, she hadn’t anticipated that by the time they arrived, Shen Fenran would have already burned her photograph.

This operation — Rong Qian could call it both a success and a failure.

The success: Shen Fenran had finally been arrested. This time, there was no chance he would ever walk out of prison alive. The failure: Rong Qian had lost Shen Yi… forever.

When Rong Xiwen came running over to help her up, Rong Qian clutched his collar with both hands, her eyes red and swollen from crying, glaring at him with raw anguish as she asked him over and over: “Why? Why didn’t you come sooner? Why!”

Rong Xiwen’s heart ached with grief. His eyes reddened, and though he opened his mouth as if to say something, in the end he said nothing at all. He could only hold her, letting her struggle and flail in his arms until Rong Qian cried herself into unconsciousness.

Three days.

Three days had passed since Shen Fenran and his associates were arrested. During those three days, whenever Rong Qian was awake, she did nothing but cry or sit in a daze, hollow and lost. She couldn’t eat. By the end of those three days, she had visibly lost weight.

Rong Qian’s mother was beside herself with worry at the sight of her daughter like this. She asked Rong Xiwen what had happened to her, but he only shook his head and said nothing.

Rong Qian shut herself inside her room for three days.

Just when her mother was beginning to fear she would make herself ill from isolation, Rong Qian finally emerged from her room.

She returned to a normal routine — sleeping when she should sleep, eating when she should eat, going to work when she should work.

And yet, anyone could see that something was wrong.

Rong Qian tried to force herself into her work, hoping to bury certain memories beneath the busyness — but those around her, seeing the state she was in, didn’t dare assign her anything, which meant that the moment Rong Qian went still at her desk, thoughts of Shen Yi would surface, and tears would spill from her eyes unbidden.

No one knew what had happened to her. How could she be this heartbroken? It was as though the sky had collapsed — yet no one dared to ask.

Zhang Hao had returned from Hong Kong with Rong Qian, but even he had no idea what had happened to her.

All he knew was that on the day Shen Fenran was arrested, she had woken up in the hotel room and wept in absolute anguish without stopping.

It was as though the person she loved most in the world had died.

Of course, that was only a comparison — after all, everyone knew that Officer Rong had no one she loved, let alone a boyfriend.

So why was she crying like this…?

Three days — not long, not short. But in this fast-paced world, three days is enough to wash away many things.

For instance, the uproar that had rippled through society when Shen Fenran was arrested was already subsiding by the third day. A new celebrity scandal had broken out, and the Shen Fenran affair had grown quiet.

In restaurants, friends gathered — gossiping, scrolling through their phones.

But there were exceptions.

In Hong Kong, inside a restaurant with seventy years of history, one of its private rooms — whose corridor was adorned with a hanging painting of red spider lilies — was currently hosting a lively reunion. A group of old friends had gathered for a class reunion, glasses raised, laughter and chatter filling the room.

Then, suddenly, someone noticed that a man had slipped in silently through the open doorway.

The man was dressed in a suit, wearing a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. He was tall, long-legged, and carried himself with an air of distinguished refinement that left no doubt he was someone extraordinary. The moment he walked in, the entire room fell into instant silence.

Several women stared, stupefied. The orange juice they were holding in their mouths slid down the corners of their lips, forgotten. It was only when they finally came back to their senses that they hastily wiped their chins.

Someone worked up the courage to ask: “Excuse me, may I ask who you are?”

“My apologies — I’ve come to the wrong room.” The man hesitated for only two seconds before offering everyone a faint smile, then turned and left.

It was only after he had walked away that the room slowly came back to life.

One of the women said: “Did you all just see that? My God, he was so handsome! I completely forgot how to breathe!”

Another woman with a short haircut and a slightly rounded figure immediately chimed in: “Forgetting to breathe is nothing — I actually drooled!”

“How can someone be that good-looking? I’m a grown man and my heart was pounding,” a male guest added, pressing a hand to his chest, his face flushed.

And then someone mused aloud: “That man’s build and looks — he’d captivate men and women alike. Is he a celebrity?”

“Impossible! I’ve been a fan for years — if there were anyone at that level in the entertainment industry, I would have already claimed him as my husband!”

“But seriously, he was so handsome! We shouldn’t have just frozen up like that — we should have asked for his contact information!”

“Please. Someone like that is definitely already taken. And even if he wasn’t — are you really saying you’d dare pursue him?”

The woman deflated at that and let out a long sigh. “…You’re right. I wouldn’t dare. A man like that — you can only admire from afar. You’d never dare get too close.”

Meanwhile, the very man everyone was buzzing about made his way alone to a private booth tucked in the farthest corner of the third floor.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room held only a small dining table set with two chairs — the kind meant for couples.

The man walked with long, unhurried strides toward one of the walls. There, a single photograph occupied the entire surface of the wall.

In the photograph, a man was lowering his head to kiss a rose, while his eyes slid sideways toward the camera — a gaze brimming with intensity.

The man reached out and touched the photograph lightly. The corner of his mouth curved upward, and he murmured softly: “So it’s true… exactly as A’Qian described…”