Chapter 27

"Mr. Zhang, eat something," Dong Fei shouted, barging in without knocking; she tossed two takeout boxes onto the desk.

"I'll eat later..." Zhang Mo-mo had her desk covered in newspapers, frowning tightly at the computer screen. In the sea of online comments, there were plenty who, feeling deceived, seemed determined to curse her family ancestors for eight generations. She knew this would happen, but couldn't help herself—she kept reading, the anger growing with every word, until she nearly wanted to smash the computer in rage and frustration. It was then that Dong Fei's loud voice thundered in.

"Zhang Mo-mo! How many days has it been since you ate properly? The people making toxic milk powder and gutter oil aren't as anxious as you are. Your printing factory only printed a few car prize tickets separately for a merchant, and besides, you weren't the one who did it. Why are you carrying such a heavy burden?" As she spoke, she shoved eco-friendly chopsticks into Zhang's hand. "Eat!"

Zhang Mo-mo, face full of worry, slapped the chopsticks down on the desk. "Toxic milk powder? Gutter oil? How is Dongyin anything like those? What nonsense are you spouting?"

Dong Fei realized the comparison was off, grinned sheepishly. "I just meant that compared to those, our problem is much smaller..." The more Zhang Mo-mo listened, the more wrong it sounded. Since when was Dongyin grouped with toxic milk powder as 'evil'? Her eyes filled with tears, her heart burning with resentment.

"Actually, I meant that toxic milk powder is so terrible, we should rid the world of it." Dong Fei noticed she'd misspoken again, quickly tried to change the subject. "Right! We'll take action tonight. I'll go to the market and see if anyone's selling guns and ammo... You eat first, eat well. I'll be right back..."

She said it with mock seriousness, pretending to leave. Even with the weight crushing her, Zhang Mo-mo couldn't help but let out a laugh. Dong Fei saw her smile and secretly wiped the sweat from her brow—earning extra from Mr. Xiang was no easy job; you needed real skill!

"Who are you scheming against now?" The voice came before the man himself, light and carefree. Song Jia-kai entered with a face full of interest. He strolled over to Mo-mo's desk, leaned his long legs against it, peered into the takeout box. "Hey, not bad! Takeout is this fancy now?"

Dong Fei eyed him warily, thinking, this meal was arranged by Mr. Xiang's personal restaurant—it’s no ordinary takeout. Even as a part-timer, her loyalty to the company was beyond reproach. Without wasting a second, she leaned into the space between Song Jia-kai and Zhang Mo-mo, blocking their direct line of sight. "This is a workplace. Outsiders aren't allowed."

Zhang Mo-mo wasn’t as paranoid as Dong Fei, but the sudden appearance of a head startled her. "Dong Fei! Are you trying to kill me?" she complained. Song Jia-kai had already pushed the troublesome designer aside, and now noticed the desk was covered in tabloid papers. He looked closer and understood.

"Isn't Dongyin under Shenglian now?" he asked. The moment the words left his mouth, Zhang Mo-mo's sadness was triggered again, her head drooping. Dong Fei glared at him, Song Jia-kai paused, half-smirking with disdain. "Shenglian is really pathetic, can't even suppress such a minor news story."

Dong Fei wouldn't stand for it—blatant disparagement of her boss, unfair competition! "You think you can? If you can, suppress the news yourself! Talk is cheap!"

"Funny! Dongyin isn’t under my Hangyuan group. Why should I do Xiang Zuo’s dirty work for free?"

"Oh, so you know Dongyin isn’t your responsibility. Wait until you buy Dongyin, then talk."

"You little thing, you think I can’t buy it? It’s a small factory, you just wait, I’ll get it for Mo-mo to play with."

"Stop it!" Zhang Mo-mo suddenly stood up, pushing the chair away with force; tears welled in her eyes. How could others treat her misery as a joke? "You—and you—both of you, get out! Out!"

The office door slammed shut in front of Song Jia-kai and Dong Fei’s noses. They looked at each other. "Is she really hurt?" Song Jia-kai finally dropped his playful tone, carefully asking Dong Fei. She too looked glum. "She’s been troubled by this for days, not eating at all. Don’t mention Dongyin in front of her anymore."

Song Jia-kai lingered outside the door for a long time; the sound of sobbing seeped through, making his heart ache. After a while, he left in silence.

Hongtang International Golf Club.

When Xiang Zuo arrived, Song Jia-kai was already waiting, handsome and confident, his demeanor polished and charming. In contrast, the man he waited for showed no trace of emotion on his face—so much so that even if you praised his looks, you'd risk a cold glare.

In truth, Xiang Zuo was in a good mood today. As expected, the Dongyin factory’s prize coupon scandal was just the opening salvo. Once he figured out the real target, the heavy weight in his heart seemed to lift. The only annoyance was Zhang Mo-mo, that foolish girl. She trusted anyone—except him! Yet, he still had to take care of her; he couldn’t help himself. Just as he had promised her when they married: "Dongyin, your sister (of course, now it seems she’s actually your older sister), don’t worry, I’m here." He recalled her tearful, dazed gaze from that time, and his heart trembled, threatening to melt.

A stubborn, disobedient, self-tormenting fool—if he didn’t care for her, who would? He thought up some clumsy rationale to soothe the wound from being falsely accused by her, and couldn’t help but laugh at his own capacity to endure.

"Mr. Xiang, you’re in a good mood today?" Song Jia-kai searched his memory and couldn’t recall ever seeing Xiang Zuo smile like this; he was almost startled by the illusion. Xiang Zuo ignored Song Jia-kai’s warmth, raised his club, watched with satisfaction as the white ball soared toward the green, straightened his posture.

"If you have something to say, say it." He switched hands, followed the ball.

"Straightforward!" Song Jia-kai genuinely admired him, though inwardly he gave a thumbs down. "To be honest, Dongyin is dragging Shenglian down, you know that best. Have you thought about selling? I’m interested."

Xiang Zuo reached the ball, poised to swing, but paused. He looked straight at Song Jia-kai’s eager face, his brows lowered. "Not selling." With that, he resumed his swing; this shot was going in, and nothing could stop it.

Song Jia-kai’s smile was suppressed by this abrupt refusal. He had done his homework on Dongyin and Shenglian before coming. Since acquiring Dongyin, Shenglian hadn’t benefited at all; a half-dead factory, only a fool would cling to it—except, of course, for heroes who value beauty over wealth, like himself.

But Xiang Zuo didn’t even ask for terms—his mind must be broken! If it is, he should rest at home, not block others' romantic pursuits. Without letting Xiang Zuo swing, Song Jia-kai stepped in front of him.

"If you hear my terms, you might not refuse so quickly."

Xiang Zuo was blocked from the hole, forced to stand upright; his brows furrowed slightly. "Mr. Song, I absolutely will not sell Dongyin. If that’s all, I must apologize for your 'good intentions.' Or," Xiang Zuo paused, his gaze cold, "if you have other plans, I advise you not to waste your time. You and her—your plan—will not succeed."

Song Jia-kai was infuriated. He knew Xiang Zuo saw through his intentions—it was normal, since no one would try to acquire such a hot potato without reason. But to know, and then be so blunt, showed no courtesy. He disliked Xiang Zuo, partly because of his extraordinary hardness. With his aloof, stubborn nature, it was a miracle he built Shenglian to its current size.

"This isn’t up to you," Song Jia-kai said, unmoving, his lips curled in habitual provocation. He tapped his club on the grass with a self-satisfied rhythm. "If she wants to climb into my bed, do you think you can stop her?"

Before he finished, Xiang Zuo’s brow had darkened; his gaze froze, lips pressed tight, but his hands didn’t hesitate. The club swung, the white ball shot straight at Song Jia-kai’s face. With a crack, Song Jia-kai crouched in pain. The caddy was stunned, only remembering to intervene after a moment, but Song Jia-kai leapt up, pushed the caddy aside, and lunged at Xiang Zuo. The two wrestled...

After weeks of tense focus on social news, Zhang Mo-mo became a devoted reader of entertainment news. Every morning, she broke into a cold sweat upon receiving the paper, afraid that either of the two men she knew would appear on the entertainment page.

Fate is unkind! The bold headline was once again front-page news—Shenglian Group Chairman Xiang Zuo and Hangyuan Group General Manager Song Jia-kai’s private feud escalates again! Below, in block letters, a muddle of dramatic events: "After their brawl at Hongtang International Golf Club, another scuffle at their chance encounter in Deyi Residence, and a car crash turning into violent conflict, last night, at the South China Chamber of Commerce reception, they clashed again..."

With a slap, Zhang Mo-mo threw the newspaper onto the desk, sprawling across it like an octopus. Heavens, someone tell her—how is this world growing more and more insane?

This winter was especially long and cold.

Around eight in the evening, even the bustling business district was nearly deserted; in such bleak, icy weather, anyone with a home would rather stay inside. Yet in the dim underground parking lot of Shenglian Tower, Zhang Nianqing had been waiting in silence for over two hours.

She had to see Xiang Zuo; she must see him. She held out for a long time, enduring day after day of despair. Since he tore up the divorce agreement at the airport, letting her keep the title of 'Mrs. Xiang,' he hadn’t returned home. No matter what she did, all she kept was a house without a man.

She realized, loneliness really can kill.

Before, Zhang Nianqing always thought dignity was more important than life. She would rather starve, suffer, than bow her head to anyone—including Xiang Zuo. But under this daily, deathlike loneliness, she couldn’t bear it anymore. Thousands of scenarios swirled in her mind, all with one goal—to bring Xiang Zuo back to her side, to return to his heart. For this, she didn’t care about surrendering or admitting defeat; after all, he was a man, he needed face.

But he wouldn’t even give her the chance to admit defeat. He refused to see her, wouldn’t answer her calls, and she couldn’t discuss private matters in the public office. So she braved the bitter winter, waiting in the dim garage. Two hours passed.

When Xiang Zuo finally appeared, Zhang Nianqing’s limbs barely obeyed her; fortunately, her voice still worked. He was in a suit, and seeing his tall but thin coat made her heart ache. She rushed over, forgetting all the cold she’d endured. "Why are you dressed so lightly in this weather?"

She tried to offer her gentlest smile, but her face was numb from the cold. Xiang Zuo didn’t even turn his head, heading straight for his car. With a couple of beeps, he unlocked it and prepared to get in. Zhang Nianqing gritted her teeth, stubbornly grabbing the car door. "Xiang Zuo, we need to talk!"

He wouldn’t let her hand get caught, finally spoke coldly. "What do you want to say?"

Zhang Nianqing was speechless; his coldness was stronger than she had expected.

"If you have nothing to say, step aside. I have another appointment."

"Wait!" Zhang Nianqing clung to the car door, her fingers frozen to the metal. "Give me a chance, I was wrong. Please, give me a chance, let’s start over, okay?" She spoke urgently, unable to express a fraction of her feelings; she had so much to say, but in this cold indifference, even the most carefully crafted words were useless.

"Impossible." Xiang Zuo said calmly, finally looking at her face—though his gaze held nothing of her. He shifted his body, slowly but firmly removed her hand, swift and merciless. Watching the man she waited so long for leave after barely two sentences, Zhang Nianqing was overwhelmed by sorrow, unable to understand why she let her dignity be trampled by his indifference. Her face, pale from the cold, was now determined in despair.

"Xiang Zuo," she called softly as he was about to get in the car, calm, unmoving, no longer stepping forward, standing proud in her final gamble. "Do you think you and Mo-mo are possible? You still don’t understand Mo-mo? As long as I’m here, she’ll never give you a chance."

Her words were light, but he turned back. Zhang Nianqing’s heart leapt, only to have all hope extinguished in the next moment. Xiang Zuo looked at her, simple, cold, not even bothering to show disdain or mockery, expressionless, and said clearly:

"Take your time thinking about how you can use Mo-mo to threaten me, it’s fine. But please don’t wander in my sight. Thank you."

The soft, warm red taillights of the car were the last light in the cold garage—vanishing without a trace. Zhang Nianqing stood unmoving for a long, long time, as if frozen to the hard ground, unable to lift her legs or walk. Her eyes still stared in the direction the car disappeared, and after a while, the words "please don’t wander in my sight" echoed in her ears.

It hurt so much she wanted to laugh. When did she become the prototype of the most despised supporting actress in a third-rate TV drama—like a fly or a cockroach, whose mere presence is repulsive? When did this happen? How did she let herself be degraded by him to this extent? Zhang Nianqing, you truly are worthless!

In the cold night, the bustling city was ablaze with lights and temptations. Yet, amid all the noise and excitement, there was nowhere for her to belong... Returning to that icy, heart-devouring home was meaningless; it would be better to search for traces of her own existence in these neon-lit streets...