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Aiville Beauty Salon was one of the most prestigious high-end beauty chains in the city; a single branch occupied three stories of a grand Western-style building, resplendent and luxurious. Yet as Mo Mo Zhang stood before this magnificent edifice, her heart was in utter torment.

It was early spring—a season when all things vie to burst forth with green vitality. She, however, wore a thin, drab gray coat the color of a mouse. In truth, she had always felt herself to be someone whose presence brought discomfort to others, so such a color suited her and this occasion perfectly.

Luxury cars came and went at the beauty salon’s entrance, replaced several times over. Mo Mo Zhang stared fixedly at the salon’s golden, gleaming revolving door, her expression more contorted than if she were suffering a stomachache. She circled the entrance countless times before finally gritting her teeth, turning on her heel, and walking inside with unwavering resolve.

In an inconspicuous corner behind her, inside a black Ato car, a man with a baseball cap pulled low over his brow watched her slip through the doors and made a phone call.

“Mr. Xiang, Miss Zhang has entered Aiville Beauty Salon. She lingered at the entrance for nearly an hour, acting quite out of character. I thought it necessary to report this to you.”

Xiang Zuo frowned.

He had arranged for someone to follow Mo Mo Zhang in secret, concerned that Yongnian Hu, desperate and cornered, might threaten her safety. In reality, the chance of encountering a wanted criminal in a major beauty salon was minuscule, so this wasn’t a major concern. Still, a powerful sense of unease gnawed at him—all tangled up with her ‘pacing at the entrance for an hour.’

“I understand. I’m coming over now.” Xiang Zuo ended the call, grabbed his car keys, and headed out the door.

After a full set of spa treatments, Tingting Fan felt refreshed inside and out. The beautician, graceful in figure and gentle in speech, followed behind her, murmuring, “Your skin is looking wonderful lately,” “It’s essential to have regular treatments in a city with such heavy pollution,” “A woman’s greatest strength is knowing how to care for herself,” and so on, never ceasing.

As she exited the private room, she caught sight of a woman sitting in the waiting area. The fleeting, disdainful smile that had just been forced out by those familiar advertising platitudes now deepened on Tingting Fan’s lips.

She paused, looking down from her height as Mo Mo Zhang slowly rose from her chair; in truth, there was nothing surprising about this. If even Song Jiakai’s sister—the formidable woman who scarcely seemed feminine—could come to her, eager to curry favor, what else was impossible?

“Miss Fan, I’m here to apologize,” Mo Mo Zhang said, dispensing with pleasantries and going straight to the point. Though her face was earnest, she seemed almost too calm—enough to provoke irritation for no reason. It did not feel like remorseful repentance, but rather as though she had come to challenge her with a hidden weapon.

Tingting Fan felt indignant. “You think a few words are enough?”

The beautician behind her sensed the tension and didn’t know whether to quietly slip away and feign ignorance or to remain nearby as company policy dictated. Caught in indecision, she simply stepped back a few paces, keeping her distance. Occasionally, new arrivals or departing clients glanced curiously into the lounge, but Mo Mo Zhang paid them no heed.

“Of course, words alone aren’t enough.” Mo Mo Zhang steadied herself. The words she’d rehearsed countless times now spilled out in a jumbled mess. “Miss Fan, there’s no real grudge between us, just a handful of trivial matters. I was at fault, and I’m willing to apologize in whatever way you see fit. But as you know, these unpleasantnesses are only between us and have nothing to do with anyone else. There’s no need for personal vengeance to be made public.”

“Personal vengeance?” Tingting Fan laughed incredulously, as though she’d heard an outlandish tale. “What do you mean by personal vengeance? If it were you, could you act as if nothing happened? If I threw a glass of water in your face and pushed you under the table, would your parents still thank me? Oh... I forgot, your parents have passed away.”

She watched intently for a reaction, but Mo Mo Zhang merely clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white, choosing to ignore that last remark. It was meant to sting, but she could not afford to retaliate.

“Miss Fan, you’re not a hypocrite,” Mo Mo Zhang continued, pausing to meet Tingting Fan’s gaze. “If you have any anger or resentment toward me, I won’t complain. But please, don’t drag others into this.”

She had to be more explicit when she saw the confusion on Tingting Fan’s face. “I mean, as long as you agree not to trouble Song Jiakai or his family anymore, you can retaliate against me however you wish.”

As soon as she uttered these words, all the strength seemed to drain from Mo Mo Zhang. What was she saying? Wasn’t she here to apologize? How had it turned into a negotiation? If you’ve come to apologize, speak kindly! Even a schoolchild knows that much. All those carefully prepared lines—about magnanimity, about being a gracious lady of good breeding—where had they gone? Her mouth no longer seemed to obey her will, as if it belonged to someone else. She wanted to slap herself, but even under such pressure, her unruly lips and tongue continued to defy her. Maddening!

“Heh…” Tingting Fan raised her chin and gave her a sidelong glance. “You’re certainly straightforward. On the strength of that, I’ll agree to your terms.” Glancing around, she called out to the beautician standing at a distance, “Bring me that glass of orange juice.”