Chapter 4#
It happened to be the weekend. Zhou Yi had organized a gathering, specifically inviting a few close friends to his upscale bar to taste his treasured bottle of 1945 Romanée-Conti wine.#
Among the friends were lawyers, doctors, entrepreneurs, and those second-generation heirs who either obediently joined companies under family arrangements or worked at big corporations.
Everyone gathered in Zhou Yi’s private area, sitting in small groups, sipping wine and chatting.
Nan Shuyi slipped in quietly, but didn’t say a word to anyone. When others greeted him, he merely nodded in response.
Zhou Yi, flitting around like a social butterfly, eventually made his way over. He noticed Nan Shuyi listlessly drinking alone, turning even the finest wine into something as bitter as medicine.
Nan Shuyi kept swiping on his phone screen—something he’d never been addicted to before.
Curious, Zhou Yi leaned over to sneak a peek at his screen. “Got something on your mind?”
Normally, even when bored, Nan Shuyi wouldn’t stare at his phone this long. A while back, he’d won first place at the Shanghai International F1 Grand Prix, made it onto the trending list, and hadn’t even bothered to check. So what was he looking at now?
Zhou Yi had overheard his father mention that Nanyuan and Jiangda were about to launch a business partnership.
Nan Shuyi slumped lifelessly on the sofa. “No.”
“Nanyuan and Jiangda are going to cooperate, right?” Zhou Yi loved stirring the pot. “You’re not really going to listen to your dad and marry that guy from the Jiang family, are you?”
Nan Shuyi glanced at his phone again. “Maybe.”
Zhou Yi got so excited he knocked over his glass of wine. The friends sitting at the bar looked over, but he waved it off, saying it was nothing, and they went back to their chatting.
He grinned. “Didn’t you say you’d never marry a man?”
Nan Shuyi felt inexplicably restless. “I made a bet with my dad. I agreed to two conditions: first, marry Jiang Yicen; second, he’d give me three companies to manage myself. As long as I deliver results, he’ll transfer my mom’s shares to me. It’s just marrying a guy—I won’t lose anything. What can he get from me? My assets? Or my person? I can always divorce.” That was his plan.
Zhou Yi wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but even he found the logic sound. “That doesn’t sound too bad. But your dad isn’t exactly unreasonable. Why would he want you to marry Jiang Yicen?”
Nan Shuyi crossed his legs and shot him a look. “Reasonable? What kind of eyesight do you have? People only get more muddleheaded with age to do something like this.”
Zhou Yi didn’t feel comfortable badmouthing Nan Shuyi’s father. He wasn’t the one in that situation, so he couldn’t truly empathize with Nan Shuyi.
He changed the subject. “When’s the wedding? I need to start planning the bridal chamber pranks.”
Nan Shuyi’s face was expressionless. “How about I tell your dad you want to get married?”
Zhou Yi raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, no thanks. I don’t want to board that marriage ship.”
In his father’s eyes, Nan Shuyi was the model child. If he found out Nan Shuyi was getting married before him, he’d never hear the end of it.
He raised his glass to Nan Shuyi. “Drink up, drink up.”
Nan Shuyi had just taken the glass when his phone vibrated. He saw it was a landline number, probably a scam call, so he ignored it.
The landline called again. On the third ring, Nan Shuyi finally picked up. After a few short sentences, he set down the glass that held a thousand-dollar-a-sip wine.
Zhou Yi caught a glimpse of the incoming call—a landline. Who even uses landlines nowadays? Was it a scam?
Seeing Nan Shuyi get up to leave, he asked, “Where are you going?”
Nan Shuyi: “Something came up.”
Zhou Yi didn’t buy it. “I saw it. It was a landline. Download the national anti-scam app.”
Nan Shuyi: “Just drink your wine and mind your own business.”
Zhou Yi: “I finally opened this bottle, and you’re not even drinking it? You said you wanted it a couple of days ago.”
Nan Shuyi: “Next time.”
He grabbed his coat and walked out, his steps hurried, not even bothering to explain to the other friends.
Friend A: “Young Master Nan is leaving?”
Zhou Yi shook his head. “No idea.”
Friend B: “You two are together all the time, and you don’t know?”
Zhou Yi: “Damn, I’m not a mind reader. How would I know? Drink up, drink up.”
When it came to Nan Shuyi’s privacy, Zhou Yi never blabbed unless Nan Shuyi himself brought it up. Still, seeing him rush off like that was unusual. Could it be that someone had shaken the “unflappable” composure of Young Master Nan?
·
Jiang Yicen used the little money he had to buy a bottle of soda at a small shop. He’d drunk Coca-Cola before, back in the day, and remembered it being very sweet. His mother wouldn’t let him have too much, worried it would rot his teeth. He thought he’d never taste it again.
As soon as he popped the cap, fizzy bubbles rose with a hiss. Before even drinking, he caught the faint lemon scent. He took a cautious sip. Compared to tea, cola seemed to suit his taste better. Memories of his family flooded back, bittersweet now that there was no one to caution him anymore. The lemon flavor in his mouth turned a little sour.
Nan Shuyi’s car was too big to drive into the alley, so he parked at the entrance and walked toward the address Jiang Yicen had given him.
The alley’s streetlights weren’t very bright. Wind blew through the entrance, and only one or two pedestrians were around—much quieter than the main street. He wondered how Jiang Yicen had ended up in this little alley.
Turning a corner, he first noticed a long, slender shadow stretched by the lamplight. The figure under the light was taking small sips of cola without seeming to drink much.
Nan Shuyi knew it was Jiang Yicen without even looking. He remembered that during their matchmaking meeting, Jiang Yicen had also sipped a bowl of light chicken soup in that same slow, deliberate way, as if savoring it. If it wasn’t an act, Jiang Yicen was indeed a young man with excellent upbringing.
He had met Jiang Yicen’s two brothers at other events, and they were completely different from him. Not that they lacked manners—Jiang Gongming’s ex-wife had raised them strictly. Perhaps the younger one had studied Western etiquette abroad.
Right now, Jiang Yicen stood alone under the lamplight, holding a cola bottle, waiting for him. He looked a little pitiful, like someone who had stumbled into the wrong era. His posture was perfectly upright, not like a passerby who would shift weight from one foot to the other or lean to one side after standing too long. He truly stood and sat with proper form, natural and unaffected.
Jiang Yicen liked the lemon-flavored cola. He took a sip to quench his thirst, but the soda came straight from the fridge—ice-cold. Drinking too much made his body start to chill.
Hearing footsteps, he turned and locked eyes with Nan Shuyi.
Nan Shuyi was tall. Today he wore a French-lazy-style plaid coat over a dark blue knit sweater, paired with a casual tie, black dress pants, and short boots. Broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, his fashionable, minimalist outfit showcased his impressive physique perfectly.
The impression Jiang Yicen had of Nan Shuyi was still that of a stylish man. His outfit was truly nice—if they were back in his era, Nan Shuyi would surely be the darling of high-society young ladies.
Nan Shuyi stood with his hands in his pockets, stopping two meters away from Jiang Yicen. “How did you even find this place? I’ve lived in this city for years and never been down this alley.”
Jiang Yicen gave him a shy smile. “I was just wandering around.”
Nan Shuyi, caught off guard by the smile, forgot the sarcastic remark he was about to make. “You’re good at finding places. My car can’t get in, so we’ll have to walk.”
Jiang Yicen picked up his cola and followed him. “Thank you.” For coming out to pick him up on such a cold night.
Once they were closer, Nan Shuyi noticed how pale Jiang Yicen’s face and lips were, the unnatural red at his nose from the cold wind, and how thin his clothes were. The nighttime temperature was barely above one degree Celsius—no wonder he was freezing.
“I was passing by anyway. How long have you been outside?”
Jiang Yicen wore a watch and glanced down. “About two and a half hours.”
Nan Shuyi took off his coat. “Wear this. It’s still a bit of a walk to the car.”
Jiang Yicen had a straight, elegant figure. His well-tailored casual suit, paired with a V-neck cashmere sweater, gave him the image of a wealthy young master. But in Nan Shuyi’s eyes, Jiang Yicen, standing in the winter wind waiting for him in such thin clothes, seemed utterly clumsy and somewhat endearing.
“Thanks.” Jiang Yicen didn’t refuse; his hands were freezing cold, and he was still holding the cola bottle.
To make it easier for him to put on the coat, Nan Shuyi took the cola from him. “Are you used to drinking cold water abroad? Forget you can buy hot drinks at a milk tea shop?”
Jiang Yicen had just used the shop’s phone to call, then saw the familiar Coca-Cola logo and bought one without thinking. He’d endured colder weather before, but he hadn’t expected Nan Shuyi to notice.
The coat was large and warm, with a faint, clean tea scent—probably cologne.
As Jiang Yicen’s temperature slowly rose, he felt grateful that Nan Shuyi had answered his call. Otherwise, he might have frozen outside tonight.
However, he couldn’t follow up on the “studying abroad” topic. He just gave a faint smile and deftly turned the conversation to milk tea.
He said with feigned seriousness, “Then I’ll do as you say and buy hot milk tea next time.” Faced with questions he couldn’t answer, he had to play dumb.
Nan Shuyi glanced at him and said nothing.
Do as you say. Tch.
It looked like the temperature would drop again tomorrow. The wind at the alley entrance picked up, and Nan Shuyi quickened his pace back to the car.
Nan Shuyi asked Jiang Yicen, “Have you eaten?”
Jiang Yicen: “Not yet.”
He had left the tea house at 4:30 PM, walked for two and a half hours, and was now hungry. He also couldn’t withstand the cold well.
Nan Shuyi: “What do you want to eat?”
Jiang Yicen didn’t know what restaurants were available these days. “Anything is fine. I’m not picky.”
Nan Shuyi drove ten minutes to a nearby mall and went to a Cantonese restaurant. He first ordered two steaming bowls of Eight Treasure Chicken Soup.
The waiter served the soup. Nan Shuyi once again watched Jiang Yicen drink his soup with slow, deliberate motions. His spoon didn’t make a sound against the bowl, but the soup level steadily dropped. When the soup touched his lips, he dabbed them with a napkin. Every move was pleasing to the eye.
Nan Shuyi thought to himself: Definitely not an act. He must have learned table manners abroad for years.
He didn’t look away and noticed Jiang Yicen pause slightly while holding the spoon. “Not good?”
Jiang Yicen shook his head. “It’s not that.”
It was just that the taste was different from what he remembered. The restaurant his family owned had a very authentic Cantonese chef, a disciple of imperial palace cooks, who could brew a mean traditional Cantonese slow-cooked soup. By comparison, the modern version tasted somewhat bland. The soup his chef made had a lighter, more elegant color, but when you sipped it, you could taste the sweetness of the herbs and the freshness of the chicken—sweet on the tongue with a lingering aftertaste.
Afraid Nan Shuyi might think he was too picky or lacked manners, he added an explanation. “It’s a bit different from the Eight Treasure Chicken Soup I’ve had before. The Codonopsis pilosula in this soup hasn’t aged enough, so the flavor isn’t rich enough. The soup needs to be simmered for at least three hours to taste good. The essence is in the broth, and most importantly, the soup I used to have had some lean meat added. The combination of meat juice and chicken broth created a unique flavor—more refreshing and sweet. But this soup clearly doesn’t have that.”
Nan Shuyi, who usually treated soup as just liquid, remarked, “Your family is quite particular. You know a lot about food?”
“My family pays a lot of attention to diet,” Jiang Yicen said, realizing he had said too much. He smiled. “Not exactly an expert—just know a little.”
The waiter came over to serve the next dishes, and he dropped the topic, instead praising the subsequent courses. But Nan Shuyi seemed thoughtful.
This Cantonese restaurant belonged to a subsidiary of the Nanyuan Group, and its revenue had been in the red for three consecutive years.
As they were leaving, Nan Shuyi excused himself to use the restroom, telling Jiang Yicen to wait for him at the entrance.
Jiang Yicen, not knowing the backstory, headed out first.
As he stepped out of the private room, a tall man walked out of the neighboring room. The man stared at Jiang Yicen several times. When Jiang Yicen, holding Nan Shuyi’s coat, walked past without acknowledging him, the man frowned displeasedly and called out.
“Jiang Yicen, what are you doing here?”