Volume One, Chapter Nine: Zhou Jinghuai, What Are You Doing Here?

That piece of paper, every single word on it—Zhou Jinghuai read it over and over countless times until his eyes grew sore.

Suddenly, he understood Ye Wu’s pain, Ye Wu’s tears.

Suddenly, he understood why that night in the parking lot, Ye Wu had frantically questioned him, demanded to know, “Zhou Jinghuai, why can’t you spare me even five minutes? Zhou Jinghuai, are you still the same Zhou Jinghuai as before?”

His Awu could no longer bear children.

He did not love Awu. Yet she was important to him—she had stood by him for four years, accompanying him through the darkest times of his life and witnessing his rise to the pinnacle of power.

When they married, they had promised to have two children—

“To have what we wish for, and peace year after year.”

One named Zhou Lan’an, the other Zhou Yuan.

Zhou Jinghuai slowly sat at the edge of the bed.

His once sharp and vibrant face now showed a trace of weariness.

He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it with a lighter, and took a deep drag. His gaunt cheeks and sunken features held a unique masculine charm.

At the bedroom door, a servant cautiously reported, “Secretary Lin has arrived.”

Zhou Jinghuai made no reply.

Secretary Lin had rushed over from the hospital. Seeing the shattered glass scattered on the floor, she was stunned.

Master Jing had been abandoned!

But Secretary Lin was a capable 996 worker; she quickly composed herself and professionally asked Zhou Jinghuai what the next step would be.

Blue-gray smoke swirled around Zhou Jinghuai’s blurred face as he spoke softly, “Keep it under control for now. No matter what, the public must not know that Ye Wu and I are separated.”

Secretary Lin nodded.

She looked at her boss, suddenly confused. Everyone said Master Jing’s marriage was based on interests alone, so why did he look so distressed, as if he had lost his manhood when his wife left?

Did Master Jing truly not love his wife?

...

Ye Wu moved into an apartment.

It was not very large, about 120 square meters, but both the location and the decoration were top-notch. Opening the bedroom’s floor-to-ceiling windows, she could see half the city’s night skyline.

The next day, she visited her grandmother.

Her grandmother didn’t know what had happened between her and Zhou Jinghuai and smiled warmly, asking if she had been well lately. Ye Wu didn’t want to worry the old woman and gave a slight smile: “I’m fine! Zhou Jinghuai treats me well.”

Without the marriage, life still had to go on. Ye Wu decided to pick up oil painting again, a passion she had loved since childhood.

For a week, Ye Wu stayed home painting.

...

She felt a comfort she had never known before. She even bought a little dog—not a rare breed, but white and very dear to her; she named it Xiaobai.

On the weekend, Ye Wu attended an art exhibition.

Among hundreds of famous artworks, Ye Wu’s favorite was a floral painting titled “Twins.” Just as she was about to inquire about the price, her eyes caught the signature—

Bai Chunian!

—Bai Qianqian’s father.

Ye Wu’s mind wandered. At that moment, a soft female voice beside her said, “You like this painting too, don’t you?”

Ye Wu turned to see an elegant woman.

The lady was tastefully dressed, beautiful, with two capable personal assistants by her side—she was clearly the matriarch of a prominent family.

The woman smiled gently at Ye Wu: “My husband’s surname is Chen.”

Ye Wu suddenly recalled—this was no stranger but Mrs. Chen, wife of Mr. Chen from Meiya. Mr. Chen was often doing business in the south, so Ye Wu had only briefly met Mrs. Chen before.

Seeing Ye Wu remember, Mrs. Chen smiled warmly: “The moment I arrived, I saw you—you must be Jinghuai’s wife!”

In the south, there was a Chen; in the north, a Zhou.

Mrs. Chen deliberately called him Jinghuai, signaling the close ties between their families. It seemed Mr. Chen highly valued cooperation with the Rong’en Group.

Ye Wu was indifferent to business dealings, but she and Mrs. Chen hit it off instantly. They spoke not of business, but of art and painting, exchanging ideas with great affinity. Mrs. Chen invited Ye Wu for a coffee.

Ye Wu gladly accepted.

In the bright coffee shop, Mrs. Chen stirred her drink slowly with a silver spoon and said with a smile, “Mr. Bai’s paintings are excellent, but his character leaves much to be desired. It’s better not to buy his work.”

Ye Wu smiled faintly.

As they talked, Mrs. Chen’s expression grew wistful, as if lost in memory.

Her assistant gently comforted her, “Madam, don’t dwell on sad thoughts! If you get sick, Mr. Chen will worry.”

Mrs. Chen apologized to Ye Wu with a smile, “Forgive my rambling, Mrs. Zhou. I’m burdened by a painful past. In my youth, I loved a man who was unfeeling. I bore his child, but was persecuted by others. When I came to, my five-year-old daughter was gone. Fortunately, I later met my husband, but despite searching the world over, we have never found my poor daughter.”

At the emotional moment, tears ran down Mrs. Chen’s beautiful face—

She remembered a faint red mole on her little girl’s waist.

Whenever she saw that mole, she could recognize her daughter.

Ye Wu, also an orphan, felt deep sympathy for Mrs. Chen’s maternal sorrow and gently took her hand, offering quiet comfort.

Mrs. Chen felt better and drew close to Ye Wu. “I felt an immediate connection with you; my emotions overflowed. Mrs. Zhou, please don’t find me tedious.”

Ye Wu spoke softly, “Not at all. I truly believe, Mrs. Chen, that fate will bring you and your daughter together again.”

Mrs. Chen smiled through tears, “Thank you for your kind words!”

Mrs. Chen then recalled something and, after exchanging business cards with Ye Wu, specifically said, “In a while, my uncle will host a banquet at his villa. You must come. I know you’re career-driven, and I’ll introduce you to some influential people.”

Ye Wu didn’t want to disappoint her and accepted the card and invitation.

When they parted, Mrs. Chen stood beside a luxurious RV, reluctant to let go. She hadn’t felt this way in a long time—talking with Mrs. Zhou made her feel as if she were back with her little girl.

Her secretary gently reminded her, and Mrs. Chen finally released her grip: “We’ll talk again soon.”

Ye Wu stood where she was, watching the shiny RV depart. She thought about how much Mr. Chen must love Mrs. Chen, providing her with everything materially and emotionally. For Mrs. Chen, he had never wanted children.

For a moment, Ye Wu’s thoughts were a whirlwind.

...

At nine o’clock that night, Ye Wu finished the last stroke of her painting and stretched lazily.

Xiaobai wagged its tail wildly nearby.

Ye Wu fed it dog food and added a small piece of chicken ham, which Xiaobai devoured eagerly.

After petting it for a while, Ye Wu went to the bedroom to grab a robe to shower. It had been gloomy lately, and the few robes hanging on the balcony were still damp and musty. So she opened the wardrobe to look for a shirt to wear as a robe.

The bright light fell on her slender fingers as they slid over the clothes, finally resting on a black shirt.

It was Zhou Jinghuai’s shirt.

It had been tucked in her luggage—unexpectedly brought along.

Ye Wu hesitated, then pulled it out. After all, Zhou Jinghuai didn’t know.

Ten minutes later, after her shower, Ye Wu put on the men’s shirt. She tossed her damp black hair behind her shoulder, preparing to dry it, when the doorbell rang…

Thinking it was Annie, she opened the door without hesitation.

The next moment, she froze.

Zhou Jinghuai stood in the doorway, his tall and slender figure blocking much of the light. Ye Wu couldn’t see his expression clearly, nor did she understand why he had come so late.

They had had no contact for a whole week—not a single call!

She believed Zhou Jinghuai must have already received the court summons. So why was he here now?

Zhou Jinghuai stared intently at his wife.

Ye Wu wore only the black men’s shirt, suggestive and barely concealing. Looking down, the thin fabric failed to hide anything, revealing a glimpse of her pale thigh at the hem…