Chapter 3: His Unforgettable First Love

Fang Zhixu drove away into the pouring rain.

In the past, Zhao Baitong would have cajoled and pleaded with him not to go out in such wretched weather. Even if he insisted, she would have insisted on accompanying him.

Back then, Zhao Baitong had thought with a mix of melancholy and happiness that she had no other family in this world; she would give Fang Zhixu everything she had, including her life.

Even if an accident were to occur, she would have wanted to die by his side.

When things were interrupted halfway, leaving him unsatisfied, Fang Zhixu had not expected Zhao Baitong to slap him in defiance. His pride and ego had never been challenged like that before. In a fit of rage, he kicked over the coffee table and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Zhao Baitong said nothing, simply crouching on the floor to clean up the wreckage.

When dawn broke, Zhao Baitong opened the window. The air after the rain felt a bit damp, yet remarkably fresh.

Passing by the desk, Zhao Baitong unfolded the crumpled check. In the desk drawer lay another document—a transfer agreement for the villa at No. 14 Dongcheng. As long as Zhao Baitong signed it and processed the transfer at the real estate bureau, the villa would officially be under her name.

Fang Zhixu had given her a breakup settlement: the villa, worth twenty million, and the check for thirty million, totaling fifty million.

Zhao Baitong studied the two items for a long while.

Once, she had believed that just being alive was enough, that being with the person she loved was enough.

Now, she realized she shouldn't have wished for love, and even less for being loved.

In the past, she hadn't just lived in poverty; she had lived in a way that was truly, utterly undignified.

***

Zhao Baitong made a decision.

She spent the morning at the real estate bureau, transferring the villa into her own name. She then went to the bank, where, following the branch manager’s advice, she invested the thirty million in a high-yield savings plan.

Leaving the bank, Zhao Baitong passed by a hair salon. She let down her long, straight, silky black hair and told the stylist, "Please, cut it short."

No sooner had Zhao Baitong left the bank than the branch manager called Fang Zhixu to inform him that she had been there and had moved the entire amount of the check into a long-term investment.

Fang Zhixu stared coldly at the drizzle outside the window.

He lit a cigarette; the way he held it was wicked, decadent, yet mesmerizing.

He stood by the window, lost in thought, until a familiar silhouette stepped out of a taxi.

When Fang Zhixu caught sight of the short black hair, he froze for two seconds. He crushed the cigarette butt so fiercely that the orange tobacco leaves scattered like dust.

...

As Zhao Baitong walked into the villa, worth hundreds of millions, her first impression was one of extravagance.

It was clearly in the style that Meng Tang favored, much like the jewelry she designed—opulent and luxurious, beyond the reach of ordinary people.

Meng Tang greeted her with great enthusiasm. "Baitong, it's been so many years. When I left, you weren't even an adult, and now you've grown into such a poised young woman."

A well-meaning smile played on Meng Tang's flawless, beautiful face, yet the way she looked at Zhao Baitong was as if she were appraising a cheap commodity.

...

"When did you cut your hair?"

Zhao Baitong smiled. "Just now."

Meng Tang squeezed Zhao Baitong's shoulder. "You're too thin. How has Zhixu been taking care of you all these years?"

The spot where Fang Zhixu had bruised her the day before throbbed again under Meng Tang's grip, and her chest ached with a numbing, tingling pain. Her face paled, and she managed to say, "Sister Meng Tang, Brother Zhixu has never forgotten you all these years."

Meng Tang seemed pleased by this. "You've grown up; you're much better at speaking than before."

It wasn't that Zhao Baitong had become better at speaking; it was that she was telling the truth. If he hadn't constantly remembered Meng Tang, how could the two of them have become so intensely entangled so soon after Meng Tang returned to the country?

And perhaps, were the techniques Fang Zhixu used something he had learned from her long ago?

Fang Zhixu emerged from the bedroom wearing a white bathrobe. Meng Tang’s eyes lit up as she went to greet him. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did," the man replied, his voice magnetic and melodic.