Chapter 26

The air was thick with the mingled scent of cologne.

On the table stood vivid roses, air-freighted fresh from France. Beneath the colored glaze chandelier, light scattered and shimmered, gilding this soft, gilded corner of the world.

Duan Jiaru had invited her over. First they paid their respects to the Old Master of the Duan family, presenting birthday gifts and congratulations; then Duan Jiaru drew her aside. “All right, wait here for me. I’m going to chat with a few of the uncles.”

Zhou Lang stood by the window for air, mentally drafting a plan to make Dean Hao treat her to dinner. If he hadn’t dragged Duan Jiaru along to stand at his ribbon-cutting, she wouldn’t be repaying this favor today.

Only the two families knew about her contract marriage with Duan Jiaru—they had registered and divorced abroad, after all. To this day, same-sex marriage remained unrecognized under domestic law; the matter could never be made public, so those who knew could be counted on one hand.

Outsiders knew only that the Zhou and Duan families were business partners. Some even assumed their fathers were close friends. Anything deeper, no one had ever imagined.

Zhou Lang picked up a glass of fruit juice and wandered, bored, until her gaze landed on Duan Jiaru’s cousin. Duan Jiayi wore a gray suit with a Windsor knot and a pair of fine gold-rimmed glasses—the very picture of elegance and poise, a philanderer of thirty-eight.

She had heard the rumors about this Young Master Duan: he had passed through a hundred flowers, yet remained unmarried at his age, with companions ranging from teenage girls to polished women of forty. Word had it that in his early years there had been a true thunderbolt affair—a flash marriage with his girlfriend, even a falling-out with the family over it. Everyone had wondered what kind of woman could have tamed Young Master Duan, until, not long after, news came that he had divorced.

Beyond that, outsiders knew nothing.

Seeing Duan Jiayi raise his glass to her from across the room, Zhou Lang lifted hers in return—without the slightest intention of drinking.

She stood in an inconspicuous corner, and happened to catch the conversation nearby.

They were gossiping about the host family’s private affairs.

“Young Master Duan is as rakish as ever. Just saw half a dozen socialites lining up to chat with him. And to think he actually has a son in high school…”

“No way? Never seen the boy. Does he live with his mother?”

“Poor kid. His mother died in an accident. He’s been placed with a friend of hers.”

“Oh, living under someone else’s roof… And Young Master Duan could really do that? He’s his own son, and he farms him out to strangers!”

“Wait—Old Master Duan agreed to this?”

“Shh… the Old Master doesn’t know. I heard that Young Master Duan was being pressured to remarry recently, lost his temper, and let it slip—slammed the table and said, ‘Damn it all, I have a son I’ve never even met, why would I father another!'”

“Then surely the Old Master would make him bring the child home?”

“That’s exactly what happened. The old gentleman flew into a rage on the spot, said it was disgraceful, and ordered the boy brought back—or Young Master Duan could get out of the Duan Family for good!”

“…”

Zhou Lang had absorbed a full earful of rich-family secrets and found none of it the least bit interesting. What utter nonsense… Her patience ran out, and she beckoned to Duan Jiaru. “Can I leave now?”

Duan Jiaru asked with a smile, “What’s wrong? In a hurry to get back?”

Zhou Lang nodded. “Bored.”

Duan Jiaru tried to keep her. “Stay a little longer? Wait and leave with me? I’ll take you to a ballet next week—as an apology, all right?”

“I’m busy next week.” The refusal was crisp. “You don’t need to carve out time for me. But Jiaru, I’m only…”

Only tired of it all.

Playing at romance had never meant anything. But since coming home, she truly didn’t want to keep doing this.

“Mm, I understand.” Duan Jiaru’s voice was soft, and she gently cut off whatever came next. “Give me a little more time, will you? You know I’m still fighting my cousin for control… If you stand on my side, Grandpa will weigh me more favorably. Besides, it’s just putting on an act in front of my family—it won’t touch your life. We’ve been friends all these years. I’m asking you to help me this once.”

Zhou Lang was silent a moment. “Fine. Understood.”

Duan Jiaru’s lips curved. “I knew you couldn’t be so heartless.”

She knew Zhou Lang better than anyone. The woman’s tongue could be vicious, but her heart was hopelessly loyal.

Zhou Lang waited with what patience she had, and ran out of it. “I really do have to go.”

Duan Jiaru didn’t stop her this time. “Then go. Get home safe.”

She stood where she was, watching Zhou Lang’s retreating back, her wineglass swaying gently in her hand, her narrowed eyes those of a cunning fox—silently, seamlessly, calculating everything.

“What, your beloved has left?”

At some point, Duan Jiayi had come up behind her. He was a veteran of the game; some things needed no explaining. One look and he understood: the falling flower had feelings, the flowing water none—his formidable sister was simply infatuated, and one-sidedly at that.

Duan Jiaru shot him a glance. “Eldest Brother, there are people around. I’d watch your mouth, or I’ll tell Grandpa that your mistress’s husband came making a scene at the company yesterday. When Grandpa loses his temper, you won’t look good either.”

Duan Jiayi’s smile vanished. “It was a joke. It’s Grandpa’s birthday—don’t upset the old man.”

“Of course not.” Duan Jiaru nodded slowly. “I know exactly where the line is. Better than you do.”

Duan Jiayi returned to the earlier subject. “So what’s this? Since when do you have designs on the Zhou girl? Weren’t the two of you divorced?”

He and Duan Jiaru held mutual leverage over each other: she knew exactly how many women his bed had seen, and he knew she had long since divorced her marriage-ally. Both tacitly concealed it from the family elders, each holding the secret over the other’s head.

“Yes. It was a partnership from the start.”

“Then why are you trying to rekindle it now?”

“I never found her interesting before.”

“Mm. More interesting than all those little models you used to keep? What’s so interesting about her? Do tell.”

“You know how everyone in our circle plays around. But she’s different. She’s devoted. Once, on her ex-girlfriend’s birthday, she’d had too much to drink and actually talked—said she learned to dive for her lover, descended into the deep blue sea to bring up a pearl for her, just to give her beloved a one-of-a-kind gift… Can you imagine?”

“Sorry, no. My idea of romance is spending money on women, not risking my neck for them.”

Duan Jiaru took a sip of wine, her voice threaded with wistfulness. “Yes, well—it stunned me too, in that moment. You know, she’s a kind of person I’ve never met before.”

She had cycled through boyfriends and girlfriends, and none of them had been as pure as this one.

She had even caught herself beginning to long for a love like that.

Duan Jiayi smiled faintly. “Really, she’s the person you wish you could be and never can be. Devoted. Loyal. Pure.”

Duan Jiaru nodded readily. “You could put it that way.”

“A pity,” Duan Jiayi said, shaking his head with something like regret, “that the object of her devotion isn’t you.”

Duan Jiaru’s smile went cold, her voice dripping scorn. “You still haven’t sorted out that mess with your unfortunate son, and you have the nerve to mock me? Whatever I am, at least I’m not the Eldest Young Master Duan who farmed his own child out to strangers, never met him in all these years, and doesn’t even know where his son is now!”

Duan Jiayi’s face turned ugly. “I have people searching. It’s only a matter of time. Mind your own affairs—I don’t need your concern.”

Duan Jiaru snorted. “That’s my line to you… Though of course, men like you can never keep that third leg of yours under control. But mark me: if you breathe one word about me and Zhou Lang to anyone, I will have you thrown out of this family. I can do it, and you know I can.”

Duan Jiayi’s expression shifted several times before the warm, gallant smile returned. “When would Eldest Brother ever spread your private affairs? I’ve always been good to you. Haven’t I?”

Duan Jiaru smiled back. “As long as we understand each other.”

Zhou Lang stood at the roadside, and only when the night wind touched her did she feel a little better.

She’d had only a glass of juice all evening, and drove home at a leisurely pace.

She grew hungry on the way and stopped at a roadside restaurant—where she happened to run into one of her old university teachers, and they talked for a good while.

The drive home felt dull afterward, so she placed a voice call to Ji Xiunian.

It was cut off almost at once.

She dialed again.

Cut off again.

The third time, it finally connected.

“Dean Zhou. It’s late. What is it?”

“Mm. I just ran into one of our old teachers.”

“Which teacher?”

“The one who taught watercolor. Do you remember her?”

Ji Xiunian paused. “Teacher Zhao?”

“Yes, her. She turns eighty next week, and asked me to find out whether you’d have time to come.”

“Next week… I haven’t seen her in so long. She went abroad to recuperate. The last time I saw her must have been four years ago…”

“So you’ll go?”

Ji Xiunian considered. “I’ll go.”

Zhou Lang made an affirming sound, then, just before hanging up, said suddenly, “Ji Xiunian. Because of you, that class gave me the lowest score of any exam in my entire university career.”

Back then, some classmate had been the first to remark that Teacher Zhao looked just like Ji Xiunian.

Their features weren’t alike at all—only their temperaments, both of them gentle, their faces calm and mild.

Zhou Lang, bristling, had argued with the whole class day after day: Ji Xiunian and Teacher Zhao looked nothing alike.

What nonsense… Ji Xiunian was Ji Xiunian. One of a kind. She resembled no one.

And yet, somehow, every time she saw Teacher Zhao, Ji Xiunian’s face rose in her mind, and her heart would scramble, her focus scatter, and she simply could not follow the lecture. The teacher called on her again and again, and she couldn’t even hear the question. Her participation marks were slashed, dragging down her total.

After that exam, in a foul mood, she had dragged Ji Xiunian to the school sports ground with two bottles of beer.

Her tolerance back then was nothing like now. Two cans and she was drunk, demanding ferociously, “Why do you spin around in my head all day long, Ji Xiunian!”

The words left her mouth, and Ji Xiunian froze—and so did she. She wasn’t actually drunk enough for this, but to escape the mortification she played dead, flopping onto the lawn and very nearly frightening Ji Xiunian out of her wits.

…

“Ji Xiunian?”

“…Mm. Listening.”

“You cost me that miserable score back then. You’re really not going to make it up to me?”

“It’s been so long, I’ve forgotten. Do you still have your university transcript? Or some other proof?”

Zhou Lang: “…”

So Ji Xiunian could play dumb too.

She elected to skip the subject for now. “Let’s go together next week.”

“I’ll drive myself,” Ji Xiunian declined. “Is anyone else going?”

“Probably. A few classmates, supposedly. We’ll see when the time comes.”

“Mm, all right. I’ll hang up if that’s everything.”

After the call, Ji Xiunian returned to work. Just before sleep, another notification popped up on her phone.

From Zhou Lang again.

She steeled herself and opened it.

Zhou Lang had sent a picture. She hadn’t enlarged it yet—it seemed to be a yellowed slip of paper, beside it a very old blue Danish butter cookie tin, as if just fished out of one.

Ji Xiunian: ?

Zhou Lang: An IOU.

Ji Xiunian opened the image and instinctively held her breath—because the handwriting on the note was her own.

It read: Because Ji Xiunian has severely disrupted Zhou Lang’s studies, Ji Xiunian hereby owes Zhou Lang one wish. Note: this IOU is valid for life. (P.S.: Wish contents to be determined.)

Not long after that, they had officially become a couple.

The IOU had never once been used. And yet Zhou Lang had kept it all this time—and had actually found it.

Her eyes dropped to the date at the bottom: a winter night, seventeen years ago.

Her vision blurred completely in that instant.

Zhou Lang: See it clearly? [Cheers]

Ji Xiunian: …So?

Zhou Lang replied in high spirits.

—When we meet next week, kindly remember that I am your creditor.

Ji Xiunian stared at the picture for a while, deleted the entire chat from her phone, and only then replied: Creditor?

After a while, Zhou Lang answered: That’s right. Guess what wish I’ll make.

Then a goodnight sticker: See you next week.