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Jiang Qihuai did not expect Lu Jiacheng to offer any clever ideas. According to Cheng Yi’s earlier words, that little lover of his back then was someone he shamelessly tricked into being with him.
Jiang Qihuai gave him a glance, uninterested. “I don’t trust you.”
“……”
The next words Lu Jiacheng had already prepared to blurt out were blocked in his throat by that line.
“No, seriously, why are you so stubborn?” Lu Jiacheng said. “With your stuttering and hemming-and-hawing personality, by the time she realizes you actually like her, she might have already flown off with someone else.”
He craned his neck in puzzlement. “You were gone for so many years and didn’t even leave her a message or something?”
Jiang Qihuai: “No.”
“You didn’t call or text her even once in all that time?”
“Mm.”
Lu Jiacheng was choked speechless. “Then how can you be so sure that when you came back, the girl would still be single? You could’ve at least left her a message—told her to wait for you.”
Jiang Qihuai turned his head away.
Through the carved wooden window with its elegant patterns, he saw outside—Tao Zhi and Jiang Hesheng picking up their coats to leave. The girl’s scarf was only half wrapped, its end hanging behind her back. Jiang Hesheng raised his hand and pulled the scarf around to the front for her.
Tao Zhi smiled and said something to him, then tucked the scarf in properly.
The doorbell jingled softly; the two of them walked out of the teahouse laughing and chatting.
They disappeared from sight for quite a while before Jiang Qihuai finally withdrew his gaze and lowered his eyes. His expression sank, his tone quiet and deep. “I don’t want to string her along.”
Lu Jiacheng opened his mouth, but for a while couldn’t find anything to say. After a long silence, he sighed. “Why are you so damn hardheaded.”
Jiang Qihuai didn’t want to tie her down. When he had no confidence in when he could free himself, when he didn’t know how many years it might take, he couldn’t say anything like asking her to wait for him.
She was so good—what right did he have to make her wait?
He wasn’t someone worthy of being waited for.
Jiang Qihuai had never once thought of asking Tao Zhi to stop and wait for him. She could keep walking her path—he would do his best to catch up.
If possible, he would never let go. But if he truly arrived too late, if she met another person worthy of her lifelong trust, then that would be his fate—the price he should pay for the choices he made.
He would accept any outcome without complaint.
No regrets, no remorse. He had never been good enough for her. From the very beginning, he had understood this clearly—yet he still couldn’t help but selfishly want to have her, even for a short while. Once, he had thrown caution aside and approached her, until reality tore his darkness open, laying bare his disgrace in full light.
Although Tao Xiuping had not directly opposed him, he had shown him piece by piece the beautiful things she once had. What made him give up was never external opposition—but that once-radiant rose, which had almost withered in his hands.
That half year spent with her had already been a tremendous blessing to him. During that brief, fleeting time, the days were so beautiful that each one felt stolen from someone else’s life.
He should not have wished for more.
May the you I like have peace year after year, with no illness and no sorrow.
May the you I love find your own sun, with light shining upon your road ahead.
And the one who gives you happiness—does not have to be me.
If she were a deity, then he would willingly kneel in the shadows beneath her altar, the most devout of believers.
But humans always have greed.
Even believers are no exception.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Once the weekend was over, life grew busy again.
Tao Zhi’s job didn’t come with weekends off. She gave herself two days of rest and, at ten o’clock sharp on Monday morning, went to the studio.
After graduation, she and a senior from the university photography department had opened a small studio together. It was located in an art district near the Second Ring in the northern part of the city—not a large place, with fewer than ten people counting the interns, but each one of them was a highly skilled professional.
When Tao Zhi arrived, everyone was bustling about—those shooting on location were out, those working on post-production were busy at their computers retouching photos. Xiao Jin had been there since eight in the morning. When she saw Tao Zhi come in, she hurried over and handed her a cup of coffee.
Tao Zhi accepted it with a word of thanks, took off her coat, and sat down at her computer to power it on.
Xu Suinian walked over slowly, cradling a cup of tea like a Buddha. “Morning, Boss Tao. Working bright and early, huh?”
Tao Zhi glanced at the time and reminded him, “It’s ten o’clock.”
“I didn’t have anything better to do anyway,” Xu Suinian said lazily. “I was supposed to go to Iceland with your Senior Gu, but last night he suddenly called and said he had acute appendicitis and needed surgery, so that’s off. I even postponed next week’s exhibition for it. Didn’t prepare anything else either. It’s too late to sign up for anything now, so here I am, idle.”
“No,” Tao Zhi glanced at him. “What’s going on with her again?”
An Sese had met Tao Zhi in university through the photography club. She was a passionate fangirl and fan-site manager, who studied photography purely to take even more perfect photos of her idol’s divine looks. She freelanced for various magazines and street photography accounts, taking outsourced gigs. Once she earned enough, she’d go back to chasing her idol.
Xu Suinian said vaguely, “Mm… nothing much. You’ll probably find out soon enough.”
Ten minutes later, sure enough, Tao Zhi received a call from An Sese.
The moment she picked up, An Sese’s voice came through in a rush. “Zhizhi!!! Zhizhi goddess! Emergency in the jianghu!!”
Tao Zhi: “Ten photos for three thousand, twenty for five thousand, post-processing and color grading included. That’s the friendship price. No haggling.”
“You only ever think about money!” An Sese despised her. “Is money more important than a handsome guy? Anyone hearing you would think you starved as a child.”
“My dad said that people who want to make money must first be greedy for it,” Tao Zhi said with complete seriousness.
“Fine, fine, fine, all right, I’ll pay!” An Sese said. “Didn’t I just take an outsourced job for a finance magazine a few days ago? But my brother’s schedule changed, and I have to rush to the airport right now! Sister, help me out—good people live long and prosper.”
Tao Zhi frowned, slightly annoyed. “But I don’t want to go to the airport and squeeze into crowds.”
“Who said you had to squeeze in? Of course I’m going to see my brother in person! I’m talking about the outsourced shoot!”
Leaning back in her chair, Tao Zhi drawled, “Ah… I’m so tired lately. My body feels weak. No energy to work.”
“I’ll add the latest set from the LEGO Street Series,” An Sese said.
Tao Zhi immediately sat up straight with a thump and said briskly, “Deal. Send me the address on WeChat.”
An Sese: “……”
An Sese acted fast—right after hanging up, she sent over the address, followed by a cute emoji: 2 p.m. this afternoon, love you.
[Zhizhi Grapes]: What kind of person is this, needing an outsourced shoot? Couldn’t the magazine just grab one of their own photographers to take a few shots?
[An Sese]: Some youngest-ever investment director at Ruisheng or something. They poached him back from abroad for a huge price—has to keep up the prestige, right? I only got the contact by name-dropping our studio. You know how it is with finance people: dumb and rich. As long as they pay, they’re Daddy.
[An Sese]: I’ve got his profile here too. He’s a very handsome guy.
As she said that, An Sese sent over a web link.
Tao Zhi didn’t open it. She sent a voice message instead: “Since you’re not going, aren’t you just giving the handsome guy to me for free?”
An Sese replied with a voice note of her own, her tone deadly serious: “I am loyal and devoted—one heart, one soul—to my brother.”
When Tao Zhi followed the map to the office building, it was a quarter past one. She got out of the car and looked up. The reflective glass glared in the sunlight, and at the very top of the grand, minimalist structure was a bold sign that read Ruisheng Investment.
She shut the car door and walked forward. At the entrance of the first-floor lobby stood a young woman, glancing around anxiously.
When Tao Zhi approached, the girl noticed the large equipment bag in her hand and asked uncertainly, “Miss An Sese?”
Tao Zhi didn’t bother to explain. She simply nodded.
The girl smiled politely. “I’m from Tomorrow Finance. You can just call me Xiao Wen. This building requires work passes for entry, so I came down to fetch you.”
Tao Zhi looked at the badge hanging from her neck—Wen Mingyue.
She tilted her head slightly. “Aren’t we going to your magazine office?”
“Since we wanted to capture his most authentic working state, we arranged with Ruisheng to do the shoot directly here,” Wen Mingyue said softly. “Originally our chief editor wanted a few lifestyle photos too, but the director refused—said he didn’t want any private photos taken. Even this feature column took a long time to negotiate.”
Tao Zhi gave a light “oh.”
So, an independent lone wolf type. With that level of low profile, why even agree to a finance magazine feature?
Wen Mingyue led her into the elevator and pressed the floor button. Tao Zhi had never been to an investment company before, and it was far more hectic than she’d imagined—phones ringing nonstop, people constantly lining up at printers, nearly every desk covered with two or three monitors. The fund managers all looked like they wished they had an extra pair of hands—one for taking notes during calls, another for typing.
At the desk closest to the window, Tao Zhi spotted a familiar face.
Lin Suyan was looking at her. He held a phone to his ear, mid-conversation. When he noticed her, he seemed slightly surprised, gave her a small wave across the room, then went back to his rapid-fire call.
Tao Zhi blinked at him playfully, then followed Wen Mingyue to the innermost office.
Behind the frosted glass walls, the space was completely cut off from outside view. Wen Mingyue seemed to have arranged things ahead of time—she greeted the secretary at the door, and the secretary opened it for them.
Tao Zhi stepped inside.
The office was large, bright, and spacious—completely different from the cramped bustle outside. It was furnished in a modern minimalist style, sunlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows onto the dark carpet. Behind the desk stood two towering black-and-gold bookshelves. On the coffee table lay two casually placed books and an empty teacup.
No one was there.
Tao Zhi set her bag down on the coffee table, then slowly took out her camera and began attaching the lens.
After assembling all the parts, there was still no sign of the elusive, precious director.
Tao Zhi glanced at the time—three minutes left.
She sank back into the sofa, bored, letting her gaze wander aimlessly around the room. Her eyes landed on the black wooden desk, where a nameplate stood. After the job title, there was a colon and three characters: Jiang Qihuai.
“……”
Tao Zhi: …?
Her breath hitched. She stared at those three characters again and again, unable to look away.
Still uncertain even from this distance, Tao Zhi set her camera down on the sofa, stood up, and walked over. Bracing both hands on the edge of the desk, she bent forward until her whole face was almost pressed against the nameplate.
Just as she picked it up, a sharp click broke the silence—the sound of a door closing from the office bathroom. The noise startled her so much that she jerked her neck back and turned around.
Jiang Qihuai came out, holding a paper towel in one hand. He wiped each of his fingers dry one by one, then looked up.
Their gazes met.
Tao Zhi was still frozen in place, holding that heavy nameplate in her hand, staring blankly at him.
Jiang Qihuai raised an eyebrow. “An Sese?”
Tao Zhi blinked, stunned. “Huh?”
“Ah…”
Jiang Qihuai crumpled the damp paper towel and tossed it into the trash can, then walked over to her. Looking down at the item in her hands, he said, “If you like it, take it.”
Tao Zhi set the nameplate down, pressed her lips together, straightened up, and said dryly, “The overseas-returned director?”
“The Hunchback of Notre Dame?”
“The two-hundred-jin boxing champion?”
“…?”
Jiang Qihuai tilted his head, expression calm yet clearly puzzled. “Who are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the so-called lone wolf who’s about to appear in a finance magazine but still insists on pretending to be low-key,” Tao Zhi said irritably.
Although he had no idea what she meant, Jiang Qihuai had always been willing to accept any label she gave him without protest. He nodded. “So your stage name is An Sese?”
“Stage name, my ass. I came here to fill in for my friend.” Tao Zhi turned her face away, scowling, and went over to the sofa to pick up her camera.
She didn’t even know why she suddenly felt so inexplicably annoyed. At that moment, she deeply regretted agreeing to help An Sese. Even if An Sese had offered her ten extra boxes of the LEGO Street Series, this job would still be a total loss.
Tao Zhi sat back down on the sofa and turned toward him. “Come here.”
Jiang Qihuai walked over.
Tao Zhi raised her camera and pointed at the leather sofa across from her. “Sit.”
Jiang Qihuai sat down opposite her.
His shoulders were broad, his legs long, and in formal attire his figure looked even more defined. Back in university, Tao Zhi had interned at a fashion magazine and photographed countless male models, yet through the lens now, she found Jiang Qihuai to be the most photogenic man she had ever shot.
It was as if, after all the men she’d met over the years, none of them could compare to him.
That realization suddenly made Tao Zhi even more frustrated.
She peered over the top of the camera and said expressionlessly, “Why are you just sitting there stupidly? Pick up a book.”
Jiang Qihuai obediently bent down, picked up a finance magazine from the coffee table, and flipped it open to read.
He lowered his eyes, the corners of his lips casually turned down. His long legs crossed and stretched forward, looking maddeningly good.
Tao Zhi took a few shots from different angles, checked them on the camera screen, nodded, then ordered, “Go sit behind the desk.”
Jiang Qihuai lifted his gaze to glance at her, closed the magazine, and set it down. Then he walked behind the desk and sat in the chair.
His quiet, compliant attitude—letting her arrange him however she pleased—made Tao Zhi’s mood ease a little. She stood, dragged a chair over, and knelt on one knee on the seat, bending down to find the right angle.
To be fair, Jiang Qihuai was an exceptionally competent model. He didn’t talk much and cooperated fully—whatever she told him to do, he did, without a single unnecessary word.
As Tao Zhi directed him through different poses, she gradually slipped into her working state. She was completely focused when she worked. Her long hair was tied back in a ponytail, revealing the elegant lines of her face and the pale curve of her ear. Her red lips pressed together lightly, and her dark eyes were fixed intently on the scene framed in her lens.
Jiang Qihuai leaned back in the chair, a pen in his hand, his gaze unwavering, fixed entirely on her.
She tilted her head, caught the last angle, and said, “Alright, that’s about it.”
Jiang Qihuai remained seated. “Finished shooting?”
“Mm.” She flipped through the photos one by one. “I’ll pick out the best ones later, do some post-editing, and send them directly to the magazine.”
Jiang Qihuai seemed reluctant to stop.
Recalling something his assistant had said earlier, he asked in a calm voice, “When will you come take my lifestyle photos?”
Tao Zhi’s hand paused mid-motion as she looked up at him, puzzled. “Didn’t you say you didn’t want to be photographed outside of work? You refused that part.”
