Forty-two

When Zhang Momo stepped out of the mall carrying the thin velvet sweater, she couldn't help feeling a little downcast. Was she truly suffering from paranoid delusions? Or was it simply that she still couldn't accept the reality that her parents had both died under her hands at the wheel? So much time had passed, what use was there in obsessing over this question now?

She exhaled a long breath. The entire Spring Festival holiday had been restless for her, yet with just a few light words of comfort from Xiang Zuo, her mood had settled. This New Year had been a mess, but at least there were a few days left to savor the festive atmosphere—better late than never.

Raising her head, she caught sight of two somewhat familiar figures slipping out through the mall's main entrance. Zhang Momo stared for a while before matching them to names: Fan Tingting and... Song Jiahui? How had the two of them ended up together?

Her steps as she left the mall were unhurried—somehow she always felt that trouble followed wherever Fan Tingting appeared. In truth, she was rather afraid; getting into a public spat with another woman had never been her forte. She’d only ever done it twice in her life—and both times with Fan Tingting. What kind of fate was this?

Yet, even moving slowly, she still saw Song Jiahui’s back as she exited—bent over, carefully placing several shopping bags of clothes into the back seat of Fan Tingting’s car, beaming as she waved goodbye. Zhang Momo frowned. The memory of their last meeting was still vivid: Song Jiahui twisting Song Jiakai’s arm, forcing him to beg for mercy, her every movement brisk and straightforward—a person of action. How had she ended up ingratiating herself so thoroughly with someone as spoiled and tactless as Fan Tingting?

Still tangled in these thoughts, Song Jiahui turned and, upon seeing Zhang Momo standing behind her, a flash of unmistakable embarrassment crossed her face, as if she'd been caught by an acquaintance doing something shameful. Yet almost immediately, under Zhang Momo’s look of confusion and disapproval, Song Jiahui drew herself up and strode over.

“Displeased? Want to say something? That I shamelessly flatter people?” she said, her lips curled in a mocking smile. Zhang Momo, taken aback by her bluntness, felt a pang of guilt herself. She neither dared admit nor deny it, resenting it all the same. It was like discovering a disgraceful flaw in an idol she’d once admired—nothing to do with her, yet somehow unbearably painful.

Seeing her silent, Song Jiahui let out a cold laugh. As she passed Zhang Momo, she paused, turning her sharp gaze on Zhang Momo’s downcast face. “This is all thanks to you!”

A sudden, familiar terror seized Zhang Momo’s heart. She couldn’t say why, but that one sentence left her trembling, full of self-contempt—a feeling so familiar that her body reacted before her mind did. She grabbed Song Jiahui’s arm as she was about to leave. “What are you saying? What do you mean?”

Song Jiahui shook her off with a flick, simmering for a moment before spitting out her words in anger. “Did you think splashing that glass of orange juice at Fan Tingting was without consequence? Did it feel good? Did you ever consider our family’s position? Who took you to that party? Did you not think before you reached out? Song Jiakai stood up for you, and Fan Tingting lost face in public. You were satisfied, but did you ever consider what trouble he’d face? Zhang Momo, I’ve never seen anyone as selfish as you.”

Zhang Momo’s heart plummeted. The mistake she’d long known but never dared face was laid bare before her. But at this moment, there was no room for apologies or guilt—she rushed forward, desperate. “What happened to Song Jiakai? What’s happened to him?”

“What happened?” Song Jiahui’s face was full of contempt, her eyes brimming with disgust. “With the government cracking down on real estate, do you think it’s easy for him to keep Hangyuan afloat? Your little stunt with the orange juice knocked the precious daughter of the bank director to the ground, and now three of the group’s projects have run into funding problems. And you have the nerve to ask what happened? Please, Zhang Momo, don’t parade that innocent, pure face in front of me. Maybe you can fool my brother, but I find it sickening!”

Song Jiahui’s figure receded, high heels tapping crisp and decisive across the floor, while Zhang Momo remained rooted in place, dumbfounded. She’d never cared about the trends of the real estate industry—it seemed remote and irrelevant to an ordinary person like her. She’d never truly considered that Song Jiakai was the head of such an enterprise. A few days ago, when he mentioned a business trip, he’d let slip that he was negotiating with a regional bank; she’d teased him then, saying that with the biggest banks all in their city, why go out of town? He’d only managed a bitter smile and said no more. She’d never given it a second thought...

At the entrance of the upscale shopping center, there were few passersby—she was the only one standing there, immobile as a statue. Despite the strange looks she drew from others and her overwhelming urge to flee, her feet refused to move. In every direction, she dared not step forward. One more step, one more mistake left behind.

She wasn’t a normal human being—she was, in truth, a walking time bomb, bearing a weighty mission, representing an unnamed force of evil destined to sweep away all friends and family around her! Her greatest contribution to the world wasn’t a handful of beautiful, profound advertisement designs, but rather turning every normal person connected to her into a nervous wreck!

The shopping bag in her hand slipped to the ground with a dull thud. After a long, long time, Zhang Momo found herself unable to pick it up again.

Shenglian Group seemed intent on transforming into a detective agency. It was Yu Nianyuan, Xiang Zuo’s personal assistant, who reached this conclusion. Investigating an already deceased man—the former director of the group’s Dongyin Factory, Zhang Junru—tracing where he’d gone, whom he’d seen, even what he’d eaten the day before his fatal car accident. If that wasn’t enough, they’d hired at least five detective agencies to track down a fugitive wanted by the police. Such zealous efforts to help the authorities verged on the absurd. Yu Nianyuan felt he needed to brace himself—who knew when Xiang Zuo might instruct all company employees to mobilize their families to search for Hu Yongnian? At this point, it seemed all too likely.

But how could anyone hope to find a nondescript, elderly man among over a billion people? Yet, once again, his boss proved to have a will of iron, tough and indomitable. Every three days, Xiang Zuo devised a new search strategy. Last time, they’d jointly issued a wanted notice with the police, offering a reward of half a million yuan. That day, when Xiang Zuo summoned him to the office with a discreet phone call, Yu Nianyuan thought to himself: he must have come up with another clever plan.

Xiang Zuo sat behind his desk, holding a few pages of unknown reports. He looked up, eyes bright and confident, a knowing smile playing about his lips. For reasons he couldn’t explain, Yu Nianyuan felt a wave of nervousness, barely managing to muster a show of cheerful efficiency. “President Xiang, what can I do for you?”

“Before Hu Yongnian fled, he withdrew all his savings and took them with him,” Xiang Zuo said, waving the pages in his hand and smiling meaningfully at Yu Nianyuan, as if waiting for his reaction. Poor Yu Nianyuan—he suddenly recalled an old, classic tune: “Don’t try to guess the boss’s mind… don’t guess…”

He obediently pulled out his pen, poised over his notebook. “Go ahead, I’m ready.”

“Inform the media: ‘Former director of our subsidiary company absconded with a large sum of cash; his actions have no connection to our group.’ Remember, include a photo!”

Xiang Zuo’s rare smile was beautiful, friendly, but in Yu Nianyuan’s eyes, it was chilling. That “former director wanted by the police” had long been severed from Shenglian—everyone knew that. To make a grand announcement to the media now, it was clear that the real message wasn’t the disavowal, but the revelation that this man was on the run with a fortune.

At that thought, cold sweat began to bead on his brow. Xiang Zuo was clearly harnessing the power of all society to find this man: police, private detectives, rewards, and now even the criminal underworld would be alerted! With news of Hu Yongnian carrying so much cash, how many thieves would come sniffing?

After leaving Xiang Zuo’s office, Yu Nianyuan leaned against the hallway wall for a long time. Sincerely, he wanted to say one thing to Hu Yongnian: turn yourself in! If the police find you first, at worst you’ll go to jail; but if the thieves get to you before then, your life won’t be worth a dime! Of course, that was assuming he ever even laid eyes on this doomed and sinful old man.

“Is President Xiang inside?”

A clear, low-pitched female voice sounded behind him. Yu Nianyuan straightened at once and turned around. “President Qin, yes, President Xiang is in.”

Standing before him was a woman of about fifty, dignified in appearance. The former chairwoman of the company and Xiang Zuo’s mother—she and her son shared a certain resemblance in both looks and bearing. In a man, such features and presence would be called elegant and distinguished; in a woman, they seemed rather too severe and shrewd.

Qin Lan nodded and walked straight into the office. Hearing her, Xiang Zuo put down his work.

“Mom, what brings you to the office? Is something wrong?”

Qin Lan didn’t answer immediately. She took a seat on the sofa, her expression unreadable. Only after setting her handbag aside did she gesture for Xiang Zuo to join her.

“What’s going on with you and that Zhang Momo?” Her tone was calm, but the edge was unmistakable; Xiang Zuo was a little surprised—he’d expected her to start with company matters.

“In what way, exactly?” He composed himself, deciding not to waste words on unnecessary explanations, and met her gaze.

“Your personal relationship.”

Neither of them were the type for beating around the bush. Qin Lan knew her son’s character all too well. The only reason this had come to her attention was the group’s extraordinary zeal in pursuing the Hu Yongnian case. But that was just the surface; she knew Xiang Zuo was not the sort to meddle in others’ business so fervently. When she traced it back, it all came down to the victim—his “former sister-in-law.” Of this, she had no doubt.

For a brief moment, Xiang Zuo hesitated. He hadn’t planned to tell his family about Zhang Momo just yet. It wasn’t the right time. Never mind her previous sham marriage, which he would never lay bare before his family; now, with her embroiled in a nude photo scandal, this was certainly not the time to formally bring her into the family. But it seemed his mother was in no mood to let him sort out these complications in peace.

Seeing him so lost in thought, Qin Lan’s heart sank. In his silence, all her doubts and questions dissolved into unnecessary formalities. She didn’t linger long; as she left, she made her stance clear, decisive as ever.

“I don’t care what’s really going on between you and the Zhang sisters—even when you divorced the elder one, your father and I didn’t interfere. But if you’ve divorced the elder sister only to become involved with the younger, I find that extremely inappropriate. Leaving aside your status, even for an ordinary person, this sort of thing can’t be accepted. Think it through for yourself.”