Chapter 43

Aiville Beauty Salon was one of the top high-end beauty chains in the city; a single store occupied three floors of a grand Western-style building, opulent and imposing. Yet as Zhang Momo stood before this exquisite edifice, her heart seethed with torment.

It was early spring, a season when all things vied to burst forth in green and vitality. But she wore a dull gray woolen coat—the color of a mouse. In truth, she had always been someone whose presence seemed to sicken others, so this color suited her and the occasion perfectly.

Luxury cars came and went in front of the salon, changing over several times. Zhang Momo kept her gaze fixed on the salon’s golden, gleaming revolving door, her expression even uglier than a stomachache. She had lost count of how many times she’d circled the entrance. At last, she gritted her teeth and walked in without a backward glance. In an inconspicuous corner behind her, inside a black Ato car, a man with a cap pulled low over his face watched her slip through the doors and made a call.

“Mr. Xiang, Miss Zhang has entered the Aiville Beauty Salon. She lingered at the entrance for nearly an hour—very unusual. I thought you should know.”

Xiang Zuo frowned.

He’d arranged for someone to follow Zhang Momo, worried that Hu Yongnian, should he become desperate, might threaten her safety. In reality, the odds of encountering a wanted criminal committing violence in a large beauty salon were minuscule, and there was probably no need for concern. Yet an intense unease gnawed at him, all tangled up in the fact that she had wandered there for an entire hour.

“I see. I’m coming now.” Ending the call, Xiang Zuo grabbed his car keys and hurried out.

Fan Tingting, having finished an entire spa treatment, felt refreshed inside and out. The graceful, soft-spoken beautician followed at her heels, repeating, “Your skin is looking wonderful lately,” “With the city’s dust, regular maintenance is essential,” “The most important thing for a woman is to care for herself.” Stepping out of the private room, Fan Tingting spotted a woman sitting in the waiting area. The trace of disdainful smile she’d worn for the familiar advertising slogans deepened.

She stopped, looking down from above as Zhang Momo slowly rose from her seat. In truth, she was not surprised. If Song Jiakai’s sister—the one so fierce she barely seemed a woman—could come seeking her out to curry favor, what else could be impossible?

“Miss Fan, I came to apologize,” Zhang Momo said, skipping the pleasantries and going straight to the point. Yet despite her earnest expression, she was too calm—unsettlingly so! It didn’t feel like remorseful contrition; rather, she seemed poised for a showdown, as if she’d brought a bomb in her bag.

Fan Tingting felt a surge of resentment. “And you think words are enough?”

The beautician behind her, sensing the tension, was torn: should she quietly slip away and pretend not to see, or should she, per company policy, continue to provide attentive service? In the end, she retreated a few steps and lingered at a distance. Guests came and went through the lounge, casting curious glances, but Zhang Momo ignored them.

“Of course, words aren’t enough.” Zhang Momo steadied herself. She had rehearsed her speech countless times, yet when the moment came, her words tumbled out in confusion. “Miss Fan, there’s no great enmity between us—just trifling matters. I was wrong, and I’m willing to apologize however you wish. But you know as well as I do, these grievances are only between us. They have nothing to do with anyone else. There’s no need for public vengeance.”

“Public vengeance?” Fan Tingting laughed incredulously, as if she’d heard a fairy tale. “What do you mean, public vengeance? If it were you, could you pretend nothing happened? If I threw water in your face and shoved you under a table, would your parents thank me? Oh… I forgot, your parents have passed away.”

She stared, awaiting a reaction. Zhang Momo’s fists clenched until her knuckles whitened, but in the end she chose to ignore the last remark. It was deliberate, but she could not allow herself to lose control.

“Miss Fan, you’re not a hypocrite. If you have anger or resentment toward me, I won’t complain. But please, leave others out of it.” Zhang Momo paused, seeing Fan Tingting’s confusion, and made herself clearer. “I mean, as long as you promise not to trouble Song Jiakai or his family anymore, you can take your revenge on me however you like.”

But as soon as she finished, Zhang Momo felt utterly deflated. What was she saying? Wasn’t she here to apologize? How had it turned into a negotiation? An apology should involve kind words—everyone knows that, even a child. Where had all her rehearsed lines about “magnanimity,” “ladylike grace,” and “good breeding” gone? Her mouth seemed no longer her own. She wanted to slap herself, but under such pressure, her rebellious tongue kept working against her. It was maddening.

“Ha…” Fan Tingting tossed her head and regarded Zhang Momo sidelong. “You’re straightforward enough. For that, I’ll agree to your terms.” She glanced around, then called to the beautician standing at a distance, “Bring me that orange juice.”

The anxious beautician, still debating whether to alert her supervisor, shakily brought over the half-finished glass of orange juice. “Give it to her,” Fan Tingting instructed, jerking her chin at Zhang Momo.

“Pour this orange juice over your head, and then jump from the salon’s entrance balcony. If you do, I’ll act as if nothing ever happened between us.”

Fan Tingting watched her with interest, while Zhang Momo felt as if a cockroach had crawled into her chest—utterly revolted.

“Hey, something’s happening in the lobby—a woman is forcing another to jump!”

When Xiang Zuo entered the salon, this was the snippet he caught. Instantly, he moved like the wind, hurrying in the direction where several women had gathered.

By then, Zhang Momo and Fan Tingting were already surrounded by a crowd. In a place full of women, there was never a shortage of eager onlookers. All around, people whispered, some indignant, others with embarrassed smirks, but regardless of their stance, everyone shared a common anticipation—an urgent desire to see how things would end.

“If I do this, you guarantee your mother won’t trouble him or his company again, right?”

“Exactly!” Fan Tingting glanced around, brimming with expectation. She had barely finished speaking, hadn’t even begun to savor the prospect of drama, when Zhang Momo, with no hesitation, lifted the glass above her head and poured the pulpy juice all over herself. It splashed down her face, dripping onto her chest.

Fan Tingting had no idea why, but she just wanted to stamp her feet. Zhang Momo had done it too cleanly, too quickly, her expression too unconcerned, too at ease—everything about it was galling! But before Fan Tingting could vent her frustration, Zhang Momo wiped her face, looked up, and said, “Now for the jump. Let’s go.”

She reached out to pull Fan Tingting along, but this left Fan Tingting feeling even more uncomfortable, as if she was the one being embarrassed. She was being dragged along, so when Zhang Momo suddenly stopped, she almost ran into the back of her head.

“What are you doing?” Xiang Zuo had fought his way through the crowd of women, and upon seeing Zhang Momo’s bedraggled, juice-soaked face, a nameless fury flared within him.

At the sharpness of his voice, Zhang Momo loosened her grip on Fan Tingting’s wrist, her hand dropping weakly. Xiang Zuo fixed Fan Tingting with a hard stare—so sharp it lasted less than two seconds—then pulled the dazed and miserable Zhang Momo out through the crowd and out of the salon.

“Let go! This is my business—I’ll handle it myself.” She struggled, but he didn’t listen, simply shoved her into his car. Only after they’d driven far from the salon did Zhang Momo’s initial embarrassment and frustration boil over into agitation. “Xiang Zuo, stay out of my affairs! This is my problem!”

Xiang Zuo slammed on the brakes and pulled over, his eyes burning with rage as he turned on her. “Your problem? Zhang Momo, have you no self-respect left? Are you insane?!” His face was ashen, every muscle taut. He yanked a white towel from the glove box and, without a word, pressed it to her head, scrubbing forcefully and without care—wishing, it seemed, to shove her wayward head back down onto her shoulders.

“Enough!” Zhang Momo, stifled by his rough and wild rubbing, pushed his hands away with a frantic strength, hurling the towel back at his face. Her hair now stood on end, her appearance utterly undone; and her expression was even less dignified.

A few pieces of orange pulp still clung to her cheek as she glared at him, her cheeks flushed and dirty, perhaps even bruised. “I’m stupid, I’m crazy, I have no pride left—I stopped caring about that long ago! If I make a mistake and drag others down with me, even if I know it’s pointless, I can’t just pretend nothing happened and do nothing. Dignity? That word has nothing to do with me now. Xiang Zuo, what’s it to you? Why get involved? Now that you’ve meddled, I suffered that cup of juice for nothing! For nothing! All I had to do was jump off that entrance balcony—which wouldn’t have hurt me anyway—and it would all have been settled. But you ruined it! Now it’s all for naught!”

“For nothing?” Xiang Zuo suddenly recalled her words—“You guarantee not to trouble him or his company again”—and now, hearing her say “for nothing” wounded him deeper than witnessing her self-abasement. It was as if a poison-tipped needle stabbed into his chest, leaving him breathless. “You did all this for Song Jiakai?”

A thousand questions and furies piled up inside him, but he couldn’t voice them. He didn’t know what to say—his chest was about to burst. “Do you like him that much?” “You’d give up your last shred of dignity for him?” “This is a man’s problem—why are you meddling?” “If he can’t run a company without you suffering for him, what does that say about him?”

He was unable to say any of it—he just bottled it up, so much so that even Zhang Momo began to worry for him. “Fine, I was wrong… Don’t be angry, Xiang Zuo, it was my fault, please don’t be angry…”

Zhang Momo was genuinely panicked now. Xiang Zuo’s face, beyond mere anger, was so tense that the veins at his temples stood out. If he were any older, she half-expected him to drop dead from a stroke or heart attack right before her eyes. She could see it now: he would die of rage because of her—without a doubt!

Her fear melted her resistance. She resolved that, no matter what, she mustn’t argue or upset him like this again. Reaching out, she gently patted his heaving chest. “Don’t be angry, please… I was wrong… Thank you for saving me, thank goodness you arrived in time…”

She babbled, not even sure what her point was, just speaking in a desperate attempt to appease. But Xiang Zuo suddenly seized her hand, pinning it tightly to his chest; his eyes filled with the pain of two people talking past one another.

“Zhang Momo, I treat you like a treasure! I can’t bear for you to suffer or worry, and yet… for Song Jiakai, you let yourself be disgraced like this? Are you humiliating yourself, or are you humiliating me? Zhang Momo, you really…”

Here, this tough man actually choked up. He pressed his lips together, his eyes reddening, as if one more word would bring him to tears. Forcibly swallowing his feelings, he finally managed to speak, his face cold and voice harsh: “Get out of the car!”

Zhang Momo, her cheek still smeared with orange pulp, stood by the roadside; her arm was still half-raised, frozen in the posture she’d used to calm Xiang Zuo. She couldn’t move. Her only worry now was that he wouldn’t drive too fast—please, don’t speed! Cupping her hands to her mouth, she shouted after the retreating car, “Drive slowly!”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than the car screeched to a halt and reversed back to her. Zhang Momo finally breathed a sigh of relief. “Drive slowly! Be careful!”

The window rolled down, and Xiang Zuo, as if he hadn’t heard her words of concern, glared at her with a face like frozen stone.

“If you ever do anything so foolish again, I’ll make sure that even if Song Jiakai has the money to build, not a single one of his buildings will sell!”

The car shot off once more like an arrow, and Zhang Momo stamped her foot in frustration, raising her hands into a makeshift megaphone. “Drive slowly, you hear me!”