Chapter 2 You Didn’t Send Me an Invitation…

Chapter 2 You Didn’t Send Me an Invitation Either...

Of course, Guan Yingtang knew Meng Qinghuai.

Even if she had never seen him in person during her years at school, this outstanding Chinese alumnus was a campus legend among their circle of international students.

The student council president of the Business School’s Class of 2017, he held the position until graduation due to his exceptional leadership skills. During his time at school, he organized and founded several business projects, earning the favor of top VC firms and even receiving overtures from a Wall Street-affiliated trustee.

His accolades were so numerous that even years after his graduation, Guan Yingtang would occasionally hear news about him.

In fact, Guan Yingtang had once had the chance to meet him.

During her sophomore year, she heard that this graduated senior, as a young delegate, was speaking at the World Development Forum hosted by Stanford. She had already secured an invitation card to attend and wanted to see this legendary paragon of success for herself, but a last-minute commitment that day prevented her from going.

At the time, however, this left no deep impression on Guan Yingtang. She certainly never imagined that years later, she would meet this legendary senior in such a manner.

“It rained in Beicheng, and the airport had temporary flight restrictions, so we were delayed,” the middle-aged man, impeccably suited, explained to Fu Shengyun before presenting the congratulatory gift. “This is an antique violet jade inkstone Qinghuai acquired during his business trip to Japan earlier this year. We hope you, sir, will like it.”

With Huo Ling’s quiet reminder in her ear, Guan Yingtang learned that the man speaking was Meng Songnian, chairman of Yawan Group—a top-tier financial conglomerate in mainland China—and beside him was his wife, Zhuang Jiayi.

Meng Qinghuai was their eldest son, accompanying his parents this time to celebrate Fu Shengyun’s birthday.

Fu Shengyun laughed heartily. “So it was Qinghuai who had such discerning taste to acquire my prized possession.”

As he spoke, Fu Shengyun turned and cast a meaningful glance at Guan Yingtang, his smile deepening. “Yingtang, come here.”

Suddenly called upon, Guan Yingtang’s heart inexplicably skipped a beat, but she maintained her composure, stepping forward with a smile to support Fu Shengyun’s arm. She heard him introduce her to Meng Qinghuai: “This is Miss Guan, Guan Yingtang.”

The Meng and Guan couples exchanged knowing looks, clearly coordinated beforehand. They simply stood by, smiling, waiting for the two young people to get acquainted.

Meng Qinghuai, for his part, displayed exemplary manners, his gaze lingering on Guan Yingtang for a few seconds before extending his hand. “Hello, Miss Guan.”

Perhaps it was the pressure of performing in front of such an intimidating man, but Guan Yingtang’s usually flawless facade faltered for a barely perceptible moment before she steadied herself and extended her hand professionally, with a smile. “I’ve long admired your reputation, Senior.”

The man’s fingers lightly brushed against her palm—neither warm nor cold, merely the polite distance expected in social settings. Typically, Guan Yingtang would consciously maintain such boundaries with men as well.

But the degree of that distance had always been hers to dictate. Men usually found excuses to flock around her, spouting hollow pleasantries just to earn a smile from her. This was the first time Guan Yingtang had encountered someone like Meng Qinghuai, who actively kept his distance.

Then again, he certainly had the right to be aloof. Setting aside Yawan Group’s international influence, just the stories she’d heard about him during her school days were enough to justify his fashionably late arrival under everyone’s gaze tonight.

Fu Shengyun looked between the two and remarked, “Qinghuai gifts me an inkstone, Yingtang gifts me Huizhou ink—you two share the same wavelength.”

At Fu Shengyun’s age and status, there was no luxury he hadn’t seen. The elder had a lifelong passion for calligraphy and painting, so Guan Yingtang, catering to his passion, presented him with a rare antique, museum-grade Huizhou inkstick. Unexpectedly, it paired perfectly with the inkstone Meng Qinghuai had brought.

This strange coincidence struck Guan Yingtang as oddly serendipitous. She pursed her lips and deftly sidestepped the topic. “As long as you like it, Teacher.”

“Of course I do.” Seemingly struck by a thought, Fu Shengyun suddenly set down his champagne. “Since you’ve both been so thoughtful, I’d like to return the favor with a gift of my own.”

Guan Yingtang: “...”

A return gift—for them?

Today was Fu Shengyun’s birthday celebration, yet he was offering gifts to two juniors. Guan Yingtang found this against protocol and was about to politely decline when she instinctively glanced at Meng Qinghuai, only to find him graciously accepting the gesture, his demeanor calm as he thanked the elder.

Not far away, He Zi, watching with a wineglass in hand, raised an eyebrow at her as if to say: *Go for it, girl—this one’s a catch.*

Guan Yingtang signaled for her not to egg her on before politely expressing her thanks as well.

Moments later, Fu Shengyun had someone bring over a horizontal scroll, solemnly placing it in Meng Qinghuai’s hands as if entrusting him with something. “I wrote this last night. Consider it my gift to you both today.”

The guests erupted in murmurs. Fu Shengyun had retired from public calligraphy years ago, and his surviving works now fetched exorbitant sums at auctions. To receive a piece from him carried significance far beyond its monetary value.

“I wonder what Master Fu wrote.”

“Why not unroll it and see?”

“How will they split it? Surely they can’t tear it in half...”

...

The questions on everyone’s minds were the same ones troubling Guan Yingtang. It made sense for Fu Shengyun to gift them his calligraphy, but why only one piece?

How were she and Meng Qinghuai supposed to divide it?

They had only just met tonight, with virtually no prior connection. Would he be willing to yield the artwork to her?

Should she offer to buy him out?

After thanking Fu Shengyun, Guan Yingtang seriously considered the matter. She initially thought to seek her parents’ advice, but when she looked up, she realized they were already deep in conversation with the Meng couple amidst the crowd. They seemed to be getting along famously, even clinking glasses at one point.

Retracting her gaze, Guan Yingtang quickly decided to take the initiative. “Mr. Meng.”

Meng Qinghuai, who had been about to leave, paused and turned to her. “Yes?”

His voice was as pleasant as her first impression—like clear, crisp snow, faint yet cutting effortlessly through the clamor of the banquet to reach her ears.

Guan Yingtang glanced at the scroll in his hand and was about to speak when Fu Shengyun’s son suddenly wheeled out an eight-tiered peach-shaped longevity cake for the elder’s birthday tribute, sparking a second wave of excitement.

Swallowing her words for now, Guan Yingtang shook her head with a smile. “It’s nothing.”

Remembering Fu Shengyun’s request for her to help entertain, she scrambled for small talk. “Would you like a drink? I can fetch one for you.”

“No, thank you.”

“...Alright, then please feel free to mingle.”

Thankfully drowned out by the surrounding noise, the stiff exchange didn’t feel as awkward as it could have. Meng Qinghuai turned to leave, handing the scroll to an assistant before being intercepted by the chairman of Hong Kong’s Mingdian Group for a conversation.

From a distance, Guan Yingtang finally saw the man who had always existed only in campus legends come into focus before her. His presence was impossible to ignore—his black suit exuded effortless elegance, and every movement radiated unflappable confidence.

Fu Shengyun’s concern had been unnecessary. Someone like Meng Qinghuai hardly needed her to play host. In no time, he was already surrounded by people.

-

The elder prioritized his health regimen, so the birthday banquet ended early at 10 p.m.

Luxury cars departed in orderly procession from the Fu family mansion on Shouson Hill. As the Fu family heir bid guests farewell at the entrance, Guan Zhiheng and Huo Ling said their goodbyes before suddenly telling Guan Yingtang, “We have matters to discuss with Uncle Meng. You ride back with Qinghuai.”

Guan Yingtang had to admire her parents’ social prowess. By the end of one banquet, their address for Meng Qinghuai had shifted from “Mr. Meng” to “Qinghuai.”

Was such familiarity necessary?

But she had no grounds to refuse her parents’ last-minute arrangement. As a lady, she couldn’t very well hail a taxi after such an elite gathering—tomorrow’s tabloids would have a field day with salacious headlines.

This was merely basic courtesy in high society. Besides, it gave her the perfect opportunity to discuss the scroll’s division with Meng Qinghuai.

“Alright,” Guan Yingtang agreed readily.

Meng Qinghuai’s car soon pulled up before her. The driver stepped out to respectfully open the door, and Guan Yingtang immediately spotted the man seated in the back.

He returned her gaze.

He had taken off his black suit jacket and placed it aside. Though the collar of his white shirt beneath was slightly loosened, it paradoxically heightened his air of restraint.

Their gazes met, and Guan Yingtang automatically straightened up, keeping up her elegant poise as she took her seat.

The driver closed the door, and the superior soundproofing blocked all outside noise.

Guan Yingtang sat decorously to one side, nodding at Meng Qinghuai with a smile. "Thank you for the ride, Mr. Meng."

Meng Qinghuai responded with equal courtesy: "Of course."

A gentleman serving a lady—only natural.

That was how Guan Yingtang interpreted his words.

But they were virtual strangers, having just met for the first time. She couldn't find any conversation topics. Bringing up the matter of dividing the gift so abruptly would seem too abrupt.

After sitting quietly for a moment, she initiated conversation: "I often heard your name mentioned at school. You were probably the most famous Chinese student in those years—everyone I knew had heard of you."

"Is that so?" Meng Qinghuai’s reply was terse. "Thank you."

His tone and look were cool, with an air of detachment. Though he was expressing gratitude, it felt perfunctory.

Guan Yingtang never pursued lost causes. Sensing his disinterest in conversation, she dropped the polite act and focused on the night scenery outside the window.

The quiet lasted scarcely ten seconds before Meng Qinghuai suddenly spoke again:

"Miss Guan is quite well-known too."

Guan Yingtang started slightly, turning to look at him.

Truth be told, there were three years between them. By the time she enrolled, Meng Qinghuai was already a senior. They had only one overlapping year, and with her in the School of Humanities and him in Business, their paths rarely crossed.

Moreover, Guan Yingtang had always kept a low profile in the humanities department. She didn't exactly consider herself 'famous' enough for the entire student body to recognize her.

Was he just making small talk?

Unsure but curious, she couldn’t resist probing: "You... know me?"

The car fell silent.

Meng Qinghuai didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he gave her a sidelong look.

Under the flickering lights, the woman before him wore an oriental-style cheongsam radiating classic elegance. The brocade fabric gleamed with dignified luster, her makeup understated and soft, even her earrings adorned with gentle pearls—exactly the picture of a refined aristocratic lady his parents had described.

Meng Qinghuai withdrew his gaze, pausing briefly before replying: "No."

"..."

Wow. You're a real conversationalist.

Guan Yingtang dismissed her unnecessary expectations and put her social mask back on, easily changing the subject with a smile.

"Actually, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you, Mr. Meng."

"What is it?"

Guan Yingtang came right out with it: "The scroll Mr. Fu gave us earlier—if it's all right with you, could you let me have it?"

Meng Qinghuai frowned slightly, as if puzzled by her request. "Let you have it?"

Guan Yingtang wasn't actually interested in calligraphy, but she figured that Guan Zhiheng would insist she secure Fu Shengyun’s work. Better to act sooner rather than later.

"I studied calligraphy under my teacher since childhood and was very close to him. I’d like to keep every gift he’s given me," she explained.

Meng Qinghuai didn’t respond immediately, bowing his head thoughtfully. After a few seconds, he tilted his chin slightly toward the front. Following his cue, Guan Yingtang spotted the scroll placed on the passenger seat. Just as she reached for it, the alert driver passed it to her.

"Thank you." Guan Yingtang accepted the scroll and opened it carelessly, then froze when she saw the characters.

Fu Shengyun’s scroll used red paper as its backdrop, bearing the bold inscription of four large characters: "A Match Made in Heaven."

Guan Yingtang furrowed her brows. Weird—why would her teacher write such a phrase out of the blue?

She'd been staring so long he noticed, because Meng Qinghuai calmly explained, "This is Mr. Fu’s wedding gift."

Guan Yingtang went rigid, instinctively turning to him. "You’re getting married?"

Meng Qinghuai’s look was unreadable. After a pause, he asked, "Miss Guan didn’t know?"

...?

Guan Yingtang was mystified.

Why would I know about your wedding?

You never sent me an invitation.

Though she scoffed inwardly, she also recognized that Fu Shengyun’s calligraphy was now more fitting for Meng Qinghuai to keep.

So she neatly rerolled the scroll and politely handed it back. "In that case, you'd better keep this gift, Mr. Meng. Congratulations."

Meng Qinghuai scrutinized her closely before letting out a faint chuckle. "Or perhaps Miss Guan could take another look at the right side of the scroll."

The right side?

Guan Yingtang’s gaze shifted, landing on a line of fine print she'd missed.

Peering in the faint car light, she could still make out the words with perfect clarity—

"To my students, Guan Yingtang and Meng Qinghuai, husband and wife."

Husband and—wife?

Guan Yingtang’s mind went blank, her polite smile freezing solid on her face.

"This is Mr. Fu’s wedding gift to us. Whether you keep it or I do—" Meng Qinghuai sat up straighter, his eyes steady. "What difference does it make?"

Guan Yingtang: "?"