Chapter 40

Chapter 40

Shen Gali figured he hadn't secured permanent stay in the small dark room because he still hadn't crossed Nan Liujing's bottom line. If this incident could shake his position at Huanhai Electronics, the small dark room would be his for the taking.

Shen Gali: Let me think of something shady.

No use—thinking is worse than death.

The man across from him, Evan, rang the dining bell, and waiters filed in with dishes.

British cuisine tends to favor meats, seafood, and vegetables, with simple cooking and light flavors. A simple Cornish pasty paired with charcoal-grilled herring, and for dessert, Yorkshire pudding and cream tea.

Evan sat upright, his back slightly off the chair. This, he heard, was part of their royal table etiquette, with many details—even which finger to use when lifting a cup being strictly regulated.

Shen Gali looked at the spread of food, and his already upset stomach got even worse.

Though he didn't know the purpose of the meeting, he was well aware that his financial lifeline was in this man's hands. Whether he ended up in an underground CBD or a mass grave after death depended heavily on this Evan fellow.

So, he had to eat this meal whether he liked it or not.

It wasn't that he was being regionally prejudiced; it was just that "eating" wasn't exactly his thing. He'd rather watch Nan Liujing's face twist in anger than eat.

"What's wrong? Not to your taste, Mr. Shen?" Evan gazed at the motionless Shen Gali, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Since birth, Evan had only interacted with the top echelons of society—people with impeccable manners. He had grown up under his parents' strict guidance, accustomed to these intricate rules.

To Evan, Shen Gali was an anomaly from the moment he fell asleep on the sofa. In Evan's eyes, Shen Gali was a barbarian, ignorant of etiquette and lacking manners.

If he was smart, when asked that question, he would have replied, "How could it be? It's just that the meal is so lavish, I don't know where to start."

Shen Gali: "Yeah."

Evan: ...?

Yeah?

Shen Gali didn't like lying, because he knew one lie would require a hundred more to cover it up. Making him think was worse than death.

"Are you joking?" Evan shot back. He'd never met anyone so full of himself.

"No, it's just not to my taste." Shen Gali picked up a Cornish pasty, took a bite, and added, "And it's honestly not that good."

Terrible as it was, he had to choke it down—for the sake of his grave plot.

Evan stared at the hand holding the pasty, his brows deeply furrowed.

In royal dining etiquette, pasties absolutely must not be eaten by hand; they should be cut into small pieces with a knife and fork and then brought to the mouth.

Not to mention the locals, he had met countless foreign businessmen from all over the world. Before dining with him, they'd all cram on royal dining etiquette, and he had never seen anyone fail to learn them. Was this Chinese man challenging him?

Evan stopped his movements and stared at Shen Gali. "Has no one ever taught you that pasties should be cut into small pieces with a knife and fork?"

Such a rude representative—he wouldn't dare use him.

Shen Gali looked at the pasty in his hand, confused. "Does it taste better if you cut it with a knife and fork?"

Evan suddenly felt exhausted, but his upbringing kept him from showing it. He smiled and said, "It's not about taste. Cutting it with a knife and fork is a matter of etiquette and upbringing."

Etiquette? Upbringing? Shen Gali didn't understand. He had hardly interacted with wealthy people since childhood; the only one was Nan Liujing. But even Nan Liujing ate steamed buns with his hands.

Shen Gali confessed, "My mother never taught me any such rules. She only said not to smack your lips while eating and not to reach across others for food, because it makes your dining companion uncomfortable."

"All I know is that true upbringing is about making those around you feel comfortable and at ease, not forcing them to adapt to your habits." He held up the pasty. "And also, respecting different cultures when you're in their country is what truly shows good breeding."

Shen Gali was tired of talking but added one last point: "We Chinese have been learning to use chopsticks since birth. Chopsticks can't cut pasties into small pieces."

Evan's eyes widened, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Was that true?

He had been to many places and met many people, but this was the first time someone had made him feel this strange sensation—something like… shame.

After finishing one pasty, Shen Gali couldn't hold out any longer. His stomach churned, sour liquid surging upward.

Across from him, Evan was still eating slowly and methodically—using a small opener to make a round hole at the top of an egg, revealing a bit of white, then sprinkling pepper and salt on the white, and scooping it out with a tiny bone china spoon.

Shen Gali was at his limit. If he didn't leave now, he'd go crazy. But if he just walked away, a mass grave would be his fate.

For the money, he'd endure one more time.

He picked up a boiled egg, cracked it on the table. Knowing the other man was finicky, he deliberately put on disposable gloves, peeled the egg, and handed it over. "Uncle, hurry up and eat. I gotta go lie down for five."

Evan nearly choked on his red wine.

Uncle? His Chinese wasn't great, but he was pretty sure "uncle" wasn't for a guy barely thirty.

And that egg—it was poorly peeled, with bits of shell still clinging to the corners.

The Asian man across from him was visibly impatient, yet despite his impatience, he had taken the initiative to peel an egg for him.

Evan couldn't explain it, but he somehow sensed a touch of motherly warmth from the guy.

Evan cleared his throat to hide his embarrassment, took the egg from Shen Gali, and muttered a low "thank you" in English.

Shen Gali was zoning out the whole time, and only snapped back when Evan finished eating.

Outside the restaurant, the rain had stopped, but the sky was still overcast, not clearing up.

Shen Gali was eager to go back and lie down, but then he heard Evan call out to him: "Excuse me, Mr. Shen. My phone's dead. Could you help me contact a driver to take me back to the hotel to rest?"

Shen Gali pulled out his phone with a sigh. "Number."

"I forgot... Then could you please hail a taxi for me?"

Shen Gali was speechless. Taxis weren't allowed in this area; he'd have to walk to the intersection ahead.

Evan, the heir to the UK's top family, was clearly losing his luster in Shen Gali's eyes. Then again, it never had much of a halo anyway.

At the intersection, Shen Gali casually flagged down a taxi. The driver listened to Evan's address and said, "Get in, I'll run the meter."

Just as Evan was about to get in, Shen Gali pulled him out and asked the driver, "How far is it from here to that hotel?"

Driver: "About twelve kilometers."

Shen Gali: "Sorry to bother you. Have a good one, driver."

Watching the taxi drive away, Evan: ?

Twelve clicks—that would cost a bunch in cab fare. Shen Gali was not about to take a loss.

Don't even think about taking a single cent from me. *clutches wallet*

Evan was bewildered: "If I don't take a car, how am I supposed to get back?"

Shen Gali looked around, his gaze finally landing on a row of motorcycle taxis at the street corner. The driver, seeing Evan's expensive attire, showed a simple, honest smile...

Evan sat on the back of the motorcycle. The damp wind soaked his hair, and the fine drizzle hit his face, chilling him to the bone, making his heart soar.

The driver up front chattered away, asking him where he was from, what he was doing here, where he had been—like a full background check.

Out of politeness, Evan answered each question in his halting Chinese. With every answer, Shen Gali's face etched deeper into his mind.

He remembered this man—the one who, without a second thought, turned and walked away when he hesitated to get on the motorcycle.

And it left a deep impression.

Back at the hotel, Evan was pretty much soaked through. Lying in the bathtub, the more he thought about it, the more absurd it seemed. Every other time he'd come here, he'd been picked up by a private car—anything less than a multi-million yuan vehicle and the hosts would be too embarrassed to even show him a car worth less than ten million yuan. Yet this man named Shen Gali, just to save money, had made him take a motorcycle taxi, getting drizzled on and chilled by the cold wind, all while enduring the driver's endless questioning.

What an unforgettable day. Gritting his teeth [image]

The more he thought about it, the more indignant he became. After his shower, he plugged his phone in to charge, opened his browser, and typed in "Shen Gali." The first result was the top search term: "Sad Frog."

That arrogant man he'd met that morning—in the photo, he was holding a ridiculous, pitiful frog-head costume, gazing up at a small stage, sweat plastering his hair to his cheeks. His eyes were hollow, completely out of place in the lively atmosphere.

Evan's gaze froze, and a strange emotion suddenly welled up in his chest.

What was he thinking back then? What was on his mind? Suddenly... he felt a bit curious.

*

When Shen Gali got home, he was also half-drenched. The dampness seeped in, but his stomach felt like a fireball burning painfully.

He didn't even bother to change his shoes when he entered. He rushed straight to the bathroom, hugged the toilet, and vomited violently. In the end, there was only sour liquid left, and he slumped down on the floor, his head hanging low, completely drained.

Nan Liujing heard the noise and came downstairs. He sat at the bathroom door, and the first thing he saw was Shen Gali's pale, colorless face.

"What's wrong?" He frowned, asking in a low voice.

Shen Gali didn't answer. He didn't even have the strength to say a single word.

Nan Liujing moved closer. Feeling the damp, cool chill radiating from his skin, he bent down, grabbed his wrist, and tried to pull him up. "Go take a hot shower."

Shen Gali didn't move, didn't speak.

Nan Liujing knew Shen Gali's temper well. The word "okay" would never come out of his mouth. He pulled harder, trying to lift him from the floor, but Shen Gali was as limp as a fallen leaf and collapsed straight into his arms.

His body was ice cold, but the forehead resting against his neck and shoulder was blazing hot like a fire.

"You have a fever." Nan Liujing's voice was urgent, tinged with anger.

The kid never learns his lesson—last time he got sick from the rain, and this time he still didn't use an umbrella.

And he himself hadn't learned either. He should have had Uncle Li wait there to bring him home, knowing he hated umbrellas.

For the first time, the arrogant, world-defying villain felt a pang of self-reproach.

He carried the half-unconscious Shen Gali to the bedroom and fetched hot water to wipe him down.

Throughout the process, he kept questioning himself: What am I doing? Why should I care about someone who once tried to poison me to death?

But his body wouldn't obey. He carefully wiped every inch of exposed skin, not even missing his fingers.

Shen Gali, feverish and hazy, had flushed cheeks and didn't respond no matter how many times his name was called.

Uncle Li was out running errands and couldn't lend a hand, so Nan Liujing had no choice but to call the family doctor.

The family doctor rushed over and performed a thorough check-up on Shen Gali. Nan Liujing didn't disturb them and waited outside.

But when the doctor opened the door, his puzzled expression made Nan Liujing uneasy.

"How is it?" Nan Liujing's own voice betrayed his anxiety, though he didn't realize it.

The doctor pushed his glasses. "Simply put, a fever from getting caught in the rain, along with some malnutrition and symptoms of a gastric ulcer. I don't have the instruments here for a detailed exam, but from what I can see, it's likely. And—"

The doctor paused, looking at Nan Liujing weirdly.

Nan Liujing closed his eyes in irritation. "Just say it—" he almost growled.

No time for beating around the bush.

The doctor adjusted his glasses again. "When I was examining Mr. Shen just now, I noticed a stitched scar on his left chest. Based on the location, it looks like he's had heart surgery. Did Mr. Shen have a heart condition before?"

Buzz—

At that moment, Nan Liujing felt his ears ringing. After the doctor's last word, a sudden shock hit him like a hammer blow, plunging him into a vacuum.

Seeing Nan Liujing spaced out, the doctor asked again, "Have you never noticed anything unusual? Or does Mr. Shen take medication regularly? Or maybe you didn't know about this at all?"

Nan Liujing couldn't describe the feeling in his chest. He thought he should take it as good news and laugh heartily, but now, let alone laughing, his throat felt clogged with cotton. He barely managed to choke out a few distorted words: "I didn't know..."

The doctor fell silent.

After a long while, he advised Nan Liujing to take Shen Gali to the hospital for a thorough check-up, listed some precautions for stomach issues, administered glucose and fever-reducing injections, and then took his leave.

It started to rain again, with no sign of stopping.

The room was dark and still, the silence fitting perfectly with Nan Liujing's own stillness. He stared blankly at the man on the bed. The thin blanket couldn't even outline the shape of his body—he was so thin that the bed seemed to swallow him up.

After what felt like an eternity, he reached out and gently pulled open Shen Gali's collar, seeing the stitched scar the doctor had mentioned.

A sudden sting hit his nose. He quickly closed the clothes, unable to bear looking anymore.

In all the time he had spent with Shen Gali, he had never noticed anything wrong with his body, never seen him take any medication for it. Now, a single question echoed in his mind: Could it relapse?

If there was a major medical history, why was it completely omitted from the premarital check-up report? Was it not detected, or was it deliberately concealed?

But that question didn't matter to him now.

Nan Liujing sat for a while longer, then got up and went to the kitchen.

...

"Shen Gali? How are you feeling now?"

Half-asleep and groggy, Shen Gali vaguely heard someone calling his name.

His eyelids were heavy and sore. With all his effort, he could only open them a crack.

In the dim, tender light of the lamp, he saw Nan Liujing's face. His hair, unkempt, hung over his eyes, making his cheeks look somewhat thin, revealing a tired weariness.

Shen Gali closed his eyes again and gave a vague “Mm.”

A large hand pressed against his forehead, brushing aside the stray hairs at his temple. He heard Nan Liujing’s indifferent voice: “Get up and eat the porridge first. Take your medicine, then sleep.”

Shen Gali didn’t move. His whole body felt frail now, and even moving a finger would send pain and numbness through him.

“Get up. Take the medicine.” Nan Liujing’s tone grew a bit stiff.

Shen Gali still didn’t move. A flicker of irritation stirred inside him. His voice hoarse, he said, “I don’t want to…”

Seeing his disobedience, Nan Liujing lost patience. He slid one hand behind Shen Gali’s neck and lifted him by the shoulders.

In truth, Nan Liujing hadn’t exerted much force at all, but Shen Gali still felt as if he was being tormented, and it hurt terribly.

Tears spilled from his tightly shut eyes, trailing down his cheeks.

The hand that had been trying to hoist him up abruptly froze, hovering midair, unable to move further.

The sudden tears were the last thing Nan Liujing had expected. A sharp pang of bitterness rose in his chest, mingled with an inexplicable sense of guilt, making him afraid to continue.

He was crying.

Shen Gali was crying—it seemed because of his roughness.

As a high-ranking corporate executive, Nan Liujing had seen countless tears in society: a middle-aged man laid off, sobbing that he had a family to support and couldn’t lose this job; a secretary fired for a mistake, begging for another chance. Nan Liujing would only reply in his coldest voice, uttering the most heartless words:

In the adult world, tears don’t work. I don’t care how hard you try; I only care about results.

Having witnessed so many emotional outbursts and tears, he thought he had grown numb. But seeing Shen Gali’s inexplicable tears suddenly stirred a strange sense of fear in him.

He withdrew his hand, fidgeting with the medicine box, and his tone turned unnatural: “What are you crying for? It’s not like I…”

I didn’t bully you.

But those last four words simply wouldn’t come out.

Human endurance is boundless, yet there is always a specific point where a trivial matter becomes the last straw that breaks the camel’s back.

Shen Gali clenched the corner of the blanket. His silent tears turned into choked sobs as he struggled to breathe.

He never liked to confide his emotions to others, because there was no such thing as true empathy in the world—only when the needle pricks you do you know the pain.

In high school, a student with congenital heart disease had hidden his history upon enrollment. During the mandatory one-thousand-meter physical test, he suffered a sudden severe episode and never woke up again. The student’s parents and relatives came to make a scene every day, causing everyone endless trouble.

Someone said: “If you don’t want to be treated differently, so you hide your medical history and end up in an accident, you have to learn to bear all the responsibility yourself.”

The words were harsh but not unreasonable. But if it weren’t for being treated like a ticking time bomb and isolated by those around him during his most needful years, who would choose to hide?

For a young person still in school, some things were more terrifying than death.

So Shen Gali had grown used to suffering in silence. But today, the accumulated endurance that he could never release, now burdened by illness as the final straw, caused his emotions to spiral out of control.

“I already said I don’t want to eat, and you keep bothering me. I just feel unwell and want to lie down—what’s wrong with that?” He choked out, mustering all his strength to finish the sentence.

Nan Liujing furrowed his brows, his expression complex. His usually confident and elegant hands now didn’t know where to rest.

“I’m not forcing you,” Nan Liujing explained. “You need to take medicine to recover quickly.”

He rarely explained himself, finding it unnecessary, but today he suddenly felt that “not explaining wouldn’t do.”

Though his intentions were genuinely good, in the face of Shen Gali’s tears, every word sounded hollow and powerless.

Shen Gali was still crying. The tips of his lashes were wet, teardrops hanging precariously before being washed away by fresh tears.

Nan Liujing raised a hand and scratched his forehead awkwardly. He didn’t dare look at him again. For the first time, his speech became stammering:

“I’m… sorry. I’m not good at taking care of people. I overlooked your feelings. I…”

He curled his fingers: “I know I was wrong.”

After crying for a long time, Shen Gali was exhausted. His sobs gradually subsided, but he still had to say:

“I hate cooking, and you still make me do it. Every time I cook, the oil jumps up high and burns me. The food I make tastes terrible too. I hate doing housework, I hate wearing skirts, I hate going to art class. Why do I have to do all these things?”

“You don’t have to do them anymore.” Nan Liujing answered instantly.

Shen Gali: “But I can buy food…”

Damn, he almost gave away the perfect opportunity to pocket some money.

Nan Liujing nodded lightly: “You can buy it.”

Then he asked, somewhat humbly: “So… the porridge and medicine?”

“We’ll see. I’m going to sleep.” Shen Gali closed his eyes.

“Alright, get some rest. If there’s anything else you want, just tell me,” Nan Liujing added.

What he meant was if Shen Gali wanted anything to eat, so he could make a list for Uncle Li to pick up on his way back.

Shen Gali: “I want ten thousand paper cranes. When I wake up, I want to see them hanging all over the ceiling.”

Nan Liujing: ?

“How many?”

“Ten thousand. Too many? Never mind then.” Shen Gali pulled the blanket over himself. “Going to sleep.”

“No, it’s not too many,” Nan Liujing quickly said.

In truth, Shen Gali had no interest in paper cranes. He wasn’t some pure-hearted romantic; he just wanted to stall Nan Liujing so he could sleep longer.

After a long while, Nan Liujing listened to the steady breathing from the bed and quietly let out a sigh of relief.

He leaned close to Shen Gali, bent down, and pressed his ear to his chest, listening to the sound of his heart beating inside.

It was beating.

Back in the bedroom, Nan Liujing ordered a delivery of square colored paper for folding paper cranes. He had never folded one before, but he was confident enough to believe he would master it after watching a video tutorial once. He had already set his expectations: the first few might be slow, but once he got the hang of it, ten thousand would be no problem.

He opened the video tutorial and folded the colored paper in half as instructed—

Half an hour later—

He stared at the pitiful, lonely paper crane on the table, its head drooping and its wings hanging as if they’d been broken.

Though the start was not ideal, he still had confidence. Once he got familiar, he would soon fold ten thousand graceful cranes.

Nan Liujing picked up another piece of colored paper and folded it in half—

One minute, ten minutes, an hour passed.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling window behind him, the deep darkness of night faded, the moon set, and gradually the sky turned fish-belly white, then the golden sun rose from the horizon, illuminating everything.

Dawn had broken.

Nan Liujing squinted, his eyes sore and swollen.

He slammed the half-folded paper crane onto the table.

From eight o'clock last night to eight o'clock the next morning, a full twelve hours without sleep, he had only folded twelve paper cranes.

What am I even doing? Last time it was sewing that doll, and now this—just to make Shen Gali happy, so I don't sleep?

No more folding. Don't treat people like fools.

Nan Liujing got into his wheelchair and went next door to check on Shen Gali.

Shen Gali was already awake, sitting up in bed, rubbing his throbbing temples.

Although he still had a fever, he felt much better than last night. He planned to get up, go to the bathroom, and then come back to lie down.

Nan Liujing said, "I'll cook you some porridge. Eat the porridge, then take your medicine."

Shen Gali changed the subject: "What about the ten thousand paper cranes?"

Again, he didn't really care about the paper cranes; he just wanted to stall Nan Liujing this way so he wouldn't bother him.

Nan Liujing cleared his throat awkwardly: "Almost done."

Seeing his expression, it was clear he was still a galaxy away from ten thousand. Shen Gali shook his head weakly. "Too hard for you, huh? I don't need them, it's fine."

Nan Liujing: "No, really, they're almost done. Sleep a bit more, and when you wake up, you'll see them."

Shen Gali was satisfied and lay back down.

*

Uncle Li had just returned from a business trip out of town, just in time for Nan Liujing to leave for work. He didn't even bother to rest from his four-hour drive, first went to help Nan Liujing wash up and eat breakfast.

Then Uncle Li found him holed up in his room folding paper cranes.

Uncle Li asked, "Young master, what are you..."

Nan Liujing, with bloodshot eyes from staying up all night, had a thin layer of stubble on his chin and was visibly thinner.

"Uncle Li, do you know how to fold these?"

Uncle Li glanced at them and shook his head: "No, but if you need it, I can learn."

Half an hour later.

Driver Yang was pushing Nan Liujing out. Nan Liujing turned back to look at Uncle Li and the pile of colorful paper on the table, and said calmly: "Uncle Li, I'll leave it to you then. Please make sure to fold ten thousand by the time I get back."

Uncle Li smiled confidently and proudly: "Young master, go ahead and focus on work. Leave the rest to me. Take care."

In the morning, while reviewing documents, Nan Liujing received a call from Uncle Li. Uncle Li burst into tears: "Young master, I can't do it. I only folded three in the whole morning. This thing is really not meant for humans."

Nan Liujing: ...

He looked up and slowly turned to Secretary Yan beside him: "Secretary Yan."

"Please give your instructions, President Nan," Secretary Yan said cheerfully, unaware of the disaster about to strike.

"Do you know how to fold paper cranes?"

"Oh... no, but I can learn. I'm a quick learner."

Nan Liujing thought for a moment: "Please tell Secretary Yang and the others. Put your work on hold for now. I need ten thousand paper cranes, and I'll pay each of you fifty yuan per crane as labor fees."

At noon, in the break room's kitchenette.

Secretary Yan, Secretary Yang, and Special Assistant Lin were hunched over a pile of colorful paper, working hard. After a long time, the three of them simultaneously slammed their paper cranes onto the table, their movements perfectly in sync.

"Why am I folding these things instead of doing my job?!"

Special Assistant Lin counted the paper cranes on the table and adjusted his glasses: "Total: two hundred. We're still a whole East African Rift Valley away from the ten thousand he wants."

"I can't go on. Everything looks blurry to me now. Hey, anyone have friends who want a side hustle? President Nan pays us fifty yuan per crane, so we can offer them thirty-five."

"That's the only way. There's no way we can finish ten thousand before the end of the workday otherwise."

...

Uncle Wang, who had been killing fish at Dafengfa for ten years, gained a touch of human warmth from the colorful paper cranes in his hand. In the end, he decided he didn't want that warmth and passed the job on to Old Li at the repair shop next door for twenty-five yuan per crane.

Old Li from the repair shop folded ten cranes and then angrily threw them down, passing the job to the guy from the Indian restaurant next door for twenty yuan per crane.

The Indian guy passed it on to Longzai, who was from Vietnam, who passed it on to his brother, a student at Jinhai University's International College. The brother passed it on to a junior (a younger student) from the art college next door...

Shen Gali was asleep when his phone vibrated and woke him up.

He answered the call. It was the senior (female) director who had filmed the campus promotional video.

She got straight to the point: "Classmate Shen, are you free? I've got a side gig for you."

"Huh?"

"It's simple—folding paper cranes. Fold as many as you can manage. The deadline is 6 p.m., and I'll pay you eight jiao per crane."

Shen Gali was dumbfounded.

At 5:30 p.m., at the entrance of the Huanhai Electronics headquarters building, a motley crowd had gathered, each carrying a bag stuffed with paper cranes.

The secretaries and assistants were busy tallying the cranes and handing out payments. Finally, they confirmed the total number: 9,993 cranes—seven short of the goal.

Nan Liujing received a large box of cranes and was informed that seven were missing. The secretaries offered to stay overtime to make up the seven.

Seeing his secretaries looking disheveled and exhausted, Nan Liujing said in a deep voice: "No need. Go home for the day."

Knowing how lazy Shen Gali was, there was no way he would count them one by one. As long as the quantity looked impressive, they could pass for the real deal.

Nan Liujing let out a small sigh of relief. He looked up at the ceiling and found himself wondering: What would Shen Gali think when he saw these ten thousand paper cranes?

He had never seen him smile. What did his smile even look like? Would these ten thousand cranes be enough to get him to crack a grudging half-smile? Suddenly... he was curious.

As soon as he got home, Nan Liujing asked, "How's Shen Gali doing?"

Uncle Li said respectfully, "He woke up and had some congee and medicine, but he still has a low-grade fever. The doctor came by today and said it's nothing serious—just a few days of rest and he'll recover."

Nan Liujing nodded, then suddenly remembered something: "By the way, find me the pre-wedding health check report for Shen Gali from before."

"Alright. Also, young master, your mother-in-law just called and said she wants to come over this evening for a small gathering—she has something to discuss."

"Got it. Bring me the medical report first."

Nan Liujing went upstairs and saw that Shen Gali's door was half-open. Through the crack, he saw him sitting on the bed, fiddling with something in his hands.

He adjusted his collar and straightened the cardboard box on his knees, then knocked on the door and entered.

Shen Gali had his head lowered, his loose pajamas slipping off his shoulders, revealing a stretch of pale neck leading to distinct collarbones.

He was focused on something, his dark, glossy eyelashes shading his pupils, making his mood unreadable.

He had clearly heard Nan Liujing come in, yet he remained motionless, absorbed in his own task.

Nan Liujing hadn't expected such coldness and felt a bit awkward, but he pressed on: "Feeling any better?"

Shen Gali didn't answer him.

"This—ten thousand paper cranes, what you asked for." He opened the box and set it beside Shen Gali.

Shen Gali looked up, rubbing his sore neck, his expression flat: "Is it really ten thousand?"

Nan Liujing: ...

How did he know?

Shen Gali took a deep breath and slammed what he was holding onto the table: "You went through a lot of trouble, hiring all those part-timers to fold them, even got to me through one of them—and for only eighty cents each."

Nan Liujing finally saw what was in his hand: a paper crane.

For paper cranes at eighty cents each, Shen Gali had dragged his sick body out of bed to pad his little savings. He knew how to fold them—as a kid, he'd folded a thousand in three days as a gift for his mom. But this time, he'd doze off after a few folds, sleeping on and off all afternoon, only making five.

He'd earned four bucks.

Yet Nan Liujing had the nerve to fan the flames: "I was offering fifty each."

Shen Gali's face went pale, and he shot Nan Liujing a sideways glare that clearly said, "I don't want to live."

Damn middlemen—they could probably buy a villa by the sea just from the markup.

Nan Liujing calmly changed his tune: "Since you helped fold some too, I'll pay you the price I originally had in mind. Even though I gave the secretaries fifty, in my head, the original price was fifty thousand each."

Nan Liujing opened his phone and transferred 250,000 yuan to Shen Gali: "Take the money."

He thought he'd salvaged the situation, but after seeing the money, Shen Gali's face fell even more.

Sure, the cranes were folded for him, but at fifty thousand each—why didn't he have him fold all ten thousand? Either way, he felt he'd missed out on half a billion.

Seeing him still unhappy, Nan Liujing said, "I remembered wrong—the price I originally had in mind was five hundred thousand each."

With that, he called his assistant and told him to go to the bank tomorrow to transfer 2.5 million yuan into Shen Gali's account.

Shen Gali was stunned!

2.5 million!

Half the dream of a comfortable future had come true!

But he had to stay vigilant—this was Nan Liujing, after all. He might ask for the money back any day.

Nan Liujing looked up and studied Shen Gali's expression.

He still wasn't smiling. Normally, receiving that much money would make anyone beam with joy. What would it take to make him happy?

*

Nan Liujing opened Shen Gali's medical report and went through every checkup item carefully. None showed any history of heart disease.

Using the doctor's signature, he found the phone number and called to ask about it.

The doctor remembered the name "Shen Gali" vividly because it was a marriage between business families, he had looked closely at his report. He confirmed that no major illnesses were found during the checkup—the ECG and echocardiogram were normal—and there was no mention of the heart surgery scar Nan Liujing described.

That was strange. If the surgery had happened after the marriage, it made even less sense: living together day and night, Shen Gali couldn't have secretly had surgery.

So where did the scar come from?

Nan Liujing decided to take Shen Gali for a full checkup once he recovered.

Even if the surgery was already done, heart disease was like a ticking time bomb—it could go off any day.

Still, he couldn't figure out why it wasn't detected during the medical exam. According to the doctor, for an ECG, patients have to remove their shirt, and no scar had been found on his body.

If it happened after marriage, that made even less sense.

Nan Liujing rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath.

This matter puzzled and worried him. For the first time, someone had thrown him into such disarray.

As he was thinking, Uncle Li came in and said that the mother-in-law had arrived at the door.

Nan Liujing straightened his clothes and went downstairs to receive the guests, and then asked Uncle Li to call Shen Gali down for dinner.

Uncle Li said Shen Gali didn't want to eat, so Nan Liujing told him to let him rest in his room.

Downstairs, the foster mother and her family beamed the moment they saw Nan Liujing, cheerfully calling out, "son-in-law, long time no see!" Meanwhile, Shen Lanqing, standing behind Nan Liujing, looked around anxiously and asked:

"Where's my brother? Why hasn't he come down?"

"Mr. Shen is unwell—he had a high fever yesterday. I'm afraid he might infect you all. Once he recovers, I'll take him to visit you all," Uncle Li said, unable to admit that Shen Gali simply didn't want to come downstairs.

The foster mother clicked her tongue twice, pretending to be concerned: "Gali has always been frail since childhood, always a worry."

To herself, she thought: Is he dead yet? If he is, call me to take care of the funeral.

Probably only Gong Yuan and Shen Lanqing were genuinely worried.

Shen Lanqing stood up: "I'll go upstairs and see my brother."

He took a step, but an arm barred his way.

He looked down and met Nan Liujing's cold, arrogant gaze.

"Your brother needs quiet rest. Don't disturb him."

Shen Lanqing stared into his eyes—dark, like an abyss, as if a blaze of fire burned within them.