Chapter 19 Little Fag Ran Off with Someone

Chapter 19: Little Fag Ran Off with Someone

Lin Zaishan never needed to prepare to see Zhang Weina.

He could see her in the morning, in the evening, or not for weeks—the initiative was always his. And Zhang Weina was smart enough to read people, always finding just the right excuse to smooth over his every word and action. She rarely complained, never made a scene, and greeted him with a smiling face every time, as if everything he did was right.

A woman like that, Lin Zaishan was naturally willing to spoil.

He gave her cars, houses, and the seven-figure top lot he won at the spring auction. He spared no effort in piling the best things in front of her—all for the sake of give-and-take: you tolerate my temper, and I won't shortchange you. It was a transaction, a mutual understanding. He could afford to give, and she could gracefully accept. Everyone maintained their dignity.

But clearly, the smiling beauty wasn't impressed by any of this.

Their relationship, less than two years, ended with her initiating the breakup. Lin Zaishan agreed readily. She wanted freedom, and he could give it. Two years wasn't long, but there was still affection. There was no reason to be relentless.

Now, they parted on good terms. Some in their circle praised his magnanimity; others called him heartless. He couldn't be bothered. Only Lin Zaishan knew he still owed her an explanation—not about feelings, but about why he'd jumped into marriage so quickly after the breakup. After all, this was a whirlwind marriage for him, and she couldn't help but wonder.

So today, for once, he wasn't late. In fact, he pushed open the door of Meng Lang's private club room ten minutes early.

As the door swung open, the warm air inside hit him, mixed with the smell of alcohol and perfume. To the left was a fish tank stretching from floor to ceiling, its blue LED strips glowing from the bottom, bathing half the room in a deep ocean blue.

There weren't many people—a few small clusters of familiar faces. Someone raised a hand in greeting, but he ignored them, walking straight toward the sofa by the window.

Zhang Weina was curled up in the farthest corner, sunk into the couch, clutching a nearly empty bottle of alcohol.

The lighting was dim, but Lin Zaishan could still see her flushed face—from her cheekbones to her neck, the redness creeping into the collar of her shirt. She squinted, leaning back on the sofa, and gave him a tipsy smile when she saw him.

Lin Zaishan frowned.

In the years they were together, he'd never seen her drink like this. Zhang Weina's nature was clear-headed and restrained—always knowing her limits. That was one of the reasons he'd admired her in the first place.

He strode over, bent down, and snatched the bottle from her hand. Then, bottle in hand, he turned to look at Meng Lang, who was sitting at the other end.

"You know she can't hold her liquor, don't you?"

His voice wasn't loud, but it made the few people nearby stop mid-conversation.

Meng Lang had been trying to disappear into the sofa corner. When called out, he jolted to his feet reflexively, opening his mouth but failing to utter a single word.

Someone nearby coughed lightly. The atmosphere in the room suddenly tensed. No one spoke, but everyone was listening.

Lin Zaishan didn't move. He just stared at Meng Lang. Dealing with someone who'd been scared of him since childhood—all he had to do was look long enough, and Meng Lang would spill everything.

But after a few seconds of standoff, a drunken voice came from behind him: "It's not his fault. I wanted to drink."

Lin Zaishan turned to look at the person on the sofa.

Zhang Weina was struggling to sit up. Her eyes, usually always smiling, were now red, unfocused yet stubbornly meeting his gaze.

Lin Zaishan sighed inwardly. Even this drunk, she was still putting others first. He said nothing, simply looked at her for a few seconds, then walked over and took her wrist.

"Let's go."

They walked out together. Zhang Weina didn't resist, letting him lead her, though her steps were unsteady. Lin Zaishan noticed, slowed his pace, and wrapped his other arm around her.

Just as he opened the door, they collided with someone about to enter.

The man's full glass of wine spilled straight onto Lin Zaishan's jacket.

"Oh, sorry, sorry." The man kept apologizing, fumbling for tissues.

Lin Zaishan looked down at him—shorter than himself, dressed in a well-fitting thick linen suit, with a small face, classic phoenix-shaped eyes, and unnaturally fair skin. He'd never seen this man before and wasn't interested in exchanging pleasantries. He glanced at him, then continued out with Zhang Weina.

"Um... I can have that jacket cleaned!" a voice called from behind.

Lin Zaishan didn't stop. It was just a jacket; no need to argue with a stranger. But the man caught up again, respectfully handed over a business card, and apologized once more. His movements were a bit hurried, but his posture was very low, like someone who wouldn't rest until he'd made things right.

Lin Zaishan glanced at the card—Mars.

No surname, just an English name and a phone number. He'd seen plenty of cards like this before—either from a fresh-faced newbie in the industry, or someone trying to network but too shy to say it outright.

"No need." Lin Zaishan nodded, curved his lips into a polite smile, and continued supporting Zhang Weina toward the end of the hallway.

The man stayed where he was, not following.

"I can walk on my own," Zhang Weina suddenly pushed him away, crossed her arms, and staggered ahead in her heels.

Lin Zaishan didn't force it. He just followed, keeping a few steps behind. Until the woman ahead suddenly stopped. She leaned one hand against the wall, and her shoulders began to shake.

Lin Zaishan stood there, watching her back, watching her slowly crouch down and bury her head in her knees. There was no sound, but he knew she was crying.

"Wina." He stepped forward, crouching beside her, lowering his voice. "What's wrong?"

Zhang Weina didn't answer. She just buried her face deeper, her shoulders shaking harder. Then, as if some dam had suddenly broken, her soft sobs turned into open weeping.

Lin Zaishan watched her. He reached out a hand, but it hovered in midair.

He knew she must have encountered something serious.

Even though they'd only been broken up for a short time, he had enough self-awareness—Zhang Weina's feelings for him weren't that deep, certainly not deep enough to cry over him. So this crying wasn't because of him.

He withdrew his hand and waited in silence.

In his mind, he weighed things: if she was really in trouble, how much should he help? How far to get involved? He needed to maintain a sense of proportion, a certain amount of goodwill, but crossing that line would be a different story.

The woman's sobs were startlingly loud in the quiet hallway.

Not far away, the elevator chimed softly, its red light blinking. After a moment's hesitation, Lin Zaishan placed his hand on Zhang Weina's shoulder and guided her to a corner at the end of the hallway—a bit more secluded, so not everyone who passed would see her crying.

Zhang Weina followed silently, but after a few steps, she stopped abruptly and threw herself into his arms.

Lin Zaishan looked down, surprised at the top of her head, but still reached out and gently wrapped his arms around the crying woman.

"Wina..."

He had just started to speak when the woman in his arms spoke first—

"My father passed away."

When he pushed the door back into the private room, half of his jacket was soaked through—whether from the man's wine or Zhang Weina's tears, he couldn't tell. He took it off as soon as he entered and tossed it onto the sofa.

As soon as Meng Lang saw him back, he hurriedly stood to make room.

Lin Zaishan shot him a glance, then sat down on a single sofa. Meng Lang, wearing a guilty smirk, tilted his chin toward the people around. They quickly took the hint and dispersed with their drinks.

"Brother, you've been busy lately?" Meng Lang grinned as he sidled up.

Lin Zaishan frowned at him and cut to the chase: "Zhang Weina's father died, and you didn't tell me?"

"Ah, what a huge misunderstanding!" Meng Lang waved his hands frantically. "I only found out today myself!"

Lin Zaishan shot him a sidelong glance and ignored him. He fished a cigarette from the coffee table, put it between his lips, and subconsciously felt in his pocket for a lighter—only to find nothing.

Meng Lang, quick as a flash, grabbed his own lighter and leaned in to light it.

Lin Zaishan took a drag, leaned back into the sofa, and said nothing.

He was thinking about what Zhang Weina had just said. Losing a father—he’d been through that. He knew what it felt like. Back when Feng Tai passed away, he hadn’t even cried, just sat alone on the rooftop all night. Later, he told himself that feeling sorry for himself was useless; the only thing that mattered was shouldering the burden.

So just now, he hadn’t said much. He simply had the driver take her home, told the driver to take it slow, and asked her to text him when she got home.

That was all he could offer. As for the rest, he’d wait until she was ready to talk.

“Bro, Weina’s not coming back?” Meng Lang asked cautiously.

“I had the driver take her home.”

Meng Lang nodded, holding back the remark that she was too drunk to stay. He stood up, pushed the ashtray closer to Lin Zaishan, poured himself another drink, and then spoke in a casual tone:

“Just now, your brother-in-law came by. Saw you weren’t here, so he left.”

Lin Zaishan was lost in thought, not even lifting his eyes. “What brother-in-law?”

“Your brother-in-law!” Meng Lang replied with a grin.

The hand holding the cigarette froze.

Lin Zaishan’s head shot up, his voice cracked. “Who did you say came?”

Seeing the look on his face, Meng Lang’s heart skipped a beat. “I mean… your sister-in-law’s…”

Lin Zaishan had already realized.

But realizing was too late.

He quickly scanned the room. No trace of Yuan Che.

“Where is he?!” His tone carried a hint of panic he didn’t even realize.

Meng Lang had known Lin Zaishan for years. When had he ever seen him this panicked? No matter how big the problem, this guy always sat steady as a rock.

“He saw you weren’t here, so he followed his friend out…” Meng Lang stammered, holding his glass.

“Friend??” Lin Zaishan’s brow furrowed deeper. “What friend??”

“You didn’t see him? He was here just now—” Meng Lang stopped mid-sentence and changed his tune. “Actually, even if you'd seen him, you probably wouldn't have known him. Li Ranyu brought Mars.”

Mars.

Lin Zaishan stood frozen.

That short man he’d bumped into in the hallway—the name on the business card he'd handed him was exactly that.

“What’s his Chinese name?”

“It’s… it’s…” Meng Lang stammered, his words tangling together.

Lin Zaishan got annoyed just looking at him. Without letting him finish, he crushed out his cigarette, stood up, and headed for the door.

He'd only taken two steps when a voice called out behind him—

“It's Yu Yizhou!!”