Chapter 1 Prologue: An Insignificant Person.

Chapter 1 Prologue: A Nobody.

The road up the mountain curved and wound, with lush greenery everywhere in sight.

Further away, one could see the vast, boundless blue sea.

The radio in the taxi crackled intermittently, broadcasting the sixth typhoon of the year: Coral.

Ji Yuewei sat in the back seat holding her backpack, the air conditioning making her temples throb. She unconsciously muttered, "Coral." In the front, Ji Yitao, white-knuckling the grab handle and looking queasy, managed, "What?" Ji Yuewei shook her head and stayed silent, continuing to look out the window.

Ji Yitao couldn’t spare the attention to check on his daughter. The Hong Kong cabbie gunned it toward the mountaintop, with oncoming cars whizzing past his eyes, freaking him out—a grown man—making him flinch and yelp. The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror, a mix of scrutiny and amusement. Spotting the driver's smirk in the window reflection, Ji Yuewei was used to it.

Ji Yitao was a moderately famous painter. Had been for years.

As far back as Ji Yuewei could remember, Ji Yitao often took her and his canvases to art fairs, scraping by.

She had seen the most opulent, glittering celebrity banquets, and also dark, damp rentals with roaches skittering under the bed frame—Ji Yitao would shriek, leap onto the windowsill, and order an unimpressed Ji Yuewei to go buy roach spray.

Despite that spinelessness, her father had never missed a meal. Simple: Ji Yitao was handsome. Even panicked and ugly-crying, he still looked handsome. His hands, gripping the window frame, were pale and slender, and his long legs propped on the sill made the dump look almost elegant.

His identity as a painter gave him a unique temperament. Not exactly a playboy, but he had a certain charm. Judging by appearance may be shallow, but it’s always the first impression. Ji Yitao always nailed a first impression.

June was muggy and sweltering.

The door swung open, and a blast of heat hit her.

Ji Yuewei followed the driver to the trunk to get the luggage.

Ji Yitao stood by the car, scowling at his phone and mopping his brow.

A five-story hilltop villa loomed before them.

Through the heavy iron gate, a tidy stone path led forward, sunlight dappling the stones.

At the end of the path sat a small garden. Inside, a border of neatly trimmed shrubs was visible. A wooden tea table in the afternoon-sun style was set out, with a colorful umbrella not yet opened, leaning against the wall. At center stage, wide, bright floor-to-ceiling windows spanned two floors, though the interior was invisible from outside.

Red tiles, green walls, a deep, secluded courtyard—a world apart from the upscale apartments crammed down the hill.

Ji Yitao walked to the intercom at the gate and punched in a number from his phone.

A few beeps, then a polite voice: "May I help you?"

Ji Yitao spoke cheerfully, "Hello, I'm Ji Yitao, a friend of Miss He's."

The gate buzzed open.

Ji Yuewei paid, but the cabbie didn't peel out. He looked nosy, resting his elbow on the driver’s side window, watching them with interest.

Everyone knew who lived here—the once hugely popular top-tier actress He Yingzhen.

But more than her status, word on the street was juicier. Since dumping famous director Liang Kuan, Hong Kong media had mockingly depicted her life as a harem, with a colorful array of romantic scandals.

Under the driver's stare, Ji Yuewei trailed her father, stone-faced.

The hot air was filled with the fresh scent of newly cut grass.

There was no breeze under the shade, and the heat made one dizzy.

Ji Yuewei was on her period. Her body felt split in two. Her skin was hot and sticky, but inside she was chilled, her steps light and floaty.

Up close, she didn't look like Ji Yitao at all. Ji Yitao had a refined, scholarly face, exuding a comfortable grace. He smiled easily at people, giving off a nice-guy, almost pushover vibe.

Ji Yuewei was different. She had a small, sharp face with bold, handsome features. She almost never smiled. Her temperament was the polar opposite of his. She always seemed on guard, almost without realizing it, with a stubborn, fierce look in her eyes.

Feeling unwell, her face was pale, dark lashes misted with sweat, and her glassy eyes looked like they'd been dipped in ice water.

Ji Yitao hurried ahead, turning back to see Ji Yuewei listless, and urged softly, "Yue Yue, can you walk a little faster?"

Ji Yuewei nodded, not in the mood to talk. Seeing her like this, Ji Yitao grew a bit worried about the upcoming meeting. He patted her thin shoulder. "Is it too hot?" Ji Yuewei looked up at him. "A bit..."

"Give your backpack to Dad." Ji Yitao took the backpack from her with one hand, speaking gently, "It’ll be cool once we’re inside."

Before reaching the main hall, a blast of cold air hit them.

In the center of the view, a glamorous woman with a graceful figure was leaning against a wide, high-end sofa, smiling and waving at the travel-worn Ji Yitao and his daughter.

Ji Yitao was clearly excited.

He set down his luggage and backpack, leaving behind the slow-moving Ji Yuewei, and walked briskly into the entrance hall.

Ji Yuewei took the slippers handed to her by the servant, but as she bent down, she accidentally bumped into the suitcase the servant was about to take away.

The marble floor was smooth, and the suitcase slid across the floor toward the living room with a loud bang—

"Bang!"

The delicate ornaments on the fireplace clinked against each other.

Everyone in and out of the hall froze in place.

Ji Yitao reacted first. "Yue Yue!" he snapped.

Ji Yuewei’s heart nearly stopped from the shock. Without changing her shoes, she ran barefoot to pull the suitcase back.

"...It’s fine. Don’t be so harsh on the child..." He Yingzhen said softly.

Ji Yuewei was mortified, her face flushed completely red. She forgot what she was supposed to do. Her mind went blank.

The lavish living room was a blur of blinding lights.

Ji Yuewei lowered her head and hurriedly said, "Sorry," then turned and dragged the suitcase back toward the entrance.

A soft hand steadied her from behind. She caught a whiff of sugar-sweet roses, and He Yingzhen's gentle voice murmured in her ear, "Xiao Yue, you okay?"

"You're sweating so much? Sit down... Elle!"

Immediately, a servant came forward to take the suitcase.

Ji Yuewei looked up to thank He Yingzhen, but suddenly, her eyes landed on the staircase straight ahead. A person caught her eye.

Liang Yusheng stood at the landing on the second floor, looking down at the scene with cold detachment.

Unlike Ji Yitao's gentle refinement, his face was far more angular.

A twenty-seven-year-old man with sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and eyes as black as ink. When he stared in silence, it was unnerving.

He Yingzhen spotted him too and smiled and introduced him to Ji Yuewei: "This is my son, Liang Yusheng. Xiao Yue, he's nine years older than you."

Then she turned to Liang Yusheng, who was higher up, and introduced: "Yu Sheng, this is Uncle Yitao. He's the one who keeps sending me paintings."

"This is his daughter, named Ji Yuewei. Yue as in 'reading,' Wei as in 'smile.'"

Liang Yusheng gave a brief, calm nod to the father and daughter.

Polite wasn't the word. His indifference made his politeness feel especially cold and remote.

He headed straight down the stairs and out the door, his black suit crisp and sharp, his figure tall and striking.

During the ten seconds it took him to leave, no one in the big living room said a word.

Ji Yuewei felt the soft hand on her back move slightly, as if at a loss.

He Yingzhen gave a small smile and said softly, "...That's just how he is."

Ji Yuewei watched the direction Liang Yusheng had gone.

Outside, the sun was bright, and a brilliant white halo quickly enveloped his black figure...

"Boom!"

Thunder rumbled faintly.

She could smell the damp scent of rain.

Ji Yuewei opened her eyes and stared at the curtains rippling nearby.

In late June, Binnan got plenty of rain, and it always came in the middle of the night. The hot summer in the dream suddenly disappeared.

The man behind her was sleeping soundly.

He was holding her, his broad, solid shoulders and arms like a wall, completely surrounding her.

Ji Yuewei took a moment to free her hand from his grasp and picked up the phone on the nightstand.

The dim screen read 3:07 a.m.

The phone had gotten a message over three hours ago. But at the time, she'd just been carried into the bathroom.

He Yingzhen: "Xiao Yue, are you coming back this weekend? Yusheng also said he's coming back to the country."

...The 'also going back' man from the message was now asleep behind her.

Ji Yitao was still the guy the Hong Kong media loved to splash across their pages as He Yingzhen's 'harem' whenever they remembered.

And she'd slept with Liang Yusheng in their second year of knowing each other.

As for their more visible connections, aside from the occasional 'get-togethers' at the mountaintop villa on holidays, it was stuff like this: He Yingzhen coordinating their schedules to have them go home together and sit down to a meal her father made.

It almost made them look like a family.

Ji Yuewei put down her phone and closed her eyes again.

The deep ache in her body was still intense, and her legs felt weak.

For a long time, Ji Yuewei did not fall asleep again.

Maybe tonight's dream was just too vivid, so vivid it felt like it happened only a second ago—

The aloof and distant Liang Yusheng stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at the mess she'd made.

Without a second look.

Like she was nobody to him.