Chapter 1 Prologue

Chapter 1 Prologue

Mou Wen ran past like the wind. The casually tied topknot bounced with each movement, loose strands of hair falling around her ears and neck, tousled by the breeze. The paint stains on her work overalls blurred into patches of color, like a palette that had been knocked over. Her assistant Wang Zhiqiang struggled to keep up, panting: "Wen-jie... I think I saw... Mr. Xie..."

Ugh, of all people. Of course Mou Wen had seen him already—why else would she be running? She quickened her pace and said to Wang Zhiqiang: "Get moving, kid! You need to hit the gym or what?" She didn't want to run into Xie Chong, or he'd be all up in her business—lately he'd even been pestering her for commission.

Mou Wen was a "Pixiu"—money that went into her belly never came back out. Whenever Xie Chong asked her for money, she'd hightail it out of there, not wanting to waste words sparring with him.

"Wen-jie, don't we need to say hello to Mr. Xie?" Wang Zhiqiang braced his hands on his knees, gasping for air: "Mr. Xie gave me a client yesterday, said..."

"Then go ahead—he gave it to you, not me." Mou Wen shook off Xie Chong, bent down, and rummaged through her large canvas bag for a measuring tape, notebook, pen... It was a habit she'd developed over years—stepping into a building materials market was like coming home; she had to get her hands on anything good.

"But..." Wang Zhiqiang pointed behind Mou Wen, saying cautiously: "Mr. Xie is here. We agreed to accompany the client to look at materials today." He looked at Mou Wen with a hint of guilt. He could never quite read the room with Wen-jie and Xie Chong. Sometimes Wen-jie showed him fake friendliness, other times she'd dodge him with undisguised disdain. He was just a green young man, totally confused by Wen-jie. Sometimes he'd want to throw his lot in with her and say, "How about I just stop contacting Mr. Xie altogether?" And Wen-jie would frown and say: "Are you stupid? You got a problem with money?"

He thought Wen-jie would be angry with him this time, but instead she quickly broke into a grin and turned around, peering over her glasses at Xie Chong with wide eyes: "Oh, Mr. Xie is here too?" He wore a long-sleeved henley in mixed knit colors, a pair of structured curved-leg pants, and a cap—he looked less like he was shopping for tile and more like he was on a runway.

"You didn't just see me?" He'd just parked his car when he saw Mou Wen turn and bolt—clearly she didn't want to face him. Xie Chong was a born instigator—you don't want to see me? I'm gonna make sure to get under your skin. So he'd chased after her, circling around to her rear to catch her off guard.

"Didn't see you." Mou Wen poked a finger under her glasses to rub her eye: "See these? They're fake. I'm blind, see?"

Xie Chong walked up to her, took the glasses, and held them up to his own eyes, asking casually: "Didn't you say last time you'd give me commission for referring clients?"

"I never said that." Mou Wen flatly denied: "I couldn't possibly have said such a thing. And Mr. Xie doesn't need the money anyway."

Xie Chong put on the glasses and glanced at himself in the glass panel beside him—looking like a total smooth criminal—and decided he wouldn't be returning them: "I recorded it." He pulled out his phone and played it for Mou Wen. Against a con artist like her who went back on her word, he had his methods. From the phone came Mou Wen's voice: "Xie Chong, you dare give that client to someone else and see what happens! You think you're getting the short end and want to skin me for it? Fine, you win—I'll give you commission!"

"Hear that? You said it yourself in a huff. You admit it?" He was deliberately teasing her—of course he knew Mou Wen wouldn't admit it. People like Mou Wen: when they need you, you're their lord and master; when they don't, you're chopped liver. In front of outsiders, she was the reliable Boss Wen, Wen-jie; in front of him, she was a little liar who'd throw you under the bus.

Sure enough, shameless Mou Wen deliberately furrowed her brows and said: "That's not my voice either. Don't try to pull that on me." Then she said to Wang Zhiqiang: "Go take care of your meal ticket." She turned to leave, but after a few steps came back and snatched the glasses right back—trying to take my stuff? No way!

Xie Chong was quick on the draw—he grabbed her shirt and yanked her back. Mou Wen kicked him right in the shin, and while he was loosening his grip in pain, she ran off again. Xie Chong couldn't help but chuckle. Mou Wen's work hairstyle hadn't changed in years—it looked goofy and kind of sad. He just watched her run off into the distance, not bothering to chase. After all, they'd be spending the whole day in this building materials market—it was a game of cat and mouse, with her always on the run, who knew how many times they'd cross paths.

Wang Zhiqiang felt a bit awkward, scratching his head: "Mr. Xie... I..."

"What's she so busy with? Isn't everyone else handling her clients these days?" Xie Chong asked.

"Wen-jie rented a courtyard house in a village on a long-term lease. She wants to do an old-house renovation—she said it's cheap there, and she's gonna live, eat, and work out of there from now on."

"No office in the city? She's making clients trek out to a village?"

"Wen-jie's boyfriend pulled some strings to get her the rental—it's very, very cheap..."

"Boyfriend?" Xie Chong's face went cold: "What boyfriend?"

"Wen-jie's boyfriend. He's a great guy—he took the whole studio out to dinner the other day." Wang Zhiqiang was too green to read the room, blabbing on like he was gossiping about a mutual friend: "Wen-jie is so happy. He treats her really well. In a few days the two of them are going to the Maldives... he..." He noticed the unusual silence around him and turned around—Xie Chong had already vanished.

Xie Chong called Mou Wen twice; she didn't pick up. So he wove through the building materials market looking for her. She was clearly dodging him on purpose. Sometimes he'd catch a glimpse of a sleeve, take a few steps, and she'd vanish. The towering slabs of flooring and tile turned the place into a maze that felt like it went on forever.

But there was an end.

He heard Mou Wen's voice from behind a stack of boards: "I don't want to eat out. I want to cook myself. Tell me what you want to eat, and I'll make it." Xie Chong stopped in his tracks, holding his breath to listen.

Mou Wen's voice was all sweet and flirty: "If you're tired, take me for a massage—I want a spa treatment. Okay, I still have things to do, I need to get going."

"Of course I miss you." She was just a woman in love, being sweet to the guy she liked. After the call ended, her "paint-art" back appeared before Xie Chong. He didn't call out to her. Instead, he dialed her again. The ringtone sounded—she glanced at the screen, then tossed the phone back into her pocket. She was just a common person with clear likes and dislikes; whoever she didn't want to deal with, she simply ignored.

Because she always played along with Xie Chong's little games, he'd mistakenly believed things between them hadn't reached this point. After all, there was history between them—surely she'd treat him differently, at least not like this. He saw her paint-art outfit clearly now—it was unmistakably a butterfly spreading its wings, fluttering away into the distance.

Xie Chong was never one to swallow insults. He stepped forward and blocked her path. Mou Wen still wanted to play the game, pretending she didn't know he'd called. But he skipped that topic and asked her directly: "What do you take me for? You're dating someone else while constantly taking clients from me. Mou Wen, don't you have any bottom line?"

Mou Wen instantly realized that Wang Zhiqiang, that blabbermouth, had told Xie Chong about her relationship. It had nothing to do with him, which was why she hadn't mentioned it. But she wasn't trying to hide it from him either—if he knew, he knew. So what?

But she still needed something from him, so she couldn't exactly burn that bridge. She slapped her forehead in a show of sudden realization, her messy topknot bouncing with the motion. In the old days, whenever he was around—even if she woke in the middle of the night—she'd wipe the oil from the sides of her nose, afraid of looking disheveled in front of Xie Chong, always wanting to stay beautiful. Now she wasn't afraid anymore. She was at ease.

"I think of you as a good friend!" Mou Wen said without missing a beat: "Of course I do. You know me—if I didn't, I wouldn't ask you for clients."

Xie Chong suddenly let out a cold laugh.

The wallpaper, floor tiles, paint, and curtains around her all seemed to blend into Mou Wen. Only he stood out as out of place. He'd pulled several all-nighters and finally had a day off, yet he'd dragged himself out of bed early for Mou Wen's business. Of course he had his motives—he was always shrewd, never one to rise early without gain. This time, what he wanted was Mou Wen—and he'd wanted her for a long time. She was dating someone while stringing him along, treating him like some green kid to toy with, showing him not a shred of pity or guilt.

Mou Wen just stared back at him, unflinching, unafraid of the anger gathering in his eyes. What did she have to fear? They'd been sparring for years—each knew exactly how much the other was worth. Both were thousand-year-old foxes; neither needed to play the pitiful victim. If he fell for it, he did so willingly. Otherwise, search all of Beijing—who else could fool a man like him?

Xie Chong grabbed the fabric at her shoulder, gave it a shake, and said through gritted teeth: "You're just like this outfit you're wearing—nothing about you is presentable, inside or out!"

Hearing this, Mou Wen stepped back: "So what? Who was it that came running to this unpresentable person's side for no reason? It was you!" She said this, but felt it wasn't enough, so she added with more force: "Stop meddling in my business from now on. In other words—if you help me, I'll thank you verbally. If you don't, I won't die either."

"Right, you've got a new boyfriend lined up. Someone else can help you now. Can't you do business without a man?" Xie Chong said.

Mou Wen lifted her chin and shrugged: "That's right, you said it. So what? It's none of your business!"

With that, she turned and ran, knowing Xie Chong would stand there watching her go. She raised her hand and flipped him the middle finger. Afraid he'd be furious enough to chase her down and argue, she quickened her pace.

She knew Xie Chong well—he responded to softness, not force. A moment later, she called Wang Zhiqiang and told him to take Xie Chong out for dinner that evening. She coached him on what to say: "Just tell him: Wen-jie is really grateful to you. She often says the company wouldn't be where it is today without your help. She remembers every kindness you've shown her!"

"And Wang Zhiqiang, watch your mouth. Don't say what you shouldn't say, got it?"

On the other end of the line, Wang Zhiqiang was mulling over what he should and shouldn't say, but being slow with words and afraid of Mou Wen's mockery, he didn't dare ask directly. Mou Wen knew he was puzzled about her relationship with Xie Chong. She didn't want to hide it anymore, so she simply said: "Xie Chong is my ex-husband." On the other end, Wang Zhiqiang sucked in a sharp breath. Mou Wen heard it and said: "It's fine. Now you know. Just do your job well. If you want to put down roots in Beijing, don't worry about all that other noise."

She knew full well the gossip trailing behind her—pick any piece of it and it wasn't pretty. She didn't care. She didn't have that much pointless pride. She didn't live for others' approval, only for her own comfort. And she didn't hold grudges—the spat with Xie Chong was already forgotten the moment she turned away. She dove back into the building materials market, measuring, writing, sketching. She ran into Xie Chong a few times in between. He kept a stony face while accompanying Wang Zhiqiang and his friend, and when he saw her, he'd turn his face away in disgust.

It wasn't until the market closed for the night that she drove off.

The car pulled onto the street, towering buildings receding rapidly behind her—like time itself, flying back along with them.