Chapter Two: Tenderness

At the dinner table, the family gathered joyfully, laughter echoing around. The elder Zhangs had two daughters, but both unfilial children had followed their husbands abroad. Though they returned for holidays, the two old folks felt lonely and disappointed. Fortunately, they still had Rong Qing, their precious granddaughter, and so they poured all their affection of recent years into her.

Before long, Rong Qing’s bowl was piled high like a little mountain: her grandmother’s braised pork knuckle, her favorite red-braised tenderloin, all the dishes she loved best. She ate so heartily that her carefully maintained figure now sported a small round belly. The beautiful girl’s face was lit with a perpetual, sweet smile; she touched her full stomach with one hand, her eyes bright with contentment.

“Come, come… Have some of Grandma’s chicken soup. It’s made with an old hen, so it’s extra nourishing,” Grandma Wang said, ladling out a large bowl for her.

Even though she was already stuffed, Rong Qing happily finished it all.

After the meal, Rong Qing napped in the bedroom her grandparents had set aside for her, waking naturally. She then spent the afternoon playing chess with her grandfather. Having grown up immersed in Chinese culture thanks to her grandfather and father, her chess skills were impressive, and the pair could play together for hours without boredom.

During this week, Rong Qing cut off all means of contact with the outside world, living carefree and basking in her family’s undivided affection.

On another evening, after dining at her grandparents’ house, she returned to her own small home. Night had draped the world in darkness, and in the profound quiet, her thoughts grew clearer.

She was in the prime of her youth—spirited, ambitious, and strikingly beautiful, with talents that made her stand out even among the nation’s top students at X University. Such a halo of excellence drew countless admirers to her side.

If anyone had ever brought her warmth after her parents’ death, it was Wang Chenhao. The wealthy boy would save her a seat during chaotic class schedules, bring her soy milk warmed against his heart on the coldest mornings, and never tired or retreated from her indifference. Through every season, his companionship became so familiar, so necessary, that she eventually let herself depend on him. Not even his final, heartless betrayal made her regret the attachment; he had spoiled her, cherished her, yet when she was at her most vulnerable, he had stabbed her in the heart. The memory of walking into her room and seeing two bodies tangled on her bed—the stench in the air, the rumpled sheets, the suffocating filth—made her sick to her stomach, every detail repulsive. The sight of those two defiled her very eyes.

Rong Qing, oh Rong Qing—always so proud—how could you let your own man and your friend betray you together? What a humiliating disgrace! She did not regret her choices; leaving her studies for the entertainment industry had been her own decision. But the achievements of the past two years now seemed nothing but revolting.

Three-legged toads may be rare, but two-legged men are everywhere; career failures, however, were her own doing.

Those who walk by the river often get their shoes wet—much more so in the entertainment world, that vast dye vat. At first, with Wang Chenhao’s protection, the path wasn’t entirely smooth, but it spared her many troubles. As she debuted and grew more dazzling, so too did the complications multiply. Unspoken rules became routine. With her stubborn pride, she scraped her way to the rank of a second-tier actress, but her refusal to compromise had also enraged the industry’s powerful figures. Her career took a nosedive: auditions, roles, and invitations dwindled sharply, and her name was fading from the circle.

Yet, even at rock bottom, Rong Qing did not lose heart. Instead, this relentless pressure and pain gave her a twisted sense of exhilaration; in the darkness, her eyes gleamed with a strange, wild light.

At last, she sighed softly. As expected, she would have to take that final step.

She pulled from her bag a gold-embossed business card: Huo Corporation—a formidable and influential backer indeed.

Dialing the number on the card, she was surprised by her own calm. What Wang Chenhao failed to obtain in two years would now fall cheaply into the hands of the Huo family president.

The phone rang twice before it was answered—testament to Huo Corporation’s remarkable efficiency.

“This is Rong Qing. I accept your terms of exchange. But one thing: I want to shorten the time. Within three months, I must retain my personal freedom.” Her cold voice, transmitted across the line, was unexpectedly enticing.

The person on the other end hesitated briefly. “Miss Rong, I will consult with the boss and get back to you.”

With that brief exchange, the call ended.

In the darkness, only those eyes remained, penetrating and all-seeing.

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