Liang Jin wept without a trace of self-awareness. The girl kept her head bowed, tears rolling down one by one to adorn her slender white collarbone and fair jawline. There was a resilient fragility to her.
Her entire body shook, as though she truly despised him with every fiber of her being.
Shen Keye tilted his head back to gaze at her. After a long silence, he did nothing more. He simply set her down on the bed.
He turned to leave, but Liang Jin grabbed hold of him.
Her slightly reddened eyes fixed on him. “Shen Keye,” she said, “I don’t hate you.”
In the dim room, the boy lowered his gaze to meet hers. “You loathe me,” he said.
Liang Jin sat up. “I don’t.”
Her stubborn expression was unmistakable in those pitch-black eyes. Shen Keye glanced back, the emotions lodged in his throat impossible to release.
Liang Jin denied it, yet she had no way to confess everything to him. How could she possibly explain to someone else that she had witnessed her father’s affair? Shen Keye could never understand.
He might even mistake such a confession for an invitation.
Liang Jin calmed herself and watched as Shen Keye bent down. The boy’s hands, with their prominent knuckles, reached toward her, carrying a dangerous chill.
She thought he might do something more, but Shen Keye simply wore an angry expression as he gently wiped her tears away with the pad of his finger.
~~~
Shen Keye stepped out and sat in his car for a long time. He hadn’t slept in two days and a night, and drowsiness was setting in. Word came from the hospital that Shen Junbang had woken up. As expected, Song Youqing would probably come looking for him later.
Shen Keye crushed out his cigarette and looked up. The bedroom light in the house was still on.
Liang Jin hadn’t gone to sleep.
The lawyer he’d contacted was Chen Jiaci, five years his senior. They’d arranged to meet in a private room at Jia Nightclub Bar. Chen Jiaci was dressed in a sharp suit and wasted no time on pleasantries when Shen Keye arrived. “I know people on the Mainland who can pull some strings,” he said. “I can help your girlfriend with this lawsuit.”
Shen Keye sat there, feeling nothing. He was watching a live news broadcast about Song Youqing. His older sister had looked unwell lately. Her face was caked in makeup, but her exposed hands were even paler than that.
“But I have conditions,” Chen Jiaci said.
The young man across from him slowly raised his eyes. “Name them.”
Chen Jiaci lifted his hand and picked up a glass of liquor from the dark tea table.
“Little Ye, is that the girl who saved your cat?” he asked.
Chen Jiaci had known Shen Keye for eight years now—from the time he’d returned to Hong Kong until Shen Junbang had tormented him into a shadow of his former self.
In the dim room, the hazy lighting draped over Shen Keye’s profile like a veil of mist.
Chen Jiaci remembered that Shen Keye’s cat had been entrusted to him by the Master who’d taught him to shoot. When Shen Keye had snuck off to Shanghai to visit his dying Master, the cat had nearly drowned. A girl on her way to a performance had jumped into the river to save it, heedless of her pristine white ballet dress.
Because of that, the little girl had been forced to wear her backup black leotard.
Chen Jiaci slid the glass of swirling liquor forward. “Tell your big brother,” he said. “What’s your plan?”
“What plan?”
Chen Jiaci didn’t hold back. “If you had to choose between ‘freedom’ and Liang Jin, which would it be?”
Shen Keye’s pitch-black eyes, sharp and distinct, fixed on Chen Jiaci. He let out a cold snort. “Did Shao Xingyu put you up to asking that?”
The answer was self-evident.
“I’ll keep Liang Wenbin off your back and sort out the lawsuit for you.” Chen Jiaci chuckled. He wasn’t like Shao Xingyu, who was utterly devoted to Shen Keye. On the surface, they had little interaction, but privately, Chen Jiaci had helped with more dirty work than anyone. Still, there were always rifts between them. The man bowed his head to gather his documents. “But Little Ye, your sister wants you stuck in Hong Kong District forever as her personal blood bank. Is dragging her into your chaos really for the best right now? Just throw money at her. Why let her go act in movies and get dragged into the public eye?”
The young man sat in the middle of the sofa, his pitch-black eyes simmering with a faint, profound light. Shen Keye suddenly recalled Liang Jin’s tearful face that night—her nose tip lightly flushed in her vulnerability. In truth, Liang Jin was just a girl who had only recently come of age.
His tone was indifferent. “I want to.”
Shen Keye’s arrogant air made it seem like he didn’t care at all.
Chen Jiaci’s Cantonese accent carried the husky rasp of a grown man. “She’s really unlucky to get mixed up with you,” he remarked.
Shen Keye’s thin lips curved faintly. “As Shen Junbang said.” He finally accepted the glass of liquor from Chen Jiaci and lowered his gaze. “I’m the sort who repays kindness with enmity by nature.”
~~~
It was nearly dawn by the time Shen Keye returned.
Liang Jin hadn’t gone back to her own room to sleep. In the early hours of the night, she’d lain awake on Shen Keye’s bed. Liang Wenbin had called her, saying he wanted to come to Hong Kong District to see her. She’d hung up on him.
She tried not to think about Liang Wenbin, but waves of dull pain crashed through her body. Unable to hold it back, she rushed into the bathroom and retched into the sink. The churning suffocation in her stomach was pure agony, and the sting of Liang Wenbin’s slap still burned on her cheek.
When Shen Keye returned, he found Liang Jin crouched in the corner. Her jet-black hair hung loosely around her slender frame. She lowered the hands that had been covering her eyes and said, “You’re back.”
“Not asleep yet?”
Liang Jin’s eyelids drooped as she asked, “Finished with your business?”
Her skin carried an unnatural flush, but her eyes gleamed brightly when she looked up.
Shen Keye had started toward the spot where he meant to shrug off his coat but halted abruptly. His gaze snapped back to her face.
Leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, the young man fixed her with a cool stare and asked flatly, “Still nauseous?”
“Much better.”
“I’ve sorted out your mom’s lawsuit. Someone will get in touch later. I’ll cover the fees.”
Liang Jin’s gaze froze.
“Deduct it from the prize money I won in my old competitions. Same with that card I gave you.”
His money had nothing to do with the Shen Family.
Liang Jin had suspected as much, but hearing him spell it out made her squirm.
Shen Keye watched her steadily, his gaze heavy and unyielding. Liang Jin shifted uncomfortably under it and murmured, “Got it.”
Shen Keye let out a short laugh, then squatted down in front of her. “Jinjin, come on—tell me what I did to make you this sick.”
He still wore that dark casual outfit, perfectly suited to his boyish features and vibe. But as he leaned in, gripped her chin, and tilted her face up, his long legs folded beneath him and his posture screamed thug—pure rogue, his presence so overwhelming it stole her breath for a moment.
Liang Jin met his eyes and said softly, “It’s not because of you.”
Shen Keye didn’t buy it. He smirked. “Sure. Let’s pretend that.”
Liang Jin’s gaze turned distant, hazy. She opened her mouth as if to speak, hesitated, and in the end offered no explanation. She simply reached up and tugged his hand away from her face.
With a soft sniff, she refused him coolly. “Get some sleep.”
Shen Keye studied her. “I helped you out again.”
The bathroom featured a floor-to-ceiling window draped with blinds.
Faint rays of dawn light already seeped through the slats.
In the dim space, Liang Jin could hear their mingled breaths.
Shen Keye’s eyes drifted from her face to the distance. Light and shadow played across his profile, lending it a lonely cast. “I haven’t slept in two days,” he said with a faint smile. “Liang Jin, come keep me company. Just sleep.”
This time, his invitation to “sleep” carried no undercurrent of seduction, nothing like before.
They shared the bed, lying as far apart as possible.
The soft duvet held the subtle aquatic notes of Shen Keye’s scent. Liang Jin pressed her cheek to the pillow.
Shen Keye was already out, his dark tousled hair gone limp and soft, softening the sharp edges of his features.
The man who was usually so unbreakable resembled the fluffy cat they kept at home.
Liang Jin figured she wouldn’t drift off. She watched him for ages, planning to head to the set early and run through her script.
But his steady breathing soothed her; an unexpected calm washed over her, and she sank into deep sleep.
~~~
The next day brought Liang Jin a full slate of performance scenes on the film crew—all seven acts unfolding on the Moulin Rouge stage.
Twenty years earlier, Zeng Zhi had clawed her way through the Hong Kong District. Hungry for fame, she’d performed the legendary Swan Lake more than three hundred times in a single month.
Zheng Yunzhi had told her that during those days, Zeng Zhi’s toes blistered and bled over and over. But she endured, dazzling audiences night after night no matter the toll.
It had finally earned her a shot at a thousand-seat show in London.
Liang Jin flubbed take after take. More than once, even Jiang Manyu held back a “that’s good enough,” but Zheng Yunzhi insisted it was “not like her.”
The “her” was Liang Jin’s mother.
Zheng Yunzhi snapped at her, “Liang Jin, your heart’s not in ballet. How do you expect to dance well?”
He flung the shot breakdown aside and turned to grab lunch when an assistant dashed up, whispering urgently in his ear.
Zheng Yunzhi’s face shifted from confusion to shock, then fury.
He glared at Liang Jin, ice-cold. “Cut it. No more shooting.”
Trembling with rage, the man snarled, “Liang Jin, if this movie falls through, what happens to Zeng Zhi?”
He bellowed it, spittle flying.
Liang Jin felt every eye on the set lock onto her face. Amid the hesitant whispers, she pulled out her phone.
Her breath hitched.
During lunch break, Liang Jin called Shen Keye.
Shen Keye sounded like he had just woken up, his voice thick with sleepiness. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“My father—he’s come to the Hong Kong District.”
Shen Keye was still at home. The young man pressed down on the coffee machine and countered, “So?”
Liang Jin frowned, inexplicably irritated by Shen Keye’s indifferent tone. “Shen Keye, Song Youqing contacted him, didn’t she?” she asked.
Liang Wenbin had sent her a barrage of harassing text messages, but Liang Jin hadn’t replied to any of them. Yet no sooner had he arrived in Hong Kong than a swarm of Hong Kong media outlets clamored for interviews with him—more than they ever had with her.
When he agreed to the TVB interview slot, he offered only one sentence: “I didn’t raise my daughter right.”
As his daughter, Liang Jin knew exactly what Liang Wenbin was after.
He wanted to destroy her.
But he was just an obscure small-time boss in the food industry. He couldn’t possibly command that kind of fame or pull.
There was a long silence on the other end of the line.
“Song Youqing wants to drive me out of the Hong Kong District,” Liang Jin said.
In the corner of the makeup room, her fingertips brushed lightly over the cluttered long table.
In the elegant round makeup mirror, the girl’s features were exquisitely refined. Her graceful figure was tightly sheathed in a leotard, but after dancing for so long, her skin held a sickly pallor.
Liang Jin slowly raised her eyes.
The movie couldn’t afford to be affected—not in the slightest—and she had to become the female lead known across all of Hong Kong.
The pristine white ballet skirt didn’t suit her at all. Her performance makeup was identical to Zeng Zhi’s from years ago, yet it bore no trace of her mother’s gentle dignity.
The reflection in the mirror slowly curved into a cold, proud smile. But Liang Jin’s voice softened unmistakably as she said, “You don’t want me to leave your side. But if someone brings trouble my way, I won’t be able to stay.”
In awkward Cantonese that mimicked his own manner of speaking, she asked, “Ah-Ye, what should I do?”