Volume One, Chapter Two: A Man’s Words Are Full of Deceit

Shu Wan awoke abruptly from her dreams, relieved to find herself leaning against a pillow. If she had accidentally leaned on that man, she shuddered to imagine what kind of intimidation or scolding she might have suffered.

The highway was pitch-black in the night. Meng Huaijin was now driving, while his bodyguard sat in the passenger seat, head lolling, snoring heavily.

Hearing movement, Meng Huaijin glanced at the girl in the rearview mirror and said in a cool tone, “There are snacks in the trunk.”

Shu Wan met his gaze in the mirror, shook her head to indicate she wasn’t hungry.

The man said no more, his eyes fixed straight ahead as he drove on.

Shu Wan continued to study his profile—five minutes, ten, maybe longer.

Meng Huaijin’s nose was high and prominent, his features sharp and deep-set; his eyes radiated a fierce brilliance, a mix of sharpness and composure, a rugged yet dignified handsomeness.

Looking at him this way, his harshness wasn’t crude, but rather laced with a sense of refinement and experience.

“Shu Wan, is my face dirty?” Meng Huaijin, without turning, knew she was watching him.

Shu Wan paused, understood the subtext, but replied earnestly, “No, your face is very clean.”

“…”

A while later, the man noticed Shu Wan was still staring and spoke again: “Has no one told you that staring like this is impolite?”

Shu Wan lowered her gaze and replied softly, “Driving at night can be tiring. I could talk to you, keep you awake.”

The man’s hand, resting on the console, paused. He glanced back at her through the mirror.

Her features bore some resemblance to her mother, Meng Xian—a delicate oval face, almond eyes, lashes as long as brushes, a pert nose, thin lips, skin pale as cream, and a tiny red mole at the corner of her eye, like a ruby.

He’d assumed she would either cry or remain silent the entire journey, but unexpectedly, concern for the driver’s fatigue had prompted her to speak.

“I want a cigarette—help me find the lighter,” Meng Huaijin said, flicking the unlit cigarette between his fingers.

The occasional hint of menace and roguishness in him seemed at odds with his status and rank.

“No,” Shu Wan summoned her courage to refuse, offering a serious explanation: “You shouldn’t smoke while driving.”

Meng Huaijin raised an eyebrow, not offended, and casually asked, “How old are you this year?”

“I’ll be eighteen by the end of the year.” Ten years ago, when they first met, she had been eight.

After a moment’s thought, Shu Wan asked in return, “How old are you?”

Meng Huaijin replied indifferently, “I’ll be twenty-eight by year’s end.”

A ten-year gap, with his mercurial temperament—and soon, she would have to rely on him for her livelihood…

At that time, Shu Wan had no idea that for many years to come, she would be entangled with this man who had saved her from disaster.

And not just in any ordinary way, but in a relationship that could never be spoken aloud.

After a few exchanges, the ice was broken.

Shu Wan tried to force a smile, hoping to appear normal, but couldn’t manage it.

Meng Huaijin took it all in, and, for once, refrained from his usual sharp tongue, mercifully saying, “The dead are gone, the living carry on. With me, you won’t go hungry.”

—

It soon became clear the man’s words were nothing but empty promises!

After bringing Shu Wan back to North City, Meng Huaijin didn’t send her straight to the Meng family estate. Instead, he settled her in a separate apartment, hired a housekeeper, and left enough money for her to finish university.

But for half a month, he didn’t show up again.

Shu Wan asked the housekeeper, who told her Meng Huaijin had moved elsewhere and wasn’t coming back.

—

Since Meng Huaijin’s transfer to North City, his movements were unpredictable. Invitations to dinners and visits poured in, but he was rarely seen in person.

Today’s gathering was a welcome banquet prepared by Zhou Zhenglin and Meng Chuan—the former his childhood friend, the latter his cousin.

Meng Huaijin had little interest in socializing, but North City was different from the army; here, connections mattered. He’d spent years in the military district, but now, in a new setting, he had to entertain some obligatory occasions.

The old courtyard on the second ring road was filled with North City’s elite sons and daughters, all eager for a chance to toast him.

If the Meng family’s elder generation relied on their distinguished revolutionary credentials, the younger Mengs owed their reputation to this man, unrivaled and formidable.

While his peers squandered inherited wealth in revelry, Meng Huaijin had carved his own path in the army, and after his transfer, his family background and political acumen were unmatched.

Meng Chuan watched his cousin lean back in his chair, exchanging polite words, and felt a deep admiration.

His cousin, in uniform, could lead night raids for miles, invincible and feared; in a suit and tie, he exuded unspoken nobility and an oppressive presence.

“Brother, since you’ve brought Meng Xian’s daughter to North City, why not let her stay at the old estate? Wouldn’t it be easier with more family around?” Meng Chuan quietly asked amidst the crowd.

Hearing this, Meng Huaijin realized it had been half a month since he’d seen the girl.

He didn’t explain that it was Meng Xian’s request.

Their eldest sister always shunned the Meng family and, before entrusting her daughter, had repeatedly begged him not to let her enter the Meng estate.

“You brought Meng Xian’s daughter?” Zhou Zhenglin was surprised. “Why don’t you bring her out for us to meet? What’s her name? Is she pretty?”

Meng Huaijin, cigarette dangling, shot him a cold glance. Before he could answer, his phone rang.

It was the housekeeper from the apartment. He answered indifferently, but after listening, his brow furrowed. He ordered Meng Chuan to get the car, pulling Zhou Zhenglin along.

On the way, both asked in unison, “What’s happened?”

The answer came soon enough: at the hospital, the girl lay on a bed.

Compared to half a month ago, she had lost weight, her skin pale and bloodless.

“Explain,” Meng Huaijin demanded in the corridor, his voice icy.

The housekeeper, intimidated by his presence, trembled and avoided his gaze. “Miss Shu… she doesn’t eat much, so she’s hypoglycemic.”

“Is that so?” His eyes narrowed. “Seems to me it’s more than just hypoglycemia.”

The housekeeper suddenly burst into tears, complaining, “She… might be ill. She sits on the bed all night, won’t let me turn off the lights, screams if I do.”

“And she can’t tolerate any meat. On the first day, I didn’t know, made a meat soup, she vomited uncontrollably afterwards. Since then, she barely eats, only plain porridge—no nutrition, so of course she’s hypoglycemic.”

“Mr. Meng, Miss Shu is delicate—”

“Collect your wages and leave,” he said coldly, and entered the ward.

The male doctor had already exited; a female doctor remained, conducting her examination.

Zhou Zhenglin, now in a white coat, clicked his tongue and said, “Is this how you take care of the girl?”

—

He was a doctor at the hospital. He had meant to spend his day off welcoming Meng Huaijin, but was dragged back to work.

Meng Huaijin went to the smoking area, lit a cigarette, took a few deep drags, and asked, “How is she?”

Zhou Zhenglin followed. “Hypoglycemia and allergies are just the surface. The real issue is psychological trauma. How could you bring her to North City and then ignore her?”

“…I didn’t ignore her.”

“She’s just been through a huge upheaval. Money and a housekeeper aren’t enough. She desperately needs a sense of security—what she needs is companionship and care, not a cold apartment and a mechanical caretaker.”

Meng Huaijin frowned.

Zhou Zhenglin continued earnestly, “Also, the girl was obviously pampered by Meng Xian. The housekeeper must have pocketed your allowance and bought her the cheapest undergarments, causing fiber allergies—her whole chest…”

“You saw it?” Meng Huaijin sent him a glare sharp as a knife.

“…A female colleague mentioned it. That’s not the point, right? I’m a doctor—even if I examined her, it’s my duty.”

“Let the female doctor handle the allergy,” Meng Huaijin snapped, crushing his cigarette and turning back to the ward.

—

The doctors had left. Shu Wan was awake, watching the tall, elegant man approach, her lips pressed in grievance as she turned to the window.

It was his first time caring for a child; he had no experience, and he knew he’d been negligent.

Meng Huaijin pulled up a chair by the bed, studying her slender back. After a long pause, he spoke: “Do you want something to eat?”

Shu Wan shook her head, asking softly, “Do you dislike me?”

“No,” he replied calmly.

“Will you never come home again? Will you keep hiring housekeepers?”

He answered, “Yes, I’ll hire two, professional ones.”

She merely said “oh,” her tone desolate.

Meng Huaijin frowned deeply, staring at her. “Shu Wan, what do you want?”

Finally, she turned to meet his deep, inscrutable eyes. Though intimidated by his seriousness, she tried to negotiate: “I’m not used to living with strangers. Could you move back?”

He refused: “You’re a grown girl. It’s not appropriate for us to live together.”

Her large, clear almond eyes flickered, half confused, half naive: “But aren’t you my family?”

Though she’d only met him once before, her mother often spoke of him. Now, having lost everything, she clung to him as her only kin, her only comfort in the city.

Meng Huaijin gazed at her in silence.

Apparently, there was no room for discussion.

Shu Wan sighed inwardly, her chest itching terribly. She quietly pulled the blanket up to her neck and, as discreetly as possible, slipped a hand underneath to scratch.

Meng Huaijin’s gaze shifted away from the suspiciously moving blanket and sternly ordered, “Don’t scratch.”

Shu Wan froze and stopped.

After a moment, she looked up with her bright, clear eyes and, once again, earnestly pleaded, “Couldn’t we live together?”