They walked far, far enough that the bustling crowd shrank into scattered black dots in the distance until they were barely visible.

Standing under a sprawling banyan tree, Qiehui gazed out at the rolling waves of greenery stretching before her, deep and light shades weaving together. The vast lawn resembled a meticulously maintained carpet, and towering treetops in the distance blended with the clouds.

She squinted against the wind. “This really is different from over there. It’s beautiful.”

By the lake, branches drooped to the ground, trimmed into shapes suitable for sitting.

Shen Zongliang brushed off some dried leaves and took a seat.

He chuckled, pulling out a cigarette and twirling it between his fingers. “Do you think I’d lie to you?”

“Oh, of course not. How could Uncle Shen ever lie to us kids?”

Steeling herself, Qiehui gathered her courage and sat beside him, turning her head to meet his gaze.

Shen Zongliang had a pair of gentle eyes, like morning dew reflecting the mist—completely at odds with his otherwise cold demeanor.

When he remained silent, Qiehui quickly looked away and fidgeted with her foot. “Sorry, I spoke too fast just now.”

“No big deal.” Shen Zongliang lifted the cigarette in his hand. “Say whatever you like.”

His tone was mild, but exhaustion and irritation lingered faintly between his brows.

Qiehui suddenly recalled her lingering concern from the previous night. “Did you come home really late yesterday?”

“I didn’t go home.” Shen Zongliang rested his hand on his knee. “Worked on documents until three, then just made do in the office for the night.”

She let out a small noise of surprise. “Aren’t secretaries supposed to handle those? Why did you have to do it yourself?”

Shen Zongliang spoke unhurriedly. “It was an urgent case. The higher-ups were pressing hard. Rather than have the secretary write it and then spend time revising, I might as well do it myself. Saves time, and at least no one else has to suffer for it. Besides, no matter who writes it, it won’t be exactly what I want.”

He could have simply said, I’m used to handling things personally, and left it at that.

But looking at Qiehui, he ended up explaining in great detail—even using besides to emphasize his reasoning.

Shen Zongliang wasn’t much of a talker, and after working overnight and then attending the Lei family’s opening event, he’d barely had four hours of sleep. He was utterly exhausted.

Yet, when faced with this young girl’s earnest curiosity, he couldn’t bring himself to brush her off with just a few words.

It seemed that even small talk required a bit of fate—something elusive and inexplicable.

Qiehui said, “President Shen is so considerate of his subordinates. You must be a great boss.”

Shen Zongliang curved his lips slightly, his voice indifferent. “And how would you know that?”

A gust of wind blew past, sweeping her long ponytail against her face. She clumsily reached up to catch it and hummed in affirmation.

His fingers twitched. For a moment, he wanted to help her, but in the end, he refrained.

Staring ahead, Shen Zongliang asked, “No work today? You’re actually taking time off to relax?”

Qiehui leaned against the tree trunk and said self-deprecatingly, “I worked in the morning. After playing the role of Teacher Zhong, now I’m here as Miss Zhong.”

The wind was too strong. She gave up, pulled off the hair tie, and loosely braided her hair with practiced ease.

He chuckled. “So, Miss Zhong just enjoys sitting alone and ignoring everyone?”

“You’ve got me wrong. I was talking to Qianming just fine, but as soon as you showed up, he ran off to entertain you.”

Qiehui tilted her head and glanced at him, shrugging helplessly. “What can I do? You’re President Shen after all.”

Her voice was soft as she absentmindedly twirled a banyan leaf between her fingers, a tone of playful accusation in her words.

Shen Zongliang went along with it, nodding. “Hmm. Then I guess I shouldn’t have come.”

Qiehui took a breath and brushed back a stray strand of hair at her temple.

After the lighthearted exchange, her mood dimmed a little. She lowered her head. “No, I was just joking. The truth is, no one really talks to me.”

She didn’t need to say it—Shen Zongliang had seen it clearly enough earlier.

She was like an ornamental piece at the gathering, meant only to sit there and look beautiful, without any real social function.

Yet Zhong Qiehui, even while being ignored, remained composed and at ease. There was even a faint smile on her lips.

She carried herself with a quiet grace, as if silently telling the world: Go on, enjoy yourselves—I have no need to force my way in.

Shen Zongliang looked at her, his gaze penetrating everything. “But you’re wearing headphones and clearly have no intention of talking to anyone.”

Qiehui lowered her head, speaking softly, “Don’t laugh at me. This is my last bit of dignity.”

She had already been trying to attend these gatherings as little as possible.

Tilting her head back, Zhong Qiehui gazed at the sky. At the end of September, sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows everywhere.

“It’s fine,” the previously silent man suddenly spoke. “This isn’t a big deal.”

She didn’t understand. “What isn’t a big deal?”

Shen Zongliang, in a tone that suggested he had seen through the ways of the world, said, “Give it a few years, and you’ll realize there are far more embarrassing things than this.”

Coming from him, with his usual low voice, the words carried a kind of calm madness.

Qiehui almost laughed in frustration. “I thought you were going to comfort me.”

Shen Zongliang lifted his eyelids and looked at her. “In all the things you’ve heard about me, did no one ever tell you that I never comfort people?”

She looked into his eyes and sincerely shook her head. “Nope, Youyuan never mentioned that.”

Shen Zongliang let out a drawn-out “Oh.” “So it’s the Feng family’s girl who’s been gossiping about me?”

Qiehui immediately stood up, turned around, and tugged at her braid, glaring at him.

She was a little angry. “You—why did you trick me into saying that on purpose?”

Shen Zongliang spread his hands innocently. “Didn’t you sell out your childhood friend all on your own?”

Qiehui stammered for a moment, realizing she was at a loss—guilty of talking behind someone’s back and being too quick to speak.

She was genuinely afraid that Shen Zongliang might blame Feng Youyuan for being nosy. After thinking for a moment, she decided to back down and took two steps toward him.

Shen Zongliang didn’t look at her, still sitting steadily, his gaze fixed on the distant grass.

Standing in front of him, she was in no position to apologize.

After a moment’s thought, Qiehui smoothed down her skirt and crouched beside him. “Mr. Shen?”

As if nothing had happened, Shen Zongliang glanced at her without distraction. “What is it?”

She very politely sought his opinion. “Could you pretend you didn’t hear what I just said and not scold Youyuan?”

But maybe she was being too polite—her smile felt a little stiff.

Afraid he might refuse, she instinctively placed a hand on his knee, looking up at him with particularly bright eyes.

As a gentle breeze passed through, Shen Zongliang’s eyelid twitched suddenly, filling in a blank moment of his heartbeat.

What was that feeling?

Much later, in the dead of night, he stood alone on an empty terrace, with no one around.

It was only then that Shen Zongliang, half-dreaming and half-awake, understood.

It was probably like a valley sealed off for years, suddenly cracked open—where the wind from all directions poured in endlessly, never to be peaceful again.

“Don’t be silly.” After a long silence, Shen Zongliang finally spoke. “I’m not that easily angered.”

Qiehui sighed in relief and smiled again, flattering him. “Of course, of course, you’re generous and broad-minded, a true statesman with a heart big enough to hold a ship…”

He impatiently cut her off. “Enough with the proverbs. Go home.”

“Oh.”

Trailing behind him, Qiehui smacked her forehead in regret.

She had gotten excited and forgotten—Shen Zongliang didn’t like being flattered.