Chapter 2

◎Buying Clothes◎

After only one pack of instant noodles, the tight dress she was wearing already made her stomach hurt. It was evening—should she shower and change into pajamas first?

She pushed open the bedroom door. How could a room be this tiny? A double bed squeezed against three walls, covered with a bamboo mat. Two pillows laid side by side, two blankets stacked neatly, and a set of pajamas folded on top.

She realized the original Fan Qi and Chen Zhiqian shared a bed. In her memories, the two had always kept their distance—he slept on the edge, she clung to the wall. On a bed just 1.5 meters wide, they still managed to keep a person’s width between them.

She sized up the narrow strip of space on the non-wall side of the bed. It couldn’t be more than fifty centimeters wide—not enough room for anyone to lie down.

Still, she wasn’t worried about Chen Zhiqian. He had never shown the slightest interest in the original Fan Qi. Even though they shared a bed, he’d always behaved impeccably.

She reached out for the folded pajamas. The moment her fingers touched the fabric, something felt wrong—fake silk? It was the kind of flashy, non-breathable material that made her itch just looking at it.

Fan Qi drew open the curtain of the makeshift wardrobe across the hallway. Inside hung towels, undergarments, shirts, pants, and skirts.

So this wardrobe doubled as a drying station. With the curtain drawn and the heater underneath turned on, it could dry clothes—a necessary setup given the tiny, west-facing apartment had no balcony or proper sunlight.

She stepped inside and opened the curtain on the far side. It was filled mostly with the original Fan Qi’s clothes—bright and colorful at first glance, but none suited her tastes.

As a full-time stock trader used to working from home, she prioritized comfort. Her wardrobe was dominated by casualwear—completely opposite to the original’s flashy preferences.

She reluctantly picked out a gray T-shirt. At least it felt like cotton. When it came to bottoms, all the skirts—whether long or short—were tight-fitting. The only two pairs of jeans she found were oversized flared styles that dragged on the ground.

She shut the door, stripped off the tight dress, and put on the T-shirt and jeans. There was a full-length mirror on the back of the door, and her reflection came into view.

Voluminous waves, foundation, eye shadow—all very much in line with the signature Hong Kong glam of the era.

The T-shirt was a cropped off-shoulder cut, revealing her collarbones and hugging her figure. It showed off her upper body and left a sliver of pale, slim waist exposed. The flared jeans made her legs appear longer. Overall? Not bad at all.

Fan Qi picked up the tight dress from the bed. No way was she ever wearing this again. She walked out and tossed it—balled up—into the trash can by the dining table.

Chen Zhiqian, who had been reviewing documents, looked up at the disturbance. His inky eyes glanced at the trash, then at Fan Qi as she headed into the bathroom, and then returned to his papers.

She removed all her makeup and tied her voluminous curls into a simple bun. At last, she felt clean and refreshed.

When she emerged, Chen Zhiqian was by the door with a backpack.

“I’m heading out,” he said.

“I’m going out too.”

Fan Qi focused on picking shoes. The original owner didn’t have a single pair of sneakers, and she couldn’t stand wearing heels—it was a nightmare.

Not bothering to pick carefully, she grabbed a pair of the original’s slip-ons, took a tote bag, and stepped outside, closing the door behind her.

This was a traditional tube-style high-rise apartment. Thirty-six floors, with four wings enclosing a central courtyard. Each unit was only about twenty square meters. Dozens of households shared long, narrow corridors, with an elevator lobby in the center of each floor.

Fan Qi walked toward the elevator lobby. It was rush hour, and with so many residents in the building, the elevator stopped on nearly every floor, moving slowly. Although Chen Zhiqian had left earlier than her, he was still waiting for the elevator when she arrived.

Her timing was just right—the elevator doors opened as she approached. She quickly stepped inside. Chen Zhiqian, who had entered first, stood in a corner. Fan Qi stood beside him.

In the original host’s memory, she had never wanted others to know she was married. When the elderly neighbors in the building asked, she would claim that Chen Zhiqian was her older brother. The two rarely spoke in public. According to the original host, it was to avoid affecting her career. Fan Qi found that just fine—less awkward small talk to deal with.

Leaning against the elevator wall, Fan Qi watched as the elevator descended to the 12th floor. A balding, potbellied man in his forties entered. Though there was still room in the elevator, he deliberately squeezed over to Fan Qi’s side and leaned in closer, his lecherous eyes fixed on her chest.

Fan Qi glanced down to confirm the position of his feet. She was wearing thin high heels—one stomp would be enough to teach this creep a lasting lesson.

Just as she was about to lift her foot, a warm hand touched her arm and gently pulled her aside. Chen Zhiqian switched places with her, shielding her from the man with his back.

When the elevator reached the ground floor, Chen Zhiqian stepped out first. Fan Qi quickly caught up and stood in front of him. “Thank you!”

She expected a polite dismissal, but instead he hesitated, as if there was more he wanted to say. Fan Qi was momentarily puzzled by the look in his eyes and glanced down at her outfit.

While she believed that everyone should have the freedom to dress as they pleased—her own discomfort aside—there was nothing inherently inappropriate about what she wore.

He took a deep breath. “Let me say this again—don’t go to that social event. One wrong step leads to another.”

Did he think she still planned to go to that party? Fan Qi shook her head. “I’m not going. I just want to buy a few pieces of clothing.”

He visibly relaxed at her words. Pulling out his wallet, he handed her a stack of hundred-dollar bills.

As she looked at the slender, fair hand offering the money, Fan Qi was taken aback. Did he think she’d mentioned shopping just to ask him for money? A quick recollection confirmed—yes, that’s what the original host used to do.

Whether it was due to intentional suppression by the director or just because there were too many mainland actors trying to break into Hong Kong’s entertainment industry at the time, the original host had signed a contract with the lowest salary tier: only HK$400 a month. Worse, if she didn’t meet minimum filming hours, she’d get deductions. The roles she landed paid very little. On rare occasions, she’d earn HK$3,000–4,000, but most months, she made under HK$1,000.

Even security guards were making HK$2,000 a month, according to newspaper job ads. Though she didn’t have to pay rent—the Chen family had bought the apartment with gold bars—the original host’s income wasn’t nearly enough. Whenever she told Chen Zhiqian she needed something, it was usually just a pretext to ask for money. And she did so without guilt, believing the Chen family owed her that much—after all, hadn’t her family saved his life?

She had never considered that most of the Chen family’s fortune had already been lost over the years, and what remained was barely enough to live on. Chen Zhiqian worked part-time jobs while studying just to keep them afloat. He was probably heading out to work again right now.

Fan Qi shook her head. “No need. I’ve already received payment—HK$20,000 for a film, and another HK$2,000 for a magazine photoshoot. I’ve got money.”

“All right, then. I’m heading out.”

Chen Zhiqian withdrew the cash, crossed the street, and went to catch the subway. Fan Qi took a bus for two stops to a nearby shopping district.

When she got off and saw the giant logo of a familiar brand, she headed straight for it—only to realize halfway there that she wasn’t a regular on the trading leaderboard anymore. She couldn’t spend without limits now.

Even though the core principles of trading remained the same, the market environment and access to information were vastly different from the world decades later. She needed time to adapt and learn. She’d have to be frugal for now.

Fan Qi made her way to a shopping mall the original host used to frequent. In the host’s memory, it was known for affordable prices and trendy styles. Store after store displayed sale signs, and the price tags really were cheap.

She browsed several shops in a row. Some clothes had the minimalist style she liked, but the fabric felt off. Others had decent fabric but awful fits once tried on.

Fan Qi had always thought of herself as someone with simple tastes in clothing—just a few reliable brands and clean styles. But now she realized that was “low-maintenance” only because she had money. Without money, even her “simple” standards were hard to meet. How was she supposed to find anything suitable like this?

Still wearing the tight-fitting outfit, she pressed on. Finally, she spotted a store with clean, understated clothing in the window—not too flashy. She walked in and browsed through a couple of pieces. The fabric and design met her standards; she just hoped the cut wasn’t terrible.

She took a T-shirt into the fitting room and tried it on. It was loose without being sloppy—perfect.

Next, she picked out a pair of jeans and a shirt. Swapping out the bell-bottoms for the jeans, and adding a plaid shirt—yes, that was it.

She also grabbed a khaki skirt, which paired well with the fitted gray T-shirt she was wearing.

She needed athletic shorts too. And maybe a tracksuit?

Trying on the tracksuit, Fan Qi looked at herself in the mirror. Something was missing. She reached for a baseball cap on a nearby rack. After putting it on—perfect.

“Miss Fan.”

Someone called out to her. Fan Qi turned her head and saw two young men walking over, both quite handsome. One of them the original host recognized—a wealthy heir she had admired but never managed to get close to. The other was unfamiliar.

The young man stopped in front of her. “I’m Feng Xueming, and this is Liao Yazhe. WO is a new brand I’ve started. We’re just getting off the ground, and I didn’t expect you to look so great in our clothes. Would you be interested in shooting a print ad for us?”

So the rich heir was checking in on his new brand. Shooting ads for a casualwear label wasn’t a bad idea—especially when the clothes matched her style, and more importantly, she needed the money. She nodded. “Of course.”

“Great! Here’s my card.”

Mr. Feng handed over his business card. Fan Qi accepted it with both hands and tucked it away. The original owner’s memories reminded her that all commercial collaborations had to go through her agent. She pulled out one of her own business cards—it listed the phone number of her agency and her agent’s contact information. But since she’d fallen out with her agent, she suspected he might try to sabotage things. Fan Qi asked, “Do you have a pen?”

Mr. Feng handed her a pen from the counter.

She added her home contact information onto the card. “I’ve included my personal number.”

She passed the card to him.

Holding it, Feng Xueming said, “Miss Fan, I’m really happy that you like our clothes. Please consider these a gift. And if you see anything else you like, feel free to pick it out.”

Fan Qi shook her head. “No need. If we really do end up working together, I’ll naturally support the brand’s promotion. But since there’s no deal yet, it wouldn’t feel right to take these for free. As the saying goes, no reward without merit.”

Feng Xueming chuckled and nodded. “Fair enough.”

Fan Qi returned to the fitting room and changed back. She picked out one T-shirt in every color, two each of knit cotton sweatpants and shorts, and added a denim skirt to the pile.

She brought the whole stack to the counter. It was already mid-June, and as a local brand with modest prices and summer promotions, the entire haul totaled just over five hundred Hong Kong dollars.

The store clerk tapped on the calculator again and said, “Mr. Feng told us you’re a big fan of our clothes and will surely be a frequent customer. So here’s a VIP card—15% off. Your total is four hundred seventy-three dollars.”

Fan Qi gladly accepted the discount. Before leaving, she smiled and nodded to Feng Xueming in gratitude.

After she walked out, Feng Xueming stared at the handwritten phone number on the business card, a grin tugging at his lips. “She’s even more charming in person than on film.”

Liao Yazhe, smirking, snatched the card from Feng Xueming’s hand. “How long do you think it’ll take? Three months?”

Feng snatched it back. “Wanna bet? Three weeks.”