There was still a part he couldn’t tell Guan Zhanhong.

After they went upstairs to the private suite that night, Guan Zhengying had laid Jiang Quyan down on the bed, placing both elbows on either side of his face, effectively pinning the young model beneath him. His eyes were clear, completely devoid of any drunkenness.

They were less than ten centimeters apart. Jiang Quyan’s heart pounded as he looked at him, sensing the restrained desire in the man’s gaze.

“I didn’t mean to…” Jiang Quyan tried to explain. “I… I was afraid they’d notice…”

Guan Zhengying’s expression was serious as he warned, “Next time, don’t do that.”

Jiang Quyan nodded. The man pulled back carefully, distancing himself without another glance. “Go sleep outside.”

Jiang Quyan scrambled off the bed, his legs weak as he collapsed onto the sofa outside. He heard the sound of running water as Guan Zhengying entered the bathroom. Only then did he curl into a ball, burying his face against his stomach, wishing he could wrap himself up with his arms and legs.

His heart was racing wildly, his body alternating between hot and cold. He didn’t know if it was the aftereffects of the alcohol, but he felt feverish, dizzy—like he couldn’t catch his breath.

A soft, frustrated moan escaped his lips as he trembled. His ears were filled with a growing hum, blocking out all other sounds.

He didn’t even notice when Guan Zhengying finished his shower, came over, and crouched down beside him.

A pair of hands gently patted his back, turning him over. A cool touch brushed against his burning face, and only then did he realize—he had been crying.

Guan Zhengying’s gaze was filled with concern and a rare softness. “Why are you crying?”

Jiang Quyan didn’t know either. He hated himself in that moment. He couldn’t do anything except curl up further against the sofa.

“Shh,” Guan Zhengying murmured, brushing away the damp strands of hair on Jiang Quyan’s forehead. His knuckles tracing away the tears on his face. “Look at me.”

Jiang Quyan was still avoiding him. The gentler Guan Zhengying’s actions were, the more he couldn’t hold back his tears.  

Guan Zhengying was at a loss. “Why are you so upset? Tell me.”

The beautiful magnolia flower before him was drinking in the rain and dew, looking even more delicate and pitiful.

“I don’t know… I feel so strange… I just can’t help it…” The magnolia flower whimpered, “Don’t look at me. I must look so ugly…”  

Guan Zhengying was amused. While patting his back, he wiped his tears away. “Well, of course, if you cry your face into a mess, you’ll look ugly.”  

Jiang Quyan, still teary-eyed, glared at him.  

Guan Zhengying pulled him into his arms. “Alright, alright, not ugly. How could you ever be ugly? No matter who’s ugly, it won’t be our Ah Yan. Even when Ah Yan cries, he’s the prettiest, the best at crying.”  

Jiang Quyan couldn’t take it anymore and burst into laughter through his tears. He had cried so hard that even a little bubble of snot had formed.  

Guan Zhengying wiped his face clean, collecting the last tear lingering in his eyes with his finger, as if plucking a star from the sky.  

That was the star that had always hung in his heart.  

“I won’t bring you to places like this again. It just causes endless trouble,” Guan Zhengying said, not expecting things to turn out this way tonight.  

Jiang Quyan lowered his head timidly. “It’s actually okay… I just… I thought you were angry.”  

Guan Zhengying smiled. “I’m not angry.”  

“Really?”  

“Really. In fact, I’m happy.”  

Jiang Quyan muttered, “What kind of person gets happy when someone else cries?”  

“I do. I’m a bad person,” Guan Zhengying said seriously. “But it’s just… I haven’t seen anyone cry in front of me for a long time.”  

“Crying isn’t a good thing.”  

“But it’s normal. It’s just… I don’t know when it started, but the people around me, whether they’re close or distant, friends or family, they all show me only smiling faces. Even if they don’t want to smile, even if they fear me or hate me, they still smile. Sometimes the smile looks so forced, yet they still have to smile. Only Ah Yan cries in front of me.”  

Jiang Quyan turned his flushed face away. “Are you saying I’m being dramatic?”  

“It’s not an act. It’s real feelings. I think tears are precious. You’re willing to cry in front of me—that means you trust me. It means you’re letting me see your sadness. That’s why I’m happy.”  

Right in front of him, Guan Zhengying kissed the tear off his fingertip. “I want to know when you’re sad, when you’re hurting. No matter the reason, if you want to cry, you can come to me. You don’t have to be embarrassed. Save your tears for me. Give me your weakness and your pain—I will cherish them.”  

Everyone else only gave him smiles. They presented their best, most positive selves.  

But he only wanted one person’s tears.  

Even if it was the worst, most negative part of them, he wanted it. To him, it was a long-coveted gift.

Jiang Quyan held his breath, watching him kiss away his tear. His mind went blank.  

After that, he had no idea what he did. It was like he had blacked out after drinking. He didn’t remember how he responded to Guan Zhengying, how he showered and went to bed later, or even if he had actually fallen asleep that night. The only thing he recalled was the burning sensation where his tears had fallen, as if he had been scalded. It felt like what had spilled from his eyes wasn’t tears but boiling water.  

The next day, when Madam Lin Zhifang spoke to him, he still seemed dazed and absentminded. Whenever his thoughts wandered, it was as if a voice kept whispering in his ear, repeating how precious his tears were and how much they were cherished.  

“Ah Yan.” Lin Zhifang noticed something was off about him.  

He jolted and snapped back to reality. “Yes?”  

She looked at his flushed, dazed expression and chuckled. “Had a tough night?”  

Jiang Quyan was so startled he couldn’t even lift his head. “No, madam, you’re just teasing me.”

“I heard from the others—you did well yesterday.” Lin Zhifang praised him. “Men can get reckless in places like that. The fact that you kept Zhengying in check shows you have skill.”  

“It’s only because of your excellent teaching, madam.” Jiang Quyan didn’t dare to act too spoiled in front of her.

Lin Zhifang leisurely peeled an orange, handing half to him and keeping the other half for herself. After finishing the fruit, she suddenly said, “You’ve fallen for Zhengying, haven’t you?”  

Jiang Quyan froze, his whole body going stiff, and quickly shook his head.  

Before he could deny it further, Lin Zhifang smiled. “Don’t bother denying it. I’ve loved him too—I know what it feels like, what it looks like. You think people don’t notice, but they do.”  

Jiang Quyan’s face turned pale.  

“I’m not trying to discourage you,” she said sincerely, “but I’m giving you a piece of advice—don’t fall for him.”  

This was a woman’s wisdom: “Even if Zhengying weren’t my husband, I would tell you the same thing. Don’t fall for any man. You’re still so young, so attractive. There are plenty of men chasing after you, showering you with affection, trying all sorts of ways to make you happy. That’s how men are—when they’re pursuing you, they’ll promise you the world, say the sweetest words. You’ll think they treat you so well, but what you don’t realize is that they don’t actually see you as a person. To them, you’re just a game. The harder the game, the more excitement and satisfaction they get from winning it.”  

“But if you fall for them—if you let them win—you lose. Because for them, there’s always another game waiting. For men, the next one is always more important.”  

“Whether it’s women or careers, to men, they’re essentially the same thing. They need women, just like they need their careers, but they don’t truly love either. To them, these are just tools to satisfy themselves. The only thing they truly love is themselves.”  

Jiang Quyan believed this was the first time Lin Zhifang had ever spoken so openly to him. “Madame… Do you not love him anymore?”  

Lin Zhifang began peeling a second orange. “Love? Of course, I love him. I have to love him. I’m his wife—how could I not?”

She split the peeled orange in half again, giving one half to Jiang Quyan.  

The orange was sweet in his mouth, but his heart felt sour.  

Lin Zhifang ate her half as well. “A woman’s fate is love. We are born to love men, we must love men—this is our way of survival. But men are different.”  

“You are different. You don’t have to love women, or men, or anyone at all. You can love only yourself. Do you understand what I’m saying? Ah Yan, you’re a smart person. I’m telling you this so you can understand it sooner and not walk the same path I did. You must always know what you want and what you can hold onto, or else this world will swallow you whole. You’ve survived with great difficulty—don’t let your guard down now.”  

Jiang Quyan understood the reasoning.  

But understanding reasoning didn’t solve problems. If simply understanding could lead to a good life, then everyone would be happy and fulfilled.  

Of course, back then, he never would have imagined that his entanglement with Guan Zhengying would last for more than ten years. Even after Lin Zhifang passed away, it wouldn’t be severed. In fact, just like her, the rest of his life seemed destined to be tied to that man.  

…..

Guan Zhanhong’s display of “sincerity” was certainly weighty enough.  

A week later, he reserved a private dining room at the Rosewood Hotel and invited Jiang Quyan to dinner. As soon as they met, he handed over a Vacheron Constantin gift bag, then opened Jiang Quyan’s favorite champagne. The whole setup was formal, as if he were a proper business executive negotiating a deal.  

Jiang Quyan only glanced at the gift bag and didn’t touch it. He had heard that Guan Zhanhong had barely stepped out of his house for the past week, even turning down invitations from his usual crowd of drinking buddies. Clearly, he had put some thought into how to handle this dinner.  

But Jiang Quyan still wasn’t entirely satisfied. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I won’t accept the gift. Professionally speaking, I never accept presents.” He pushed the bag back toward Guan Zhanhong.  

“It’s a personal gift, nothing to do with work.” Guan Zhanhong wasn’t in a rush, likely aware of Jiang Quyan’s habit of rejecting gifts.  

Jiang Quyan still shook his head.  

Guan Zhanhong didn’t push further. Instead, he leaned forward to pour him a drink. “That’s fine, I’ve prepared a different kind of gift. I hope you’ll like it.”  

Jiang Quyan raised an eyebrow, intrigued.  

Guan Zhanhong took an envelope from the inside pocket of his suit. “You and Ah Xue were chased by a car before. I know you both suspected me, but I really had nothing to do with it. It’s true that I complained to my uncle a few times—I felt like my dad favored Ah Xue and barely paid attention to me. But I never intended for my uncle to orchestrate that car chase. I had no idea he would go that far.”  

Jiang Quyan took the envelope and opened it. A slip of paper fell out, along with a photograph of a mother and her child.  

“What is this?” he asked.  

Guan Zhanhong explained, “Out of the two men my uncle hired, one of them was named Zhang Baotai. He used to be a police inspector but was reported to ICAC by my father and served over ten years in prison. My uncle found him, knew he held a grudge against my father, and used that to have him arrange the chase. To keep him under control, my uncle also took his wife and child as leverage. These are their contact details and a picture of them.”  

“The woman took my uncle’s money and moved to the mainland. She’s hiding in a village house in Longgang, Shenzhen. If you find them, you might be able to prove that my uncle hired Zhang Baotai. That would be a criminal offense. With this, along with the bank transfer records, you could apply for an arrest warrant and have my uncle taken in. Only then would you and Ah Xue truly get your revenge.”  

Jiang Quyan had nearly forgotten about the incident until Guan Zhanhong brought it up. He never expected him to find this mother and child.  

It was, indeed, a “sincere” gift.  

“How did you find them?” Jiang Quyan was more concerned about their safety. “Does your father know?”  

Guan Zhanhong looked rather pleased with himself. “Actually, I didn’t find them—Wen-ge did. I just…”  

Stole credit from someone else’s assistant.  

Jiang Quyan couldn’t help but laugh. “How many Vacheron Constantin watches did you give Mai Xuwen to get that envelope?”  

Guan Zhanhong wasn’t the least bit embarrassed. “Even though he did the legwork, I was the one who pointed him in the right direction! I got the information from my uncle’s subordinates, found out the mother and child were in Shenzhen, and then told Wen-ge where to look.”  

Oh, so it wasn’t entirely stolen credit.  

“Why did they talk to you?” Jiang Quyan was still skeptical.  

“Because after the car chase, I panicked! I was scared my dad would think I was behind it, so I went to my uncle and asked why he did it. He reassured me that everything was taken care of and told me not to worry, but he was cautious—he didn’t tell me the specifics. So I had to get the information from his men. They weren’t as guarded around me.”  

“You knew your uncle was wary of you.”  

“Of course. He never intended to help me—he was just putting on a show.”  

Jiang Quyan hadn’t expected him to be this clear-headed about it. “Oh?”  

Guan Zhanhong was already disillusioned. “He thinks I’m a Guan, not a Lin.”  

“That’s all?”  

“That’s more than enough.”  

Jiang Quyan seemed to be weighing the credibility of his words.  

Guan Zhanhong continued, “He and my dad have been at odds for a long time. He wants to place his own people in the company and take control of a few subsidiaries, but my dad refused, so he’s been holding a grudge. He always believed that since my grandfather invested so much money into my dad’s business, half of the company should belong to the Lin family—meaning him. But now, the Lin family only has one seat on the board, and he thinks my dad is deliberately sidelining them.”  

“But back when my mom was alive, he couldn’t openly break ties with my dad—it would’ve put her in an awkward position. Now that she’s gone, he doesn’t have to hold back anymore. So arranging the car chase was his way of sending my dad a warning. It had nothing to do with me. I just happened to give him a convenient excuse. Because around that time, I was being sent off to a subsidiary, and at the funeral, I spoke to you. Right after that, you had an accident. If my dad was going to suspect anyone, I would be the first on the list.”