It was just before 9:30 PM, and the people who needed to arrive were trickling in. Guan Xuexin was the last to arrive after Guan Zhengying, her eyes red from crying. She hugged her father for a long time. Guan Zhanhong arrived second, and immediately tried to vent his anger at the doctor. He was quickly stopped by Guan Zhengying, and he was scolded for the incident at the company earlier that afternoon. Lin Zhifang’s brother, Guan Zhengying’s brother-in-law, Lin Zichang, wearing black, tried to hide his neck tattoos. Several members of the Lin family followed him, and they all stood in the hallway, listening to Guan Zhengying scold his son.

Later, company executives and lawyers arrived, as well as several close friends of the Guan family and Lin Zhifang’s private acquaintances. The hallway was nearly filled with people.

After the body was prepared, Guan Zhengying went in first to meet her, followed by the younger generation and the Lin family.

The lawyer immediately read the will. In the will, she expressed her wish to have her body cremated and scattered at sea, with the Guan family only keeping a memorial plaque. A western style dress her husband bought for her before marriage was also to be cremated.

“It was the first dress I bought for her. It was cheap. We didn’t have much money back then, it was from the market behind SOGO, but I thought the color suited her well,” Guan Zhengying said, smiling as he reminisced.

Lin Zichang’s eyes reddened: “At first, Father wanted her to marry you, but she refused. After meeting you, she changed her mind. After that, she kept saying your name in front of me every day. I’ve never seen her like that before, completely a different person. Time passed in a flash, and decades went by.”

Guan Zhanhong cried bitterly, calling out ‘Mom’ repeatedly in the hallway. Guan Xuexin stood by, wiping her tears with a handkerchief.

This family seemed to genuinely care for each other, their grief deep and sincere.

Jiang Quyan was uninterested in the drama, so he went downstairs to handle the media outside the hospital.

Knowing Mrs. Guan was critically ill, several newspapers had already stationed reporters at the hospital entrance in advance. Some had even camped out for several nights, all in hopes of getting the first-hand news. Among the reporters, some familiar faces had long been dealing with Jiang Quyan. They knew he was the head of public relations for Fuzheng Group, and as soon as he stepped out, they skillfully pulled out cigarettes, trying to get close and extract information.  

“Is the boss’s wife going to make it or not?” An old reporter lit a cigarette for him. “We’ve been waiting for three days.”  

Jiang Quyan thought of Guan Zhengying’s sentimental expression and sneered. “You’ve only waited three days. I’ve waited fifteen years. What’s the rush?”  

The reporter, well aware of the messy rumors between him and Guan Zhengying, smirked. “So, the legitimate wife is finally going down. Who’s next? Or are you planning to take the spot yourself?”  

“Get lost!” Jiang Quyan almost choked on his cigarette. “Stop spouting bad omens.”

The reporter got bolder. “Look around—everyone here is a close family member or a dear friend. Not a single mistress. That leaves only you. That means he still favors you. At such a critical moment, it’s you who’s by his side.”  

Jiang Quyan rolled his eyes. “I’m telling you, we’ve never had anything between us. Do you believe it or not?”  

The reporter gave him a meaningful smile.  

Jiang Quyan knew he wouldn’t believe it, but for the first time in fifteen years, he had the chance to say it out loud. Whether others believed him or not didn’t matter—what mattered was that he finally said it. “I despised her. She thought she gave me wealth and status, changed my fate—but she wasn’t some merciful goddess. She chose me for herself. I was just a tool. Anyone else could have taken my place. If not me, then some other stray cat or dog. She never saw me as a person.”  

As he exhaled smoke, the contorted look on his face smoothed out. That breath carried the resentment lodged in his chest. The reporter understood his feelings. “In this world, who is really seen as a person?”  

“She never treated me as human, yet expected my gratitude. I was supposed to be grateful, help her son, serve her family,” Jiang Quyan scoffed. “Self-deception at its finest. Lie to yourself long enough, and you’ll believe you’re a saint.”  

“Have you ever thought about what your life would have been like without her?”  

“I’d probably still be living in a cramped room in Kwun Tong.”  

“See? That’s fate. This is the life you were meant to have.”  

“If this fate were handed to you, would you take it?”  

The reporter was stumped.  

Jiang Quyan crushed his cigarette underfoot. “I hated her when she was alive. Now that she’s dead, I hate her even more.”  

“She didn’t suffer much—just a stroke. It wasn’t cancer. The pain wasn’t unbearable. She had her son and brother crying by her bedside, her husband paying his respects. He never treated her badly. She didn’t live to see her son ruin his future or her family collapse. She just died, sparing herself the worst. What a blessing. What a fortunate life.”  

“Maybe that’s what feels unfair. Apart from a few disgraceful things before her marriage, she lived the rest of her life with dignity. Once someone dies, no one remembers the past. From now on, she’ll just be known as Mrs. Guan, the wife of Fuzheng Group’s boss.”  

The reporter shook his head and sighed. “You were never in a position to hold this grudge—not from the start.”

Jiang Quyan lowered his head, his face sinking into the shadows. He had always been in the shadows, never able to step into the light.

The reporter sighed. “This world is unfair. There’s nothing you can do. She did wrong, but she still walked through life with her head high, and died with honor. You did nothing wrong, kept yourself clean, but you never even got a chance to speak your truth.”  

After dealing with the reporters, escorting a few big names out, and coordinating statements inside and outside the hospital, Jiang Quyan finally returned to his office to continue working overtime—there would be no sleep for him that night. With the boss’s wife gone, the company had to release an obituary. The newspapers had already reserved space for it, set to be published in the morning. As head of PR, he had to make sure the statement was finalized that night, no matter what.  

The company was empty. Jiang Quyan’s office was lit by a single desk lamp. He brewed coffee, then sat in front of his computer, typing each word carefully. By the time he finished the first draft, it was already 2 AM. He sent an email to Guan Zhengying for final approval.  

He rested on the sofa for a while. At 3 AM, seeing no response in his inbox, he debated whether to call him. His phone had already been bombarded by newspaper editors—printing presses were waiting for his final draft, machines on standby. If it got any later, they’d miss the deadline.  

Jiang Quyan picked up his coffee cup, swallowed the last sip of cold bitterness, and looked up. The Chairman’s office on the top floor was still lit. His own office was directly below it, their floor-to-ceiling windows facing each other at an angle. From his seat, he could always see inside the Chairman’s office, and vice versa. For a long time, this setup had put immense pressure on him, as if he was working under constant surveillance. He sometimes wondered if his office placement was intentional—so that Guan Zhengying could keep an eye on him.  

He brewed two fresh cups of coffee and went upstairs, knocking on the Chairman’s office door. Inside, Guan Zhengying stood by the window, lost in thought.  

“Boss, the newspapers are waiting. The whole editorial team is on hold. Is there anything you’d like to revise in the obituary? I can change it now.” Jiang Quyan handed over a coffee, keeping his voice low, unsure of Guan Zhengying’s mood.  

Guan Zhengying had already read the draft. He had just been waiting for Jiang Quyan to come find him. “Print it.”  

Jiang Quyan exhaled in relief and sent the final version immediately.  

He originally planned to leave, not wanting to disturb his boss further, but Guan Zhengying had other ideas.  

“Come,” he gestured for Jiang Quyan to sit beside him. “Look at the night view.”  

Jiang Quyan had no choice but to sit carefully beside him. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Hong Kong glittered like a jewel, ever lavish. It was like a wealthy lady, always draped in the finest clothes, adorned in pure gold and silver. Today, she played the part of a vintage starlet; tomorrow, she’d transform into a modern socialite. She was always changing, never the same for long, indulging in pleasure while youth still remained. But those golden years were fading. If one looked closely at the corners of her eyes, beneath the powder and blush, there were traces of tears and fine lines.

Jiang Quyan liked this kind of Hong Kong. He liked this beautiful city with its varying heights and distances.  

Because he was a man of the city, he could never see it clearly. If he saw it clearly, it would no longer be beautiful.  

At that moment, Guan Zhengying was also looking at Hong Kong. “Actually, when I bought that Western-style dress for her, we weren’t on a date or going out. That day, one of my men was playing cards at her father’s gambling den and got caught cheating. The place had already put out word that they were going to break his hands. She found out and secretly let him go, even sending me a message about it. So, I bought her that dress as a thank-you gift.”  

Jiang Quyan didn’t know why he was suddenly talking about this.  

Guan Zhengying continued, “I was very grateful for what she did. Back then, I had only been a Red Pole for two years and hadn’t established my reputation yet. Her father was already a sitting boss. What she did not only harmed her father’s interests and authority but also went against her own family—it was a huge risk. But once she did it, everyone in Wan Chai knew that my people were off-limits. That gave me a lot of face.”  

“So later, we got married, had a kid, started a company, transitioned into legitimate business… I actually knew about some of the things she and her brother did behind my back. As long as it wasn’t too outrageous, I turned a blind eye. I remembered that she had once helped me, had given me face, and I felt there was no need to be too calculating between husband and wife. After all, she was my family—one of my own.”

This was the first time Jiang Quyan had heard him talk about this gray past. “Is ‘sitting boss’ equivalent to VP?”  

Guan Zhengying chuckled. “You could put it that way.”  

“Then you were really impressive, becoming VP in your early twenties.”  

“You think being VP is impressive?”  

Jiang Quyan could understand his feelings. “I’ve never been married, but I’ve had tough times too. I was lucky to have one or two friends who respected me and helped me. I was very grateful to them. Boss, you trusted me and gave me opportunities—I’m grateful too.”  

Guan Zhengying was pleased. “Good. You’re sensible. That’s nice.”  

Jiang Quyan responded with a smile.  

“My wife and I were together for thirty years, and I admit I failed. It wasn’t just her fault—it was mine too, maybe even more so. I know I’m not easy to live with,” Guan Zhengying admitted. “Sometimes I was really angry, really regretful. I didn’t know what I was thinking. I didn’t know what she was thinking. I didn’t even know why we got married. We muddled through a lifetime just like that.”  

Jiang Quyan lowered his head, drinking his coffee. The steam blurred his expression.  

Guan Zhengying looked at him through the reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window. “Now that she’s gone, I can finally breathe. It feels like finishing an exam—an exam that lasted thirty years, answered all wrong.”  

Jiang Quyan knew this was his genuine feeling. There was no need for him to lie. “You never thought about getting a divorce?”  

Guan Zhengying shook his head. “People of our generation didn’t have the concept of divorce.”  

“But you were obviously unhappy.”  

“Marriage… isn’t about happiness. It’s a job. A person needs to work, eat warm meals, and support themselves so they can walk the streets with their head held high and be respected. Marriage serves the same purpose. Married people are normal people—people who fit into society’s rules. Only then does society accept you.”  

“Whether you’re a worker, a low-level member, a Red Pole, a sitting boss, or a VP, no matter what you do, a man needs a woman, and a woman needs a man. That way, when you make friends, do business, people trust you and are willing to work with you. I know this idea sounds old-fashioned to your generation, but in our time, that’s how society worked.”  

Jiang Quyan thought Lin Zhifang probably saw things the same way. “Madam really treated her role as the family matriarch with dedication and effort. I’d even say she worked a little too hard.”  

Guan Zhengying was amused by his phrasing. “Because that was her only job. Unlike me—I had another job outside the family.”  

“So before, you had two jobs. From now on, you only have one. You must feel relieved.”  

“Yeah. Being a normal person is actually very tiring.”  

This was the first time Jiang Quyan had ever discussed marriage so deeply with Guan Zhengying. The experience of having a personal conversation with his boss about emotions in the chairman’s office in the middle of the night was new to him.  

“It may be exhausting, but you did it very well,” Jiang Quyan remarked. Given Guan Zhengying’s past in the gray areas of society, he had assumed his boss would be used to not being accepted by the mainstream. “You became a respectable, civilized person.”  

Guan Zhengying looked at his reflection in the window. “It’s just a civilized façade. The wild nature inside is hard to change.”  

Jiang Quyan raised an eyebrow. It was hard to imagine hearing those words from him.  

“Maybe I like being a savage,” Guan Zhengying lowered his eyes to his coffee cup, speaking as if to himself. “There are benefits to being savage. You can do whatever you want without worrying about society’s rules and restrictions. If you like something, you like it…”  

Jiang Quyan was getting sleepy. His brain was shutting down. Even two cups of bitter coffee couldn’t stop him from yawning.  

Only after yawning did he realize how rude it was to do that in front of his boss.  

But Guan Zhengying didn’t mind. He pulled his jacket over and draped it over him. “Sleep if you’re tired. No more talking.”  

Jiang Quyan slumped against the expensive Italian leather sofa in the chairman’s office. The jacket still carried the warmth of its owner’s body, spreading heat against his skin. Annoyed, he kicked off his shoes and curled up deeper into the couch. At that moment, Guan Zhengying dimmed the lights and turned up the heater.  

“Night night.” His boss gently patted his shoulder, coaxing him into sleep.  

Just like the first time, when he had fallen asleep in the master bedroom of the Guan residence—Guan Zhengying had bid him goodnight in the same way, watching over him.