Chapter 20

◎ Antique Necklace ◎

Around 3 p.m., Ailai Electronics spiked and touched last year’s high. Liao Yazhe sold the shares on Fan Qi’s behalf.

This stock was relatively high-confidence for her. After the market closed, she and Liao Yazhe reviewed the day’s trades. The market had performed poorly today—two of Liao’s stocks exited with small losses, while one gained seven percent. Overall, they ended the day in profit.

For one of the trades, Fan Qi thought her approach was flawed. She’d tried to force a breakout in a weak market, even though she knew conditions weren’t ideal.

“Fan Qi, you’re doing really well already. My dad always says: in trading, we aim to make big gains when we’re right and take small losses when we’re wrong,” Liao Yazhe said, clearly keeping a level head.

“Look at Fan Qi,” said Liao Jiqing, cutting in, “she quadrupled her money in just a few days and is still analyzing what went wrong. And you? One comment from me and you think your day’s done?”

Liao Yazhe looked at his father. “Dad, ever since Fan Qi joined, you’ve lost all faith in me.”

Ignoring his son, Liao Jiqing turned to Fan Qi. “Fan Qi, there’s a charity gala tomorrow night. You should come too—I’ll introduce you to some old friends.”

What would she do at a charity event? Fan Qi had found those tedious in her past life. When she did give to charity, she preferred to donate anonymously to schools and hospitals. She smiled politely. “Mr. Liao, I don’t think I need to attend.”

“Come on! The event was organized at Liu Xiangnian’s suggestion. Mrs. Xu is chairing this year’s planning committee, and Madam Feng will definitely be there. You need to make it clear to Madam Feng that it’s her son who’s been chasing after you,” Liao Yazhe said.

Fan Qi nodded. “You’ve got a point.”

“Tomorrow at 3 p.m., I’ll have my wife come pick you up. She’ll take you to pick a gown and get your hair done,” Liao Jiqing added.

“Alright.”

After leaving Liao Jiqing’s office, Fan Qi grabbed her bag and headed home, debating what to eat. She couldn’t stand it when her food lacked the right spices.

She figured she’d buy some meat and make spicy diced pork. Shanghai-style noodles weren’t available here, but bamboo-pressed noodles would do—the flavor was close enough.

After getting off the subway, she walked toward the market. The meat stalls were near the entrance. And what a coincidence—Chen Zhiqian was standing right there at the meat counter. When he saw her, he asked, “Just got off work?”

“Yeah,” she replied as she approached. “You’re home early today.”

“There wasn’t much to do, so I headed back early.”

The butcher handed over a bag. Fan Qi reached for it, but Chen Zhiqian took it first. “I can do the shopping. You go on home.”

The original version of Fan Qi had a simple palate—Chen Zhiqian usually did the shopping. But now that she cared about what she ate, there was no way she’d let someone else control her kitchen.

“Let’s shop together,” she said.

“Sure. I’ve got the meat; now I just need a few more ingredients for the chili sauce.”

Hmm? He wanted to make chili sauce? That actually worked better than her simple spicy pork—great minds think alike.

Fan Qi followed him as he bought peanuts and potatoes.

This time of year, there wouldn’t be any bamboo shoots in Shanghai. But here, surprisingly, there were.

Noticing her surprise, Chen Zhiqian said, “These are green bamboo shoots. They’re very tender and have a slight sweetness. They’re a regional specialty from southern Fujian and Guangdong.”

“So… could we use them to make yan du xian (bamboo shoot and ham soup)?”

“Definitely. Let’s grab some ham too. I cut a nice slab of pork ribs today—perfect for soup.” He picked out a fresh stalk of celtuce.

“We’ll need dried tofu for the chili sauce. Let’s also get some thin bean curd sheets—we can tie them into knots for the soup.” Fan Qi was getting excited. But when they got to the stall, they only had thick tofu skins, not the thin kind she wanted.

Chen Zhiqian bought two blocks of dried tofu and two sheets of tofu skin. Seeing she looked a little disappointed, he said, “Tofu skin works in soup too.”

“It’s not the same,” she replied, half-pouting. Then, catching his resigned expression, she quickly changed her tone. “Well, close enough. I can work with it.”

Chen Zhiqian walked on ahead, and Fan Qi followed, silently reminding herself: stop bringing your past-life habits into this one. In her previous life, anything money could fix wasn’t a real problem. But in this life, money was the problem—no need to make a fuss over everything.

“Miss Fan! Today’s duck is extra plump. Want to take one home?” a raspy voice caught her off guard. She turned to see the live poultry stall owner waving a big, fat duck at her.

Fan Qi could feel Chen Zhiqian’s eyes on her. Under pressure, she said, “Thanks, boss! I already bought one today.”

“Come back if you’re ever craving duck!”

“Will do!”

As they walked on, she racked her brain: now that the lie had been exposed, how was she supposed to patch it up?

“Salted duck is easy to make,” she said. “But you know how it is—when it’s hot and I’m home alone, I just don’t feel like cooking. And anyway, in both your house and mine, it’s the dads who cook. That’s a fine tradition to keep, right? Otherwise, what if your future wife complains?” She looked up at him, trying to sell it.

Chen Zhiqian’s expression shifted slightly. “Mm.”

Fan Qi waited for him to say something more, but even after they had crossed an entire street, he remained silent.

That’s it? Fan Qi could hardly believe it. Was this really the brilliant, sharp-minded power player described in the book? Maybe he thought it wasn’t a big deal. Or perhaps, since his relationship with the original owner wasn’t close to begin with, he just didn’t care.

As they passed a newsstand, Chen Zhiqian asked, “Do you want to buy a newspaper?”

How did he know she wanted one? Fan Qi flipped through the stack but didn’t find anything new. The stock information she could access now was far more detailed than anything in the papers.

“No need. Let’s go.”

Back at home, Fan Qi thought since he already knew she could cook, they might as well do it together.

She rolled up her sleeves. “Let me help.”

Chen Zhiqian said, “You can prep the potatoes and bamboo shoots.”

“Alright.”

Fan Qi sat at the dining table to peel the bamboo shoots and thought of the event tomorrow. “I won’t be home for dinner tomorrow. Mr. Liao invited me to attend a charity gala with him, his wife, and Liao Yazhe.”

“A charity gala?”

“Yes, it’s being hosted by Liu Xiangnian’s Tianhe Group,” she explained after hearing the curiosity in his tone. “Mr. Liao wants to use me as a conversation piece. And the best story is if I actually manage to reinvent myself as a stockbroker. This gala is just one step in building that narrative. Also, with all the gossip and rumors, Feng Xueming’s mother had to come out and make a statement. She’ll be at the event too. I’d like to clear things up with her in person—I have absolutely zero interest in her son.”

Even if they were going to get divorced someday, the relationship between the Fan and Chen families still stood. As long as she was this world’s Fan Qi, he’d have to treat her like a younger sister. Now that they were both in Hong Kong, they ought to communicate more.

“Mm.”

“Can I ask you something?” Fan Qi finished peeling the bamboo shoots and began scraping the potato skins.

“Ask what?”

“Can I make it public that I’m married? We’re already legally married anyway. You can’t avoid being a second-time groom. So if I run into Feng’s mom tomorrow, I’ll just tell her right there—I’m not the slightest bit interested in her son.”

Chen Zhiqian looked at her. If she had been the Fan Qi from his past life, he would never have believed her. But the girl in front of him?

“Please?” Fan Qi stopped peeling and gave him a hopeful look.

Chen Zhiqian nodded. “Do as you wish.”

“Yay!” Fan Qi beamed and continued peeling with a smile.

She brought the peeled vegetables to the stove, where Chen Zhiqian was pounding pork ribs with the back of a knife. “Are you making fried pork chops? Got any chili soy sauce?”

That earned her a look that was both annoyed and amused—a crack of an expression, like he wanted to laugh but couldn’t.

Fan Qi scratched her head. Had she really just asked about chili soy sauce? She didn’t even ask him to buy it—of course it’d be the one thing missing.

“It’s still good even without the sauce.”

“No, I’m making scallion-braised pork ribs. I’ll cook; the cutting board is free. You cut the tofu, bamboo shoots, and potatoes?” he said.

“Sure.”

Fan Qi carried the cutting board to the table—there really wasn’t enough room for two people in the kitchen.

As she was cutting potatoes, the phone rang. She picked it up and heard Feng Xueming’s voice: “Fan Qi, I’m really sorry. My mom didn’t know the situation, and she just said all kinds of nonsense.”

“But you knew the situation. You should’ve told her clearly that there’s nothing between us,” Fan Qi said bluntly.

“I…” Feng Xueming was momentarily speechless.

“Is there anything else?” she asked.

“Yes. You’re attending the charity gala tomorrow, right? Would you wear one of our dresses?”

So Liao Yazhe had told him about her going to the gala? Well, doing a photoshoot for their brand kind of made her a spokesperson.

“Sure.”

“I’ll bring it over tomorrow.”

“And then the papers will run a headline like ‘Rich Heir Personally Delivers Gown to Fan Qi’?” she asked.

Feng Xueming quickly backtracked. “I’ll have someone else bring it.”

“I’ll be going to get styled with Mrs. Liao at 3 p.m. As long as it arrives before then, it’s fine.”

“Okay.” He hung up.

Fan Qi carried the chopped vegetables over and told Chen Zhiqian, “Feng Xueming asked me to wear a WO dress to the gala tomorrow.”

“Well, it makes sense. You’re collaborating, after all,” Chen Zhiqian replied, dividing the roasted peanuts into two bowls—one with a sprinkle of salt, one plain.

Fan Qi grabbed a peanut and popped it in her mouth.

“They’re not cool yet—won’t be crispy,” he said.

“That’s okay. I’m starting early.” She crunched on the peanut while watching him cook the spicy sauce.

“Hey! Don’t skimp on the sauce. That little bit isn’t spicy at all!”

Chen Zhiqian added another spoonful. Fan Qi immediately regretted it. “You’re right, we should be conserving it. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.”

Chen Zhiqian looked at the thickening bean paste in the pan and handed her the jar. “Here, you do it.”

Fan Qi tossed another peanut into her mouth and reached over to feed one to him. “I was just saying… you don’t have to get all mad!”

Then she realized how inappropriate that gesture was. Thank goodness he was crouched down grabbing a bowl and hadn’t noticed—she exhaled in relief.

Still crouching, Chen Zhiqian said, “Grab the noodles from the fridge. It’s time to cook them.”

Fan Qi opened the fridge and saw a plastic bag. Inside were the thin Shanghai-style noodles. “Where did you get these?”

“There’s a little alley across from my office. A couple from Shanghai opened a noodle shop there. I got them from them.”

Why did that sound so familiar? Wasn’t that the same excuse she used for the duck? What a grudge-holder.

But the smell of his red-braised ribs filled the air, and it was intoxicating. Chen Zhiqian plated the ribs and handed them to her. “Put these on the table.”

Fan Qi took the plate, inhaling deeply as she set it on the table. Then she grabbed a spoon and some chopsticks, dipped the spoon into the rich sauce, and stuck out her tongue for a taste.

“So good. Seriously good.”

Chen Zhiqian, who was washing the pot, turned his head and caught sight of her greedy expression. A playful urge rose within him.
“You’re going to the banquet tomorrow night, and I’ll be the one left eating Yan du xian alone?”

Hearing that, Fan Qi grew anxious.
“Who actually gets full at those banquets? I’m definitely coming back to eat! Save me some celtuce—I like it crisp!”

Chen Zhiqian couldn’t hold back the smile tugging at his lips.
“Come take the chili sauce to the table.”

“Okay, okay!” Fan Qi rushed over, carried a large bowl of chili sauce to the table, and grabbed a pair of chopsticks to pick out the peanuts.

“Peanuts are so oily, and you’re eating so many?” Chen Zhiqian asked.

“The peanuts in chili sauce lose their crunch if they sit too long.”

Chen Zhiqian brought over two bowls of noodles. Fan Qi scooped a generous ladle of chili sauce onto her noodles, added a piece of pork chop on top, then took a sip of the soup first. The mildly spicy, savory kick of the chili sauce had already infused into the broth—it was amazing.

Then she bit into the pork chop—flavorful sauce, tender meat.
“I think we could open a restaurant right now,” she said earnestly.

Open a restaurant? She really had some imagination. Chen Zhiqian loosened the noodles and began eating, and suddenly realized—his noodles were really good. They tasted just like something you’d find in a little Shanghai alley-side shop.

Fan Qi polished off the noodles, the toppings, and even the broth. Leaning back in her chair, she had the urge to pat her full belly. When she saw Chen Zhiqian getting up to clean the table, she hurried to stop him.
“I’ll do it, I’ll do it! You cooked, I’ll wash. You’ve probably got stuff to do, go take care of it!”

She cleared the dishes, and Chen Zhiqian wiped down the table, handing her the dirty rag to rinse out. After washing his hands in the bathroom, he returned to the room.

“Fan Qi, wear this to the banquet tomorrow night.”

Fan Qi turned to see him placing an old-looking box on the table.

She looked puzzled. After drying her hands, she picked up the rather large box. It had once been red, but the paint was now chipped and worn in many places. She unlatched the clasp and opened it.

She had been rich enough in her past life to know what she was looking at.

If this piece went to auction, it could buy several Lamborghinis like Feng Xueming’s.

The centerpiece was a jade gourd pendant, about the size of an egg, bright green and translucent. It was set in a simple necklace of rectangular-cut diamonds with a diamond-encrusted bail. Jade this rich in color, paired with the brilliance of diamonds—stunning. The diamond necklace alone wasn’t hard to find, but jade of this caliber rarely showed up at auctions.

“This jade came from the Qing imperial court. My great-grandfather bought it and sent it to the U.S., where he commissioned the Oscar Brothers—famous jewelers of their time—to design and mount it. It was a 16th birthday gift for my grandmother. So many heirlooms were lost, but my parents secretly held onto this one.”

“No, no! I’m just going to a banquet. I can’t wear something this meaningful, and this valuable,” Fan Qi said, closing the box.

“These charity banquets are all about status and appearance. Going bare-necked will make you feel out of place.”

“As long as you’re strong enough, you could wear a T-shirt and people would still trip over themselves to please you.” Fan Qi was unfazed.

Back in her previous life, after she rose to fame, she attended banquets as a special guest for brokerage firms—dressed in casualwear, completely out of place among the glamor, and yet still the center of attention.

Chen Zhiqian asked quietly, “Are you strong enough now?”

Fan Qi: Ouch. That hit a nerve.

Chen Zhiqian said evenly, “With this necklace, you don’t even need to argue with Mrs. Feng. Just one line: ‘This is a family heirloom gifted by my in-laws.’”

Damn, that made too much sense. The idea that she had to rely on jewelry to assert herself stung even more.