We, at Rongyao, aspire to establish a premier, high-end building materials marketplace aimed at filling a critical gap in the current market landscape. Our vision is to liberate renovation companies from the burdensome need to seek out suppliers in distant cities. Rongyao will provide not only a commercial space and property management but will also rigorously vet the brands we bring in—striving to create the most prestigious marketplace in the industry.
Furthermore, we sincerely hope to collaborate with Fenghua Decoration. We will instruct all incoming vendors that Fenghua is our primary partner. During the construction phase, Rongyao Group will feature a 15-second advertisement for your company on our external display screens—from the groundbreaking to the final completion. Upon the mall's opening, the prime advertising space at the center of the main entrance will be reserved for your company for three years, entirely free of charge.
Assistant Su, please show Manager Li the concept design.
At this, Su Liang pulled a rather rough concept drawing from his bag. Fenghua's chief designer, upon seeing it, couldn't help but frown—was this what they called a design? Han Qian chuckled.
"Our design department, I admit, is no match for yours. This is merely a draft. We may request your assistance with the final design. All fees will be paid according to standard practice. I'll do my utmost to secure Fenghua the design rights. That is, in fact, the very reason we're here today. Of course, your company's influence will also be showcased in the early promotional phase. Secretary Yang, did you bring the contract?"
Han Qian pressed steadily forward, concluding with the offer of a contract to display sincerity. But there was no contract. Yang Lan, puzzled by Han Qian's intentions, could only reply with forced composure.
"President Han, we're still in discussions with several companies. We've already made the necessary calls. Also, Manager Li has had quite a bit to drink. Perhaps we should wait until construction officially begins before signing anything."
"Very well. In that case, we'll take our leave. Gentlemen, please enjoy your evening. Secretary Yang, have you settled the bill?"
"It's taken care of, President Han."
Han Qian stood, smiling politely as he nodded to the group. None of the three had touched the food on the table.
Whether or not Fenghua agreed was irrelevant to Han Qian—they held no true leverage in his eyes. He had already obtained the answers he came for. There was no need to linger. By the time Yang Lan descended the stairs, she was already quite dazed. Outside the Huatai building, she crouched by a flowerbed and began to vomit.
No one could stomach nearly a jin of baijiu on an empty stomach. Supporting her into the car, Han Qian frowned as he took the wheel.
"Liang'er, looks like dinner's not happening for us anytime soon. There's a hungry little one waiting at home. I'll head back, whip something up—it won't take more than twenty minutes. You order two meals and send them to the office. I haven't eaten in over twenty-four hours."
"You got it! Switch with me—I'll drive. Where do you live?"
"Shanshui Longcheng."
Han Qian felt utterly exhausted, yet somewhere deep inside, a perverse satisfaction stirred. He took a strange pleasure in the fatigue and chaos that came with his work. The elevator was still broken—he climbed eleven floors, took off his suit, tied on an apron, and dialed a number.
"Hello?" came a drowsy voice—Wen Nuan, clearly half-asleep.
Han Qian, chopping vegetables swiftly, spoke softly, "I skipped work this morning and got caught. I have to work late tonight—won't be home. I'm cooking for you now. Bought a thermal container, I'll tuck it under the sofa cushion. Don't order takeout. I also left some medicine on the table—take two pills, no cheating. Don't open the door for anyone. I have a key."
"Got it, got it—you nag so much. Maybe you should come enjoy the job yourself, then you could keep an eye on me all day."
"What, and fight Lin Zongheng for fun? Don't sleep yet—drink some water."
"Aaahh! I said I got it—you're so annoying."
Wen Nuan hung up with a dramatic groan, then slumped over her desk, staring at her call log. A whole page, all Han Qian. She muttered "so annoying" over and over—but couldn't stop the smile playing on her lips.
Just then, a commotion erupted outside her office.
The acting president of the company had returned to China. Lin Zongheng had waited all morning for Wen Nuan to show up, to no avail. After a hectic afternoon, he heard she was back and rushed over—only to be blocked by her secretary.
Furious, Lin Zongheng pushed past, burst into her office, and paused when he saw her—lounging lazily at her desk. His throat bobbed. Three years had only made her more beautiful—she had shed her youthful naïveté for a mature grace. And those long legs under the desk—he could barely contain himself.
His anger melted into a gentle smile.
"Xiao Nuan, I'm back."
Wen Nuan turned slowly, glanced at him, then looked back out the window with a faint, indifferent "Oh."
Lin Zongheng was tall—1.85 meters—handsome as a Korean drama lead, dressed in an impeccable Italian suit. He looked perfect. Yet for some reason, Wen Nuan found herself completely unmoved.
Every time she recalled the voices of those women on the other end of his past calls, a wave of nausea rose up.
Only now, after his absence, did Wen Nuan begin to understand: perhaps she had never truly liked Lin Zongheng. He had simply been the only peer in her life growing up—schoolmates, childhood companions, inseparable since youth. But had she ever agreed to be his lover, his future bride?
Three years—he spent them abroad. Han Qian spent them by her side. Han Qian went three years without smoking. And Lin Zongheng? He couldn't even control his desires. Han Qian endured just as much—if not more.
Noticing her coldness, Lin Zongheng hesitated, then stepped forward to gently touch her shoulder.
"Xiao Nuan, are you feeling unwell?"
The moment he touched her, she jerked back. He froze. But Wen Nuan, used to teasing Han Qian, didn't feel a hint of guilt. Frowning slightly, she muttered,
"I caught a cold—don't want to give it to you."
Lin Zongheng chuckled, "That never stopped you before—you used to cling to me when you were sick. Taken any medicine? I know a great doctor. Come on, let me take you."
He was stuck in memories of the old Wen Nuan—a docile girl who never resisted, who went along with everything as long as he didn't push too far. But she was no longer that girl. She shook her head gently.
"Probably just a chill. I had an IV this morning—it's nothing."
"An IV? But you always hated those. Let me see."
"Cold… I don't want to move."
She hid her hand in her sleeve, her nose scrunching adorably.
Yet again, she denied him. Lin Zongheng's smile grew tight.
"Xiao Nuan, it's been three years. I have so much to say. I reserved a restaurant. Let's go after work."
Wen Nuan tucked both hands into her sleeves and shook her head like a child.
"I have a cold. Han Qian bought me medicine—it's at home. He also cooked for me. I haven't eaten out in three years, haven't ordered takeout in three years. I'm just… not used to it anymore."
It struck Lin Zongheng like thunder on a clear day.
Han Qian.
Habits.
Han Qian had become her habit?
He gritted his teeth, forcing down his fury. "But you're divorced now. Once you're better, I'll cook for you myself."
He turned to leave.
Just as he reached the door, Wen Nuan spoke up.
"I don't like Western food anymore. Doesn't taste good."
Lin Zongheng nearly slammed the door behind him. What kind of man was this Han Qian, to overturn twenty years of habit in just three?
After he left, Wen Nuan picked up her phone and called.
"Han Qian… I want tomato-braised beef… and red-braised pork… I want everything… Han Qian… I'm not happy."
She didn't know why she was crying—tears wouldn't stop falling. On the other end came just one word.
"Okay."
Han Qian had been waiting for this call. He knew Lin Zongheng would visit today. If the call came, it meant he still mattered. If it didn't, the home would be left to her.
She said she wanted everything—but didn't mention her true favorites.
Han Qian called the supermarket to deliver ingredients. He told Su Liang to head back to the office first. Since stepping into the kitchen, he had only managed to slice a single scallion.