Of course, insufficient stock wasn’t a major issue. The fan club quickly contacted the boutique where Zhong Ziyan was shopping and swiftly organized an online group chat, adding her into it.
Within three minutes, the group had drafted a simple plan:
The brand representative explained that the gift sets needed to be restocked, while the fan club suggested holding a giveaway first, after which the boutique could handle the shipments. This would spare Zhong Ziyan the hassle of mailing packages herself and eliminate any potential disputes over authenticity.
Zhong Ziyan observed the entire efficient process in silence, as the one footing the bill.
Only at the end did the fan club @ her and enthusiastically ask, “What do you think, big spender? Does this work for you?”
Zhong Ziyan typed a single “Sure,” nibbled the last bite of her ice cream cone, and scanned the payment QR code.
With a beep, the money was deducted.
Zhong Ziyan, who had once been so poor she’d pinch every penny, suddenly felt the corrupting power of wealth.
She even began to think that twenty purchases of 18,888 yuan weren’t such a big deal!
Black cards breed arrogance.
After being escorted out of the store by the smiling sales associates, empty-handed Zhong Ziyan passed a young couple holding bubble tea.
Her steps, originally headed toward the underground parking lot, paused. Following the aroma, she detoured to the food court.
By the time she circled the entire dining floor and returned to her Cadillac, nearly two hours had passed.
“Madam, shall we return to Tingshan?” the driver asked.
“Mm.” Zhong Ziyan nodded, still savoring the flavors.
Burp.
Meanwhile, just as a meeting ended, Fang Nan’s phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, his mind instantly flooded with exasperation.
It was the branch manager of the bank handling Wei Hanyun’s black card—undoubtedly calling about Zhong Ziyan.
Was Fang Nan her homeroom teacher now? Why was he constantly fielding reports about her? How long had it even been since he’d made that call to Yu Qianshan in the morning?
Taking a deep breath, Fang Nan answered, “Hello?”
“Assistant Fang,” the voice on the other end sounded slightly anxious, “our bank just noticed a series of unusually frequent transactions on Mr. Wei’s account. There’s a possibility of fraudulent activity.”
Fang Nan: “…What were the purchases?”
“Jo Malone, Herbaland, Xu’s Delicacies, Uncle Ji’s Lollipop Chicken, Red Runner Cake…”
Fang Nan closed his eyes, maintaining his composure. “And the location?”
The first one was understandable, but how did the rest even make it onto Wei Hanyun’s black card statement?
“Zhengda Department Store’s food court.”
Fang Nan was exhausted. “It’s not fraud. It’s… just not fraud. No need to worry, and thank you for your concern.”
The branch manager, who had personally intervened, audibly relaxed.
—If Wei Hanyun’s card had truly been stolen, it would’ve been the bank’s crisis of the year.
Before hanging up, Fang Nan couldn’t resist asking, “How much in total?”
“Well… the first transaction was 377,760 yuan. The following eleven… totaled 428 yuan.”
Fang Nan was speechless: …That doesn’t even cover a fraction of the first amount!
When Wei Hanyun wrapped up work for the day, Fang Nan finally relayed the incident to him.
To his surprise, Wei Hanyun chuckled. “Eleven different snacks?”
Fang Nan, mentally drained: …Boss, that’s not the point.
“I’ll talk to her when I get back,” Wei Hanyun mused, his tone calm. “She’s actually doing quite well. It might be time to introduce her to the family.”
Fang Nan immediately straightened. “The Wei family?”
Wei Hanyun nodded.
“Understood. I’ll make the arrangements.” Fang Nan adjusted his glasses. “One more thing: Second Young Master Yu arrived at noon and mentioned a celebratory dinner tonight. He asked if you’d attend.”
“Qianshan?” Wei Hanyun’s tone was effortlessly paternal. “Business trip?”
Fang Nan then recounted Zhong Ziyan’s visit to Houtu Entertainment in detail.
Wei Hanyun shook his head. “Back to Tingshan.”
Fang Nan understood implicitly. “I’ll call Second Young Master Yu shortly.”
“Don’t disclose Zhong Ziyan’s identity yet,” Wei Hanyun instructed.
“Of course.” Fang Nan nodded.
…
When Yu Qianshan left the meeting, he already knew he’d likely missed Zhong Ziyan.
After a long silence in the speeding car, he finally called Houtu Entertainment’s Director Qin and briefed him.
“Go check if anything happened,” Yu Qianshan said gravely. “If there’s an issue, handle it as top priority. No need to consult me.”
Director Qin, Yu Qianshan’s trusted aide, agreed without hesitation.
But despite hurrying, Director Qin still arrived too late—Zhong Ziyan had already stormed the 16th floor, played her tune, and left with lightning efficiency.
Left with no other option, Director Qin headed to the top floor to meet Mr. Bai, crossing paths with Bai Ling at the elevator.
Bai Ling greeted him with poised elegance before gliding away.
While Director Qin negotiated with Mr. Bai in his office, Luo Yin arrived on the 16th floor.
He was there to select songs.
Houtu Entertainment, flush with resources, maintained an extensive in-house library of unreleased tracks for its artists.
But the process was akin to a gacha game—plenty of common R cards, a few rare SRs, and the elusive SSR cards.
Even so, Luo Yin had no better options. He could only hope his luck would hold this time.
“Aim for a big-name composer. Their existing fanbase could boost sales,” his manager prattled on. “I heard Li Ye has an opening soon. I’ll try to book him for production.”
Luo Yin gave a noncommittal hum, tugging his cap lower to shadow his sharp nose and chin.
His manager fretted, “Endorsements are expiring, and few are keen to renew. If we don’t nail this album, it’s trouble. This industry forgets fast—no exposure means being left behind.”
“I don’t want to just be a flash in the pan,” Luo Yin muttered.
“Good heavens!” The manager slapped his thigh. “Having hits doesn’t mean you’re just a pretty face! You can be talented and popular!”
Luo Yin pressed his lips into a stubborn line and said nothing more.
Unfazed, the manager clasped his hands, murmuring prayers to every deity he knew, begging for luck so Luo Yin might pull an SSR today.
Though, realistically, the odds were slim.
Top-tier composers and lyricists had their works fought over before they were even finished. For a song to end up in the library, it’d take a miracle.
Luo Yin didn’t hold out much hope either.
But he didn’t need the absolute best.
Even with an average song, he was confident his vocals could breathe new life into it.
…If only his music could be released without interference.
A figure hurriedly approached with their head down, clearly not watching where they were going as they nearly collided with Luo Yin, only to be blocked by his manager. "Hey, watch it. You're staff—why so reckless?"
The staff member lifted their head, looking nervous. "Sorry, I’m in a rush to deliver documents to the top floor."
"Fine, go ahead, but be careful," the manager waved them off.
Yet Luo Yin’s sharp eyes caught sight of the handwritten sheet music in the staff member’s hands.
Whoever had written it had clearly cut corners—starting with proper staves but simplifying as they went, until by the bottom of the first page, only a single line remained.
Most people would be baffled, but Luo Yin was different.
Born with perfect pitch, he could instantly translate sheet music into melody in his mind with just a glance.
And in that fleeting moment, Luo Yin sensed something extraordinary about this composition. His heartbeat quickened involuntarily.
To borrow his manager’s favorite phrase from mobile gaming: A single pull yielded a miracle!!!
Luo Yin swiftly stopped the departing staff member. "Is that sheet music submitted by one of the company’s composers?"
The staff instinctively hid the pages behind their back. "This is a rejected piece—it’s unusable! You’ll have to look elsewhere."
Luo Yin was already captivated by the fragments of melody forming in his mind. He stated firmly, "If this is trash, then Hou Tu’s entire music library might as well be burned."
The staff stammered, clearly conflicted. "It’s… orders from above. Don’t make this difficult for me. This song really can’t be used."
"Then can I at least take a look?" Luo Yin asked.
The staff hesitated, then gritted their teeth and held out the pages. "Fine, but once you’re done, I have to take it straight to the general manager’s office."
Luo Yin accepted the sheets like treasure, scanning from the top. The melody played in his mind as he turned each page, and when he reached the final, unresolved note, it felt like savoring a lavish feast.
He couldn’t let this song slip away. Luo Yin was certain.
His manager peeked over his shoulder, puzzled. "There’s no signature. Must be from some no-name composer?"
"This one," Luo Yin declared, gripping the edge of the paper. "It’s the one."
"No, it’s not!" the staff member snapped. "Mr. Bai’s orders—this song gets shelved, just like your treatment. Don’t you get it?"
Luo Yin remained unfazed, but his manager exploded. "What did you just say? What do you mean ‘just like his treatment’? Looking for a fight?"
The staff stood their ground. "I said, orders from above. Need it spelled out?"
"We don’t need the song! But that other comment—I won’t let it slide!"
As the two nearly came to blows in the recording studio hallway, Luo Yin stepped between them.
His sharp jawline and icy demeanor radiated unapproachability. Though he didn’t seem imposing at first glance, his height—over 185 cm—and long limbs made him an intimidating presence.
The standoff froze the scene.
"Is this the song?" a voice suddenly asked.
Another voice answered reluctantly, "Probably…"
Luo Yin looked up, lips pressed thin. "Director Qin. Mr. Bai."
Mr. Bai ignored him, but Director Qin stepped forward, took the sheet music, and glanced at it. "You want to use this?"
Luo Yin nodded without hesitation.
"Then sing it well. Don’t worry about funding—the company will cover it." Director Qin’s decisive reply surprised Luo Yin. Then, half-joking, he added, "But if you ruin her song, you’ll have trouble on your hands."
"Director Qin," the manager whispered curiously, "who’s the composer?"
Director Qin, who didn’t actually know, replied mysteriously, "That’s classified."
Li Ye, who had arrived unnoticed, exhaled a puff of smoke and chuckled. "I’ve already claimed that song."
Luo Yin’s gaze sharpened like a wolf’s as it locked onto Li Ye.
"But," Li Ye flicked ash off his cigarette, leisurely adding, "you’re not out of options. For example… try reaching out to your fan club."
...
Yu Qianshan didn’t make it in time.
Not only did he miss seeing Zhong Ziyan, but he also failed to save her song—thankfully, Director Qin handled the latter, letting Yu Qianshan breathe a sigh of relief.
Next up: preparing for the evening’s celebration banquet.
Though billed as Hou Tu Entertainment’s victory party, it was really more of a welcome for Yu Qianshan’s visit, with the Bai family scrambling to flatter him.
Yu Qianshan cautiously checked with Fang Nan to see if Wei Hanyun might attend. After waiting half the day, he finally received Fang Nan’s call relaying the refusal—just as work hours ended.
But Yu Qianshan wasn’t one to waste an opportunity. He quickly asked, "If Uncle has time now, could I drop by for a visit? I can brief him on this morning’s developments."
Fang Nan said, "Hold on," and the line went silent.
Yu Qianshan knew the truth: Wei Hanyun was right beside Fang Nan.
Yet even as an outsider to the Wei family, Yu Qianshan understood that very few people—even those with the Wei surname—had direct access to Wei Hanyun’s private line.
Soon, Fang Nan’s voice returned. "Second Young Master Yu, the boss says if you have time before the banquet, you may come to Tingshan."
"I’ll leave now." Yu Qianshan grabbed his suit jacket and rushed out.
Bai Ling’s second son trailed behind, confused. "Second Young Master Yu is making a detour?"
Yu Qianshan smirked. "Just visiting family. Might be late to the banquet."
Bai Ling’s eldest brother had the skills to build Hou Tu Entertainment, but his younger brother was hopeless.
"Got it," Bai Ling’s second son thumped his chest. "We’ll see you at the banquet, then. I’ll pick up my brother, sister-in-law, and niece."
Yu Qianshan nodded to Director Qin and drove himself to Tingshan’s affluent district.
Security at the gate seemed pre-informed, waving him through after checking his license plate and even giving directions—his first time here.
Despite growing up in luxury, Yu Qianshan felt a twinge of unease entering Tingshan.
This wasn’t just a place for the wealthy. The elderly strolling the cobblestone paths might’ve been regulars on national news decades ago.
Following the signs, Yu Qianshan found Wei Hanyun’s residence. He straightened his clothes solemnly before stepping out of the car—
A cart piled high with packages whizzed past him like a gust of wind.
Yu Qianshan jerked back in shock.
The stack of boxes on the cart towered over the person pushing it, easily numbering in the dozens.
From behind the parcels came an apologetic voice. "Sorry, didn’t realize you’d startle so easily."
Yu Qianshan forced a smile. "No problem."
"You delivering packages too?" The cart stopped by the garden, and a clear female voice asked, "By car?"
Yu Qianshan—a domineering CEO and big shot in the entertainment industry—stammered, "No, I’m here for a visit."
"Oh," Zhong Ziyan, who had just stepped out to throw away a pile of delivery boxes, suddenly understood. "You’re Wei Hanyun’s nephew."
She patted her hands clean and emerged from behind the fortress of cardboard boxes.
Yu Qianshan was momentarily stunned.
Even as the head of an entertainment company, he didn’t get to see divine-level beauty every day—let alone the fact that such beauty was already as rare as phoenix feathers in this world.
Zhong Ziyan had already reached the doorway when she noticed Yu Qianshan still staring at her in a daze. "...Aren’t you coming in?"
Yu Qianshan snapped out of it and hurried after her, his usually sharp mind now flooded with questions: Who was this woman who so casually lived in Wei Hanyun’s house, wore loungewear while taking out the trash, and even called Wei Hanyun by his full name without hesitation???
Zhong Ziyan slipped into a pair of indoor shoes at the entrance. "Come in. Old—ahem, I mean, Wei Hanyun is in the living room."
Yu Qianshan’s mind short-circuited: Old what? Old… husband?
The butler waiting nearby smiled at Yu Qianshan. "Please follow me."
Though Yu Qianshan mechanically followed the butler, his gaze involuntarily trailed after Zhong Ziyan, who had headed off in another direction.
Wei Hanyun sat on the black sofa in the living room, a silver laptop beside him and a tablet in hand, seemingly playing something.
"Uncle," Yu Qianshan greeted respectfully.
"Sit," Wei Hanyun gestured.
Yu Qianshan perched on the edge of the seat, barely daring to settle in fully. He licked his lips and exchanged a few polite words, forcibly suppressing the burning question about Zhong Ziyan’s identity.
After the small talk, Yu Qianshan recounted the incident that had happened earlier at Houtu Entertainment.
"Has the issue with the song been resolved?" Wei Hanyun asked once he finished.
"It won’t happen again," Yu Qianshan vowed solemnly, practically raising his hand to swear.
"Wei Hanyun," Zhong Ziyan’s voice suddenly cut in, "is Yu Qianshan staying for dinner?"
Yu Qianshan whipped his head around in shock at the audacity of interrupting their conversation—only to see Zhong Ziyan wearing an apron and brandishing a spatula like a proper homemaker.
But since when did Wei Hanyun’s residence lack a private chef?
Wait.
A new thought struck Yu Qianshan: Maybe she was the new chef.
"What’s wrong?" Wei Hanyun asked patiently, his tone gentle. "Are you hungry? Didn’t you eat enough at lunch?"
Zhong Ziyan: "..."
It was a little embarrassing. After returning home, Wei Hanyun had subjected her to a lecture on "stop being stingy with small expenses—how else will you ever spend enough?"
Clearly, her sneaky trip to the food court for a midday snack hadn’t gone unnoticed.
※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※
As for the matter of things being long or short—well, if one day’s longer, the next is naturally shorter. (Exhales smoke)
