Shang Group's conference room—tense,Suppression.
Executives sat rigid, fearing the lazy, icy man at the head.
Near Off work,yet he called a meeting—rage palpable.
WeChat notifications—everyone flinched, thinking: "Who's suicidal?"
Turns out—Shang Chi's phone.
He glanced, then froze—eyes narrowing, posture straightening.
The presenter panicked—stuttered, sweating.
Shang Chi ignored him, opening WeChat.
Wife: "Business event tonight?" → Recalled, then: "Free?"
His fingers tapped the screen.
Shang Chi: "There is something.?"
Wife: "Dinner—if free, I'll tell Grandpa."
Shang Chi: "Address."
Wife: "[Location]."
Wife: "Tell Grandpa—dine out."
Shang Chi: "Ok."
He stood—presenter dropped the report, "thud" echoing.
Everyone: Doomed—Africa branch awaits.
Shang Chi: "The meeting is adjourned.."
Striding out—urgent, excited.
Jiang Zhi chose a Cantonese restaurant—knew his preferences, but worried.
Arrived early—ordered lemonade, his usual iced water.
Shang Chi entered, sipped the iced water—mood good, likely due to the scandal's "model."
Jiang Zhi's chest tightened—ignored it, blaming indigestion.
She handed him the menu. "Order—Cantonese is good, but… your taste?"
He lounged, spinning a silver ring. "You order."
She did—no talk before meals.
Post-meal, dabbing her mouth, he asked, "Why dinner?"
She set the napkin down. "Thank you—helping me escape Jiang Qinian."
He raised a brow—pleased.
He sipped iced water. "We're married—legal duty to help. No need to thank."
She understood—husbandly responsibility, nothing more.
He pressed, "Anything else?"
She met his gaze—negotiation mode.
"I want freedom—you've reunited with your White Moonlight. After IVF, we divorce. Pretend loving in front of Grandpa till he dies."
His face darkened—word by word, anger brewing.
By the end, he was seething—fists clenched, veins throbbing.
Not a single desired word—only her indifference, no attachment.
He leaned in, voice hoarse. "Jiang Zhi—think you're a breeding tool?"