Fang Yuqing didn't blush for long. Pride was a theatrical thing—easy to don, easy to shed when hunger pressed. She told herself Zhang was playing hard to get; he had to be. With a coquettish trill she said, "I did that for your own good! Come on, Brother Zhang Yi, don't be so petty. I'll apologize right now." She bit her lip and added, saucily, "I'll even give you a leg and shoulder massage."
Zhang inwardly groaned. In this weather, her coy act was absurdly convincing — Oscar material. But he had immunity now. Two years of worship and one death later, the filter was gone.
"That's inappropriate," he said, face level and blunt. "We're not dating. I can't accept that. I'm a traditional man."
Fang's mask snapped. Fury flared — she'd offered herself and met pretended virtue. Maybe she hadn't been obvious enough. Ignoring Lin, she pressed on: "Brother Zhang Yi, I've always had feelings for you. We could be a couple—affection grows over time." She covered her face, bathing in practiced embarrassment. "How explicit do you want me to be?"
The performance was immaculate; back in the old life, Zhang would have opened his door without a second thought. Green-tea, white-lotus — these were professional moves, honed for years.
But Zhang counted differently now. Letting Fang in carried risk; revenge could wait. Survival mattered more than one night of petty pleasure. He let out a cold laugh and stripped the act away. "Are you misunderstanding something? We got along before, but do you really think I like you?"
For Fang, the blow landed like ice. She'd kept him as a backup—an insurance policy for the future. Now the backup was mocking her. Lin Caining stifled a smile.
"You used to adore me!" Fang cried.
"You're pretty," Zhang said, mercilessly honest, "but I never wanted a relationship — just fun. With what I have, finding a girlfriend is easy. Where does that confidence come from, that I pursued you?" He named the facts that cut: local hukou, a house, savings, a steady job. His tone was clinical, surgical.
Humiliation washed over Fang. Pride stung worse than hunger. "Zhang Yi! You're going too far!" she snapped.
He pushed. "Stop playing innocent. You're a gold digger. You flit from rich kid to rich kid. They call you a bus behind your back." He didn't hold back.
Fang paled. Rage and shame trembled across her face — she'd never been humiliated like this, especially not by a man she'd viewed as a simp.
"This is on you!" Zhang said, final. "You did this to yourself — you're two-faced."
Her fury rose into a howl. He cut the line before she could spit back anything worse. The screen went black.
Silence settled. Zhang leaned back and let the quiet cool him. He'd slapped the mask off her — not with a hand but with truth. In a world that had stripped people down to survival, exposure was cruelty and power at once.