Shang Chi glanced at his wristwatch—it was precisely 3:30.
Without delay, he strode purposefully toward the plush sofa seats at the far end of the room.
He made no effort to muffle his footsteps; the soles of his leather shoes clicked softly against the tile floor.
In his line of sight, the girl paused mid-motion as she set down her porcelain cup. Slowly, she lifted her head and looked in his direction.
Closer now, he could see her more clearly.
Her small face was fair and delicate, with slender, graceful brows. Her almond-shaped eyes were like water, her amber pupils resembling a deep pool reflecting the moon.
Only... her gaze was empty and unfocused.
Shang Chi abruptly halted, coming to a stop beside the table.
His brows knitted tightly together.
He thought, almost incredulous, Could she have found him... a little blind girl?
Shang Chi remained silent. The seated girl blinked in confusion, hesitating before tentatively murmuring, "Mr. Shang?"
Her voice was clear and soft, like a cool autumn breeze.
Shang Chi discreetly studied her once more, then lowered his long lashes and sat down on the plush sofa opposite her. He gave a low hum. "Hello, I'm Shang Chi."
The words fell, and the girl froze as if hearing something unimaginable. Her gaze froze, her lips parting slightly.
Her chest rose and fell slightly, and the fingers resting on the table edge trembled uncontrollably.
Unfortunately, the waiter arrived with the menu just then. Shang Chi turned his head to take it, casually ordering a latte, missing this scene.
When he looked back, the girl had regained her composure.
She pressed her trembling fingertips into her palms, her voice soft: "Hello, Mr. Shang. I'm Mingzhu."
Shang Chi silently repeated her name. After speaking, Mingzhu lifted the porcelain cup again, sipping the latte in small, hesitant sips, looking slightly at a loss.
Her thin eyelids held a faint pink flush, moist and dewy, like petals caressed by fingertips.
The barista brought over an iced latte.
Shang Chi averted his gaze, lifted his cup, and took a sip.
The cool, silky liquid rolled down his throat as ice cubes clinked softly against the surface.
Shang Chi set the cup down, his expression weary and detached.
Though startled by Ming Zhuo's eye condition, it didn't sway his original intention to decline.
He spoke: "Miss Ming, are you aware of my specific circumstances?"
Ming Zhuo held the porcelain cup and shook her head.
"Aunt He only mentioned your age. Nothing else."
Shang Chi had guessed as much.
As their conglomerate expanded and grew stronger, friction with other companies was inevitable.
As the saying goes, a wise man doesn't stand under a crumbling wall, and one shouldn't flaunt wealth—especially after an incident where a desperate criminal attempted to ram into a Shang family vehicle. Outside, He Yin rarely mentioned her true identity.
He Yin's public persona was—an auntie with a bit of money.
With this in mind, Shang Chi leaned back slightly, his expression unchanged as he began to spin a tale.
"Let me briefly explain my situation."
"I currently work at Yueshen Group, but I'm just a contract worker. My salary isn't high—maybe five or six thousand a month."
Low enough, right?
Recalling the gossip he'd overheard in the break room, Shang Chi continued his fabrication.
"I saved a little over the years I've been working. Not long ago, I bought a commuter car, which pretty much drained my savings. I don't have much left now."
"I have a pretty heavy smoking habit—a pack a day—and I drink occasionally for business dinners."
Not true.
"But I don't gamble or play cards—that's a plus."
That part was true.
"I hope my future wife is gentle and family-oriented. I can hand over my salary, but she'll need to give me an allowance each month. When I come home from business dinners, I want someone to take care of me."
Shang Chi paused, watching Ming Zhu listen intently. He rubbed his nose with his finger.
He was being so brazen.
Yet when that male colleague in the break room said something similar, the others inside mocked him—
"Yeah, right. You smoke and drink, but you're a good boy."
"I get it—hand over your salary. But then your wife wants five thousand to cover all household expenses and raise a kid? What? Money's tight? Must've blown it all on her extravagant spending!"
"Wow, doing laundry, cooking, housework, taking care of the kids, and now looking after you too? Just curious—how much are you paying your live-in nanny who moonlights as a tutor? Friendly reminder: decent nannies these days make tens of thousands a month. You wouldn't be paying her nothing, would you? Just spouting empty 'I love you's' to your wife?"
Comments like these pushed the male colleague over the edge.
Why didn't Mingzhu feel the slightest bit angry?
Shang Chi's silence was taken as the end of the conversation.
Ming Zhuo curled her fingertips and spoke softly: "I mainly take on freelance work right now. Occasionally, I accompany my teacher on business trips to other cities for guqin performances."
"As for my family situation, I currently live alone. My father remarried, and my mother left me an inheritance—a fixed-term deposit in the bank. The monthly interest covers my daily expenses."
Shang Chi felt another frown rising.
He tapped his fingers on the table, unable to hold back. "Miss Ming, you really didn't need to share such detailed personal information."
He offered an example: "People are unpredictable. Take that recent news case—a gang specifically targeted singles through dating apps to scam them out of money and emotions."
Shang Chi was being quite tactful.
To be more specific, scams targeting people with disabilities have never been uncommon.
"..."
Ming Zhuo lowered her long lashes, her voice a mix of a sigh and a smile. "You wouldn't."
Her voice was too soft for Shang Chi to hear clearly. He instinctively asked, "What?"
Ming Zhuo hummed in response, replying naturally, "You're Aunt He's son. You probably wouldn't."
Shang Chi's gaze swept over her slender, solitary wrist. He clicked his tongue, grumbling, "Or maybe we're teaming up to trick you."
Ming Zhu's eyes curved into a smile.
When she didn't smile, her features remained soft and delicate—a faint trace of gentle sorrow lingering at her brow, her fair, petite face seeming to carry a thin veil of frailty.
But when she smiled, her almond eyes sparkled, and dimples appeared at the corners of her cheeks, sweet enough to melt anyone's heart.
Shang Chi felt inexplicably uncomfortable.
He picked up his latte again and gulped down a mouthful of icy coffee.
He hadn't rested properly these past few days, and now he was chugging iced coffee right after landing. Shang Chi felt his temples throbbing. He rubbed his swollen forehead with his fingers and decided to end this unexpected meeting immediately.
"Miss Ming, I'm truly sorry, but I have no plans for romance or marriage at the moment."
Shang Chi chose direct honesty. "This meeting was arranged by my mother without my knowledge. I only found out about it recently."
Not long ago—meaning just minutes prior.
Shang Chi felt he'd been sufficiently polite.
Ming Zhu paused.
She spoke slowly, "I understand. Actually, at first, I only wanted to avoid disappointing Aunt He."
Those honey-colored amber eyes followed the direction of her voice, fixing precisely on him.
Ming Zhe said, "I'll explain everything to Aunt He when I return."
The dimples vanished.
Shang Chi felt an inexplicable pang of reluctance.
I can't shake the feeling I've done something utterly reckless.
But when it comes to blind dates, you can't be half-hearted or procrastinate. If you don't want to accept, you have to give the other person a clear answer.
Shang Chi composed himself and asked softly, "Shall I walk Miss Ming home?"
Ming Zhu shook her head with a light laugh, declining.
"Thank you, Mr. Shang. But I have other plans later, and I know my way around here. I won't trouble you."
Shang Chi furrowed his brows and murmured a low "Mhm."
He waved to the waiter, settled the bill, and stood up. Hesitating, he glanced back at Ming Zhe.
As if sensing his gaze, the girl lifted her eyes slightly, her focus unfocused as it drifted into the air. Rising to her feet, she suddenly extended her hand and curved her lips in farewell. "Mr. Shang, goodbye."
Her hand, suspended mid-air, was politely grasped by a warm, slender one.
That fleeting warmth touched and vanished.
Shang Chi: "Goodbye."
He turned and walked away.
The crisp, forest-after-rain scent that had faintly filled the air since his arrival faded completely into the distance.
Ming Zhuo stood still for a moment, slowly withdrawing her hand.
During that brief touch, her thumb had brushed the hollow of his right hand, finding a small, faint mole.
Her lips curved suddenly, and she smiled softly, eyes lowered.
She sat back down, cupping the now-cooling latte in both hands, quietly sipping the last drop.
Only then did she rise, unfolding her folded white cane.
The young waitress had been watching them. Seeing Mingzhu rise, she scurried over, cheerfully escorting her to the door.
Mingzhu stood by the roadside and hailed a taxi.
The driver asked, "Where to?"
Mingzhuo traced the pattern on her cane's handle and murmured softly, "North City Cemetery."
The taxi pulled away.
Mingzhuo turned her face toward the sun streaming through the warm, glowing window. With a sigh of release, her lips moved once more to whisper goodbye.
Barring any unexpected events, this would likely be their final meeting.