Today was Xiang Man's birthday.
She never made a fuss about birthdays, but Jiang Chen had stumbled upon her employee file and tucked away the date in his memory. When Xiang Man insisted she didn't want presents, Jiang Chen proposed hot pot instead.
"Let's go," he'd said. "I can still use my student discount—it's half off late at night. Dirt cheap."
While the spice had Jiang Chen reaching for his beer glass, Xiang Man sat unfazed, her complexion calm and steady.
She swept a stray lock of hair from her face and peered into the car, studying the man behind the wheel. Without a moment's pause, she stepped forward and pulled open the door.
Her boldness caught Shen Weiqing by surprise. He watched as she settled into the passenger seat, clicked her seatbelt into place, and balanced the cake box on her lap. The sharp aroma of hot pot clung to her clothes, cutting through the winter air from the street. Shen Weiqing's nose wrinkled before he could stop himself.
"Where do you live?"
The car was fresh from the dealership—she was the first to occupy that passenger seat.
She named a development beyond the Fifth Ring Road, marketed as "Asia's largest residential complex." Even Shen Weiqing, who called Shanghai home, knew of it. It was where countless Beijing newcomers landed, though Xiang Man had made it her home for nearly four years now.
She didn't bother with polite questions about whether it was out of his way. There was something almost detached about her composure. After he'd punched the address into his navigation system, she broke the silence:
"You have something to tell me, don't you?"
A laugh escaped Shen Weiqing.
"You figured that out?"
"You don't strike me as someone who offers rides to strangers out of kindness."
There it was—her razor-sharp instinct.
Xiang Man had always been perceptive about people. She'd picked up on Shen Weiqing's dislike from their first encounter. Not that his opinion mattered to her—as she'd said, they were nothing more than strangers to each other.
Shen Weiqing drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, his sleek silver watch catching the light.
Her directness caught him off guard, forcing him to reconsider his initial impression. Maybe she wasn't as obtuse as he'd thought.
After a pause, he asked, "Living that far out—is the commute manageable?"
"It works out. I take the subway, and there are buses for late shifts."
"When do you start work?"
"We rotate. Either seven to two, or two to nine."
"No weekends?"
"One day off each month. We have to swap shifts ahead of time if we want different days."
It sounded grueling.
But Shen Weiqing felt no particular sympathy. Everyone's life was hard unless they were living off someone else. His own schedule was brutal.
At a stoplight, his eyes drifted to the half-eaten fruit cake in its box on her lap. Her unrefined hands held the ribbon. He pressed on:
"What about your massage experience? How long have you been doing it?"
He hadn't meant to make her uncomfortable, but Xiang Man's reaction shifted the mood. She pulled her sleeves down over her hands, leaving just her fingertips visible. For the first time since they'd met, her blank face betrayed a flicker of feeling.
"My family runs a massage clinic. I grew up doing it."
Shen Weiqing looked away.
Her story lined up with what his grandmother had told him—about Xiang Man's parents and their clinic back home. She wasn't highly educated. After vocational school in her hometown, she'd attended a lesser-known traditional medicine college in a 3+2 program. Then she'd moved to Beijing.
His grandmother had called her a good girl—modest, genuine, hard-working. Despite being an only child whose parents doted on her, she'd chosen to make her own way rather than coast along comfortably at home.
Sweet, charming, pretty—that's how his grandmother had described her.
Shen Weiqing wasn't seeing most of those qualities.
Xiang Man sat straight in her seat, gazing out the window. Her long black hair was pulled back in a simple tie, and the street lights played across her face. Her thinness made her features stand out, almost severe.
"How long have you been in Beijing?"
Shen Weiqing posed the question, testing her supposedly "good nature." But Xiang Man turned to face him, her dark eyes direct.
"If you have something to say, just say it. No need for tests. I've known Grandma Wang for years—there's nothing questionable about that."
"No need to circle around it."
Caught out.
Shen Weiqing lifted his eyebrows but kept quiet.
They drove through an intersection in silence. At the next red light, he reached into the armrest, pulled out his license, and dropped it onto the cake box in her lap.
"My ID," he said.
Xiang Man looked at the photo. The man pictured looked as proper as his name suggested, but the one beside her seemed rougher, more casual. His eyes always held that hint of superiority, especially when he looked right at her—the kind of look that made people squirm.
Xiang Man knew that look well. Working in sales, she'd dealt with plenty of difficult customers. But Shen Weiqing's arrogance was subtle—he wasn't harsh or openly distant. He just had this effortless way of drawing lines, like it was second nature.
"His father spoiled him—such a rich kid," Grandma Wang had said once.
Unaware of her thoughts, Shen Weiqing gave her the basics: Shanghai native, art student turned industrial designer. These days, he ran his own high-end home goods brand, obsessing over aesthetics and tiny details.
"A designer?" Xiang Man summed it up.
Shen Weiqing raised an eyebrow. "Yes." He added, "Sorry about earlier. It's just—my grandmother lives alone, without anyone close by. Since she trusts you, I needed to ask some questions. Fair's fair though—you can ask me anything too."
Xiang Man had no interest and nothing to ask.
Shen Weiqing went on, "I wanted to talk because I need your help. Could you keep me updated on how my grandmother's doing? And if she needs anything significant, could you step in?"
"I'd pay you monthly for this, of course."
Xiang Man shook her head. "Don't need payment. If Grandma Wang needs help, I'll do it—I already do."
Shen Weiqing tried reasoning with her, but her gaze remained steady, almost confrontational.
"Running my business taught me something," he said.
"What's that?"
"Favors are the most expensive currency there is. If money can fix something, don't owe anyone favors."
Xiang Man's brow creased.
Shen Weiqing took back his earlier reassessment. She was still too naive.
After a moment, he said flatly, "If you won't take my money, I can't trust you'll do your best. Payment gives me peace of mind. Get it?"
He remembered his grandmother mentioning buying medicine from Xiang Man and let out a short laugh. "How about this—I'll buy something from your pharmacy instead. What gives you the best commission?"
Xiang Man thought it over and asked, "Do designers spend a lot of time sitting?"
Shen Weiqing nodded.
"We have this neck massager on sale. Multiple settings, low-frequency pulses for circulation, deep-tissue massage, infrared heat, magnetic therapy—"
She launched into her sales pitch.
Shen Weiqing cut her off with a wave. "How much?"
"Regular price is 4,999 yuan, but it's on sale for 3,999. Comes with extras, like—"
"What's your commission?"
Xiang Man pressed her lips together, silent.
Shen Weiqing laughed again. "Okay, tell me how many I should buy."
"Ten?"
She'd meant to say five. Five units would meet her monthly quota and earn enough commission to replace her old secondhand laptop. But then she remembered her manager's advice: always gauge what a customer can spend, especially with non-medical products.
Shen Weiqing looked wealthy—from his car to his watch. Even in that cramped alley with its plastic sheets and clutter, he stood out like he didn't belong.
She never would have guessed that Grandma Wang, who lived so modestly, had such a well-off grandson.
"Fine," Shen Weiqing said. "I'll still pay you monthly for looking after her. I know it's not easy."
"The money isn't needed," Xiang Man shifted in her seat. "Grandma Wang's good to me, and it's no trouble."
Shen Weiqing gave up arguing over it.
After a bit, he asked, "Why'd you pick this job?"
"?"
"Sales," he clarified. "Ever think maybe it's not right for you?"
To him, Xiang Man was too easy to read. For someone who'd worked in sales for years, she was oddly transparent. Even with her cool manner and blank expression, he could see right through her.
People like that didn't make much money.
Especially at some tiny pharmacy in a back alley. If she had to sell his kind of products—5,000-yuan hangers or 100,000-yuan dining sets—she'd crash and burn.
"My education's limited, so I don't have many options," Xiang Man said.
The career topic got her talking a bit more, though still just a sentence or two. She turned to Shen Weiqing. "Why don't you think I'm suited for it?"
Her manager had said the same thing, even after years on the job.
Shen Weiqing hesitated to answer but couldn't dodge her direct stare.
Her eyes matched her personality—clear and direct, without pretense. When she looked at someone, it was unnerving.
"Because sales is for clever people," he said simply.
The car stopped where the GPS indicated.
The complex was huge, with entrances everywhere. Shen Weiqing thought about driving her closer to her building, but Xiang Man was already reaching for the door.
She didn't answer his last comment. She just opened the door, holding the cake box steady.
"Thanks," she said.
"Though professional skills can be learned," Shen Weiqing added with a smile. He didn't realize how that smile looked—condescending and mocking, even if he hadn't meant it that way.
Xiang Man had already shut the door and taken a few steps when she turned back.
She bent down and knocked on his window. When it lowered, she looked at him and said, "As a professional, I should give you some advice."
"?"
"Six months ago, you got scratched by a dog on your neck. You should get a rabies shot," she said with complete seriousness, like she was offering genuine help. "And tetanus too. Tetanus can kill you, so be careful."
Then she walked away.
Shen Weiqing touched his neck, letting out a dry laugh.
Six months had passed. If something was wrong, he'd have been in the ground with grass growing over him by now.
So even blank paper could have edges sharp enough to cut.
Shen Weiqing watched her go.
Two big red lanterns hung at the neighborhood entrance for National Day, swinging in the breeze. She walked between them, sidestepping a delivery driver, turning slightly to let him pass. She rounded a corner and vanished into the shadows of the buildings.
Shen Weiqing, raised on art since childhood, had always loved beautiful things—especially the soft, subtle, and gentle kind.
But tonight, he suddenly understood the power of bold beauty, where grand backdrops set the scene and raw emotion added the finishing touch.
Like those red lanterns.
Like the autumn wind stirring fallen leaves.
And like Xiang Man's rigid shoulders and straight back.
Interesting.
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