Shen Zhaoyi looked like her, but her aura was completely different. She was gentle and restrained; the flamboyant beauty and girlishness in her genes had transformed into subtlety and steadiness.
She walked over, snuffed out her cigarette, and said, “Why don’t you move out? If you don’t want to live with me, I can find another place for you—a villa or a large flat, whichever you prefer.”
“As for him, I’ll think of a way.”
This wasn’t the first time Shen Zhaoyi had made such a proposal. Song Miao’s emotions flared at once, her gaze filled with reproach and bewilderment. “Why should I leave? I won’t go. Unless I get what belongs to us, I’d rather die here.”
Shen Zhaoyi was silent for a moment, then replied calmly, “Even if you die here, he won’t give it to you.”
“Then we’ll take it ourselves.” Song Miao gripped her daughter’s hand tightly. “Baby, Mama only has you. You mustn’t let me down.”
Shen Zhaoyi opened her mouth but said nothing as she looked at the woman before her.
Song Miao still couldn’t swallow this indignity. In her prime, she had been dazzling, sought after, her name renowned throughout Jing City.
Back then, Jing City was full of strong-featured beauties, yet Song Miao was like a lotus from Jiangnan. In the arena of fame and fortune, men flocked to her like wolves catching the scent of honey.
But to them, she was merely a jewel on the cuff—an emblem of wealth and power, something to play with but never to bring home.
Something to pass from hand to hand, but never to keep.
And when the music stopped, the flower landed in Shen Renxin’s hands. No matter how beautiful, she became a laughingstock.
So did Shen Zhaoyi, who was never truly acknowledged. She underwent five paternity tests before Shen Renxin, forced by public gossip, finally brought her back to the Shen residence.
For so many years, Shen Zhaoyi had been biding her time, waiting for the day she could finally escape this cage and step openly into that other world.
Freedom—so quiet, so luxurious—was her lifelong dream.
But her mother, Song Miao, wanted more. Money, fame, power—and even a return to her glory days.
Shen Zhaoyi knew she couldn’t give her that. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to abandon Song Miao in pursuit of freedom alone.
After all, when she was fifteen, burning with a high fever, it was Song Miao who had stormed into the psychiatric hospital with a knife to drag her out.
Did Song Miao love her?
Not deeply, perhaps. But there was a little love, wasn’t there?
Not much. Yet that little bit was the only love Shen Zhaoyi had left in this world. Precious, and worth cherishing.
After a long silence, she asked softly, “How much money do you want? I can earn it.”
Song Miao scoffed. “And how much can you earn?”
Then she leaned closer, her tone suddenly conspiratorial. “Baby, Zhou Jian has been asking me out lately.”
Shen Zhaoyi stiffened, her brow twitching. “Don’t go,” she said sternly.
Song Miao, as if to prove she was still attractive, gave a coy smile. Shen Zhaoyi frowned. “You can’t. He has a family. He’s not sincere with you.”
But Song Miao only looked unconcerned. Shen Zhaoyi pressed on patiently: “Renxin’s board is about to change hands. He only wants to use you to pry out inside information, to increase his shares.” Zhou Jian had once followed Shen Renxin in building the company from scratch.
Song Miao had always been beautiful, but foolish. Beauty untempered by wisdom often brings ruin. She pouted. “I’m not sincere either. It’s just a little fun to spice up my boring life.”
“It’s only dinner. Maybe I can help you get into Renxin.”
“That’s even less necessary,” Shen Zhaoyi said firmly. “I’m not going into Renxin. I have my own work to do.”
Song Miao grew irritable. “And what work is that? You idle around all day, aimless! Just the other day, Zheng Hao held a banquet to celebrate his promotion to general manager. You’ve graduated for years, yet you haven’t even stepped foot into a branch office. Mama worries herself sick, lies awake at night thinking about you.”
Zheng Hao was the nephew of Zheng Xin from the second branch. Renxin had once been ruled solely by Shen Renxin, but after several surgeries, his grip weakened. Power was divided, mainly between the first wife Jiang Liu and the third wife Xia Yu.
The second branch, through Zheng Xin’s alliance with Jiang Liu, secured a share. None of the families liked the young, beautiful, and obscure Song Miao, so they united to suppress her.
Within Renxin, the Shen heirs and illegitimate children fought bitterly for power. Only Shen Zhaoyi kept herself out of the fray.
She never told Song Miao the truth; otherwise, the assets would quickly vanish at a casino table.
Zhaoyi tidied her mother’s messy jewelry box, cleaned out the cigarette butts from the ashtray, and opened the window for fresh air.
“You don’t have to worry about me. Just take care of yourself.”
A knock came at the door. “Fourth Madam, Master invites you to dinner.”
Mother and daughter exchanged glances. “All right,” Shen Zhaoyi answered.
When they went down, the meal had already begun.
Shen Zhaoyi took the most inconspicuous seat at the end of the table.
Around the round table, the scene resembled The Last Supper—somber, each lightning strike from the fading typhoon briefly illuminating the expressions on every face.
Each harbored their own schemes, yet their conversation was filled with laughter, touching on nothing but Jing City’s latest politics, economy, stocks, and horse racing—flattering one another while secretly competing.
The younger generation, almost all of whom had studied abroad, returned straight into positions at Renxin. Years ago, Shen Zhaoyi’s offers had been even better than many of theirs, but she had stayed behind to attend Jing University.
Later, though eligible for a graduate recommendation, she didn’t pursue it. By her third year, she knew she had no time for academia—she had to step quickly from the ivory tower into the world of profit.
Her peers spoke confidently to Shen Renxin about various company projects, each eager to display their talents. The second and third wives basked in pride, while Song Miao’s face darkened.
Shen Zhaoyi ate calmly, untouched by the struggle over the Shen family’s pie. In fact, she feared being tainted by it.
The economy was faltering. Jing City’s construction and urban expansion had slowed. Land approvals were far less lenient than before. The once-thriving real estate industry teetered on the brink of saturation. Renxin, clinging to its traditional industries, expanded land holdings as if drinking poison to quench thirst. With its outdated family management, it never considered industrial transformation. For their projects not to collapse would already be divine mercy.
Upon graduating from Jing University, Shen Zhaoyi set her sights on a field few had touched—energy technology. In an economy that changed with the wind, she believed the future belonged to those who seized that ground.
And she had been right.
While graduates from top overseas universities were laid off en masse by investment banks and real estate firms, Shen Zhaoyi, who stayed in Jing, founded Future Tech—a company of modest scale but significant valuation.
Small as it was, the profits were high. Shen Zhaoyi insisted on registering as a silent partner. Her fellow co-founders joked that she was playing the pig to eat the tiger, quietly making a fortune.
