Whenever his daughter acts spoiled, that guy Zhang Mingsheng agrees to let her skip kindergarten.
Today’s breakfast was a mess, and I lost my temper. But really, all I did was call my daughter by her full name, and the instant I said the three characters “Zhang Yike,” her tears came pouring out as if they had been stored up for three hundred years.
Her older brother, Zhang Xiaoyuan, a third grader, was throwing some unknown tantrums. He hadn’t spoken a single word since morning, just sitting at the far end of the dining table with his rice bowl, acting as if he was deliberately keeping a clear distance between himself and everyone else.
It’s only after becoming a parent that you realize how hard your own parents must have had it. Unfortunately, I’m an orphan, so all I can do is quietly thank the teachers and nannies who took care of me back in the orphanage in my heart.
I took a deep breath, trying to soften my voice as much as possible, and slightly bent down, just about to meet her eyes; which were squeezed into two crescents (I knew she was peeking at me), when Zhang Mingsheng, who was still in his suit and tie, turned back and swept our daughter into his arms.
This guy is thirty-five this year. Apart from dressing more soberly and styling his hair in a slick-back manner, he looks no different from when I first met him; his features are still handsome and neat, and his voice remains gentle and pleasant. He possesses every piece of “hardware” required to play the role of a good father.
The moment he reached the door and heard our daughter’s crying, he turned back without hesitation, leaving his driver and assistant waiting outside. Faced with such a performance, even I was left speechless.
Zhang Mingsheng lowered his head, gently rubbing his nose against the little girl’s cheek, and asked with a smile, “Bb, why are you crying? Did Mommy upset you again?”
Keke hugged her father’s neck and nodded emphatically.
“If you don’t want to go, then don’t, Daddy has the final say.” Zhang Mingsheng said as he shifted her into one arm, freeing the other hand to brush the stray hair away from her forehead.
I was rolling my eyes so hard they nearly hit the ceiling in my mind. My tone soured as I spoke, “Last month when we went to Japan, we didn’t come back until the third. After that she rested for another two weeks. She hasn’t gone to kindergarten for a whole month…”
“Mommy is getting angry; Mommy is a chatterbox.” Zhang Mingsheng said, not even glancing at me. He kept smiling, his voice light and singsong, as if humming a tune just to keep their daughter happy.
“Aiyo, Madam, maybe we shouldn’t send her to kindergarten today,” Aunt Liu said as she walked over with a worried expression before handing me the morning newspaper. “Look at this, something this big has happened.”
Aunt Liu is from the South, her voice soft and slightly delicate. She has been working for the Zhang family for twenty years and has long grown used to the clan’s cold, distant, and stern expressions. Now, with Zhang Mingsheng becoming increasingly unpredictable and me not exactly being easy to deal with either, she more or less has to tread carefully every day. But Keke has been lively since she was a baby; full of talk and laughter, and though her body is frail, her spirit is incredibly wild. Aunt Liu beams whenever she sees her and wishes she could give in to her every whim.
“What?” Halfway through my sentence, I took the newspaper and opened it. Just reading the front-page headline was enough to make my expression shift and my heart start pounding. I didn’t dare read the details; I just glanced at the report, folded the paper, and tossed it aside.
I said expressionlessly, “Fine. If she doesn’t want to go, she doesn’t have to.”
Keke seemed frightened by me; she had always been afraid of me like this, and her crying grew louder. She could tell I was unhappy.
I looked up and found Zhang Mingsheng watching me. His eyes were deep as if waiting for me to explain my loss of composure.
I avoided his gaze. Zhang Mingsheng didn’t say anything either, though his smile faded slightly. He handed our daughter to Aunt Liu, then walked over to push my wheelchair. Before leaving the dining table, he picked up the newspaper I had just set down beside my plate and, turning back, reminded Zhang Xiaoyuan, “Don’t you dare secretly throw away your eggs.”
Zhang Mingsheng seemed to have completely forgotten about his meeting as he unhurriedly escorted me back to my room. We spend two-thirds of the year in this villa together, so at most, it can only be called a “home.” As usual, my bedroom is on the top floor; the floor below houses Zhang Mingsheng’s private lounge and study, while the second floor is where the two children and Aunt Liu stay.
Logically speaking, putting someone with mobility issues on the top floor goes against common sense. However, whenever guests come over, they are always moved by Zhang Mingsheng’s explanation: “My wife likes peace and quiet; I can’t stand him being disturbed.” And since the house is equipped with an elevator, no one thinks it’s odd anymore.
The light inside the home elevator was a dim, muted yellow. I said nothing, and Zhang Mingsheng showed no intention of speaking either. The rustle of the newspaper being unfolded reached my ears, and I knew he must have seen that news report as well.
The eldest grandson of jewelry tycoon Zhu Changyong had been kidnapped and murdered. He was only four years old.
I rarely go out, so I shouldn’t have known this child at all. But this spring, when Keke went to kindergarten for the first time, she came back crying. She had left the house perfectly happy, yet returned in tears until she vomited, startling both Zhang Mingsheng and me. I am extremely strict with both children, which has made Keke afraid of me to the point that she won’t even speak to me; yet at that time, even Zhang Mingsheng’s coaxing and comforting embrace had no effect. Zhang Mingsheng’s brows furrowed as he summoned his stern bodyguard, Ah Hai, who was responsible for dropping off and picking up Keke and Xiao Yuan.
Ah Hai looked at me, then at Zhang Mingsheng, and finally said with some embarrassment, “The Young Lady got into a fight with someone at school.”
My heart tightened instantly, and I reached out to check Keke for any injuries. Zhang Mingsheng, however, was beaming. He asked Ah Hai, “Who won?”
Naturally, it was Zhang Yike. Someone had pulled her pigtails during craft class, so she scratched a mark onto the other child’s face. After confirming that Keke was unharmed and hadn’t even lost a single strand of hair, I finally felt relieved. Zhang Mingsheng took the opportunity to hand Keke into my arms and began questioning Ah Hai about the other child’s name and where they lived.
Ah Hai said, “It is Zhu Changyong’s eldest grandson, named Zhu Baojun.”
I don’t know how Zhang Mingsheng handled the matter; afterward, Keke continued attending kindergarten as usual as if nothing had happened. But more than half a year later, this name has reappeared in our lives. “Baojun”—even just from the name, you could tell he was a child dearly cherished at home. Yet now, he had been abandoned out in the wilderness by kidnappers who had gone back on their word.
A chill ran down my spine. Even as doubt crept in, I still tried to reassure myself: however petty or vindictive Zhang Mingsheng might be, he could not possibly be so sinister as to lay a hand on a child.
In the outside world, his reputation has always been impeccable; a prodigal son whose return is valued like gold. Not only is he professional and outstanding in his work, but his private life is also strikingly simple and clean. Coupled with his good looks, everyone describes him as gentle, refined, devoted, and a true family man. He also puts real effort into it; whenever he has time, he takes the whole family on trips, and both children end up being closer to him than to me.
I still remember the first time I went to Keke’s kindergarten. That place was more than five times larger than the orphanage where I used to live. Not to mention the architecture and the teaching staff, they even had ponies and peacocks roaming the grounds. Through my veil, I couldn’t see clearly; I could only make out Andy’s slightly upturned, ruby-red lips, the staff member in charge of receiving guests. She was indifferent toward me, yet exceptionally warm and respectful toward Zhang Mingsheng. Whenever I asked a question, Andy’s replies were perfunctory, her tone carrying a faint, mocking edge. But the moment Mr. Zhang spoke, her demeanor immediately softened, becoming as gentle as a spring breeze.
It’s not surprising. To outsiders, my background remains a mystery; I only barely managed to retain the surname “Yu,” presenting myself as a relative of Zhang Mingsheng’s paternal aunt. In truth, however, my life story is nothing more than a patchwork of fragments as though I had simply materialized out of thin air. Add to that the fact that I never leave the house without sunglasses or a wide-brimmed sun hat to conceal my face, and that I am a cripple who cannot walk. Outside, rumors have taken root that I am hideously disfigured, and even that I keep fifteen “domestic spirits” to cling to the heart of a man as good as Mr. Zhang.
My reputation in high-society circles has always been at rock bottom; no matter what the banquet or social event, I am never invited. Having seen her fair share of celebrities and the wealthy, Andy naturally looked down on me.
Zhang Mingsheng didn’t answer her. Instead, he crouched down and asked me softly, “Laopo[mfn]Wife.[/mfn], what do you think?”
Andy’s lips twitched twice.
See, Zhang Mingsheng is indeed very good at playing the “good guy.” I am the only one who knows his true face.
The elevator reached the fourth floor. Zhang Mingsheng pushed me out, and after a few steps he moved to the front and quietly bent down. Taking the cue, I wrapped my arms around his neck and let him lift me into his arms. The fourth-floor corridors were fully carpeted in soft, light brown material, clearly expensive and maintained with weekly professional cleaning.
As for why carpet would be laid for someone who cannot walk, the polite explanation is that Zhang Mingsheng is worried I might fall; the less charitable one is that he is afraid I might fall while trying to escape.
He carried me steadily toward the bedroom. I closed my eyes, and my thoughts drifted back to the black-and-white photo in the newspaper. Such a small child, perhaps a little mischievous, but he never deserved an ending like that.
I still remember the first time I saw a corpse. I was following my master to investigate a case in a detached apartment where a family of four had been murdered by robbers, their throats slit as they died miserably in their own home. I was twenty-two at the time. When I saw the adults’ bodies, I managed to suppress the urge to vomit. My junior fellow behind me retched twice and bolted out the door. My legs were trembling, my right hand kept pressed against my holster, and cold sweat soaked my back. Even without a mirror, I knew I must have been deathly pale. It wasn’t until I walked into the innermost bedroom and saw two soft child corpses huddled together that I completely broke down.
Master said that as a police officer, it’s better to be tougher. My junior vomited because it was the first time he’d seen such a bloody scene, but my breakdown was because I couldn’t bear the cruelty in my heart. As expected, during subsequent field operations, my junior gradually stopped losing his composure, at most only cursing the murderer under his breath. Meanwhile, I always had to take several deep breaths just to stop myself from imagining the victims’ final moments of despair and pain.
I leaned against Zhang Mingsheng’s chest and sighed.
Zhang Mingsheng asked, “You don’t actually think I did it, do you?”
