Zhang Mingsheng did not break his words. After returning from the company, his mood was noticeably improved, and even the afternoon seemed to brighten along with him.
Sometimes I genuinely feel that I’ve been confined within the Zhang family for too long; my perspective has narrowed, and my world has grown small. In that brief moment, I even found myself believing that Zhang Mingsheng was all-powerful.
Upon hearing that we were going to the racecourse in the afternoon, Keke immediately crawled out from the pile of cushions on the sofa.
In the morning, under Zhang Mingsheng’s “suggestion,” I was reading on the fourth floor and had no time to look after Keke.
Aunt Liu is especially fond of Keke, so much so that she would gladly indulge her in everything. As for Zhang Mingsheng’s other subordinate, Ah Shan, he is even more taciturn than Ah Hai; his only duty is to ensure Keke’s safety, and he will not intervene unless it is a matter of life and death. The butler and the gardener spent the entire morning crouched together debating a half-dead tree, and after much deliberation they finally agreed to cut it down and replace it with a new one. The Yu family’s private chef stayed hidden in the kitchen all morning, continuously sending out an ever-changing assortment of nourishing dishes and fruit platters, until Keke’s little belly grew even rounder. The bodyguards did, at least, listen to me and switch into gray suits, but they still stood motionless outside like rows of wooden stakes.
With so many people around, they could only watch helplessly as Zhang Yike turned the house into a miniature playground—after all, children always have that kind of natural talent.
Looking across Hong Kong’s upper-class families like ours, which parents aren’t strict with their children from a young age? They might indulge them, but they still have to groom them to inherit the family business. Zhang Mingsheng, however, didn’t care. He had said that he is our backer; as long as we live well in this lifetime, he doesn’t care what happens to the next generation.
I quite agree with these words of his; after all, with an attitude like his, perhaps I might even have the chance to see the Zhang family tree fall and its monkeys scatter within my lifetime.
Ah Hai walked over and pushed me out of the elevator. I asked if anything had happened at the company today, and he told me that nothing much happened at the meeting, except that the Old Man seemed to have a cold and wouldn’t stop coughing. I nodded, thinking to myself: Oh, no wonder. No wonder Zhang Mingsheng is in such a good mood.
After handing his coat to Aunt Liu, Zhang Mingsheng scanned the living room and suddenly said, “Keke isn’t going today.”
My eyes widened the instant I heard that, and I lifted a hand to signal Ah Hai not to push me into the living room just yet. On the other side of the wall, the atmosphere seemed to freeze for a good ten seconds. A child’s ability to process information is still rudimentary; it always takes a moment for them to register a four-word rejection.
I counted the seconds in my head. When I reached ten, the little girl finally burst into tears. However, it was just a dry cry without any real tears; it was her tactic for persuading adults. Little child. Yet she still hadn’t understood that in this house, even though her mother was always stern and the aunts and uncles assigned to protect her kept a respectful distance, every single one of them was far easier to deal with than her “smiling tiger” of a father.
For instance, at this very moment, no one dared to counter Zhang Mingsheng’s words; not even a single person offered a suggestion. Everyone simply stood there, while Aunt held the overcoat off to the side, her expression full of visible distress.
I didn’t say a word.
I thought to myself: As long as I can go, it’s fine.
Once Keke had tired herself out from crying and was carried off to the playroom by Aunt Liu, I finally had Ah Hai push me into the living room.
Zhang Mingsheng sat on the sofa with his back to me, his shoulders and spine held broad and straight, stretching the white shirt taut across his frame, only for it to relax sharply lower down. He was the kind of man who wore clothes well by default with his broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, carrying himself with an inherent air of authority. Years ago, when he fell out with his grandfather and struck out on his own, paparazzi would snap photos of him even when he went to a convenience store wearing a hoodie scavenged from a street stall. Those tabloid writers had razor-sharp tongues; they said Zhang Mingsheng could lose his fortune but never his red-carpet flair, as if he could turn even a convenience-store yogurt into something worthy of a trophy.
Recalling those days, I couldn’t help but feel a wave of emotion. Back then, I used to buy tabloids from roadside stalls on my way to work; Zhang Mingsheng and I were complete strangers, yet I ended up seeing his face in those papers again and again.
Mr. Zhang heard the noise and turned around. He beamed a smile at me, appearing gentle and well-bred.
Ah Hai took the hint and left, allowing Zhang Mingsheng to take over pushing my wheelchair. He took me into the dining room and then took his seat at the head of the table. The clock hands were already nearing twelve sharp, lunchtime had arrived.
At that moment, Zhang Xiaoyuan returned from school. He was dressed in a British-style school uniform and was not carrying a backpack. He usually stayed at school for lunch; returning early this time was likely because Zhang Mingsheng had instructed Ah Hai to call the school. Zhang Xiaoyuan was in elementary school, in good health, and had decent grades; except for the parents’ sports day, he usually took first place.
When Mr. Zhang first brought him home, he was still very small, with round eyes and pursed lips, looking at me timidly. I glanced at him and saw a small name tag pinned on his clothes, bearing three very simple characters: Zhang Xiaoyuan.
Zhang Mingsheng had no intention of changing the boy’s name. To him, bringing a child back from the orphanage was no different from picking up a Lego piece from a store.
He wanted to assemble the family of his imagination. Both Zhang Xiaoyuan and I were merely parts.
The first time I met this child, my hair hadn’t grown long yet. I sat weakly in the wheelchair, falling silent for two or three days at a stretch. When I finally spoke, my voice came out rough and strained in my own throat, “Change that middle character.”
Zhang Mingsheng seemed quite surprised. He followed my gaze and immediately understood what I was talking about. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say much, simply asking, “Change to what?”
Slumping my body against the back of the chair, I said, “Change it… change it to… Yuxiao. ‘Xiao’ as in ‘the highest heavens.'”
I knew well that a name can influence a person. More than half the children in the orphanage had no names; if we encountered a kind and responsible teacher, perhaps they would flip through a dictionary to pick a decent-looking name for us. But most of the time, they were as simple as wildflowers or weeds.
Keke’s name had been carefully determined by a fortune-telling master after meticulous calculation.
From Zhang Xiaoyuan’s name, however, one could see that Zhang Mingsheng did not value him.
Because of this, Zhang Mingsheng did not refuse me.
We still habitually called this adopted son Zhang Xiaoyuan, but on his legal documents were three bright and upright characters: Zhang Xiaoyuan[mfn]Different in character. His original Xiao means small or little.[/mfn].
It goes back to the same point: Zhang Mingsheng is very good at maintaining appearances.
To the outside world, he is a good father and a good husband. Although he was once young and rebellious, bringing a small amount of shame to the family, he quickly corrected his mistakes. His grandfather was also good at keeping up appearances, giving him everything he was supposed to; including money, estates, and companies. Except for the core inheritance rights, Zhang Mingsheng already had everything.
Zhang Mingsheng’s mind seemed to operate on an entirely different level from ordinary people’s; he studied abroad and obtained a double degree, and within just a year of taking over the company, he had everything running with impeccable order. He possessed a sharp instinct for investment and was equally skilled in horse riding, shooting, and diving. From time to time, he even does charity work and supports young artists. It appears that among the debauched third-generation wealthy playboys, he stands out like a crane among chickens. However, there are also more traditional, hardline media outlets that argue these are nothing but superficial displays; without his grandfather’s backing, everything Zhang Mingsheng has would quickly dissipate into nothing.
If he failed to inherit Zhang Yaonian’s shares, the various shareholders would immediately descend into a scramble for control, even going so far as to reshape the group’s name and identity.
Even so, the topic of “Whether Zhang Mingsheng is worth marrying” once trended for quite some time.
Then, he married the obscure Yu Huaiqing.
That is, me.
We’ve been married for seven or eight years now, yet I’ve never really had the chance to think about whether marrying Zhang Mingsheng was worth it. There are three reasons for that: first, I see myself as essentially a man; second, I have my own work and social circle; and third, I didn’t have a choice. Rather than evaluating Zhang Mingsheng’s worth, I might as well focus on eating well and seizing every opportunity to leave the house. Since life has turned out this way, I might as well just make do.
After lunch and a brief rest, once the sun had softened, we set out for the racecourse. By the time we left, Keke was already fast asleep in her small bed, sparing us any tears or fuss.
Xiao Yuan has his own equestrian instructor and his own pony. He has a natural affinity with animals. The first time he went to pick out a foal, the moment Xiao Yuan reached out his hand, a pitch-black pony lowered its head obediently. Xiao Yuan named it “Lightning.” Children’s ideas are always unpredictable, where would you ever find black lightning?
Xiao Yuan was under Ah Shan’s care, taken to a smaller indoor arena to ride in circles. He’d been in a foul mood lately and hardly spoke; bringing him here to ride was one of Zhang Mingsheng’s ways of coaxing him out of it.
Ah Hai tactfully stayed outside, leaving the two of us alone. Zhang Mingsheng does have good taste, the private racecourse he had specially built is filled with lush greenery. The atmosphere isn’t meant for reckless galloping, but for letting a horse wander at an easy pace. Stepping inside gives the impression of being out in the wild. For me, a kind of freedom built on piles of money is still better than none at all.
When the wealthy keep a canary, they clip the tips of its wings so it can no longer fly, all so they can take what they want at will. But Zhang Mingsheng is not like that; although he exhausts me every time, he doesn’t rely on a single method of control.
On the contrary, he is very patient and deeply concerned with my physical health. Even though I have been forced to become a “disabled” person who cannot walk, he has not allowed my body to waste away for the sake of convenience.
He goes to great lengths to maintain a delicate balance: on the one hand, he uses all kinds of supplements and even risky outings to keep my health in check; on the other, he binds me with chains and the idea of “family,” ensuring I have no way to escape.
That Zhang Mingsheng resorts to such twisted methods seems to be merely the price he pays for a rather unremarkable, ordinary life.
He hasn’t tormented me to death, nor has he made use of my identity as a police officer. So what, exactly, is the point of all this? I can’t understand him. In the end, I can only conclude that Zhang Mingsheng is a natural pervert, someone beyond the grasp of ordinary understanding.
I like plants; I like trees, green grass and even shrubs trimmed neatly of their stray branches. The smell of most racecourses isn’t particularly pleasant; no matter how thoroughly they’re cleaned, there’s always a lingering mix of dust stirred up in the air and the faint scent of animals.
Zhang Mingsheng knelt down, moving up from my ankles before slipping under the hem of my long skirt with his hands reaching inward until he felt the lock. He unlocked it for me, and for a moment it felt as if something constraining me had finally been undone. I let out a slow breath, my body easing slightly in response.
I lost the ability to ride a horse long ago. Mr. Zhang was simply looking for an opportunity to take me out to clear my head.
Zhang Mingsheng held out his hand, and I silently placed mine in his.
I recalled our trip to Japan, where our family stayed in a lonely courtyard. The grounds were paved with pure white pebbles and dotted with a few sharply angled plum trees. I didn’t particularly like the atmosphere; there wasn’t even a single tree with lush, full foliage.
What I hated most, however, was that long corridor of dark red wood. I was wearing clogs, still being led forward by Zhang Mingsheng, and with every step the floorboards gave a low creak beneath my feet. I didn’t know what was so special about that corridor, but Zhang Mingsheng held my hand and smiled down at me. He must have been laughing at me.
Zhang Mingsheng’s palm was warm and dry, holding mine with unquestionable authority. I couldn’t be bothered to think about anything related to him anymore; I just wanted to stand up as quickly as possible. I liked the sunlight, the plants, and even the rain; I liked the feeling of standing up and walking.
Before I could even leave the wheelchair, I heard a crisp “Brother Mingsheng.”
I didn’t know why Zhan Weiqing had appeared here. He was dressed quite sharply in a nutmeg-colored suit, looking like a literary painter or a poet from a movie.
Zhang Mingsheng evidently hadn’t expected Zhan Weiqing’s sudden appearance either. His hand remained suspended in mid-air, and he didn’t even notice when I moved my hand away. He turned his head to look at Zhan Weiqing.
My mood instantly plummeted to rock bottom.
Ah Hai followed closely behind, rushing over with a troubled expression and beads of sweat on his forehead.
I glanced at Ah Hai. “What, you can’t even stop a single person now?”
