Light slipped through the glass window, filling the Han residence with a quiet, warm glow.
The aroma of tomato omelette and steamed vegetable buns drifted through the air as Song Meiqi moved busily in the kitchen. Not long after, Auntie Mei entered, moving toward the kitchen as usual—only to freeze in surprise; she hadn't expected anyone to be here.
Meiqi turned her gaze to the figure by the doorway. She recognized Auntie Mei, whom her uncle had hired a few years ago to handle household matters while he was busy. She had only seen her once before, as she rarely came to the Han residence.
Still, her uncle had always praised her cooking, so she offered a small bow, a quiet gesture of respect. "Hello"
"You are…" Auntie Mei's eyes narrowed as she searched her memory. "You're Master's niece… that beautiful idol, Song Meiqi," she said, her voice sharp but tinged with excitement now that she finally realized who she was.
Meiqi smiled and nodded in acknowledgment.
Auntie Mei smiled back, remembering the first time she had met Meiqi at fifteen. She had grown into such a graceful, beautiful young woman.
The two women quickly fell into an easy rhythm, helping each other prepare breakfast as if they had known each other for years.
…
Meanwhile, in H. City, Zheng Mengyao lay sprawled on the couch, surrounded by empty bottles. The room smelled of stale alcohol, and silence pressed in on her from all sides. She stared blankly at the ceiling, numb, as if the world outside had ceased to exist.
Manager Li's words echoed in her mind:
"She already knew about you and Haoran before the concert, but she stayed quiet so it wouldn't affect everyone's efforts."
Her chest tightened at the thought of Meiqi. She must have been devastated, betrayed by someone she trusted. Guilt churned in her stomach, yet her mind kept drifting back to Haoran—how he had looked at her that night at the hotel, the warmth in his voice, the gentle care in his touch.
She had tried to let it go, tried to erase it, but a part of her still ached for him.
She closed her eyes, torn between shame and desire. How could she ask for forgiveness when any words would feel like a lie?
The sudden ring of the doorbell shattered the heavy silence, making her start. She pushed herself up, bare feet brushing the floor, and crept to the door. Pressing her eye to the peephole, her breath caught, and her body trembled as a rush of unease coursed through her.
She swallowed hard, took a shaky, deep breath, and forced herself to open the door. Xiuying, Lina, and Si Yu came into view, their expressions serious, unreadable.
"We need to talk," Xiuying said, her voice calm but carrying an unspoken weight.
Mengyao's chest tightened. Her fingers curled around the hem of her sweater, twisting the fabric as if holding on could steady the storm inside her.
…
Amid the bustling streets of H. City, Wang Zi Rui waited inside a coffee shop, glancing at his watch. It was 9:30 a.m., half an hour before his scheduled meeting with the Lin family's daughter.
His gaze fell on the coffee in front of him, but his mind was elsewhere—why was his father, whom he hadn't seen since the gala, suddenly taking such an interest in his relationship? Why set this up so fast?
As his thoughts darkened, a subtle chill seemed to radiate from him. The chatter around him quieted, and a few customers stole cautious glances, sensing something unspoken in his presence.
Then, the little bell above the coffee shop door chimed, and a lady in a simple white dress stepped inside. Her black hair cascaded smoothly over her shoulders, swaying with each measured step.
She carried herself with quiet grace, her hands folded lightly in front of her as she held her bag, every movement radiating effortless elegance.
The customers couldn't help but steal glances, captivated by her presence. Her small, delicate face seemed almost untouched by the world, radiating a gentle innocence that made her stand out even more amid the crowd.
She walked gracefully toward Zi Rui, her eyes quietly taking in the side of his face, though he hadn't noticed her yet.
…
Back at the Han Residence, the table was laid with a simple yet inviting breakfast: steaming bowls of congee, tomato omelette, sautéed vegetables, steamed buns, and small dishes of pickles. Han Yichen and Meiqi ate quietly, the soft clink of chopsticks filling the room.
"So… what's your plan for today, Little Qi?" Yichen asked, reaching over to place a piece of tomato omelette onto her plate.
Meiqi looked up at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I'm thinking of wandering around a bit. It's been a long time since I came back."
"Oh… then take a car from the garage. Use anything you like," Yichen offered.
Meiqi shook her head. "No, I want to bike around." Her eyes lit up at the thought of the fresh countryside air, far from the industrial cities.
"Whatever you like," Yichen replied with a faint smile.
Soon after, Meiqi left the Han Residence, her steps light with excitement. Yichen stayed behind in the living room, sitting quietly, as if waiting for someone.
Not long later, Linlong—his longtime assistant—arrived with a man carrying a briefcase.
"I invited you here, Mr. Yang," Yichen said calmly, "to draft my will."