Chapter 6:

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Jiang Zhi’s voice was sincere, soft, and utterly unambiguous.
The air in the office seemed to chill several degrees the moment she spoke.

The man remained silent, his deep eyes narrowing fractionally behind the gold-rimmed glasses, as if dissecting her words. Though seasoned by three years navigating the entertainment industry’s storms, the sheer oppressive force of his presence coiled tension in her chest. Seconds ticked by, stretching into an eternity; a thin layer of sweat slicked her palms. This was a negotiation, and whoever spoke first conceded ground. Jiang Zhi forced her gaze to hold his, those mesmerizing fox eyes meeting fathomless depths, resisting the urge to look away.

Finally, he broke the stare, leaning back languidly in his executive chair. The cigarette in his fingers had burned low. He stubbed it out decisively in the ashtray, the motion unhurried, before placing the marriage contract back on the desk. He lifted his eyes to hers. “Conditions.”
The advantage of dealing with the intelligent. He pierced through pretense effortlessly.

The atmosphere pressed down. Jiang Zhi only wanted escape. She drew a breath. “Save my uncle’s company.” She pulled up the news articles about the Qin Group on her phone and slid it towards him.

He didn’t glance at the screen. Taking a slow drag from a fresh cigarette, smoke wreathing his lips, he said, “Done.”
Relief flickered in Jiang Zhi’s eyes. She mentally drafted the terms of their agreement, oblivious to the glint of amusement behind his lenses. Before she could speak, his next words froze the carefully prepared sentences in her throat.
Shang Chi crushed the cigarette butt into the ashtray with finality. “On one condition. You marry me.”

Jiang Zhi blinked. “What?” Had she misheard?
He picked up the contract again, his thumb tracing the characters of her name. His gaze locked onto hers, each word deliberate, weighted. “I want you.”

The three words struck her dumb. Self-awareness kicked in swiftly. What could he possibly see in me? They were strangers. This demand reeked of hidden agendas. She schooled her expression. “May I ask why?”
Shang Chi set the paper down, his finger idly rotating the simple silver band on his index finger. A long pause stretched before he answered, his voice deep and detached. “My grandfather recognizes only you. Your answer now: ‘Agree’ or ‘Refuse’.”
The ultimatum brooked no retreat. Jiang Zhi bit her lip, the internal struggle brief but intense. She had no choice. Refusal meant her uncle’s ruin. “Fine,” she breathed. “I agree.”

His thumb stilled on the ring. Light glinted coldly off his lenses. A faint, enigmatic curve touched his lips—part amusement, part something else entirely. “I do not accept a marriage in name only.”

Jiang Zhi frowned, mentally scrambling through his public profile. The TomatoTV interview surfaced—the woman who’d rejected him, the rumored white moonlight. The contract’s clause forbade him marrying anyone else before thirty. Was that why she refused him? Novel logic dictated a forced husband should remain chaste for his true love. Why this demand then? Had he given up?

Before she could untangle it, his low, resonant voice cut through her thoughts. “Unacceptable?”
His mind was an impenetrable fortress. Jiang Zhi conceded defeat. A bitter laugh echoed silently within her. “It’s acceptable.” Choice was a luxury she didn’t possess.

Photographs. Signatures. Vows.
From the民政局 (civil affairs bureau) back to the sleek black Rolls-Royce, Jiang Zhi moved in a daze. She’d envisioned this moment countless times—with Jiang Nian. Never with a stranger, clutching this crimson booklet. Absurdity warred with a strange, numb weightlessness.

“Regrets?” His voice, cold and deep, sliced through the silence, carrying a distinct edge of displeasure.
Her knuckles whitened around the red booklet. Truth felt easier. “No. Just… unreal.”
Shang Chi glanced at her, reached over, and plucked the marriage certificate from her grasp, tucking it decisively into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. “It’s merely a document.”
The vibrant red vanished into the black fabric. Jiang Zhi looked away. “Mm.” Her empty hands confirmed it. Just paper. Her life remained unchanged. She was still Jiang Zhi.
She forgot. The moment she signed, the title ‘Mrs. Shang’ became hers.

The car glided smoothly. The confined space hummed with his distinct, clean, yet intimidating scent—cedar, bergamot, power. Its unfamiliarity made her skin prickle. Oblivious, or simply at home in his domain, he lounged beside her, reviewing documents with detached efficiency. Only the rustle of paper and the scratch of his pen broke the silence.

“Where are we going?” Jiang Zhi turned to him.
His profile was starkly handsome, sharp against the window light, black hair brushing the top of his glasses. He didn’t look up, his voice distant, clipped. “Home.”

His impatient tone suggested his own residence. She rested her head against the window, watching the city blur past, retreating into silence. The journey passed wordlessly. Yet, a persistent sensation prickled Jiang Zhi—the distinct feeling of being watched, a gaze intense enough to brand her skin. Each time she sought its source, she found him engrossed in his files, expression unreadable, utterly detached. No hint of scrutiny. Was it her? Had she become the one stealing furtive glances, mesmerized like some infatuated fool against her will?

Her suspicion seemed confirmed moments later. He glanced up, catching her look, his voice utterly flat. “Look openly if you wish. You have a license to do your worst now.”
Jiang Zhi: “……”
Indignation warred with a lack of solid defense. “It’s not what you think,” she murmured, her voice soft as a spring breeze brushing water, leaving barely a ripple.
Shang Chi’s brow lifted almost imperceptibly. His dark eyes deepened, holding an unreadable intensity.

The Rolls-Royce purred to a halt before a villa in the exclusive enclave of Seventh Court—Beijing’s most coveted, notoriously inaccessible address. Shang Chi produced a keycard and a sleek black credit card, holding them out.
His gaze, sharp and assessing behind the lenses, locked onto her fox-like eyes. His tone was cool, commanding. “I’m leaving on business for a week. The place is… sparse. I expect it to look like a ‘home’ when I return.”

Jiang Zhi’s mind blanked for several seconds. Home? Their home? He said it with unnerving ease. As if… as if he’d planned this long ago. She dismissed the absurdity immediately. His current demeanor was pure, unyielding authority. A man of his wealth owned countless properties; this was merely a convenient shell for their arrangement.
Her silence prompted him. “Hmm?” That single syllable vibrated with unquestionable expectation.
Jiang Zhi took the cards from his long fingers. “Alright.”

Watching the black Rolls-Royce disappear down the tree-lined drive, the tension coiled within Jiang Zhi finally released. She approached the imposing villa door. The keycard beeped. She pushed it open.
The sight within made her fox-eyes widen in pure astonishment.