Pursuit and Jealousy

3

Wen Ran rose early the next morning, luxuriating in a fragrant essential oil bath and meticulously applying an exquisite, artful makeup that illuminated her refined, radiant countenance. With purpose, she stepped out to collect Shen Yan for work.

Yet scarcely had she crossed the threshold when she encountered Yang Miao at the door. In that instant, her buoyant mood evaporated into nothingness. Swinging the door open with a knowing air and leaning casually against the frame, she coolly inquired, “Whither has my father directed you to escort me?”

Yang Miao replied with utmost caution, “I am to take you to the grand opening and ribbon‐cutting ceremony of the theme park in Province M.”

Retracting into the house, Wen Ran carelessly flung off her high heels and sank onto the sofa, her gaze fixed on her phone. With a dismissive wave toward Yang Miao, she instructed, “Shuishui, attend to my packing. I’m off for merely two days—do not burden yourself with excess luggage.”

Accustomed as ever to Manager Ran’s sudden business trips, Yang Miao ascended the stairs to assist her with her suitcase. The theme park in Province M was the eighth venture of the Han Sitong family, developed in collaboration with Wencheng Group under Wen Ran’s stewardship. The Han family specialized in theme parks, operating a chain of eight amusement parks nationwide in lucrative partnerships with international film and television productions, each enjoying widespread acclaim.

Originally, Wen Ran had arranged with her father that he would preside over the ribbon‐cutting at the park’s inauguration; yet now he had unceremoniously shirked the duty, thrusting it upon her. Had it been one of Qian Ge Ya’s projects, her father would have, without hesitation, been the first to inspect its fruition. In essence, he deemed the venture inconsequential—showing neither due regard for her nor for the project—and dismissively dispatched her on this errand.

Obtaining Shen Yan’s private number from Professor Han, Wen Ran reclined with her legs draped over the back of the sofa, her head bowed as she dialed his number. The instant the call connected, she held her breath in silence, awaiting, with quiet anticipation, the inaugural sound of Shen Yan’s voice. After two seconds, she discerned a deep, lingering sigh—as though he had just arisen from slumber—followed by his languid, husky intonation: “Hello, who is this?”

That irresistibly magnetic voice caressed her ear, eliciting a tingle that blossomed into a sudden flush upon her cheeks. In an inexplicable stutter, as she covered her face, she managed, “H–hello, I am… Wen Ran.”

The line then fell into a profound silence. After a brief pause, his voice resumed its placid tone: “Hello, who is this?”

Her flush fading, Wen Ran resumed a composed posture, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, and stated, “President Yan, I am Manager Wen—the very one who declared last night that I would collect you for work this morning.”

Shen Yan remained in measured, icy silence. Undeterred, she added, “Alternatively, you may address me as President Ran if you prefer.” Still, the line remained enveloped in quiet.

Privately admiring his kindness—so devoid of cold indifference—she confessed, “President Yan, an impromptu business engagement precludes my picking you up. Whether you anticipated my presence or not, I feel compelled to explain my unilateral cancellation.” Yet Shen Yan offered no reply. Perplexed, Wen Ran glanced at her phone only to find its screen locked. “??? When had the call concluded???”

That afternoon, upon her arrival in Province M, she was met at the airport by Han Sitong, and the two soon retired to a bar for drinks. Childhood companions, they had grown up side by side; when Wen Ran was tormented by her stepmother and stepsister, she found refuge in the Han household where everyone lavished kindness upon her—fostering her profound affection for Han Sitong.

Wen Ran, a creature of fire with a passionate temperament, contrasted sharply with Han Sitong, who embodied the qualities of water, his manner smooth and gentle. Ordinarily, such opposites might clash like fire and water; yet having matured together, they had quarreled but once. At one juncture, when Han Sitong was courting a suitor, Wen Ran, upon discovering indisputable evidence of his betrayal, candidly urged him to break it off. Naturally, he refused, and a bitter quarrel ensued, followed by a prolonged silent treatment. In due course the breakup transpired, and though they reconciled, Wen Ran thereafter refrained from meddling in his romantic affairs.

Thirsty, Wen Ran downed her drinks in hearty gulps, while Han Sitong sipped his wine with delicate restraint, softly uttering her familiar nickname, “Ran Ran.” “Hmm?” she murmured. With a hint of red in his eyes, Han Sitong confessed, “My parents wish for me to wed, yet I find no desire in my heart.”

Reluctant to probe further into his affairs, Wen Ran merely remarked, “I visited my grandfather a few days ago, and Professor Han made no mention of it—does he know?” Han Sitong, still sipping his wine, replied with resigned nonchalance, “Yes, he knows—but what difference does it make? No one holds sway over my father.” At a loss for words, Wen Ran recalled Professor Han’s observation—that she was ever the one to dare defy, while Han Sitong had long become accustomed to yielding, his scruples rendering him bereft of rebellion. Leaning forward, she enveloped him in a warm embrace and murmured, “Dearest Sitong, regardless of the path you choose, my support for you shall remain unwavering.”

After the ribbon‐cutting ceremony, Wen Ran phoned her father to report on the event and intended to return home to discuss cooperation with Shen Yan. Yet her father imposed an additional five days of labor, dispatching her to visit eminent developers and investors with whom Wencheng had formerly collaborated. For another five days in Province M, she engaged in morning video conferences—meticulously deliberating historical themes discussed with Professor Han and orchestrating detailed proposals—while evenings were devoted to dialogues with industry magnates regarding the Shen project, from which she gleaned innovative ideas poised to outshine Qian Ge Ya’s offerings. At times, she found herself utterly baffled by her father—entrusting many collaborations to Qian Ge Ya while compelling her to routinely engage with influential business magnates.

A week later, Wen Ran returned to the metropolis. On her first morning back, she set out for Shen Yan’s residence, intent on collecting him for work. Yet the door was opened by a plain-spoken aunt nearing forty, clutching a cleaning cloth, who greeted her warmly, “Hello, are you here to view the property?” “???” Wen Ran cast a discerning glance around and inspected the Shen household’s number, reassured that she had not erred. “Yes indeed,” she acquiesced with a tilted head and smile, “Auntie, I am here to view the property. Is Shen Yan present? I am his friend.”

“Mr. Shen has already departed for work,” the aunt informed her as she ushered her inside. “Are you also acquainted with Young Master Qiao? Many visitors these days mention his name. Please, come in—feel free to explore any room save for Mr. Shen’s study and bedroom. You are exceptionally early this morning.” “???” In a dazed state, Wen Ran followed the aunt inside, slipping into disposable slippers, utterly astonished that she had gained such prompt entry into Shen Yan’s abode.

Is Shen Yan in the habit of selling his residence? And who might this Young Master Qiao be? Moreover, had Shen Yan truly departed for his office at such an early hour? The decor of the Shen residence was rendered in an austere, minimalist style—immaculately pristine, much like Shen Yan himself. As the aunt guided her through both the first and second floors, Wen Ran softly inquired, “And Young Master Qiao, where might he be?”