“Since we’re together, holding hands, staying close, of course I’ll pull you up with me.”
Jiang Luo rested against him quietly, listening.
Huo Zongzhuo continued: “I’ve thought about it. Rather than giving you money, I’ll give you a career.”
“With a career, money will naturally follow.”
“With your own money, you can go wherever you want, do whatever you want, buy whatever you want.”
“You like Hong Kong, Central District—then we’ll get a place by Victoria Harbour, no matter the size or cost.”
“When Pudong develops further, we’ll have a place by the Huangpu River too, enjoying the night view. By then, high-rises and lights will line the river.”
Jiang Luo felt warmth and emotion fill his heart.
He lifted his head, nudged Huo Zongzhuo’s chin, and their lips met briefly: “You’re really amazing.”
“I’ve known you for so long, and you’ve always been especially good to me.”
“You’ve given me so much, and I haven’t really given you anything in return.”
Huo Zongzhuo kissed him lightly, his expression soft: “What I give you is already mine; it’s nothing.”
“No need to keep track of it.”
“You think you haven’t given me anything—but that’s only how you feel.”
“I also feel you’ve given me a lot.”
“For example?”
Jiang Luo thought for a moment: “The two ties I made myself?”
One of them now hung loosely around Huo Zongzhuo’s neck.
Jiang Luo tugged at it: “The quality isn’t great.”
Huo Zongzhuo smiled: “Then make me more in the future, ones you think are good quality.”
He patted the man’s back gently and said: “In a relationship, it’s not about tallying what I gave you versus what you gave me. Feelings can’t be measured like that.”
“I don’t want you to measure things between us with material items.”
“I understand.”
Jiang Luo looked up and kissed Huo Zongzhuo again.
Quick-witted as always, he added something Huo Zongzhuo liked: “Once we buy the Hong Kong place, we’ll get big windows facing Victoria Harbour. We can sit and look out while working.”
Huo Zongzhuo laughed.
Jiang Luo looked serious: “What’s funny? I’m serious.”
“All right,” Huo Zongzhuo said, kissing him again.
Jiang Luo sat up slightly, then thought of something: “I should give you some shares in my company too.”
“We can’t marry, so our names won’t go on a single certificate—but we can hold shares together, both names on the business registration.”
The two of them talked tenderly.
Lately, probably because they’d just started dating and feelings were strong, when Jiang Luo was in Haicheng, Huo Zongzhuo would accompany him; when he wasn’t there, Huo Zongzhuo would fly to Shenzhen.
When busy, they worked or went out together; when free, they acted like normal couples—dining, shopping, movies.
Except for public displays like holding hands or kissing, which they avoided, their relationship outwardly looked like any other couple.
At night, back at home, curtains drawn, doors locked, they explored each other fully.
Jiang Luo, used to being on top before, initially struggled mentally and physically with being beneath Huo Zongzhuo. But thinking about it, it was Huo Zongzhuo—so he let go, relaxing fully.
All prior rumors about Huo Zongzhuo’s performance were utterly false. Jiang Luo personally confirmed Huo Zongzhuo’s body—especially his vitality—was exceptional.
Jiang Luo enjoyed kissing Huo Zongzhuo—lips, chin, cheeks, Adam’s apple, shoulders, chest.
Physical intimacy resonated with their souls.
Being owned by and owning Huo Zongzhuo gave Jiang Luo profound satisfaction.
Huo Zongzhuo, afterward, would hug him from behind or front, holding him like a big lion, stroking and patting his back to soothe him.
Jiang Luo needed this comfort, as he often ended their encounters overwhelmed, his mind blank for a while.
Huo Zongzhuo embraced him, kissed and caressed him, soothing him like a big lion comforting a little cub.
Jiang Luo truly felt like he couldn’t handle it—sweating heavily, drenched, like pulled from water.
His sweat-soaked skin felt even more enticing, like a flower in full bloom releasing more fragrance.
Huo Zongzhuo would lean down, kissing him from lips to bare, smooth shoulders, then from the back of his neck to the curve of his waist.
Jiang Luo purred like a cat: “Huo Zongzhuo.”
“Mm,” Huo Zongzhuo responded while kissing him.
Eyes closed, Jiang Luo lifted his chin; Huo Zongzhuo’s soft, gentle kisses lingered on his lips: “Sleep now.”
Meanwhile, Mo Wanzhen had been feeling down over the past few days. The situation began a few days prior:
She had always been close to several girls from the garment workshop, roughly her age, who were among the earliest to join. They often ate together at the factory and, during breaks, would meet outside for shopping or movies.
Gradually, the friendship became “imbalanced.”
After the factory ran smoothly for some time, and as the workers’ tenure accumulated, it was time for management selections based on performance and rank.
Mo Wanzhen, as a leader, was always fair and professional.
But the girls she had been close to all wanted management roles and assumed their closeness to Mo Wanzhen would help. They subtly hinted, expecting her to make things easy for them.
Mo Wanzhen, sticking to fairness, didn’t pick any of her familiar girls.
The girls felt snubbed. Over the next few days, they ignored her completely—no chatting, no shared meals, and even ignored work-related requests.
Mo Wanzhen noticed, felt uncomfortable, but didn’t complain. She continued working.
Then, for reasons unclear, the girls began spreading rumors using their past closeness with Mo Wanzhen, twisting her words and creating false stories:
Why had she become a young leader in such a large factory? Because back in Haicheng, she had been involved with the big boss.
It sounded credible.
Because of their previous friendship with Mo Wanzhen, many in the workshop believed them. The rumor spread everywhere.
When Mo Wanzhen heard about it, she initially tried to endure it. By noon, she confronted the girls, asking why they were spreading lies.
Some girls stayed silent; some denied it. One bold, outgoing girl said: “You didn’t do it? Every day the office curtains are closed, you go there—who knows what you’re doing?”
Mo Wanzhen felt angry, wronged, and argued back. The bold girl shouted: “Then quit if you dare! I’m not afraid! I’ll take it straight to Mr. Jiang!”
By 1:30, the workshop was chaotic; no one worked, everyone watched the fight.
Mo Wanzhen, angry but unable to control the scene, felt frustrated, guilty, and panicked.
Finally, Wang Chuang arrived, loudly: “What are you doing? Go back to work! If you don’t want to work, leave!”
The crowd dispersed.
Mo Wanzhen, holding back tears, left the workshop quietly. Wang Chuang followed, handing her a tissue: “Don’t mind them. People are like this; when gathered, it’s hard to control them.”
She felt humiliated, guilty, and self-critical.
That evening, after work, she found both tires of her bicycle flat.
She realized it was sabotage. At the guard’s booth, she borrowed a pump—but the tires were punctured.
She took the bike quietly and walked, neither fast nor slow, frustrated at herself.
Despite managing the factory for so long, she still couldn’t control the situation.
As she walked along the roadside, a car approached with a familiar color. She recognized Wang Chuang’s car.
He rolled down the passenger window: “Why aren’t you riding? Bike broke?”
“No air.”
The black sedan’s trunk was open, her bike loaded inside. Wang Chuang drove; she got in the passenger seat.