Farewell

Since she planned to leave for a few years, Zhiwei decided to visit Boss Liang. This elder, who had seen her off at her wedding, had taken good care of her over the years. Upon arriving at the teahouse, Zhiwei knew that Jingnan's account was true; the once bustling teahouse was now quiet and deserted. The butler who answered the door seemed somewhat excited to see her. Boss Liang sat in the courtyard, dressed in a casual cotton-linen shirt, his expression revealing his weariness. Beside him was a teapot, the type of tea unknown.

"Godfather," Zhiwei greeted softly. Although Boss Liang had called himself godfather back then, Zhiwei knew it was just to give Boss Li face and elevate her status, and she never took advantage of it, truly treating her as a goddaughter. Every year when he came to pay New Year's visits with Li Fuqiang, she would respectfully call him "Uncle Liang," never trying to get close. Unexpectedly, this time, she was the one calling him godfather.

"Weiwei's here." Boss Liang forced a smile and led her into the living room.

Zhiwei said apologetically, "My house was a mess a while ago, and I didn't come to see my godfather. I hope he's not mad at me."

As Zhiwei entered the living room, she keenly noticed the changes in the house—most of the priceless antique ornaments were missing, and the air was filled with a desolate feeling of emptiness.

"It's kind of you to still remember this old man. Those who used to call me brother are now avoiding me." He shook his head with a bitter smile. "It really proves the old saying, 'When the wall falls, everyone pushes it down.'" His family had offended a powerful figure. With just a little manipulation, several projects his family was involved in either failed or lost money. The losses weren't particularly large for someone of their wealth, but everyone avoided the person behind it and kept their distance.

Zhiwei took out a check from her handbag. There were smooth lines left by a pen on it, and it was a number that would make even Boss Liang stare in astonishment—one billion.

"Godfather, I've finished my business here and am planning to go abroad to relax. I don't know anything about making money, so please manage this money for me." She pushed the check in front of him. "If it loses, it's on me; if it makes a profit, we'll split it 50/50."

Boss Liang stared blankly at the check, then at Zhiwei, his voice choked with emotion: "Weiwei, what's wrong with you...?"

"I'm just using your kindness as an excuse," Zhiwei smiled faintly. "If it weren't for you helping me with my wedding back then, I wouldn't have had such a smooth career in this industry. Don't worry, I still have half of my money saved up; I won't be poor."

Boss Liang's eyes reddened. In this moment of widespread betrayal and alienation, this junior whom he had initially only shown favor to out of courtesy had given him the most precious trust. "Good!" He slammed his hand on the table, a long-lost surge of pride returning to his eyes. "You, a young woman, have such spirit! Uncle Liang can't be petty. Just you wait and see!"

What followed became a legend in the business world. Boss Liang spent a whopping 200 million to win the approval of a powerful scion, wiping the slate clean of past conflicts. Instead of proceeding cautiously and steadily, he invested a large sum of money in Bitcoin, which was little known at the time, after a long period of research, and reaped returns of dozens of times over in the following years.

After this, he no longer remained behind the scenes, but became a renowned capital controller in Beijing's elite circles. And it all started with a woman's decision to repay a debt of gratitude. When Zhiwei left the teahouse, she didn't know what kind of return this investment would bring. She simply felt that some friendships were worth cherishing in this way.

Before leaving, Zhiwei received an invitation to Li Jiaqi and Qian Dayou's wedding. The gold-embossed envelope and exquisite embossing all showcased the wealth and power of the Fumao Group. She knew this was the last public occasion she, as the "former Mrs. Li," had to attend.

The wedding was held at the Bulgari Hotel, and the scale of the event was extremely luxurious. The banquet hall was filled with dazzling crystal chandeliers, elegantly dressed guests, and a gathering of business elites. It seemed more like a meticulously planned business show, announcing to the outside world the completion of the power transition at Fumao Group, as well as the "stability" and "prosperity" of the group under the leadership of Ms. Li and her new husband, Qian Dayou.

Li Jiaqi, wearing an expensive haute couture wedding dress, walked down the red carpet arm in arm with Qian Dayou, under the watchful eyes of the crowd. Her smile was perfectly measured, yet stiff and devoid of any warmth.

Zhiwei sat quietly among the guests and saw Li Jiaqi's mother—Li Fuqiang's first wife—sitting upright at the head table with a complex expression. Zhiwei paid no attention to this and never considered trying to strike up a conversation as a "stepmother." To her, tonight was merely an observation, a participation in the final act.

The wedding ceremony was elaborate and lengthy, filled with grand blessings and hopes for the future of Fumao. Zhiwei maintained a polite smile throughout, until the banquet was nearing its end, at which point she quietly rose to leave.

In the corridor leading to the banquet hall exit, Li Jiaqi stood alone, seemingly waiting for her. She had changed out of her heavy wedding dress and was now wearing a red handmade silk gown. The candlelight flickered, and her makeup was still perfect, but the standard bridal smile was gone, replaced by an undisguised weariness and...resentment.

Their eyes met, and they remained silent for a moment. Just as Zhiwei was about to step aside, Li Jiaqi suddenly spoke, her voice filled with suppressed resentment, almost squeezed out between clenched teeth: "Why... Shen Zhiwei, why are you so lucky? Every good thing is handed to you by others! Why?"

Zhiwei stopped in her tracks. She slowly turned around and looked at this nominal "stepdaughter," this girl who was a few years older than her and had always seen her as a threat.

In that instant, memories flashed through her mind like a revolving lantern—Zhou Xuanyu's youthful confession and subsequent betrayal on the Columbia University campus; her desperate weeping on the streets of New York on that rainy night when she learned of her mother's serious illness; her own grand wedding, which she attended indifferently like an outsider; her silent sobs in that small courtyard in Lijiang after her mother's death; and... that agonizing afternoon when she received news of Tianming's death, and the withered rose Tianming sent her days later...

The forbearance, scheming, loss, and sorrow of the past ten years cannot be summarized by the word "good fortune" in the eyes of outsiders.

Looking into Li Jiaqi's eyes, burning with jealousy and resentment, she suddenly felt that any explanation was superfluous. She raised her face, the light from the corridor lamp casting a soft shadow on her delicate profile, and a faint, yet indescribably penetrating smile curved her lips as she asked clearly and calmly:

"Yes, young lady. Would you like to switch lives with me?"

Li Jiaqi froze, opened her mouth, but found herself unable to utter a single word. An exchange? To trade her smooth, pampered life as a rich heiress for Shen Zhiwei's ten years of seemingly glamorous but actually precarious "golden canary" life? To trade the stability of her mother's life for the pain of losing a loved one at a young age? To trade the unknown, possible love for Shen Zhiwei's budding, yet withered, and unspoken feelings? She couldn't answer.

Zhiwei didn't wait for her reply. She just glanced at her one last time, then turned and walked steadily down the red-carpeted corridor. She didn't look back, leaving the still noisy and extravagant wedding, along with all the scheming, pretense, and ostentation within it, completely behind her.

At the end of the corridor was the hotel entrance, beyond which lay the free and real night sky. For her first stop, she had chosen Paris. As the plane pierced through the clouds, she gazed at the endless sea of ​​clouds outside the window and suddenly remembered her mother's words from many years ago: "The most important thing in life is not how much you possess, but whether you can stay true to yourself."

Now, she finally has the opportunity to verify the true meaning of that statement.