Self-discipline and freedom
Those in the industry generally know Shen Zhiwei's rules. Parting amicably is the last vestige of dignity she gives to each other. But there are always those who, young and impetuous, or blinded by the glitz and glamour, try to challenge her boundaries.
There was once a young, handsome man whom she had "kept" for several months. He was incredibly good-looking, had a sweet tongue, and was very good at making people happy. Zhiwei treated him well, never lacking resources or gifts. Unexpectedly, this young man's appetite grew, or perhaps he felt he had won her favor, he began to act arrogantly, secretly hooking up with another wealthy woman in Shanghai known for her lavish spending, attempting to juggle between the two and wait for the best offer.
When the news reached Zhiwei's ears, she was arranging flowers on the terrace of Yayuan Garden. After listening to her assistant Shi Ya's calm and composed report, she didn't even pause in pruning the flowers, only letting out a soft "Oh".
Shi Ya tentatively asked, "Miss, do you need any treatment?"
Zhiwei placed a fully blooming white rose into the vase, examined the overall composition, and slowly curved the corners of her lips into a perfectly standard, amiable smile.
"Handle it? Why bother?" She spoke lightly, as if she had heard something amusing. "Go, order the most beautiful, most flamboyant flower basket, with... well, the most vibrant red carnations wrapped in gold paper. Make sure it looks grand and festive. On the card, just write—" She paused for a moment, a mischievous glint in her eyes, "'Wishing you a harmonious marriage, thank you for taking on the task, and may you two live a long and happy life together.'"
Shi Ya was taken aback for a moment, then understood and couldn't help but smile: "Yes, Miss, I'll take care of it right away."
That very evening, at a small party attended by the young heartthrob and the wealthy Shanghai woman, a huge, brightly colored, and perfectly tacky flower basket was delivered to the center of the venue, and the "sincere" card was read aloud to everyone. The wealthy woman turned ashen-faced, and the young man was dumbfounded, becoming a laughing stock that quickly spread throughout their circle. From then on, no one dared to try such a trick on Shen Zhiwei—she didn't even need to get angry; a smile and a flower basket were enough to make you feel utterly ashamed.
It was at a business cocktail party that Zhiwei and Li Jiaqi met unexpectedly.
Across the throng of people clinking glasses, Zhiwei spotted Li Jiaqi at a glance. Also over fifty, Li Jiaqi's figure was already plump and bloated; even her expensive custom-made dress couldn't hide her heaviness. Deep, prominent vertical lines from years of frowning etched deep on her forehead, and her eyes held a lingering weariness and resentment.
Zhiwei, dressed in a dark green velvet dress, still had a slender figure and radiant skin. With a glance, she still looked like the stunning "Lady Rose" who first entered the Li family more than 20 years ago. However, she had lost her youthful naiveté and gained a sense of languor and composure from the years.
Li Jiaqi saw her too. At that moment, Li Jiaqi felt a surge of bitterness mixed with jealousy, resentment, and unwillingness rise to her throat. She saw Qian Dayou not far away, whispering and flirting with a young internet celebrity, oblivious to everyone else. They had only been married for seven or eight years. After she gave birth to her son and felt her position was secure, she finally managed to retrieve the original prenuptial agreement from Qian Dayou, which was crucial for the distribution of the inheritance, and then destroyed it completely.
But so what? The ties of mutual interests had seeped into their very bones. Their bond was too deep. Though they were already like strangers, each going their own way, they still had to maintain the facade of a marriage in name only, jointly holding controlling shares in the Fumao Group, and playing the role of a "model couple" in countless situations. Only she knew the bitterness and frustration she felt.
Looking at Shen Zhiwei, who had left long ago and now lived a carefree life like a gust of wind, Li Jiaqi felt that fate was utterly absurd. She had once regarded Zhiwei as an enemy coveting the family fortune, using every means to drive her out, while she herself firmly grasped wealth and power. In the end, however, she was trapped tightly in this golden cage. And that "loser" had lived a life that Li Jiaqi could never reach.
A myriad of emotions surged within Li Jiaqi's chest. In the end, she simply stiffly shifted her gaze, picked up her wine glass, and turned to the other side, as if facing a complete stranger.
Zhiwei took in Li Jiaqi's complex expression in that instant. She said nothing, simply taking a small sip of champagne and calmly gazing at the dazzling night view outside the window. Some people are destined to be just passersby in our lives; even a greeting seems superfluous. They had already embarked on completely different paths, one trapped in a cage, the other soaring in the sky, with no possibility of ever crossing paths again.
Time seems to have been exceptionally kind to Shen Zhiwei. While most of her peers are struggling with sagging skin and out-of-shape figures, she still maintains an astonishingly graceful physique. It's not the extreme, gaunt look that female celebrities strive for on camera, but rather a supple and elegant line brimming with vitality.
She once joked, "I don't need to compete for attention in front of the camera, why should I starve myself into a paper doll?" Despite this, she has maintained a habit she developed in her youth—yoga—for decades. Every morning, without fail, for an hour, on the sun-drenched terrace of the elegant garden, accompanied by serene Buddhist music, her body stretches and folds, like the most supple vine, yet carrying an inner sense of strength.
In her youth, this dedication might have stemmed from a focus on health and an instinctive pursuit of beauty, and it didn't seem particularly outstanding. However, as she rollerbladed past fifty and approached sixty, and as more and more people around her were being dragged down by gravity, her figure, sculpted through years of self-discipline, became all the more precious and dazzling.
It even transcends her well-maintained appearance and astonishing wealth, becoming a more impactful declaration about the state of life. Standing there, without saying a word, she is a sight to behold, a posture in herself, telling the world that time, besides leaving its marks, can also leave the gentlest touch.
Naturally, some people were curious, even somewhat puzzled. During a tea gathering with several younger ladies, one of them, a young woman who had just given birth and was struggling to regain her figure, asked with a hint of envy, "Ms. Shen, how do you manage to do it? Maintaining this state for decades, it takes so much willpower and self-discipline! Just thinking about it makes me feel like it's a tough job."
Zhiwei was gently stirring the fruit and flower tea in her cup with a small silver spoon when she heard this. She looked up, a knowing smile flashing across her eyes, a smile that was rare for someone her age, a smile with a touch of sly honesty.
"A chore?" She gently put down the silver spoon and leaned back lazily in her chair. "Perhaps. But you should know that since I'm attracted to young, beautiful, and energetic boys, I naturally have to pay the corresponding 'price'."
She paused, her gaze sweeping over the slightly astonished faces of the people present. Her tone remained relaxed, yet each word was clear: "I can't have all the good things in this world by myself. I enjoy the pleasure brought by their youthful energy, so how can I tolerate becoming a bloated, slow person who needs to be supported by young people, and who might even be secretly mocked by them as 'that rich old lady'?"
"Maintaining my figure is less about pleasing others and more about pleasing myself, so that I can always stand confidently and equally beside the people I like, without becoming a laughing stock in their eyes." She picked up her teacup, took a small sip, and her eyes were clear and sharp. "It has nothing to do with other people's opinions, but is my basic requirement for this life. What I want is freedom, and self-discipline is just the bargaining chip to obtain that freedom."
Her words were both frank and shocking. She made no secret of her admiration and desire for young women, and viewed maintaining her own charm as a fair exchange and a matter of self-respect. This was not ascetic self-torture, but rather a conscious hedonist's voluntary and willing "harshness" in pursuit of ultimate freedom.
For a moment, everyone was speechless. Upon reflection, they found the logic irrefutable. In her, self-discipline and freedom were not contradictory, but complementary. It was this decades-long "rigor" that forged her current free-spirited and unrestrained confidence. She lived as the master of her own desires, not their slave.
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