The sex photo scandal has come to an end.
After returning from Yabuli, Li Fuqiang completely reverted to his old ways, becoming even more unrestrained. He placed Xiaobai and Meizi in an inconspicuous apartment on the East Third Ring Road, making them his playthings at his beck and call. Sometimes he would summon them alone, sometimes it was a threesome, depending entirely on his mood that day. Countless men and women sought his pleasure, either through introductions or by offering themselves to him.
He was always cautious in this regard, always having Qian Dayou book an executive suite at a five-star hotel at the last minute, and then thoroughly searching the other person inside and out, making sure they changed clothes and even removed their jewelry before allowing them to undress. This strictness wasn't out of concern for his reputation, but purely a habit he had developed over many years in the business world—never leaving any possible leverage for others to exploit.
But that night, in the suite on the top floor of the Chang'an Club, perhaps because he had just closed a big deal and was in a good mood, or perhaps because Mei Zi's newly learned Thai massage technique was really effective, Li Fuqiang drank a few more glasses of red wine and fell into a deep sleep during the aftercare. His phone was casually placed on the bedside table, and the screen was still lit up with a chat interface with a certain young master.
Meizi watched as his snoring grew louder, then gently got up. She walked to the window; the night view from the 27th floor was dazzling like a galaxy. She glanced back at the overweight middle-aged man on the bed, then remembered the tempting price offered by the rival company, and her fingertips trembled slightly. She picked up Li Fuqiang's phone; the fingerprint unlock was still working. She held up the phone, clearly framing the naked figure on the bed in the mirror's viewfinder. The phone barely obscured her face; although the foreground was slightly blurry, her alluring figure was fully exposed, the black maid lingerie tempting enough to make one's nose bleed.
With a soft "click," she quickly sent the photo to herself via WeChat, then deftly deleted the chat history and sending traces before putting her phone back. The whole process took no more than two minutes, but her heart pounded like she'd run a full marathon.
Three days later, at dusk, the conference room on the top floor of the Fumao Group was brightly lit. Li Fuqiang sat in the main seat with a livid face, flanked by Zhao Youlin, Qian Dayou, and the heads of the public relations and legal departments. On the projection screen was the photo that had been circulating wildly on various social media platforms.
"It's been investigated," Zhao Youlin said hoarsely. "The photos were leaked through an overseas IP address, and the source can't be traced. Many accounts are reposting them, but the motive is still unclear. As for the woman..." She looked at Li Fuqiang. Li Fuqiang couldn't recall sleeping with any woman with a large, afro.
The PR director, wiping sweat from his brow, added, "Currently, public opinion is mainly focused on Mr. Li's private life, and it hasn't affected the company's business yet. However, some shareholders have already expressed concern..."
Li Fuqiang slammed his fist on the table: "Investigate! Find out who this traitor is!"
Just then, the conference room door was gently pushed open, and Zhiwei walked in. She was wearing a simple off-white cashmere dress, with a matching coat draped over her arm, as if she had just come from a tea party. Her gaze lingered on the projection screen for a moment before she calmly asked, "Are minors involved?"
"What?" Li Fuqiang didn't react for a moment.
"Is the woman in the photo an adult? Is it involved in any sexual assault or harassment?" Zhiwei asked calmly.
Li Fuqiang was momentarily at a loss for words to answer his wife's question, while Qian Dayou quickly shook his head. Zhiwei nodded slightly and turned to the public relations director: "Has the other party shown their face? Will there be any further evidence?"
"No, madam. If the other party showed their face, we would definitely know the clues. So although we don't know if there are any other photos of the other party, it's likely that there aren't any photos showing their face." The public relations director hesitated before continuing.
Zhiwei's lips curved into an almost imperceptible smile: "That's good." She turned to Li Fuqiang, "I'll handle it."
The following day at 10 a.m., the venue for the Fumao Group's press conference was packed. Zhiwei walked onto the stage alone, and surprisingly, she was sporting a head of large, wavy hair that was remarkably similar to that in the photos, only darker in color and with more defined curls. She wore a sharply tailored black suit with a rose-shaped brooch at the lapel.
She ignored the dense array of cameras below the stage, and instead opened the folder and took out a police receipt.
"On November 3rd last year, I lost my cell phone near the Wangfujing Bookstore and immediately reported it to the Chaoyang Branch of the Public Security Bureau." She held up the receipt to the camera, her voice clear and calm, "Now it seems that someone obtained private photos of my husband and me from this phone and illegally distributed them."
An uproar erupted in the audience. Flashbulbs went off wildly as reporters scrambled to raise their hands.
A female reporter seized the opportunity to ask a question: "Mrs. Li, from what we've observed, you usually appear in public with long, straight hair, and it seemed like you had straight hair yesterday too. Why is it like this today...?"
Zhiwei smiled slightly and took out a stack of photos from the folder to show the media. Her look in the photos was ever-changing: sometimes she had a neat, ear-length bob, sometimes she had a charming curly perm, sometimes she had pinkish-gray hair with highlights, and there was even a rebellious look with dreadlocks.
"Looks like I'm still not famous enough," she said casually. "I've shown these looks on different occasions before. My husband loves my ever-changing style, so we keep over twenty custom-made wigs made from real human hair at home, and I often wear a different one when I go out. It's just that my media friends probably didn't notice before."
Good-natured laughter rippled through the audience. She jokingly followed up, "Speaking of which, shouldn't that wig company consider having me as their spokesperson? After all, I'm their most loyal customer; the money I've spent with them over the years could buy several Hermès bags."
The atmosphere became more relaxed. She then returned to the main topic, pointing to the explicit photo on the projection screen: "This photo was taken about two years ago. After my phone was lost, I was afraid of the private photos being leaked, so I reported it to the police, hoping they could help me find it, but unfortunately, I couldn't. At the time of the photo, I wasn't as strict with my figure, and I was a bit fuller than I am now." She turned slightly to show off her current slender waistline, "So I implore all my media friends, if you insist on publishing this photo, please be sure to retouch it. After all—"
She paused, and the audience immediately fell silent.
Which woman doesn't want to look better in photos?
After these words, the audience was initially silent, then erupted in bursts of snickers. Soon, hashtags such as #ShenZhiweiRespondsToEdisonPhotoSexScandal#, #RequestForPhotoshop#, and #WhatBrandIsMrsLiUsingAWig# topped the trending charts. Public opinion shifted instantly, from criticism of the wealthy man's private life to jeering at the socialite's humorous response.
Meanwhile, in a private club on the other side of the city, Mei Zi gritted her teeth, staring at her phone screen: "She actually said I'm fat? Where am I fat?" She angrily turned to the man opposite her, "Listen to what she said!"
The man looked at her coldly: "You're more trouble than you're worth. I asked you to film something exciting, and this is the stuff you produce? The whole city is talking about Mrs. Li's humor now; who cares about Li Fuqiang's petty squabbles?"
"Then what am I going to do? What about the money?"
"Get out." The man slammed an envelope on the table. "Don't let me see you again."
Mei grabbed the envelope and stormed off. She still couldn't understand how Shen Zhiwei, who seemed so detached from worldly affairs, could have broken the deadlock from such a peculiar angle.
Inside the Fu Mao Building, the executives, now free from the crisis, gathered in the break room, still shaken by the experience.
"That was close," the PR director said, wiping sweat from his brow. "If Madam hadn't happened to lose her phone and filed a police report, this would have been..."
Standing in the corner, Xiaoyu softly chimed in, "Speaking of which, it seems like Madam loses her phone every year, and she reports it to the police each time, and she goes to a different police station every year. Also, Madam frequently changes her hairstyle—long, short, curly, straight—and the color changes often too."
Everyone was taken aback by these words, exchanging knowing glances. Qian Dayou lowered his voice: "So, Madam had already..."
Before the words were finished, everyone understood. This was no coincidence; it was a meticulously planned defensive fortification that had been in place for years.
Meanwhile, Zhiwei was sitting in her suite at Rong Mansion, her fingertips lightly tracing the articles about the "most beautiful wealthy wife" on her tablet screen. Dusk was deepening outside the window, reflected in her calm and unwavering eyes.
She got up and walked to the wardrobe, took out a chestnut-colored wavy wig, and compared it to the mirror. The woman in the mirror had a slight upturn at the corners of her lips, a faint smile, yet it carried a chill like the biting cold of early spring.
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