Volume One, Chapter Eight: Is It Useful?

Jiang Ning took a taxi home from the hospital, her energy utterly spent, and collapsed onto her bed, sinking into a deep, oblivious sleep.

Lu Cheng had dropped her off at the entrance of her apartment complex. He stood by the roadside for less than a minute before a black Cayenne GT drew up and stopped in front of him.

He swung his long legs into the back seat. “To the hotel.”

The driver replied, “Yes, Mr. Lu.”

On the way, Lu Cheng responded to a few work messages on his phone, then paused, gazing thoughtfully out the window, his fingertips tapping rhythmically on the darkened screen.

The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror.

Lu Cheng spoke. “Old Zhang.”

“Yes, Mr. Lu?” the driver responded.

“Did you see what happened at the hospital entrance just now?”

Old Zhang hesitated for a second before nodding. “I saw.”

His instincts told him that the less he knew about his boss’s private affairs, the better. But the car had been parked just across from the hospital; to claim he’d missed it would only suggest he’d been slacking off during work hours and not paying attention to his boss’s movements.

“Take care of it. Don’t let those videos and photos spread online.”

The driver agreed. “Understood, Mr. Lu.”

After a few quiet minutes, Lu Cheng spoke again. “How did you and your wife meet?”

It was the first time Lu Cheng had ever talked to him about anything outside of work.

The driver immediately thought of the fragile, delicate-looking girl from earlier, whose actions and demeanor stood in stark contrast.

He answered stiffly, “Introduced by a matchmaker.”

Lu Cheng asked, “You didn’t know her before?”

“We’d met a few times. Not well acquainted,” the driver replied.

Lu Cheng gave a brief “oh,” said nothing more, and lowered his head to open a chat window with someone on WeChat.

The last exchange had been just past midnight on National Day. He’d sent a photo of the sign for an adult store, followed by a message: “I asked you to get me a shop, and this is what you found?”

The reply was a voice message, over twenty seconds of uncontrollable laughter, not a single serious word.

After laughing, another voice message: “Wasn’t it you who said it? Quiet, few customers, preferably a place already up for transfer, naturally discreet, and no more than three kilometers from the Garden Community. Honestly, I have to praise whoever handled this—managing to find a shop that fits your requirements exactly, that’s real skill, hahaha!”

Lu Cheng replied: “Find some time to buy a box.”

The other asked: “What kind of box?”

Lu Cheng: “To hold your ashes.”

The reply came as a fifty-nine-second voice message; Lu Cheng couldn’t be bothered to listen, held down to delete it.

That was where the chat ended. In the message box, Lu Cheng typed: Come to the hotel.

The reply was instant: Busy.

He wasn’t stupid; it was obvious Lu Cheng was calling him over for a reckoning, and he had no intention of walking into that trap.

“Busy” was the universal excuse for refusing invitations. Don’t ask what they’re busy with—if you do, there’ll always be a reason to fob you off.

—As long as you have the confidence to refuse, and the willpower to resist temptation.

Lu Cheng calmly took a set of car keys from the vehicle, snapped a photo, and sent it over.

Back came a salute emoji, captioned: Roger!

Confidence? At best, shaky. Willpower? None at all.

Forty minutes later, the car stopped at the entrance of the hotel where Lu Cheng was staying. He entered the lobby, scanned the room, and quickly spotted Chu Heng by the window in the lounge, playing on his phone.

Lu Cheng took the seat opposite. Chu Heng glanced up, immediately set his phone aside, and with both hands cupped before him, declared, “Mr. Lu, you are magnanimous, you are mighty, Mr. Lu, you are my god.”

The waiter approached. Lu Cheng ordered a hand-brewed coffee, then pulled the car keys from his pocket and tossed them to Chu Heng. “A wedding gift. The car’s already delivered to the villa.”

A Porsche 911, shark blue.

Chu Heng was a Porsche fanatic. While others collected stamps, he collected cars; he had seven colors of the 911 at home already. With this shark blue, his collection was complete.

Chu Heng grinned, “I knew it! You called me over for something good, not to scold me about the store, right?”

Whatever the case, he’d put the flattery out first.

The coffee arrived. Lu Cheng took a sip, rich aroma spreading through his mouth, and recalled the night Jiang Ning had come to the shop.

Fate works in mysterious ways. Just as he’d finished messaging Chu Heng and was about to leave, he saw her coming across the street.

It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that, before seeing Jiang Ning, he'd already decided where to bury Chu Heng.

Lu Cheng raised his brows, tone layered with meaning. “You’re a lucky one.”

Chu Heng was baffled, scratched his head, and smiled sheepishly.

They chatted about other things for a while. Chu Heng moved to the seat beside Lu Cheng, leaned in, and waggled his brows. “Cheng, what’s the deal with opening a shop here?”

From what he knew of Lu Cheng, he always had a purpose behind his actions. But what could there be to gain from just a little shop?

He hadn’t heard of the Lu family expanding business into River City either.

River City was a fourth- or fifth-tier city; the Lu family usually wouldn’t bother with it.

Lu Cheng shot him a sidelong glance.

Chu Heng caught on instantly, pressed his lips tight, and obediently returned to his seat.

Lu Cheng said, “Deal with that damned store yourself. You’ve ruined my reputation.”

Chu Heng looked awkward, not daring to respond.

Coffee finished, each went their own way. Lu Cheng returned to his room, took a nap, and upon waking, messaged Jiang Ning to ask where she wanted to eat that evening.

Jiang Ning replied: Hotpot?

Lu Cheng, brushing his teeth with one hand and typing with the other: Sure.

Something crossed his mind, and his brushing paused for a moment. The mirror reflected a faint smile in his eyes.

He typed: Is it useful?

At that moment, Jiang Ning was curled up on the sofa, phone in hand, scrolling through hotpot restaurants.

When someone else is treating, the choice of venue is a delicate matter.

First, you want a place with good flavor—bad food tortures both you and your guest. It can’t be too cheap, since low-quality ingredients can upset your stomach. But it can’t be too pricey either, lest you seem to be taking advantage.

A new message popped up from the pinned chat. Seeing the words “Is it useful?” left Jiang Ning confused; it took her a couple of seconds to realize what he meant.

She grabbed a plum from the table, popped it into her mouth, winced at the sourness, and quickly typed: Not really.

Not really?

Lu Cheng raised his brows.

Had she actually used it?

Lu Cheng: That’s normal. Fake is fake; it’ll never be the same as the real thing.

Jiang Ning read the reply, a cold smile appearing on her face, and typed back nonchalantly: True.

Lu Cheng: Interested in trying the real thing?

Jiang Ning narrowed her eyes, her fingers tapping crisply on her phone screen, an unmistakable hint of mockery rising on her freshly moisturized face.

Ha! Men…

He looked so proper, and yet inside, he was like a September crab—full of yellow.

Add his looks, and the fact that his friend owned an adult store, tsk tsk.

A jumble of thoughts fizzed up in her mind like tablets dropped in water. Jiang Ning grew suspicious; even the kiss Lu Cheng gave her, she began to wonder if it had some ulterior motive.

Last week, her friend Jian Shuyan, a super-fast news surfer, had shared a story.

A man contracted HIV from his wife, developed antisocial tendencies, and maliciously sought partners without protection.

Single-handedly, he caused more HIV cases in his area in one year than the previous ten combined. Utterly depraved, terrifying upon reflection.

So, although she’d agreed to hotpot for dinner, Jiang Ning changed her mind to single-person shabu-shabu.

One pot per person, each cooking their own.

She didn’t care what Lu Cheng thought—safety came first.

Lu Cheng assumed she’d simply decided to try shabu-shabu, never considering her deeper reasoning.

Jiang Ning wore the same outfit as earlier. To make eating easier, she’d tied her long hair up in a bun.

The restaurant was bustling. She ordered a bottle of iced soybean milk, sipped through a straw, and occasionally glanced sideways at Lu Cheng, her hands circling the bottle as she typed on her phone.

Lu Cheng wasn’t one to peek at her screen, but her conspicuous behavior made him curious. One glance, and he saw her search bar boldly displaying: “Can kissing transmit X disease?”