Chapter 1 — My Arch-Nemesis Cried at My Wedding

At the wedding reception, my sworn enemy—Lu Yanshen—called me exactly thirty-one times. I did not pick up a single call. I was simply too busy stuffing my face. My best friend, Zhang Tian, had finally managed to get herself hitched, and I had been running ragged all day in my bridesmaid dress, tending to every minor detail. My phone, tucked away in my handbag, had been buzzing like some sort of illicit vibrating toy, but I hadn't heard a thing. It wasn't until eleven o'clock that night, back in my hotel room, that I pulled the device out and saw the notifications—well, look at that: thirty-one missed calls, every single one from Lu Yanshen. The phone was so hot it felt like I could have fried an egg on it. Staring at the name on the screen, the first thought that flashed through my mind was: something big has gone wrong.

This tycoon had snatched three major clients from me last quarter alone. Just last month, at an auction, he had slammed his fist onto the table right in front of the entire business circle, nearly flipping the table over. He was the commercial rival I wanted to crush more than anyone else on this earth; there was no second place. If he called me thirty-one times, it meant one of two things: either he was calling to gloat that he’d just acquired my company, or my company had finally gone belly-up. I called him back, eager to see what kind of madness he was brewing. He picked up on the very first ring.

"Lu Yanshen, what exactly do you want..."

Before I could finish, I heard a very strange sound. A rhythmic, wet sniffling. He was breathing heavily, his voice raspy and choked with a low, guttural quality. It sounded exactly like a kettle boiling over to its breaking point. I pulled the phone away to look at the screen, confirming I hadn’t misdialed.

"...Lu Yanshen?"

The other end was silent. But I could clearly hear the sound of him blowing his nose—a violent, forceful exhalation that sounded as if he were trying to eject his sinuses directly into his brain.

"Why are you crying?"

There was a three-second silence.

"I’m not."

His voice was sullen, as if he were burying his face into a pillow. "I just have a cold."

It was July, sweltering hot. The temperature outside was nearly forty degrees Celsius. It was so hot the asphalt on the road was practically melting into grease. And he dared to tell me he had a cold.

"...Did you crawl into a meat locker at the Lu Corporation just to call me?"

He didn't respond. I leaned back against the hotel headboard, crossed my legs, and waited to see what kind of game he was playing. Finally, he spoke. His voice was pressed low, as if every word were being forced out from between gritted teeth.

"Zhang Niannian, you’ve fought me for six years, and in the end, you didn’t even say a word, just went and sneaked off to marry someone else?"

My head spun. What on earth was this? Who got married? Who sneaked off to fool him? Weren’t we supposed to be mortal enemies? Was he suggesting I was some kind of heartless femme fatale?

Lu Yanshen: the youngest president of a public company in City A, twenty-nine years old, controlling more than half the quality resources in the industry. At the negotiating table, no one could get the better of him, and at cocktail parties, no woman could ever soften his resolve. The media wrote of him: "So perfect he doesn't seem real." They also wrote of me: "The only woman who can go toe-to-toe with Lu Yanshen." They dubbed us the "other married couple of the City A business world." We ran into each other daily, stabbing each other in the back, yet neither of us could ever seem to break free from the other's orbit. My assessment of that? Total nonsense. Zhang Tian’s assessment? "You two are going to end up in bed together sooner or later." My assessment of that? I’m ending this friendship.

I admit Lu Yanshen is handsome—broad shoulders, narrow waist, eight-pack abs, fair skin. Wearing a suit, he looks like a "bad boy in a scholar’s disguise," but it’s a shame someone that delicious grew such a wicked mouth. There was absolutely no chance for us. The mere sight of his face infuriated me. Three days ago, at the City A business summit, I had felt a physical repulsion the moment I saw him representing the Lu family. Every time I had to cooperate with his company, the person I had to deal with was him. My luck was truly abysmal. He sat across the negotiating table, twirling his pen, looking as relaxed as if he were on vacation.

"President Zhang, this price is very difficult for me to accept."

He tilted his head to look at me, his tone as flat as if he were commenting on the pleasant weather. But I was all too familiar with the curve of his lips—that smug, infuriating smirk of a man who knew he had already secured the victory. I threw my file onto the table.

"President Lu, can you stop the act? Just tell me the bottom line."

He stood up, walked around the table to my side, and leaned down to whisper a number right into my ear. He was too close. So close I could smell the fresh, woody fragrance of his cologne. I tilted my head to look at him. His eyes were beautiful up close—inky black irises, and eyelashes that were absurdly long. I felt a flicker of tension.

"Lu Yanshen, back off."

He stood up straight and let out a soft laugh. "President Zhang, what are you nervous about?"

"I’m afraid your perfume will suffocate me. No matter how much you spray, you can’t mask the rotting smell of money on you."

His smile faded, and he uttered words that irritated me even more. "Fine. Next time, I won't wear any. We'll stick to my price. If you want to keep haggling, we’ll just find another partner."

"You already raised the price once last time. Don't be too greedy, President Zhang."

He turned and walked away, leaving me sitting there, a thin layer of sweat slicking my back. It wasn't from the heat. It was from pure, unadulterated rage. I told myself it was just anger. A profit margin drop of one percent—it was genuinely infuriating. I just wanted to make a little extra money; what was wrong with that? That wretched Lu Yanshen was a massive headache. But for him to act like this now? It was bizarre.

"Lu Yanshen, what are you even talking about?"

"WeChat."

"WeChat what?"

"What you posted."

I closed the call and opened my social media feed. The latest post was from that afternoon. It was a selfie of me in my bridesmaid dress, with the floral arch at the wedding venue behind me, captioned: *The most important decision of my life, finally fulfilled.*

Suddenly, it clicked. Lu Yanshen thought I had gotten married. I almost burst out laughing, but I held it in. At that moment, I recalled the major overseas client he had stolen from me last quarter, the tea he had splashed onto my designer dress when he slammed his fist on the table, and that smug, punchable grin he wore when he hijacked my project last year. If I didn't make him suffer for this, I would be doing a disservice to all the frustration I had endured over these last six years.

"Oh, that," I said, intentionally lowering my voice to a calm, steady tone. "Yes, I got married."

The other end went dead silent. It was so quiet I wondered if he had even heard me. A full minute passed before he spoke. His tone was professional, cold, and utterly devoid of the emotion he usually displayed in business.

"Zhang Niannian, congratulations."

But his ragged breathing betrayed him. It was uneven—sharp, shallow gasps—as if he were on the verge of a breakdown.

"Thank you," I said, riding the wave of his misunderstanding.

"Who is the other party?"

I thought I heard a tiny, suppressed sob. Lu Yanshen was crying? Why was he crying? All that prestige was going to be ruined by his blubbering!

"...Who is it?"

"You wouldn't know him."