Chapter 22
"Then I'll call the maid over." As Jiang Suliu spoke, he helped fasten the brooch on Feng Jin's knitted cardigan, adjusted the cushion behind her so she could sit more comfortably, and then stood up to leave.
Watching his retreating figure, Feng Jin glanced at her injured right foot. Before long, a knock sounded at the door.
"Come in."
A woman around thirty entered, her appearance suggesting she was of Asian descent. She spoke fluent American English.
"Good morning, miss. I'm Alicia. Would you like to get up and freshen up?"
"Yes, I need a shower."
With Alicia's assistance, Feng Jin opted for a shower. The water temperature was set to 36°C—Jiang Suliu's instructions, she assumed, and made no comment. After bathing, she finally felt refreshed and clean. Reclining on a chaise longue, she closed her eyes to rest and soon dozed off.
When Alicia came in again and saw her asleep, she didn't disturb her. Following Mr. Jiang's instructions, she gently covered Feng Jin with a light blanket and quietly left.
About half an hour later, Feng Jin awoke. Rubbing her brow, she tried to get up, but paused the moment her foot touched the carpet.
She smiled slightly and called out, "Alicia."
Alicia entered shortly after.
"The butler asked me to check—would you like to join the gentleman for breakfast?"
"Yes, I will."
During breakfast with her father, Feng Jin had planned to bring up her return to China. But unexpectedly, her father spoke first: "Where's Jiang Suliu?"
Her hand paused as she held her knife and fork. "He didn't sleep at all last night. I asked him to rest this morning."
"I won't meddle in your private matters. Jiang Suliu may be just a secretary, but relationships are between two people. Don't let the company become your shackle."
His words brought a twinge of bitterness to Feng Jin's heart, though she smiled and said, "I understand. Don't worry—I won't repeat past mistakes."
"As long as you understand."
Their conversation wasn't exactly warm. Feng Jin's father had always been authoritative, even in teaching his daughter. He didn't quite know how to be gentle with her. Feng Jin, on the other hand, had long grown used to his tone and attitude, and took his words to heart.
After breakfast, Feng Jin followed her father into his study. It was just the two of them.
"Xiao Jin, when Sheng An was founded, your mother and I agreed to deposit part of the company's profits in a Swiss bank. It was meant for you to use when needed." As he spoke, a trace of sorrow crossed his face, as if recalling the past, but he quickly composed himself. He placed his hand on a fingerprint scanner; a lock clicked open. He pulled out a drawer and handed her an envelope. "Now, it's yours to manage."
Feng Jin took the envelope, looking quietly at her father.
"The Chu family has been trying to join forces with the Wang family against Sheng An for years. Back then, your relationship with the Chu family's son was good. I didn't want our generation's issues to affect yours." Her father sighed. "But it turns out that boy from the Chu family wasn't any better. I'm just glad you've moved on. As for returning home, wait until your foot heals. Whether it's one day or ten, it won't change much now. Just focus on recovery."
"Dad, it's not a serious injury."
He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Can't you stay and keep an old man company then?"
"Of course I can, Dad," she said quickly.
"Good. Then you may go." Her father waved a hand, looking weary. "Let me have some quiet time."
Feng Jin left the study. The wheelchair she was using had been purchased by the butler temporarily—it was smart, easy to control, but couldn't climb stairs.
She asked the kitchen to prepare another breakfast in two hours for Jiang Suliu, then went to the smaller study on the other side of the house.
The room was filled with her textbooks and materials from her time studying in New York, along with various other books. As the collection grew, the butler had turned this room into a dedicated library. Thanks to regular cleaning, it remained neat and tidy.
Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow across the bookshelf and dispelling the slight chill in the air.
Feng Jin walked over and casually pulled out a book, flipping it open. About halfway through, a photograph slipped out from between the pages. She paused, then bent down to pick it up.
It was an old black-and-white photo. A gentle-looking woman in a qipao sat in a round-back armchair, smiling softly at the camera. Despite the photograph's age, a sense of warmth still radiated from it. A trace of longing and melancholy flickered in Feng Jin's eyes.
She had searched for this photo for a long time—who would've thought it would be here?
Thankfully, the room was dry, and the photograph hadn't been damaged.
Since her mother's passing, women had come and gone in her father's life, none of them lasting. As a child, Feng Jin had rejected the presence of any woman at home. As she grew older, she came to hope that someone might stay with her father.
As she stared at the photo, deep in thought, a faint sound reached her ears.
It seemed Jiang Suliu had woken up.
Feng Jin slipped the photo back between the pages of the book, closed it, and prepared to leave the study with it in hand.
Just as she stepped out, she saw Jiang Suliu walking toward her.
"Director—Feng Jin, it's lunchtime."
Seeing her father already seated at the table, she realized the morning had flown by. A maid brought her warm water and a towel to freshen up before the meal.
During lunch, Jiang Suliu attentively served her with the public chopsticks, carefully removing fish bones before placing food into her bowl. His meticulous care made Feng Jin feel uncharacteristically at a loss.
"Eat your own meal—don't just worry about me."
Her father ignored the two entirely. After finishing his meal, he left the table, leaving Feng Jin and Jiang Suliu to sit in silence for a moment.
Their eyes briefly met, then shifted away, returning to their usual calm.
After lunch, they sat in the back garden, continuing their discussion about company matters.
While Feng Jin was in New York, the Chu family had made significant moves, increasing their shareholding. Yet the figure behind them had yet to reveal themselves. Feng Jin couldn't tell what their ultimate goal was. She didn't plan to alert them just yet. If only she could understand their motive—then she would know how to respond.
But that person remained well hidden. Or perhaps... she had overlooked something?
"We've reached a preliminary agreement with the Concast Group during a video meeting with their lead representative. Most of the details are settled—President?"
Jiang Suliu's voice brought her back. Feng Jin looked at him and said, "Send the details to my inbox."
"Yes, President."
He could tell she was distracted. Resting on her lap was an old hardback book, its cover simply titled i—an original edition, by the look of it. Her hand rested gently atop it, as if the book held special meaning.
Green vines clung to the garden wall, swaying in the breeze and occasionally brushing her hair and ear. She leaned slightly away.
Noticing this, Jiang Suliu rose, walked over, and gently pushed the vines back without breaking them—redirecting their growth upward instead.
Feng Jin watched him silently, her calm gaze resting on him.
When he turned back and saw her looking, he asked, "President?"
"Hm?"
His lips pressed into a thin line. He lowered his eyes, obscuring whatever emotion stirred within them.
"It's nothing," he said.
"Alright," she replied lightly, unconcerned by his response.
The summer breeze was unusually cool. Tree shadows danced on the ground and ripples stirred across the calm surface of the pond.
But neither of their hearts remained still.
"President, there's another video meeting with Concast's lead at 8:30 tonight. Would you like to nap first?" Seeing her fatigue, Jiang Suliu added, "Afterward, I'll prepare a hot compress for you—would that be alright?"
Feng Jin nodded. "Okay."
At the stairs, Jiang Suliu naturally lifted her into his arms and carried her up.
Back in the bedroom, Feng Jin lay down again, placing the book on the nightstand. Jiang Suliu gently propped her injured foot on a soft pillow and covered her with a light blanket to keep her warm.
She looked at him and met his gaze—his fox-like eyes reflecting her own.
"Secretary Jiang, are you always this attentive?"
His hands stilled slightly, as if considering how to answer. But when he opened his mouth, he realized—she had already closed her eyes. Her head tilted to one side, strands of dark hair trailing across the pillow like ink on paper.
Asleep?
It seemed her bouts of insomnia had grown less frequent. A good sign.
Jiang Suliu drew the curtains, dimming the room. He looked at her resting form, half-lowering his eyes.
He had never been the most dutiful doctor—lacking the compassion one might expect. Most of his time had been spent in the lab, only occasionally seeing patients on behalf of his mentor. He preferred test tubes over people.
Some said his heart was cold.
So then—why did he care if she was well or not?