Chapter 1: Arranged Marriage
“I’m not getting married! If you want a marriage so badly, do it yourselves!”
“Have you all lost your minds? Has the Shen family gone so poor that you have to ‘marry me off’ to a man?!”
The moment Shen Shuyi shouted those two sentences, his head buzzed with fury. Inside the mourning hall, everyone fell completely silent.
Today was Old Master Shen’s funeral.
The old man had been ill for some time, so his death wasn’t unexpected. Everyone had been mentally prepared — not exactly heartbroken.
The mourning hall was filled with relatives. All had arrived except Shen Shuyi’s eldest brother — the current head of the Shen family.
There were also aunts, uncles, and distant relatives — practically every branch of the family tree had shown up.
But none of them were really here to mourn Old Master Shen.
They were here because of Shen Shuyi’s marriage.
“Shuyi, your marriage was arranged before the old man passed away. Besides, the Zhao family isn’t bad — their business in America is doing well. The Shen family needs to expand overseas now. You marrying him benefits both families.”
One of his uncles tried to reason with him.
But when he met Shen Shuyi’s furious gaze, his voice weakened until it died completely.
The others wanted to speak too, but everyone in Hong Kong knew what kind of temper the Shen family’s third young master had.
He was the Shen family’s most pampered son — spoiled since birth, raised like a precious jewel. Old Master Shen would have plucked stars from the sky for him if he could.
Growing up, Shen Shuyi was willful and proud — a notorious little tyrant in Hong Kong’s elite circles.
Who dared provoke him?
“You think it benefits both families? Then why don’t you marry him?” Shen Shuyi sneered at the uncle who spoke, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re over fifty, second uncle, but you’ve still got some charm left!”
The man was so angry he nearly fainted. He managed to choke out a “you—” before his eyes rolled back and he actually passed out.
The rest of the family went dead quiet. No one dared bring up the marriage again.
“I’m not getting married,” Shen Shuyi repeated, furious. The more he thought about it, the more absurd it seemed.
The Shen family of Hong Kong — one of the four great financial families, with generations of power and wealth. After the economic reforms, they soared even higher, holding influence in both business and politics.
And he, Shen Shuyi, was the family’s treasured youngest son.
He had two older brothers and was the baby of the family — a late-born child his parents adored. They feared he’d melt in their mouths or shatter in their hands.
After his parents died in a car accident, Old Master Shen raised him himself, showering him with even greater affection — to the point of indulgence.
There was no way that loving grandfather would willingly marry him off.
Shen Shuyi didn’t believe it for a second. It had to be his eldest brother’s doing — that cold-blooded schemer.
He’d just inherited the family head position and must’ve been afraid Shuyi would fight him for the inheritance. So he found a way to marry him off and get him out of the way.
What a cunning move.
He’d rushed back from the U.S. when he heard the news of his grandfather’s death — devastated, crying for days on end, losing his voice in grief.
But before his tears had even dried, his eldest brother hit him with: “Grandfather arranged you a marriage before he died.”
He was stunned speechless.
Hadn’t the Qing dynasty fallen a hundred years ago? And the Shen family was still practicing arranged marriages?
Wake up — what century was this?! Were they ancient corpses crawling out of their coffins to meddle in his love life?
And now here he was, barely done grieving, about to mourn the death of his freedom and romantic dreams too.
Shen Shuyi had lived twenty-some smooth, privileged years — studying abroad, living in luxury, his life practically blessed by the gods.
And now this? This was the roadblock he never saw coming.
The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. He wasn’t one to tolerate injustice quietly.
Being spoiled by his grandfather had taught him a particular set of skills: smashing things, throwing tantrums, and making scenes.
And once Young Master Shen decided he wasn’t doing something, nobody on earth could make him.
He glanced at a white jade ornament shaped like a Buddha’s hand — worth over a million yuan — and without hesitation, hurled it to the ground.
Crash!
A glorious shattering sound. Better to break as jade than live as clay.
That single act perfectly displayed his arrogance and defiance.
To be fair, even in his fury, Shen Shuyi was breathtakingly beautiful — striking features, luminous eyes, and a face as dazzling as fine porcelain. His mourning clothes only emphasized the delicate fragility beneath the fiery temper.
His peach-blossom eyes were wide and red from crying, lashes wet with tears — tears for his dead grandfather, and now for his dead freedom.
The mixture of beauty and temper made his defiance almost mesmerizing.
A few of the younger male cousins sneaked glances at him, throats dry, hearts pounding, before hurriedly looking away.
Smashing one jade ornament wasn’t enough — he picked up a jade carving of a boy playing in water and smashed that too.
He did spare the jade Guanyin statue though — not because it wasn’t worth breaking, but because he was superstitious and still respected the goddess. Even in rage, some sense remained.
For a while, the only sound in the hall was his tantrum.
Everyone else stood frozen, afraid to breathe.
When he finally ran out of things nearby to break, his gaze landed on a four-panel Cantonese embroidery screen — late Qing dynasty, exquisite and priceless.
He knew it was his eldest brother’s favorite. His eyes narrowed. Perfect. He raised his hands, ready to push it over.
“Enough!”
A cold voice cut through the air. Shen Lu, his eldest brother, finally spoke.
“You’re over twenty years old,” Shen Lu said sharply. “Do you think you’re still a three-year-old child? Making a scene at Grandfather’s funeral—have you no shame?”
The instant Shen Lu’s voice sounded, Shen Shuyi’s bravado wilted a little.
The 34-carat Cartier diamond brooch he’d been about to throw stayed in his hand. (He hesitated partly because it was his own — smashing it would hurt him most.)
Despite his temper, he’d always been a little afraid of his brother.
Shen Lu was ten years older — ruthless in business, feared as a “cold-faced devil.” Even toward his own brother, he showed no leniency.
Shen Shuyi had grown up half-fearing, half-resenting him. More like a father than a brother.
“This marriage was arranged by Grandfather himself,” Shen Lu said icily. “If you have a problem, go argue with him.”
Shen Shuyi nearly screamed.
What the hell did that mean? The old man was dead — was his brother telling him to join him in the afterlife?
How cruel could he get?!
But… maybe that was just how succession worked in powerful families.
“I—” Shen Shuyi bit his lip, eyes misting again. If Grandfather were still alive, he’d never treat me like this…
Grief, confusion, and outrage welled up together.
He didn’t understand why his beloved grandfather would arrange such a marriage. His tears came again, unstoppable.
Shen Lu didn’t let him drag it out. “You live off the Shen family, spend the Shen family’s money, but have never earned a cent for us. Don’t want to marry? Fine. From today on, all your cards are frozen — including your black card.”
“When you come to your senses,” he added, “you’ll get your allowance back.”
The implication was clear: you’re a useless freeloader.
Even a clay figure would feel insulted — and Shen Shuyi was proud to the bone. Being humiliated in front of everyone burned through his pride like acid.
His temper flared again. “Fine! You think I care about your stupid money? Freeze it! I’ll just starve to death then!”
He stormed out of the hall, slamming the doors behind him with a thunderous BANG.
Shen Lu watched him go, eyes cold. “Tell everyone in Hong Kong — whoever dares lend Shen Shuyi a single cent is going against me.”
And that was that.
The family finally breathed a sigh of relief.
No matter how much he resisted, the marriage would still happen.
On the ride home, Shen Shuyi sat sulking in the back of the Rolls-Royce.
He kicked the expensive leather seat, leaving dusty shoeprints, then punched the air in frustration — and finally broke down crying again, covering his face with his hands.
“Why is my life so miserable? Grandpa just died, the tea’s not even cold yet, and that heartless bastard of a brother is already ruining my life!”
With his cards frozen, he could already imagine his future poverty. “I’ll be eating cabbage in a ditch next week…”
The thought made him cry even harder, tears dripping like pearls.
The driver kept his eyes straight ahead, pretending to be invisible. He knew better than to say a word — this young master’s moods were dangerous territory.
After all, the third young master had just returned from America.
The Rolls-Royce wound its way up the mountainside toward Shallow Bay — a neighborhood of luxury villas worth tens of billions, home only to the richest and most powerful.
Even in Hong Kong, where rich people were as common as clouds, living here required influence, not just money.
Shen Shuyi lived in Villa No. 1 — “Shuiwan One.”
When he was born, his arrival had made headlines across Hong Kong. To celebrate, Old Master Shen had bought Shuiwan One — an estate so exclusive it wasn’t even for sale — as Shuyi’s future marital property.
He’d grown up there before leaving for America.
The tree-lined road was quiet and elegant, perfumed with a faint scent from imported plane trees.
Tired from crying, Shen Shuyi leaned back in the seat. His phone buzzed.
A message from Shen Lu:
“Your fiancé has already arrived at Shuiwan One. Whether you like it or not, the marriage will happen. Go meet him.”
Shen Shuyi’s hands clenched. He wanted to throw his phone out the window — smash it to bits.
But that wouldn’t solve anything.
He took a deep breath, glanced down at the million-yuan car interior, then at the ten-million-yuan watch on his wrist.
No way was he giving up this life of luxury.
And knowing Shen Lu, he wasn’t bluffing about freezing the cards.
As the car stopped in front of Shuiwan One, he looked up.
At the gate stood a tall, broad-shouldered young man — straight-backed, handsome even in the swirling snow.
Shen Shuyi stared at him for a long time, until his eyes turned red again.
The pampered young master finally admitted defeat. He stepped out of the car reluctantly and trudged toward him.
Amid the falling snow, he lifted his chin and said coldly, “You’re the one surnamed Zhao?”
Author’s Note:
Little Zhao: Whoa, a wife from the heavens!
PS: Both the gong and shou have bad tempers! First time writing a spoiled, bratty kitten-type uke, hehe~
