Chapter 2: The Misunderstanding
Ten minutes earlier, Zhao Yuheng had taken the subway to the ultra-wealthy district of Shallow Bay.
Using a few discreet tricks, he avoided the security patrols and arrived at the grand gates of Shuiwan One Villa.
The villa was magnificent—gold and marble, radiant and imposing.
One glance told him: I could work for ten years and still not afford a single brick of this place.
His phone buzzed—notifications kept popping up in the group chat called “Shameless Shen Family, Give Back Our Hard-Earned Money.”
Zhao Yuheng lowered his eyes, scrolling through the flood of furious messages:
[Heroic Soul]: This is outrageous! That Shen bastard thinks he owns the whole of Hong Kong? They demolished our own homes like that? I’m not done with them!
[AAA Plumbing & Repairs]: So what now? The houses are gone, no compensation, and they fob us off with one crummy resettlement unit.
[Tianya]: Sue them! There’s still law in this country, right?
[Calm Cloud]: @ZhaoYuheng Little Zhao, have you reached Shallow Bay yet? You’re the only college student among us victims. You have to speak up for us!
[Northern Lone Wolf]: [Voice message] Little Zhao’s grandpa is still lying in the hospital! If the Shen family doesn’t pay us at least a million, no one’s getting away with this!
The chat was looping endlessly around the same topic.
Last October, Zhao Yuheng’s neighborhood—Sanhe Bay City in Hong Kong—had received an official demolition notice. The project contractor? The illustrious Shen Group.
Originally, demolition meant happy compensation for everyone. The problem started when the Shen Group outsourced the project.
The actual demolition was handled by a small real estate company owned by a spoiled rich kid.
That young master was reckless, and during negotiations with the residents of Sanhe Bay, something went wrong. The agreed payout of 400,000 yuan per person suddenly turned into 200,000 in the final contract.
Half of the money had been pocketed as kickbacks. When the new contract reached the residents, all hell broke loose.
The locals weren’t easy to mess with. They refused to cooperate—bulldozers were parked outside, but no one was allowed in.
The rich kid panicked. The deadline for the demolition was approaching, and this area was slated for a cross-sea bridge. Delays were unacceptable.
After days of stalemate, that immoral brat had a vile idea—he sent in the bulldozers at midnight.
In one outrageous night, the houses were forcibly demolished.
Zhao Yuheng’s home happened to be the first one in Sanhe Bay—unlucky to bear the brunt.
His grandfather had just fallen asleep when the ground-shaking “BOOM” started. He ran out to the yard and saw the fence already flattened by the excavator. The old man, with a weak heart, collapsed on the spot and was rushed to the hospital.
That incident scared the rich kid enough to halt further demolition—for fear of causing death.
At the time, Zhao Yuheng was still in school. By the time he reached the hospital, his grandfather had already fallen into a coma.
It was half from the shock, half from relapse of an old kidney transplant issue. The hospital gave their final notice—surgery would cost 500,000 yuan.
All the savings Zhao Yuheng had scraped together from years of part-time work through high school and college—tens of thousands—were swallowed up instantly by that bottomless pit.
But faced with mounting medical bills, it was still a drop in the ocean.
Desperate, Zhao Yuheng turned to the law for help.
But the lawyer told him that proving his grandfather’s illness was caused by anger was a matter of subjective judgment. The medical report clearly stated it was a pre-existing condition.
So, legally, even if he confronted the developer, they couldn’t be held liable—maybe they’d pay some token “emotional damage,” but that’s it.
Hearing that, Zhao Yuheng decided that if the law couldn’t help, fists might.
He cornered the rich kid responsible for the demolition in his office, armed with his grandfather’s medical record. After a good beating, the trembling heir finally blurted out an address— “Go to Shuiwan One. Ask the Shen family for compensation.”
Zhao Yuheng checked the address and ended up here, in front of this luxury villa.
He waited for half an hour. The snow that had started in the morning grew heavier into the afternoon.
He had no umbrella. Snow piled lightly on his shoulders. Ten more minutes passed, and he thought today would be another dead end—Then, through the swirling white, a Rolls-Royce slowly glided up the wide drive of Shuiwan One.
The car stopped in front of him. The chauffeur got out first, followed by several bodyguards in black suits appearing from nowhere.
One opened the door, one held an umbrella, one scanned the surroundings like they were guarding a priceless museum artifact.
The car door opened under Zhao Yuheng’s gaze—first revealing a long, straight leg in loose, perfectly draping trousers of fine fabric. The exposed ankle was paler than the falling snow.
A faint trace of jasmine perfume—delicate, sweet—drifted through the icy air.
A man stepped out. Black hair, dark eyes, fair skin—but not sickly pale. From a distance, he looked like a black-and-white ink painting come alive.
Almost too beautiful to be real.
Zhao Yuheng froze for a moment, then stepped back politely to give way.
But instead of walking past, the young man stopped and stared at him—expression complicated.
After a long silence, the man stepped closer until he was standing right in front of him.
Zhao Yuheng had to lower his gaze slightly to meet his eyes.
The youth looked at him for a long time, hesitating before speaking in a voice softer and more pleasant than Zhao had expected.
“So, you’re the one surnamed Zhao?”
At the funeral, Shen Shuyi had been too distraught to think straight, but he still remembered—the partner the Shen family arranged for him bore that surname.
Zhao.
His assistant had texted to say the person was already at the gate. Shen Shuyi hadn’t expected they’d run into each other this quickly.
The young master’s eyes swept over Zhao Yuheng’s cheap black-and-white padded jacket—probably a 200-yuan Pinduoduo deal—and the knockoff sneakers on his feet. Shen Shuyi felt like his life had hit rock bottom.
Zhao Yuheng nodded, confirming his identity.
So this really was his “fiancé.”
Shen Shuyi’s vision went dark—he almost fainted on the spot.
Forcing himself upright, he said resolutely, “Forget it. Come inside first. We’ll talk.”
He started walking toward the door, then frowned when he noticed Zhao Yuheng hadn’t followed.
“What is it?” he asked.
By now, Zhao had figured out who this person was.
With such a grand entourage, who else could he be but the owner of the villa—the Shen family’s young master?
The very man responsible for his grandfather’s hospitalization and his neighbors’ ruined homes.
Zhao Yuheng’s eyes turned cold. He wasn’t about to put on a friendly face.
“Mr. Shen,” he said evenly, “I came here specifically to find you.”
Shen Shuyi’s mood soured instantly. He thought of the absurd arranged marriage his brother had mentioned and felt his irritation spike. “And who else would you be here for?” he snapped.
The arranged marriage already put him in a foul mood.
What—should I have carried your sedan chair to fetch you myself, you pauper?
He sneered. “Then you’ve found the right person. I was just looking to settle this too.”
Half an hour later, Zhao Yuheng was sitting in the living room of Shuiwan One.
The villa—worth billions—was heated twenty-four hours a day through winter. The floors were covered in thick cashmere rugs; even barefoot, one wouldn’t feel the cold.
On the designer coffee table flown in from Italy sat a cup of tea that had already gone cold.
The butler had just refilled it with hot water again, but Zhao Yuheng didn’t touch it. He simply looked at his phone impatiently.
Ever since the young master had come home, he’d gone straight upstairs—and hadn’t come down for nearly an hour.
When he asked, the butler replied politely, “Third Young Master is still freshening up. Please be patient.”
Zhao Yuheng didn’t understand what kind of “freshening up” took an hour, but for the sake of the compensation money, he gritted his teeth and waited another thirty minutes.
By sunset, Shen Shuyi finally came downstairs.
He had changed—shedding the somber black funeral attire for a soft-toned shirt with a draped collar and a half-cape that flowed elegantly down his chest like a betta fish’s tail. A light-colored gem brooch gleamed at his collar.
Descending slowly from the second floor, he was almost breathtaking.
Unfortunately, his expression was anything but pleasant.
He’d been in a decent mood after changing clothes, but the moment he saw his cheap fiancé’s gloomy face again, his temper soured all over.
Only then did Zhao realize that Shen Shuyi had intentionally kept him waiting—for intimidation.
Indeed, that was Shen’s plan.
But seeing that the “pauper fiancé” had patiently waited downstairs for hours without leaving, Shen Shuyi nearly wanted to cry.
Damn it—this broke guy’s dead set on “marrying” me!
He knew his own charm, so he wasn’t even surprised.
Taking a seat on the sofa, Shen Shuyi decided it was time to settle things like an adult.
Before coming downstairs, he’d skimmed fifty years’ worth of online gossip about rich in-laws tormenting their daughters-in-law. Now he was ready to play the “evil mother-in-law” role himself.
He’d just pay the man off and be done with it. After all, he had nothing left but U.S. dollars anyway.
“Name your price,” he said. “How much to make you leave?”
Zhao blinked, startled by how easy this was going.
He’d expected this “debt collection” visit to be rough—especially after the deliberate waiting game earlier. But apparently, rich people didn’t care about a few hundred thousand yuan.
He didn’t ask for more. Straight to the point: “Five hundred thousand.”
Shen Shuyi froze. “That little?!”
What the hell.
Wasn’t his worth higher than that? He’d been the darling of Hong Kong tabloids since birth! Even when he’d been kidnapped as a child, the ransom had been five hundred million USD!
And now, just 500,000 yuan could get someone to give up marrying him?
He hesitated, actually feeling insulted. “Isn’t that too low? Why not… ask for more?”
(Excuse me, are you looking down on me?)
“No need,” Zhao Yuheng replied flatly. “That’s the fair amount. The house isn’t worth much anyway. This covers it.”
“…”
Shen Shuyi’s smile cracked. But thinking that 500,000 would free him from this farce, he decided to swallow his pride.
“Uncle Lin, bring me the POS machine.”
He pulled out his credit card and swiped 500,000 without hesitation.
Finally—peace of mind at a bargain price.
He was just beginning to smile in satisfaction when—
The POS machine beeped. A mechanical female voice announced: “Transaction declined. This card has been restricted.”
Shen Shuyi stared at the screen in disbelief.
His credit card… had been frozen by his older brother.
Author’s Note:
Shuyi: Ah, the eternal struggle of heirs—brother against brother. So this is what a rich family power fight feels like. Great. Just great.
Though their conversation made zero sense, somehow, miraculously, they were still on the same page. (Guess they really are meant to be… no outsiders allowed!)
