Chapter 9: Dream
Fifteen minutes later, the Bentley from the Shen family finally arrived to pick him up.
Half an hour later, Shen Shuyi was back at Shallow Bay.
He had been out for only a few hours, but his obsessive cleanliness flared up. The very first thing he did upon returning was take a long milk bath in his bathtub — large enough to rival half a swimming pool. His fair skin melted into the milky water, the tone so even it was hard to see where one ended and the other began.
He lit some aromatherapy candles and poured a shallow glass of red wine. By the time his skin turned a near translucent pinkish white, he finally rose from the water.
After bathing, Shen Shuyi played a few rounds of his game when his phone started buzzing.
It was a message from Zhao Yuheng:
[Home yet?]
Oh—right.
He suddenly remembered.
During their disastrous first date, the only remotely redeeming thing Zhao Yuheng had done was to at least ask whether he’d gotten home safely.
But that tiny speck of courtesy wasn’t nearly enough to change Shen Shuyi’s plummeted impression of him.
[Home.]
Shen Shuyi deliberately left him hanging for a few minutes before replying.
After that, he waited several seconds—but no more messages came.
That man had actually let him be the one to end the conversation.
…Unforgivable.
His finger hovered over the “block” button—but in the end, he forced himself to calm down.
No, patience. If he wanted to get out of this mess, he needed to first scrape together five hundred thousand yuan and then cut this cheap fiancé out of his life for good.
Shen Shuyi ignored Zhao Yuheng’s WeChat and switched to another chat—his older brother Shen Lu’s. His fingers flew across the screen:
[Brother~ (pleading soybean emoji)]
Shen Shuyi was an expert at acting cute—it came naturally to him. Wrapped in a silk robe, curled up on the sofa, he poured all his charm into buttering up his elder brother.
He wasn’t even 1.8 meters tall; curled up like this, he looked even smaller. The soft glow of his phone reflected off his porcelain skin.
The little essay he sent to Shen Lu was composed with perfect fluency.
Now this, he thought, is the true craft of a successful man—strategic relationship management!
[I’ve really been thinking a lot lately, brother. You were right… I’m twenty-one now. I can’t keep being so reckless…]
Ha! As if. Total nonsense.
This young master is going to be reckless until he’s eighty, thank you very much.
After some thought, Shen Shuyi sat up straight, raised his phone camera toward his face, and covered his mouth delicately with one hand.
His fox-like eyes shimmered with a hint of sorrow, their corners lifting just slightly, brimming with tears.
Click. Click. Two selfies.
fake_cry1.jpg
fake_cry2.jpg
He immediately sent them.
Then, biting his nail with dramatic melancholy, he continued typing seriously:
[You can probably tell, I’ve been crying nonstop these days TUT. So, could you maybe… temporarily unfreeze my credit cards? (tiny cat holding face emoji) I recently saw this gorgeous Sri Lankan pink diamond I really, really love. If I can buy it at auction, I’ll be the happiest, luckiest little boy in the whole world (pitiful.jpg)]
He pressed send—then waited anxiously.
One second later—WeChat popped up with a red exclamation mark.
“F*ck!”
Shen Shuyi shot up from the sofa.
Had Shen Lu actually blocked him?! Outrageous! Heartless!
He screamed like a banshee upstairs.
“Shen Lu, you bastard!! I’ll curse your whole ancestral line!!!”
Downstairs, Uncle Lin merely glanced upward.
The new housekeeper, alarmed by the noise, asked nervously, “Manager Lin, what’s wrong with Young Master? Should we check on him?”
Uncle Lin replied calmly, “Don’t worry. He’s fine.”
Then, like a man who’d seen it all, he added, “You’ll get used to it.”
—Everyone who’s ever owned a tuxedo cat knows.jpg
After shadowboxing the air until he was exhausted, Shen Shuyi finally collapsed onto his bed.
His phone buzzed again—not from Shen Lu, nor Zhao Yuheng.
It was from the various luxury brand PCs he regularly chatted with—store directors, VIP managers, nearly every luxury brand contact in Hong Kong had his WeChat and email.
To them, Shen Shuyi wasn’t just a client—he was the top-tier patron to be protected at all costs.
After all, not everyone could casually spend millions—or tens of millions—on single purchases.
His level of consumption was unimaginable to most.
When Old Master Shen had passed away, the media had gone wild reporting the third young master’s return. Every luxury venue in the city had been on standby, ready to welcome him back into their gilded circles.
But back then, Shen Shuyi had been in mourning, and no one dared disturb him.
Now, a month later, the salespeople figured it was about time for him to return to his natural habitat.
He scrolled lazily through the messages—most were the usual flattering updates about watches he liked, jewelry show invitations, or auction reminders.
Normally, he’d have changed clothes immediately and dashed off to his playground.
But now—
He thought about those frozen credit cards. About the 500,000 yuan he owed Zhao Yuheng.
Oh, and the dinner bill from tonight. 🙂
All at once, he lost all interest in luxury.
Oh heavens, TUT!
To think there would come a day when he, Shen Shuyi, would be short on cash!
He’d always spent his brother’s money faster than the Central Bank could print it.
Now he lay on his bed, hugging a pillow, staring miserably at the ceiling.
Where on earth was he supposed to find half a million yuan?
Meanwhile, one of his personal luxury consultants texted again:
[BB, our boutique just received the Kelly 25 you wanted—the matte white crocodile one! Only three in all of Asia. I reserved it for you. When would you like us to send it over to Shuiwan One? ??]
Shen Shuyi glanced at the message halfheartedly—then froze.
Wait.
Matte White Crocodile Kelly.
Handmade. Retail price—1.2 million yuan.
If he sold it, not only could he pay off Zhao Yuheng, he’d still have money left over—enough to maintain his pride and make life difficult for that control freak Shen Lu for another two weeks. Perfect.
But most importantly—he’d actually bought that exact bag at a Christie’s auction last month!
He’d been in America then, so he’d had it shipped directly to his Shallow Bay villa.
It should be sitting right now in his eight-meter-tall walk-in closet.
He somersaulted off the bed and dashed downstairs barefoot, his pale feet sinking into the thick carpet, pattering across marble tiles as Uncle Lin shouted behind him, “Third Young Master! Wait—you need slippers!”
Shen Shuyi darted off like a rabbit, leaving only a faint trail of jasmine scent behind.
Turning a corner, he found it—right in the middle of his Lalique custom display island sat the unopened Hermès box.
He tore it open in seconds and held the bag high, eyes sparkling.
Five hundred thousand!
My dignity!
And freedom from that cheap man Zhao Yuheng!
He gazed at it through teary eyes. For the first time, this bag—one he’d normally toss aside after two uses—seemed precious beyond measure.
He hurriedly packed it up and contacted Christie’s.
But as soon as he opened their chat window, his hand froze.
Wait.
No good.
His brother Shen Lu loved antique Ming and Qing pieces and was close with the Christie’s staff.
If he went through them, they’d probably rat him out immediately.
If his brother found out he was selling off assets just to escape this marriage—he’d have his legs broken.
Hell no!
He stopped the message just in time, exhaling in relief.
Cold sweat trickled down his back.
Thank god for his quick thinking.
Heart still racing, he patted his chest to calm down.
If not Christie’s… where could he sell it quietly?
He scoured the internet for options that wouldn’t alert his brother or his fake friends.
After circling through various sites, only one option remained—Xianyu, the Chinese secondhand trading app.
Perfect.
Without any market research whatsoever, he sat in his closet snapping half a dozen photos of the Kelly bag and uploaded them all at once.
With fewer than five of these bags in Asia, it would surely sell fast.
Still, as he stared at it again, his heart clenched.
The next moment, tears welled in his eyes as he hugged the Kelly bag close.
“Little Kelly,” he whispered, “don’t hate Daddy. We’re going through tough times right now. You wouldn’t want Daddy to marry someone who doesn’t understand art—or you—right? Don’t worry. Once Daddy has money again, he’ll buy you back first thing, okay? TUT.”
He stroked it lovingly one last time before wrapping it up carefully and tucking it away.
Out of sight, out of mind—if he looked at it any longer, he might lose his nerve.
After all, he hadn’t even used it once.
Having handled this “major crisis,” he returned reluctantly to his bedroom.
Thinking about how he’d soon be free of Zhao Yuheng and able to return to his normal life, he fell asleep without even needing sleeping pills for once.
But instead of a sweet dream—he had the strangest nightmare.
In the dream, he was a fallen rich heir with a loving girlfriend named Kelly.
They’d grown up together and were about to get engaged when his family suddenly went bankrupt—billions in debt.
To protect Kelly’s happiness, he decided to hide the truth and break up with her.
They met at Victoria Harbour. Shen Shuyi, pale and tragic, walked toward his longtime love, slowly turning his head—
Wait.
Her head was… an Hermès bag?!
For some reason, Dream! Shuyi didn’t find this strange at all.
He sorrowfully said his goodbyes while Kelly-the-Hermès-bag sobbed, “Shuyi, are you really abandoning me?”
His voice cracked. “I’m sorry, Kelly. I can’t give you happiness. I hope you find someone who truly loves you.”
Kelly wept. “Shuyi, no! I won’t leave you!”
Panicked, he blurted, “Don’t cry—you’re not waterproof!”
Wait, what?!
Before he could react, someone grabbed his wrist.
He turned—and saw Zhao Yuheng in full domineering-CEO mode.
Zhao Yuheng declared coldly, “Can’t you see? Shen Shuyi belongs to me now.”
Shen Shuyi: Since when are you rich enough to say that?!
Before he could protest, Zhao Yuheng scooped him into his arms and sneered, “Blame no one but yourselves—he owes me five hundred thousand in breakup fees.”
Kelly fell to the ground, crying out, “Shuyi! Don’t leave me!”
Tears streaming down his own face, trapped in Zhao Yuheng’s arms, Shen Shuyi screamed, “What kind of bullsh*t dream is this?!”
He bolted upright in bed.
It was 3 a.m.
Cold sweat drenched his back as he clutched the blanket, still haunted by the absurd dream.
Slowly, he calmed down—then frowned.
What the hell kind of dream was that?!
It must be the Kelly bag haunting him for trying to sell her.
And wasn’t the reason he had to sell it because Shen Lu froze his cards?
And wasn’t the reason Shen Lu froze his cards to force him to marry Zhao Yuheng?!
So really—this was all Zhao Yuheng’s fault!
The more he thought, the angrier he got.
In the middle of the night, fuming, he picked up his phone and furiously typed out a message.
Across the city, Zhao Yuheng had just finished a night shift at a 24-hour convenience store. He’d taken off his uniform when his phone buzzed.
A single message from Shen Shuyi popped up.
Just three words:
[I hate you.]
Zhao Yuheng: …?
Author’s Note:
Zhao Yuheng: What did I do now, my dear princess?
