Chapter 5: Rong Jiu

Downstairs in the lobby, under Han Qi’s guidance, An Tong went to the finance window to pay for her treatment and signed a three-month counseling agreement, scheduling one session per week.

Once the formalities were complete, An Tong glanced at the name on the agreement. “His name is Rong Jiu?”

The name Rong Jiu somehow seemed unworthy of the man’s innate poise and bearing.

Han Qi nodded eagerly. “Yes, that’s right. Dr. Rong is our most esteemed therapist—not only is he an authority in psychotherapy, but he’s also made remarkable achievements in the field of music therapy. He’s the living emblem of our center.”

The praise sounded forced, like a salesman bragging about his own wares.

If he truly was the center’s emblem, why wasn’t his photo on the wall with the other outstanding therapists?

An Tong rolled the agreement into a tube and tucked it into the pocket of her sweatshirt, cast a glance at the photo wall, and soon exited the building.

No sooner had An Tong left than Rong Shen arrived in the lobby.

“Ninth Master,” Han Qi approached with a document folder, “this is Miss An’s treatment agreement. As you instructed, the fee has already been halved.”

The man lowered his gaze to accept the agreement. Upon seeing An Tong’s neat, graceful signature, a faint smile curved his lips. “Did she say anything?”

Han Qi thought carefully before replying truthfully, “Nothing else, she just asked your name.”

...

As noon approached, An Tong returned to her small house on Yunhai Road. She drank a glass of water upon entering, then absentmindedly placed ingredients from the fridge into the automatic fried rice maker.

A text message appeared on her phone—a pick-up code from the parcel station.

An Tong glanced at the countdown on the rice maker, put on her hat, and was about to leave.

—Tie your hair up for the next session.

Suddenly, Rong Shen’s words surfaced in her mind.

Compelled by some whim, she tossed the hat aside and searched her room for a while before finding a hair tie at the corner of her desk. In a few quick strokes, she gathered her waist-length hair into a loose ponytail.

The newly opened parcel station was right next to a small shop across the street. After giving the pick-up code, the owner brought out a small yellow box—an international shipment from overseas.

“You’ll need to show your ID and sign here to collect it,” the owner said.

Soon enough, An Tong signed and left with her parcel.

A few elderly women, chatting at the shop’s entrance, immediately started talking as she walked by.

“That poor girl, barely in her twenties, and all her family’s gone.”

The parcel station owner overheard and poked his head out. “Aunt Zhou, is that true?”

“It is,” Aunt Zhou replied with a sigh. “A family of four, now only she’s left. I heard her parents and younger brother are all gone. Who knows how the child managed to get through it.”

Their voices, neither loud nor soft, reached An Tong’s ears, making her expression grow even more blank.

At that moment, her phone vibrated in her pocket—an incoming call from a long, unfamiliar international number.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at An Tong’s lips.

She answered. The background on the other end was very quiet, so quiet that she could hear the caller’s gentle breathing.

For a while, neither spoke, as if locked in a silent standoff through the line.

In the end, the other party couldn’t hold out and broke the silence first. “Alright, alright, if it’s a contest of patience, I admit defeat. I can’t outlast you.”

An Tong strolled slowly down the alley. “I’ve received the package.”

“That’s all?”

“Thank you,” An Tong said.

“Who needs your thanks?” The woman’s tone was brash, her voice carrying a huff. “How are you lately? I’ll be back next month. Make sure to pick me up.”

While chatting, An Tong had already returned to her house. She wedged her phone between her shoulder and ear and began unboxing the parcel. “Which day? What time?”

“I’ll arrive on the evening of the third.”

An Tong’s fingers paused on the box. After a brief silence, she replied flatly, “Got it.”

“I found those books in an antique shop overseas—they’re a bit old, but make do for now. I’ll bring you better ones when I find them.”

“No need to hurry back. I’m fine.”

Fine, my foot!

Though the woman didn’t say it out loud, she cursed inwardly for the hundredth time.

The fourth of next month marked the third anniversary of An Tong’s mother and brother’s passing.

...

Two nights later, beneath a sky split by the Milky Way—half stars, half moonlight—two tall figures descended the steps of SOHO Shangdu Hotel.

“All those old foxes just want to marry their daughters off to you. Their intentions are so obvious,” Su Yiting remarked, slinging his suit jacket over his shoulder and shooting a sidelong glance at the man beside him. “It’s still early. Shall we grab a few more drinks?”

Rong Shen’s expression remained unchanged, his stride steady. “No, I have things to do.”

“What could be so important at this hour? Rong the Ninth, how long has it been since you joined us for a gathering? At twenty-seven, you live like you’re fifty-seven—just short of chanting sutras and eating vegetarian.”

Ignoring the jab, the man simply gave him a cool glance and stepped into the black Mercedes van.

Halfway through the drive, they passed Xiangjiang Public University. Cheng Feng happened to glance out the window and quickly spoke up, “Ninth Master, I think that’s Miss An.”

Rong Shen, who’d been resting his eyes, slowly opened them. As the car slowed, he saw An Tong standing at the school gate, cradling several heavy books, head bowed as she spoke on the phone.

Rong Shen checked his watch—it was already half past eleven.

“Ninth Master, should we offer her a ride?” Cheng Feng ventured. He didn’t know An Tong well, but anyone whom the Ninth Master would treat personally must be special. There was no harm in showing care.

Moments later, the car pulled up by the painted divider.

Just then, An Tong finished her call and noticed the automatic door opening.

Inside, the man in the white shirt and black trousers sat with his legs crossed, gazing at her with deep, steady eyes. Perhaps the warm lighting softened his formidable air, making him appear all the more refined and noble.

An Tong inclined her head in greeting from outside, addressing him as Dr. Rong.

His long, dark eyes lingered on her ponytail. His lips curved with a hint of amusement, or perhaps approval. “Heading home?”

“Yes. Waiting for the bus.”

“Come on in. I’ll take you.”

An Tong glanced to her left. Seeing no sign of the last bus, she simply climbed into the car. “Thank you.”

Out of courtesy, she chose the seat nearest the door and instinctively pressed the button to close it.

A mundane gesture—yet it made Cheng Feng’s hand, poised over the driver’s controls, freeze in mid-air.

This Miss An, despite her modest means, must have ridden in classmates’ MPVs before. She was certainly adept at finding the controls.

With the door shut, the cabin lights dimmed. A faint scent of sandalwood drifted through the air, just enough to be pleasant.

Rong Shen, stroking a rosewood bead in his hand, asked in his deep, magnetic voice, “Attending night classes at Public University?”

Perhaps it was the effect of last week’s session, but An Tong, gazing at the man’s half-lit profile, found herself answering without reservation. “Not night classes—just sitting in.”

A trace of amusement flickered in the man’s eyes. Such a truthful and forthright response.