In the 23rd year of the Republic of China, the neon lights on Shanghai's Bund smudged into colorful halos amid the rain. Song Zhiyao held a plain oil-paper umbrella and hurriedly walked through the alley on bluestone slabs. The hem of her cheongsam was wet from the rain and clung to her calves. The coolness crawled up her skin, but it was not as good as the chill in her heart.
At the corner, a black car stopped suddenly, the door opened, and Huo Yancheng, dressed in a crisp suit, stepped out holding an umbrella. His eyes paused on Song Zhiyao, and a trace of complicated emotions flashed through his deep eyes.
"Miss Song, it's not appropriate to be alone in this dangerous place so late." Huo Yancheng's voice was low and magnetic, with a hint of teasing.
Song Zhiyao raised his eyes and saw the handsome but somewhat cold face, and alarm bells rang in his heart. Huo Yancheng, a well-known businessman in Shanghai, is rumored to be ruthless in his tactics, taking both black and white. She nodded slightly and said politely: "Thank you, Mr. Huo, for your concern. I can go back by myself." After that, she was going to bypass him and continue moving forward.
