Lin Yan is a feared "iceberg trader" in the financial circle. He holds tens of billions of capital at the age of 25 and believes that "emotions are the most useless risk investment." Until a rainy night, she bumped into the man covered in thorns, Jiang Bin, squatting in the demolition ruins, using the collected glass fragments to make nests for stray cats, and didn't care when his fingertips were scratched and bleeding.
"How much is this shabby cat nest worth?" She rolled down the window and her tone was her usual cold tone.
The man looked up, rain mixed with mud splashed on his angular face, his eyes sharper than broken glass: "Can you afford it?"
Later, she watched him paint with chalk on the street for more than ten hours at a time, just to collect money for winter clothes for the orphanage; she watched him change her discarded diamond-encrusted cufflinks into collars for stray dogs; she watched him use his hands - hands that had held paintbrushes and moved bricks - to protect her behind him when she was plotted by her opponents and betrayed by others. "Lin Yan, your 'axiology' doesn't work here."
Only then did Lin Yan realize that this man, who lived in a village in the city and made a living by doing odd jobs, was like a wild rose growing wildly, with the fishy smell of a mud warrior and untamed spikes, but he had cut a crack in her airtight diamond fortress to leak light.
She was used to his paint-scented coat hanging on her leather sofa, used to her silhouette always hidden in his paintings, used to the seriousness in his eyes when he said, "Your money can't buy sincerity."
But when her family forces her to accept a business marriage, when his paintings are
