When he was fifteen years old, on the night of his adoptive father's death, Dai Zhao was kicked out of Taipingshan Villa by Situ Jiajin. She walked eight kilometers down the mountain barefoot, smuggled back to Shanghai, started working as a dishwasher, worked in a basement for ten years, and founded her own private equity fund.
At the age of twenty-five, Dai Zhao returned to Hong Kong. She needed a lease from Situ Jiajin and exchanged his cousin's evidence of violations for a ten-year agreement. Situ Jiajin checked her background and found that the cockroaches in the basement reached the floor-to-ceiling windows of Lujiazui, but none of them had fallen. He began meeting with her every week and fending off all her doubts at the board meeting.
Dai Zhao didn't answer. She returned what she said to him ten years ago: Your family is extremely wealthy, but you cannot accommodate a fifteen-year-old girl. It was never me you loved, but Dai Zhao who will be your equal in ten years.
Situ Jiajin said that the lamp is still on. But Dai Zhao waited at the foot of the mountain for three days and never looked back on the fourth day.
In a tea restaurant in Sham Shui Po, half the bowl of wonton noodles was cold. Her car parked across the street for three minutes and then drove off. He paid the bill and walked in the opposite direction.
Because what he owed her was not love, but the road that Taipingshan failed to provide that year. And she walked down.
Intention: The suffering one person suffers cannot be offset by another person's later affection. There are some roads that, once you have walked them by yourself, you don't need anyone else to accompany you.