Chapter 55: Years of Hardship and Glory

She walked past him and spotted the project proposal on the table, bearing the name of the newest venture capital firm in the capital. Was he planning to develop his business in the city?

Today, seeing him up close, Zhong Huayan noticed for the first time the faint scar at the corner of his eye.

“Mr. Fu, such good fortune,” Guan Yujing sipped his tea. Even as he drank, there was a ferocity about him, an ambition that radiated from his very bones, quietly asserting itself.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Guan. Miss Li isn’t feeling well…”

Before the assistant could finish, Zhong Huayan rose, took a sip of her herbal medicine, and made her way to the bathroom. The servants had filled the bathtub, a curtain draped above, and beside the tub one could indulge in a steam bath or watch a movie.

The man watched as she closed the door behind her.

She shut the door and prepared to bathe.

Zhong Huayan couldn’t fathom why he’d suddenly returned to the country. Three years ago, Guan Yujing was a tiger—domineering and unrivaled in overseas markets for years, though tigers generally hid deep in the mountains and rarely showed themselves.

Back then, she didn’t know the depths of the overseas market, so she made a point to understand it. Only then did she realize that all the money ultimately had to be split with the Guan Group, whose leader never gave anything back.

Fu Yanyan’s voice was calm and steady.

Guan Yujing’s, by contrast, sounded like hidden currents flowing beneath the surface.

“Mr. Fu, these two teas—one is Dragon Well, the other Bamboo Leaf Green. They look alike, and their flavors seem similar. But if you open them up and savor them slowly, you’ll find their tastes are quite different. Just like you and me.

And just like Miss Zhong and Miss Li.

The world is unpredictable, time flies, and when adversaries meet, the game is set. I still remember your rise to fame—besieged on all sides, borrowing arrows with straw boats, stirring up storms in the capital. The financial and stock markets were in turmoil, and countless families lost everything overnight.

You alone harvested millions overseas, then billions as you climbed higher—a genius, truly. But time spares no one. Tell me, how long can a person remain at the peak? When talent fades, one must not choose the wrong side, lest they become besieged. Then you would truly be the hero, and Miss Li would become the tragic heroine.”

She listened to their conversation from the bathtub. Guan Yujing was clearly harboring old grudges.

Fu Yanyan was caught between a rock and a hard place. If he cooperated with the Guan family, betrayal was likely. If he didn’t, he’d be stretched too thin.

Fu Yanyan continued to drink his tea with composure; not a drop touched his sleeve. He spoke, his voice flowing as smoothly as the tea.

“You and I have struggled and risen in the world of business. Ten years ago, you were the heir to the Xu family, with wealth and gold behind you. I sat in the farthest corner, drank four pounds of white liquor, all for a chance from the Zhong family. We were worlds apart.

Born rich and pampered, it’s easy for a young master to get what he wants. But for one whose family has fallen and is used as leverage, every desire comes with pressure and responsibility. If you can’t bear it, you’ll be crushed.

When you inherited your family’s will and your master’s aspirations, standing above all but one, I braved the city’s storms, pondered every project, found ways to make things work. For those born humble, a fall means an abyss—a sacrifice.

I couldn’t spare time for food or rest, fainted daily, covered in injuries, and always climbed back up alone. Mr. Guan says we seem alike? We were different from the start. Over the years, they say I’m forged by fire, unbreakable, unmoved by honor or disgrace, indifferent to all, and only after success did I become ascetic.”

The more Zhong Huayan listened, the more uncomfortable she felt. Time had quietly erased the scars, leaving only exhaustion.

She understood everything Fu Yanyan had endured.

In those dark, hopeless days, they clung to each other, sharing a single cigarette.

What he had gone through was far more shocking than his words suggested, and he’d endured it for over a decade.

“Ascetic? Is it truly indifference after success?”

Fu Yanyan paused, then said, “I know perfectly well what I’ve given and what I’ve received. I have no reason to let go of these things and turn to incense and prayer. I never believed in fate or gods; I only believe in myself. What I call unbreakable may, inside, have already crumbled, but outwardly, it’s still gilded and pristine. After half a lifetime, I finally know what I truly want.”

No one believed Fu Yanyan could fall in love with anyone else. He was too rational, too resilient.

Even Zhong Huayan didn’t believe it. She always thought love didn’t exist in this world—that in the end, it was all weariness and lies, and time would take everything, even love.

Until she truly felt the rivers and lakes in Fu Yanyan’s heart, the passion within him. Such love and loyalty could never be found in those who simply fought for a comeback, nor in merchants on the battlefield of business.

“There’s a saying in China: Even heroes are undone by beauty. I understand your meaning, Mr. Fu.”

Fu Yanyan didn’t answer directly about whether to cooperate. Instead, he replied obliquely.

Nothing could break him; he was forged by fire.

He also made it clear: if anyone threatened the one he loved, he would not forgive them.

Business is just like this—faces conceal hearts. When there’s profit, friends; when there’s none, enemies.

Zhong Huayan had no idea when Guan Yujing left.

She only knew that, as the water cooled, the door opened… A breeze stirred the white gauze hanging outside.

She vaguely saw the tall silhouette.

Just as he was about to leave, she called out, “The water’s cold.”

The man’s voice was steady and magnetic, gentle. “I’ll have someone adjust it.”

“If you join me in the bath, maybe it won’t be cold.”

He was clearly startled, then closed the door behind him and drew aside the white curtain.

Her face was flushed from the hot water, lending her an air of desire. The water covered her body, revealing only her porcelain collarbones and swan-like neck.

For a few seconds, they stared at each other in silence.

Fu Yanyan undid his suit collar, belt, and trousers. His wrists bore scars, as did his back—not from knives, but burns. He had wrapped himself in the guise of a monk, but unlike a monk, his body was not flawless.

Her gaze trembled; even her grip on the tub tightened. She wasn’t afraid—she was surprised, heartbroken. These scars hadn’t been there before.

It was as if the years had carved him with blade after blade, and yet, at last, he had achieved wholeness. The Buddha does not weep, nor does he.

“How did you get those scars?”

“Ah Huan, are they ugly? Don’t be repulsed by me.”

“How did you get them?”

Her voice was soft, but unmistakably an interrogation. Her heart trembled; she was afraid…