Chapter 8

Take eight bites.
Tang Mingfei’s face went a little pale, nothing like the arrogant, overbearing girl from earlier. Her voice trembled.
“B-But… I’m an Ying family daughter too.”
He Mingye glanced at her with a half-smile that wasn’t a smile. “And?”
Tang Mingfei bit her lip. “I’m the same as her. If she can do something, why can’t I? Isn’t that… a little unfair?”
He Mingye gave a low, amused scoff. “Fair? Miss Tang, your surname is Tang. Hers is Ying. What kind of ‘fair’ are you asking for?”
Tang Mingfei lowered her eyes, unwillingness burning. Her fists clenched so hard her knuckles whitened.
He Mingye’s voice stayed lazy and cool. “I think you’ve misunderstood something. Which family you belong to, what your name is—I don’t care.”
Then he paused, gaze cooling inch by inch, the mockery sharpening.
“But there’s one thing you should be very clear about.”
He looked at her, unhurried and cold. “I’m fiercely protective of my own. What happens to people who bully mine… I don’t think you want to experience it, do you?”
It wasn’t just that the He family had deep roots and a towering empire behind them. Even setting that aside—He Mingye’s current status in the industry was unshakable. In all of the capital, there wasn’t a second person who lived as recklessly as he did.
He wasn’t bound by rules. He acted on nothing but mood and preference. The spoiled second-generation brats from the compound followed his lead like law. With a lift of a finger, he could ruin someone’s future.
Tang Mingfei’s face drained whiter still.
For an instant, something poisonous flashed through her eyes.
She didn’t understand it. They were both “Ying family daughters.” So why did everyone draw a line between her and Ying Tao?
Was it just because she was a Tang—because she was the tag-along child Tang Huiru had brought in?
…
Back in her room, Ying Tao opened the wardrobe to look for clothes. Her eyes flicked, accidentally catching the gold medal and trophies stacked in the corner.
She froze.
But only for a second.
Her gaze slid past them, blank and indifferent. She pulled out a shirt and shut the door.
When she came downstairs, He Mingye was already gone. Ying Tao frowned slightly.
What kind of ghost was he—appearing when he pleased, vanishing when he pleased?
Tang Mingfei, on the other hand, sat there with a stiff face. When she saw Ying Tao, she shot her a gloomy, venomous look.
Ying Zhaohui wasn’t home either. Only Tang Huiru and Tang Mingfei were in the house.
Ying Tao behaved and greeted, “Aunt Tang.”
Tang Huiru was warm as always. “Tao-tao, come eat.”
Ying Tao shook her head. “No, Aunt Tang. I have an early class. I’m about to be late. I’m going now.”
Eat with Tang Mingfei?
She’d get indigestion.
Tang Huiru hurried to her feet. “You child, always rushing. You’re not even eating breakfast? You’ll feel awful in class on an empty stomach. Take something on the road at least—just to pad your stomach.”
She stuffed a carton of milk and a sandwich into Ying Tao’s hands.
Ying Tao’s heart softened. She smiled sweetly. “Thank you, Aunt Tang.”
“We’re family. Why be polite?” Tang Huiru smiled, then glanced at the time. “Hurry to school. I’ll call Uncle Wang and have him drive to the front gate to take you.”
“No.”
Tang Mingfei, who had been silent for a long time, suddenly spoke.
“I have an audition later. It’s not convenient for me to take transit. Uncle Wang has to take me.”
Tang Huiru hesitated. “But…”
Ying Tao was generous. She bit into her sandwich and waved a hand. “It’s fine. I’ll just book a ride.”
Tang Huiru reminded her, “Be careful on the road.”
Ying Tao nodded. Her gaze brushed over the pink heart-shaped bag on the sofa, and paused.
The bag was open.
Like it had been rummaged through.
Ying Tao glanced at Tang Mingfei.
Tang Mingfei sat there eating breakfast with perfect composure. When she noticed the look, she stared back without the slightest fear—openly provocative.
Ying Tao frowned. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Tang Huiru still bustling around, busy from one thing to the next. In Ying Tao’s memory, ever since Tang Huiru moved into the Ying house, she’d never truly rested. She kept the place running smoothly inside and out.
Ying Tao swallowed the anger rising in her chest. She pretended nothing happened, reached down, and casually picked up the bag before leaving.
Ying Tao called a rideshare. During morning rush, restrictions were in effect, and the area wasn’t easy to enter or exit. The app showed there were still fifty-five riders ahead of her in the queue.
She sat on the curb with her legs stretched out, sucking on a milk straw. A bright, bouncy beat played through her noise-canceling headphones.
While switching tracks, her finger slipped and swiped one too far.
A familiar song started in her ear.
There weren’t many beats, no complicated instrumentation—only a guitar. Strums brushed past like a breeze. A man’s voice, low and rough with a faint rasp, sounded as if it were pressed close to her ear, humming a love confession under his breath.
“A sweltering summer, like a rain-soaked night.”
“A Siberian butterfly, after a freezing winter.”
“In your eyes… I still don’t exist.”
…
He Mingye’s style was usually unmistakable: explosive, addictive rhythms, the kind that grabbed your throat—matching his rebellious, unbending temperament.
But a few years ago, he suddenly had a song called “Midsummer.”
It was never officially released. Only a demo leaked online. Still, that voice—slightly smoky, unique—was obviously his.
The song was the complete opposite of his usual sound. For a while, the outside world started speculating about his relationship status.
Ying Tao lowered her lashes. Her gaze fell on the spinning player icon, her eyes drifting.
Now she understood why people reacted that way.
This song was nothing like him. When he hummed it, his voice was hoarse but gentle. The sluggish, humid melody felt like a monsoon wind—carrying damp air and a stifling closeness that made your heart tremble.
…
“Tao-tao.”
In the sliver of silence right before the rhythm fully stopped, a voice struck straight into her ear.
Ying Tao looked up.
The moment she saw Zhou Chaoli, she froze for a long time. She couldn’t tell what that flash of disappointment was for—only that it was there, quick and real.
Zhou Chaoli had driven by, seen her sitting on the roadside, and pulled over.
“Why are you sitting here?” he asked.
Ying Tao lifted her phone. “Waiting for a car. I’m still in the queue.”
“Where are you going? I’ll take you.”
“Back to school. I have an early class.” Ying Tao paused, then asked, “Little Uncle, aren’t you going to the hospital for your shift? That’s not on the way.”
Zhou Chaoli smiled. “I’m off today.”
He opened the door smoothly. “Get in. If you wait longer, you’ll be late.”
Ying Tao checked the app again. There were still thirty-something riders ahead of her. Time really was tight; she couldn’t wait anymore.
Normally, it wouldn’t matter. If she missed it, she could have Miao-miao help her mark attendance and muddle through.
But today was their “Extinction Auntie” teacher’s class—the strict one. Attendance was counted into assessment scores. Two absences and you failed on the spot.
“…Okay.” Ying Tao got up and got in.
She didn’t notice that, across the intersection, a black Range Rover was parked quietly.
In the front seat, the assistant, Xiao Wei, watched Ying Tao get into Zhou Chaoli’s car. Then he turned back toward the young man in the rear seat.
The man wore a black hoodie, looking lean and clean, face half-hidden in shadow.
Xiao Wei hesitated. “Ge… should we keep following?”
He Mingye’s expression was light, almost mocking. He snorted. “What, you want to tail someone else’s date and learn a thing or two?”
Xiao Wei shut up and faced forward again.
It wasn’t his fault. He’d only come out a minute late. Who knew someone would swoop in first?
…
In the car, Ying Tao replied to messages.
Miao-miao kept tagging her: Miss Princess, where are you? If you don’t show up, you’re really going to be late. Extinction Auntie will skin you alive.
Ying Tao typed: If I can’t make it, cover for me.
Miao-miao: Don’t joke. You know what kind of eyes Extinction has. Eagle vision. If I try to cover, she’ll tie both of us up and toss us into the pot together.
Ying Tao sighed and typed: Fine. Ten minutes. I’ll try to get there.
Miao-miao: Hurry. Extinction is almost here. And you too—weren’t you staying in the dorm last night? Why did you run back again?
Ying Tao: It’s complicated.
Miao-miao: Good luck. (dead smile)
“Is it urgent?” Zhou Chaoli asked after a glance in the rearview mirror. Seeing her frowning and typing nonstop, he finally spoke.
Ying Tao told the truth. “A little. Our teacher is really strict.”
“Then I’ll drive faster.”
Zhou Chaoli sped up. He always drove steadily, the same way he lived—gentle, tolerant, as if he never got angry.
Unlike He Mingye.
He Mingye’s moods were unpredictable. He loved teasing her. His driving was fierce. Like an F1 car screaming down the track, leaving only an afterimage—tires sparking as they scraped and drifted, a blade cutting through the night: sharp, piercing, bright.
Back then, Ying Tao had stood in the stands, surrounded by screaming and cheering.
But she couldn’t hear any of it.
All her attention was caught by that streak of steel and speed as it tore past her.
Excitement. Heat. The roar of the engine. The shriek of tires. Adrenaline skyrocketing.
When he crossed the finish line first, she almost couldn’t stop herself from running down off the stands.
“Tao-tao?” Zhou Chaoli called her name.
Ying Tao snapped back. “Huh?”
She looked at him, confused.
Her eyes were clear and bright, catching a shallow light like a soft sheen.
Zhou Chaoli froze too, his focus slipping for a brief second—like those eyes had grabbed him.
He asked gently, “What were you thinking about?”
“N-Nothing.”
Ying Tao felt guilty.
Skipping class in high school to sneak off and watch He Mingye race was not exactly something worth bragging about.
Zhou Chaoli tightened his grip on the wheel, quietly. “These past few years… how have things been between you and Mingye? Do you keep in touch much?”
“It’s fine,” Ying Tao said, her tone inexplicably muffled. “He’s busy. Why would he have time for some idle person like me?”
Other than the token holiday red packet, there was basically no extra contact.
Zhou Chaoli frowned. Was that really so? The way He Mingye acted didn’t look as indifferent as she made it sound.
Ying Tao lowered her lashes. Her fingers scrolled unconsciously.
The song she’d switched away from had paused automatically. The comment section was endless—tens of thousands of comments. Aside from the repetitive praise, most of it was people digging into his love life.
After all, from debut until now, He Mingye had never had a single real scandal.
She scrolled and scrolled—until her finger stopped abruptly on a buried comment near the bottom.
Er Dong Chen: Stop guessing. He really does have a first love he could never get. This song is for her.