19 Inquiry
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With a sharp call of “President Fang,” Liang Yizheng silenced the incessant chatter at the scene. The scattered gazes converged once again on Fang Qingzhao’s face, various scrutinizing and probing looks clustering together, so intense it seemed they might bore a hole into her skin.
Fang Qingzhao said, “No need, I’m not hungry.”
Liang Yizheng lifted his chin slightly; a man nearby instinctively brought over some tools to uncork and aerate a bottle.
Liang Yizheng turned his body toward Fang Qingzhao, clasped his hands, and with a poised yet somewhat formal demeanor said, “I didn’t recognize you at first and was rude—truly inexcusable. Especially since I make my living off internet traffic. I never expected someone as busy as President Fang to appear at my high school reunion. What a delightful surprise.”
Fang Qingzhao knew she was supposed to respond with some polite flattery, but staring at Liang Yizheng’s face, she wracked her brain for two seconds and only managed to squeeze out, “Thank you. Your work is going well too.”
Fang Qingzhao sat in a corner, farthest from Liang Yizheng, nearly the whole length of the dining table separating them. Her voice was low again, forcing everyone to pause their whispered conversations to hear her speak clearly, as if the gathering had suddenly shifted into a work meeting.
Liang Yizheng poured a glass of wine and walked toward her, as if oblivious to others.
Fang Qingzhao quickly said, “I don’t drink.”
Liang Yizheng’s smile did not fade; he stopped between her and Zhou Suiyong, regretfully saying, “What a pity.”
He turned his wrist, offering the glass to Zhou Suiyong: “What about you, junior Zhou? Shall we have a drink?”
Fang Qingzhao pressed two fingers against the wine glass, putting some force on it, but could not push it forward. She looked up and said, “He’s driving, so he’s not drinking either.”
“Just call a driver then, give someone else a job,” Liang Yizheng rolled his eyes, glancing sideways at Zhou Suiyong, teasing, “Out having fun and not allowed a single sip?”
The red liquid in the glass swirled thickly under his amused gaze, the air filled with a fragrant, potent wine aroma. The group around wore fake smiles, their eyes dull, as if already intoxicated, their mouths clamped shut.
Just after Liang Yizheng’s words fell, only the sound of breathing echoed, creating an indescribably eerie chill crawling up the scalp.
The next moment, the onlookers snapped back to attention and enthusiastically urged:
“Just one sip, junior Zhou, aren’t you a fan of Brother Liang? This is wine personally poured by him.”
“I’ll join with a glass.”
“You just want to drink and are making excuses.”
“Junior Zhou, Brother Liang is getting married soon; you can’t refuse a toast.”
Liang Yizheng rested one hand on the back of Zhou Suiyong’s chair, listening to the ruckus, his smile gentle and appropriate.
Fang Qingzhao had studied such situations deeply and silently assigned several labels to him:
— Arrogant, presumptuous, pretentious, autocratic.
If she were to rank the traits she disliked most, these would definitely be near the top.
In the increasingly heated atmosphere, Zhou Suiyong accepted the glass, his curved eyes sparkling with a clear but faint light, showing no discomfort at being put on the spot. He took a small sip and said, “President Fang, you’ll have to drive us back then. It’s a good chance to revisit the driving skills you learned at the driving school ten years ago.”
Fang Qingzhao kicked away his attempt to ease the mood and said to the cheering group, “So noisy.”
Liang Yizheng showed no awareness of being the instigator and, in a considerate tone, asked, “Upstairs there’s a quiet study room with a computer. Shall I take you up to see it?”
Fang Qingzhao’s eyes showed annoyance, but she nodded and stood, following him.
As they passed, Zhou Suiyong grabbed her dangling hand gently but without force.
Fang Qingzhao lowered her head, met his handsome smiling face, and pulled her hand away in slow motion, patting his shoulder.
The crowd, seeing this blatant display, confirmed their suspicions about the two’s relationship, their expressions suddenly colorful and varied.
When Fang Qingzhao’s figure disappeared at the stairwell, Zhou Suiyong withdrew his gaze. The man opposite him then spoke, inviting: “There’s a billiard room over there, junior Zhou, want to go play for a while?”
The man’s hair was thinning at the forehead, slightly overweight, always wearing a friendly smile, but with narrow eyes and features that were neither handsome nor particularly pleasing—he gave off a shrewd, unlikable vibe.
Zhou Suiyong readily agreed: “Sure.”
He pushed back his chair, and a few men nearby stood as well, grabbing several bottles and clamoring to join the fun.
Five or six men entered the billiard room in the corner.
The slightly overweight man closed the door behind them and eagerly asked, “Junior Zhou, your boss—could it be Fang Qingzhao?”
Zhou Suiyong turned his head, somewhat surprised: “You know her?”
“Of course!” The man said excitedly. “Her parents are in business, well-known local entrepreneurs in City A, but she’s even more impressive. When she won awards, she was trending online, a photo of her receiving the prize went viral. Even now, after every major competition, marketing accounts mention her. They stopped posting her photos years ago, but occasional news still slips through. By the way, doesn’t she come out without bodyguards?”
Only Fang Qingzhao would feel that she was so low-key no one knew her.
Zhou Suiyong raised his hand to hush, deliberately saying, “Shh. She doesn’t like overly restrictive environments.”
“That’s cool, man! You’re amazing!” The man sized up Zhou Suiyong’s face, a twinge of jealousy choking his words, but he had to admit it, stepping forward and linking an arm around Zhou’s shoulder, winking, “Come on, tell me how you won her over. Share your secrets.”
The others, overhearing, drew closer with a familiar, brotherly air and teased, “Where’d you learn your game? How did you meet her?”
Surrounded by smoke and alcohol, Zhou Suiyong pushed away the arm on his shoulder, creating some distance. His smile remained, inscrutable, as he said, “It’s not what you think; I’m still chasing her.”
The man raised his eyebrows and said, “She spends time coming to a totally unrelated reunion with you—still chasing? Women just play coy; this one’s a done deal! Don’t believe me? Try asking her.”
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Zhou Suiyong looked down and smiled, “She’s the one chasing me.”
The slightly overweight man was immediately stumped, the latter half of his sentence stuck in his throat like phlegm, utterly disgusted.
Zhou Suiyong casually boasted, “She often visits our studio, brings me flowers and stuff. When I say I have no work, she introduces clients. Every now and then she invites me out to eat; if I say I’m busy, she orders delivery from fancy restaurants. I told her I’m going back to City B for Mid-Autumn Festival to see friends; she wanted to come along, even postponed projects, using photography as an excuse. I decided that on this trip, we’d see how things go.”
The man twisted with envy, scowling.
One of them half-joked, “Dating costs money. Got enough savings? Don’t wreck your finances with her spending habits.”
Zhou Suiyong said in surprise, “Photography doesn’t make much money. If she cared about that, how could she like me? She’s got money; of course, she pays.”
The group was speechless.
Their impression of him was firmly set as a slick, pretentious, shameless pretty boy.
This open moral flaw combined with vanity quickly tightened the bond among the men.
“How long have you known each other?” the overweight man asked. “A person like her is surrounded by high-achieving elites across industries. Do you even share common topics? Playing hard to get too long might make her lose interest. Men aren’t the only ones who can be fickle.”
“A few years. She won’t do that. She said she’s pursuing me with marriage in mind.”
Zhou Suiyong leaned against the billiard table smiling, his certainty and pride almost blinding.
The others, wanting to joke along, found their vocabularies dry and depleted.
Zhou Suiyong lacked enthusiasm to play; when handed a cue, he waved it off and sighed, “Shouldn’t have brought her here; it’s kind of dull. Senior Liang... tsk.”
“What’s wrong? You worried your boss will steal your girl from old Liang? Old Liang probably just wants to invite her to his wedding or do an interview. If the news blows up, it’ll boost his face.”
Zhou Suiyong said, “I feel like he looks down on me.”
“Damn, you’ve got sharp eyes. Don’t worry, he looks down on plenty of people. Your boss is something else.”
The man emphasized “boss” with a tone that was both teasing and sarcastic.
Zhou Suiyong casually asked, “By the way, who’s his fiancée? I haven’t heard.”
“Also a wealthy local. Their wedding hotel is owned by her family.”
“You know them?” Zhou Suiyong smiled. “Tell me, how did they meet?”
The man punched him lightly, scolding with a laugh, “You keep your own secrets tight but want me to spill? No way.”
Zhou Suiyong just smiled and looked at the others: “Do you all know them?”
One interrupted, “Know them? We haven’t met. Heard they were college classmates.”
Zhou Suiyong: “Classmates? Could it be first love?”
The man looked at his handsome, clear face and muttered a curse, drinking deeply, possibly too excited, blurting several sarcastic remarks: “First love? What a joke. The women around Liang Yizheng are all planned. The female anchors hired at his company are his flings. I bet he can’t even remember all their faces.”
Zhou Suiyong glanced sideways: “That sounds like pure slander. Not very nice.”
The man rolled his eyes: “Believe it or not, you’re his fan after all.”
“Fan...” Zhou Suiyong tapped the table, snorted, and sighed in disappointment, “I heard a lot about him in high school—how even teachers would adjust classes on his advice, how organized and influential he is. Thought it was his charisma that made people follow him unconsciously. But seeing him today, I don’t think he’s that impressive; I think you’re just afraid of him.”
The group was a bit embarrassed but quickly suppressed it. The overweight man smirked, “We’re afraid of him, or do you think I’d come here to flatter him? You’re just bold because you’re clueless. You know who his dad is?”
Zhou Suiyong shrugged: “So? His dad’s some big deal?”
The man said mysteriously, “In City B, his dad really is.”
“Who?” Zhou Suiyong’s curiosity was piqued. “Never heard of him.”
The man grinned narrowly, with a knowing look: “No one dares to say online. He retired two years ago but still has connections. If his account didn’t need to maintain a good image and student leader persona, how could we invite him to reunions like this?”
Zhou Suiyong nudged him excitedly: “Bro, tell me more. My biggest advantage is keeping secrets.”
—
On the second floor of the villa, a long balcony wrapped around the building, facing a lush forest.
Liang Yizheng led Fang Qingzhao to the study, moved the mouse on the desk, and said, “This is the computer I use occasionally. Feel free if you need it.”
Fang Qingzhao pushed open the glass door to the study, walked onto the balcony, rested one hand on the railing, and looked down at the garden below.
Liang Yizheng followed and handed her a cigarette.
Fang Qingzhao didn’t take it, saying, “Shouldn’t you ask first whether the other person smokes before offering a cigarette?”
Liang Yizheng smiled apologetically but didn’t retract his hand: “Sorry. Do you smoke?”
Fang Qingzhao said, “I don’t.”
She added, “I don’t like secondhand smoke either.”
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Liang Yizheng said, “Then I’ll keep my distance.”
He held the cigarette between two fingers, stepped back several paces, stood at one end of the balcony near the wall, and lit up swiftly.
The white smoke he exhaled was quickly carried away by the wind. Fang Qingzhao, standing over two meters away, her face intermittently obscured by the drifting smoke, smiled at him simply.
Liang Yizheng froze mid-air with the cigarette, suddenly feeling that although she had repeatedly declined his invitations, she might not be so hard to approach—just genuinely disliking smoke and alcohol.
He stepped closer, thinking of a topic, noticing her gaze fixed steadily on his eyes as if tangible. He instinctively touched the uneven scar, smiling kindly: “Is it that obvious? You seem very concerned.”
Fang Qingzhao asked, “Can you tell me about it?”
Liang Yizheng flicked the ash down indifferently: “There’s nothing I can’t say. I’ve talked about it many times in videos.”
“I still remember clearly how he suddenly lunged at me, pinned me to the ground, holding a broken stone shard, stabbing my eye once, twice, thrice,” Liang Yizheng’s palm covered the injured eye. The visible pupil contracted under the light, its color pale.
His voice had an unreal, ethereal quality, calm after release: “I don’t remember the pain then, only seeing red and black flashes, my face sticky with blood. Later, I was taken to the hospital.”
Fang Qingzhao’s question showed innocent curiosity: “Didn’t any classmates stop him? Did they just watch you get beaten?”
Liang Yizheng found her a bit adorable. Aside from her high intelligence, her simple, straightforward upbringing resembled a finely carved ivory tower, making her more straightforward than most. This raw edge was a unique charm, so he answered patiently, no longer minding her earlier coldness.
“There were others, but they were just kids, all scared stiff, screaming on the sidelines. One even fainted. By the time they reacted, he was gone.”
“What happened to that student later?”
“Probably afraid of compensation. His family was poor; after the incident, his father took him away, and I never saw him again.”
Fang Qingzhao’s gaze locked on his old injury. Her eyes were clear and serene, like a sunlit sea surface, and when focused on someone, even without obvious emotion, they carried an undeniable weight, easily stirring the other’s feelings, whether good or bad.
Liang Yizheng let her look, his lips curling slightly as he said, “Did it scare you?”
Fang Qingzhao spoke simultaneously, “He must have been very scared when he was hitting you.”
Liang Yizheng was surprised: “Oh?”
“Judging by the scar’s width, the stone shard wasn’t thick, and all three strikes hit the same spot—one heavy, two lighter. The target was clear. After the hits, he ran.” Fang Qingzhao’s calm tone sounded like an analytical report. “The first strike was a panic-driven, irrational attack—fierce and brutal. Your blood splattered, maybe even on him, triggering his timid nature, so the force lessened. But still fearful, he couldn’t stop, mechanically hitting the same spot two more times. His brain cooled, and he ran off immediately. That’s my assessment.”
Liang Yizheng’s perfect expression cracked briefly but disappeared instantly. He opened his mouth, seemingly startled by her analysis, and warned, “President Fang, if netizens hear this, you’ll be swarmed with curses.”
Fang Qingzhao ignored him and continued, “From your description, his harm wasn’t accidental but intentional. The eye is a special target. If someone enjoys inflicting pain through violence, they wouldn’t start by hitting your eye. They’d hit your nose, legs, lips, or other non-lethal, less disabling areas first. If they were insane and ignorant, they’d continue beyond blinding one eye, risking your life, maybe even disfiguring your face permanently.”
Liang Yizheng couldn’t laugh anymore. His gaze turned cold and sharp, reproaching passionately, “Do you know what you’re saying? Does that even sound humane?”
Fang Qingzhao looked puzzled: “I’m analyzing his motive. I only considered behavioral logic, not emotion— purely objective, not a stance. Sorry, are you angry?”
Liang Yizheng suppressed his anger, smiling wryly: “Is that so? But why should I try to understand a violent criminal’s mindset?”
Fang Qingzhao stepped back and softened her tone, “Don’t be angry. He was probably under fourteen when it happened. Losing one eye doesn’t qualify as severe disability. He paid no price and ran away with his father. The law even protects his privacy and hides his whereabouts. Your anger is understandable. Let’s not talk anymore.”
Liang Yizheng composed himself, stubbed out the cigarette, and said generously, “It’s fine. A few netizens have asked similar questions. No matter what I say, they’ll find fault.”
Fang Qingzhao, seemingly not catching his sarcasm, agreed, “Though many netizens are trolls, their thinking is broad.”
Liang Yizheng flicked the cigarette butt off the balcony.
— Narcissistic, domineering, quick-witted, steadfast. Strong control desire, quick temper but able to calm down soon.
Such a person could not be someone whose memories had been edited.
Fang Qingzhao had no further questions and said plainly, “I’m going down.”
She returned to the first floor living room and found Zhou Suiyong absent; only three people remained at the dining table, heads down on their phones.
Several women had gone to the small garden, chatting in the outdoor pavilion.
Fang Qingzhao watched them through the transparent glass. Though they laughed and spoke words of concern, recalling their youthful selves, their distances from each other were not much closer than from her.
She chose a single sofa and sent a message to Ji He.
Behind her, a woman was filming in the yard with her phone.
This villa was on a hillside, sparsely populated, surrounded by forest.
The woman walked around the villa, went out the back door, intending to film some lemon trees she’d seen, whispering, “Baby, Mom is at Uncle Liang’s house—you often see Uncle Liang on your phone. Look at the scenery here; the air is so fresh.”
She walked a few steps along the path, panning the camera slowly from right to left. Mid-shoot, she spotted a strange object. Zooming in with two fingers, upon recognizing a human silhouette, she screamed piercingly and ran back inside the villa.
Fang Qingzhao heard the screams and stood abruptly, fearing Liang Yizheng had died. She rushed out of the living room and collided with Liang Yizheng coming down the stairs, both stunned.
The group then ran toward the small courtyard.
The woman, still shaking, clung tightly to her companion, burying her face against them, trembling all over. Amid repeated questions from the crowd, tears welled as she said, “Behind... under the tree... it looks like a dead body.”