Out of Control

The two hundred million hammer fell, and the air in the entire banquet hall seemed to be sucked dry, then violently rushed back in, carrying the scorching smell of burning money. The guests whispered among themselves, their gazes cast toward this direction mixed with amazement, jealousy, and the excitement of watching a good show. Lu Jingnian had won, defending the dignity of his first love in a manner bordering on humiliation.

Shen Zhi's hand was still held by his. That dry warmth felt like a branding iron, scalding her skin. She could feel the thin calluses on his fingertips, formed from years of holding a pen, as they rubbed against the back of her hand, one stroke after another. There was no trace of desire in this motion—only the coldness of confirming ownership. She lowered her eyes, staring at a small wrinkle on her ivory-white dress, while sharp pains twisted in her stomach like a hand wringing a towel inside.

She really wanted to vomit.

Right in the midst of this noisy silence, Shen Zhi saw Lao Zhang.

He entered through the inconspicuous side door of the hall, practically hugging the wall as he walked. Lao Zhang had been in the Lu family for thirty years, and his steps were always measured with precision, unhurried and steady. But today, he was walking too fast—so fast that his impeccably tailored tailcoat created a breeze. He tried hard to suppress his presence, but his anxiety made him shine like a man carrying a torch in the dark, glaringly conspicuous.

Shen Zhi's gaze fell on his tightly clenched hand. That hand, usually gloved in white, steadily holding a tray or handing over documents, was now bare, his fist clenched so tight the veins on the back bulged.

Something had happened.

No sooner had this thought crossed her mind than Lao Zhang had already cut through the crowd and stopped precisely at Lu Jingnian's side. He bent down, his lips close to Lu Jingnian's ear, and in a volume only the two of them could hear, rapidly said something.

That was the moment.

Really, just that one damn moment.

All of Lu Jingnian's meticulously crafted social mask—the one belonging to the CEO of Lu Corporation—shattered completely.

His pupils contracted sharply, as if pierced by a needle. In those eyes that always carried scrutiny and oppression, an emotion close to shock appeared for the first time. His lips pressed into a line sharp enough to cut, his jaw clenched so tight it seemed ready to crack.

Shen Zhi saw it clearly.

The hand holding the champagne glass turned white at the knuckles, inch by inch, white as if about to pierce the skin. Then, he set the glass down on a nearby side table. The motion was too hasty; the bottom of the glass clinked against the edge of the table with a sharp sound. Golden wine sloshed out, splashing onto the mirror-smooth marble floor, instantly shattering into a crooked, foamy ice-flower of a stain.

The surrounding conversations paused for a beat. Several people had noticed the commotion, their probing gazes clinging to her like sticky spider silk.

Lu Jingnian took an entire deep breath before suppressing that loss of control. He straightened up, his face once again restored to that impenetrable calm. But Shen Zhi saw it—a vein on his temple was still twitching violently, like the last trace of embarrassment hiding beneath his skin.

"Apologies, please excuse me," he nodded to the several nearby guests who hadn't yet reacted, his voice very low, but every word seemed tempered with ice.

Then, he turned and followed Lao Zhang, striding toward the side door.

He just walked right past her.

Like passing through a gust of air.

As if she didn't exist at all.

From the moment Lao Zhang appeared, to his loss of composure, to his departure—the whole process took less than thirty seconds. His gaze never lingered on Shen Zhi for even a fraction of a second. He even forgot that his hand had been holding hers just a moment ago.

The warmth that belonged to him still lingered on her skin, but he was already gone.

Shen Zhi stood still, not moving a muscle.

So being treated as a substitute wasn't the most humiliating thing.

The most humiliating thing was that, in a moment of crisis, your qualifications to even be a substitute were temporarily revoked. Because the real player's game—you weren't qualified to participate in at all.

She suddenly felt that the rich fragrance of tuberose in the hall had become unbearably pungent. This scent was Lin Shi's favorite, which was why it had become the scent that defined her own existence for the past three years. Now, this cloying aroma invaded her nostrils, aggravating the nausea in her stomach until it surged straight up her throat.

The crystal chandelier above her head radiated a million beams of light that shone down on her, yet felt cold as ice.

Shen Zhi didn't know how long she stood there.

The guests around her soon resumed their conversations, except the topic had quietly shifted from that sky-high necklace to Lu Jingnian's abrupt departure. All kinds of speculation fermented in the air, like invisible bacteria.

"What happened to President Lu? Something at home?"

"Did you see his face? White as paper. I've negotiated billion-dollar contracts with him and never seen him like that."

"Could it be... about the Lin family's young lady?"

The last sentence, like an extremely fine needle, pierced precisely into Shen Zhi's ear.

She slowly turned her head and saw several wealthy wives gathered together, lowering their voices, their faces barely concealing excitement and pity. Their glances swept over Shen Zhi casually. She was all too familiar with that look.

Like looking at an exquisite but soon-to-expire product.

"Don't talk nonsense. Didn't Lin Shi three years ago..." One wife mouthed the words, not daring to say the word "die."

"Who knows? Things in the elite families—hard to tell truth from fiction." Another snorted. "Anyway, as soon as there's any stir about the real deal, the substitute has to step aside. Just now when President Lu left, he didn't even glance at her."

"Tsk tsk, how pathetic. No matter how she dresses, she's not that person."

They spoke these words very softly, but Shen Zhi heard every single one clearly. In these three years, she hadn't been the "silent ghost" for nothing. Amid all kinds of suffocating occasions, she had long developed the skill of reading everything from lip movements and micro-expressions.

Her stomach began to ache again—so badly that a cold sweat broke out on her back.

She really couldn't stand being here for another second.

She lifted her skirt, wanting to find somewhere to hide, even the restroom would do. But as soon as she turned, she bumped into a wall of a man.

"Mrs. Lu, where are you off to in such a hurry?"

A lazy, teasing male voice sounded above her head.

Shen Zhi looked up and met a pair of smiling, almond-shaped eyes. It was He Chuan. Lu Jingnian's rival, the man who had bid against him until the very end at the auction just now. He was leaning against a Roman column, also holding a glass of champagne, watching her leisurely as if enjoying a good show.

"President He." Shen Zhi nodded, her voice flat, wanting only to get past him as quickly as possible.

"Don't be in such a hurry to leave." He Chuan refused to let her go, stepping forward to block her path again. He was slightly shorter than Lu Jingnian, but equally imposing—except Lu Jingnian was an iceberg, while He Chuan was a flame.

He leaned in, lowering his voice, smiling with ill intent: "Your husband spent two hundred million for a dead person. And now he's left you here all alone for some woman whose life or death is unknown. Mrs. Lu, this deal of yours is a pretty bad loss."

His words were sharp and direct, each one stepping on Shen Zhi's most painful spots.

Shen Zhi clenched her palms, her nails digging into her flesh. She looked up at He Chuan, her face expressionless, and replied flatly: "President He spent nearly two hundred million and ended up with nothing in the end. Isn't that also quite a loss?"

He Chuan raised an eyebrow, seemingly not expecting the famously docile Mrs. Lu to talk back. He let out a laugh, the sound rolling in his chest, sounding unusually pleased.

"What I lost was money; what you lost was a person." He swirled the glass in his hand, the golden liquid rippling in circles. "And besides, who says I got nothing? Didn't I... buy myself a hell of a show to watch?"

His gaze fell on her, openly appraising, and finally stopped on her face—that face so strikingly similar to Lin Shi's.

"Tell me the truth, Shen Zhi." He suddenly dropped his smile, calling her by her full name for the first time. "Playing dress-up as someone else—aren't you tired of it?"

He Chuan's words landed like a stone, sinking heavily into Shen Zhi's heart.

Of course she was tired.

So tired she felt like she was dying.

But she couldn't say that. She simply pulled the corners of her mouth into a standard, "Lin Shi" smile. That smile's precise angle—she had practiced it in front of the mirror over a thousand times.

"President He is joking. I am who I am. Who am I pretending to be?"

"Is that so?" He Chuan's gaze was like a scalpel, precisely cutting through her disguise. "Then tell me—do you like tuberose?"

The smile on Shen Zhi's face stiffened.

"Do you like wearing ivory white? Do you like drinking unsweetened Mandheling coffee? Do you like listening to Brahms on rainy days?" With each question, He Chuan took a step closer. His voice wasn't loud, but it drummed against her defenses like密集 beating drums. "These are all things Lin Shi likes. So what about you, Shen Zhi? What do you like?"

What do you like?

This question struck Shen Zhi's chaotic mind like a bolt of lightning.

What did she like?

She liked spicy hotpot from street stalls. She liked wearing loose cotton dresses. She liked drinking bubble milk tea with double cream and sugar. She liked curling up on the sofa on rainy days and watching silly comedy movies.

But no one had asked her that in three years.

Even she herself had almost forgotten.

Seeing her instantly blank face, He Chuan smiled knowingly. He didn't press further but simply held out his glass to her.

"Try this."

Shen Zhi looked at the glass, hesitating.

"Don't worry, it's not poisoned." He Chuan's tone carried a hint of amusement. "This wine is called 'Water of Truth.' A friend of mine brewed it himself. One sip, and it'll let you temporarily forget all those things that don't belong to you."

For some inexplicable reason, Shen Zhi took the glass.

The rim was cool against her fingers, carrying a faint, crisp woody fragrance. She looked down at the already drying, misshapen stain on the floor—the evidence of Lu Jingnian's loss of control.

She suddenly found it all very ridiculous.

Lu Jingnian could throw millions for Lin Shi, could lose his composure in an instant. And here she was, Shen Zhi, standing like an unclaimed ghost.

She tilted her head back and drained the glass in one gulp.

The辛辣 liquid slid down her throat, carrying a strange, intense burning sensation. But oddly enough, after that scorching feeling passed, the twisting pain in her stomach miraculously subsided.

She handed the empty glass back to He Chuan. Looking into his intrigued eyes, she said, word by word: "Thank you. But I don't need to forget anything."

She paused, her gaze traveling past He Chuan's shoulder to the direction of the main hall entrance. That was where Lu Jingnian had disappeared.

"Because soon," her voice was very soft, yet carried an unprecedented clarity, "someone is going to come and smash them all to pieces for me."