Unable to Fall in Love Syndrome - Chapter 22.2

Chapter 22.2 – Sun Side Up Fairy Tale 01 – Part 2

Leaving the supermarket, Qiao Shan hugged a bunch of green onions and celery, while Zuo Yi carried the heavier meat and seafood. The long veggies in her arms kept their leafy ends brushing her face.

Zuo Yi walked quickly with his bags, and as she chased after him, her view blocked by the foliage, she nearly tripped on steps several times. Zuo Yi stopped to wait, and she stopped abruptly, slamming her head into his back.

The woes of being short… why did she keep bumping into people!

Zuo Yi looked down at her. “Are your eyes just for show? Can’t you watch where you’re going? Or do you have a fetish for crashing into men?”

Clearly still annoyed about her bumping into Jian Shizhang.

Qiao Shan looked at him, bewildered. “What’s with the sarcasm this early? Who I bump into is my business—mind your own.”

Zuo Yi shut his mouth.

What was he doing? Was his jealousy that obvious?

He was a bit angry…

Because someone was in a bad mood, Qiao Shan’s breakfast was just two boiled eggs, a glass of milk, and some cherry tomatoes. Still, it beat munching on additive-laden bread…

She ate the whites and left the yolks for Dudu. Qiao Shan mashed the cherry tomatoes and yolks into the dog food, and the big guy, starving, wolfed down the mix without complaint.

Around ten in the morning, Qiao Shan received an email from Jian Shizhang with his basic info and past experiences.

Jian Shizhang had debuted three years ago with the song “Jian Zhang,” which singer Wang Fei made famous—Qiao Shan loved it too. The background music was pure, blending modern piano with classical erhu perfectly, with simple, beautiful lyrics that were catchy.

But no one knew about his past.

After reading the file, Qiao Shan’s emotions were a whirlwind. According to him, his original name was Jian Shi, born into a rural family of shadow puppeteers. As the new century dawned, shadow puppetry faded. Jian Shizhang learned erhu and shadow play singing from a young age, but he didn’t like crafting puppets; instead, he used the play’s tunes with erhu accompaniment to sing songs his father deemed improper.

When Jian Shizhang was fourteen, his father passed away, and his puppet-making skills weren’t enough to carry on the Jian family tradition.

To support himself, at fifteen, he worked in construction, becoming a builder. Later, by chance, he met Zuo Yi, who helped him get guidance from masters. His first song was recommended to singer Wang Fei.

Wang Fei shot to fame across the country with it, and Jian Shizhang became the go-to gold-medal producer for stars.

Qiao Shan marveled—no wonder Jian Shizhang shared his past; he and Zuo Yi were close. She was really riding on Zuo Yi’s coattails this time.

From construction worker to gold-medal producer—the hardships were unimaginable. Thinking of the woman’s photo in his wallet, Qiao Shan figured his single status might stem from lingering attachments.

She suspected he was hiding something; a man with no romantic history couldn’t write such touching love songs.

Actually, Qiao Shan’s favorite was Jian Shizhang’s “Shadow Play.” The short, memorable lyrics vividly depicted the puppet-making process, with pop verses interspersed with operatic flair, rich in Chinese cultural heritage.

The song described crafting figures from animal hides or cardboard, performing human dramas on a white screen to erhu and drum accompaniment. It had real flavor—likely a tribute to his father and the Jian legacy.

Unable to pass on the craft by hand, he did it through song.

*

As evening approached, Zuo Yi messaged Qiao Shan on WeChat, asking if she wanted to join him for dinner to taste-test dishes at the new Ying family Chinese restaurant.

Free food? Qiao Shan was all in. She quickly archived Jian Shizhang’s file, filled Dudu’s bowl with dog food, patted his head, grabbed her bag, and dashed out.

She hailed a cab in a rush to Ying Shi Xuan, the nation’s largest upscale chain restaurant, known for its exquisite dishes. Ying Shengnan once said in an interview that their food rivaled imperial cuisine in refinement and surpassed it in flavor.

Qiao Shan had dined there once and took half a year to recover from the bill. Now, with a free chance, how could she pass? Though the match with Ying Shengnan fell through, they’d become friends, and thanks to Zuo Yi, she got to sample Ying Shi Xuan’s fare.

She arrived early—Zuo Yi wasn’t there yet—so she wandered the second floor, admiring the luxurious decor.

It was pure Chinese style: carved beams and painted rafters, rosewood lattice windows, corridors with blue porcelain vases, walls hung with contemporary masters’ paintings.

After touring the second floor, Qiao Shan headed downstairs. Suddenly, a woman burst from a private room ahead, stumbling against the wall, followed by a man clutching a bottle of Wuliangye.

The man grabbed her, his words sleazy. “Acting all pure? Spend one night with me, and I’ll sign the contract!”

The woman’s face flushed red. She slapped his hand away and staggered toward the elevator. “I’m out! I won’t sign this crap! A fifty-grand contract and you want me to sleep with you? Why don’t you go to hell? Have some shame!”

Qiao Shan recognized the woman—it was Tong Xiaoli.

The man snorted. “Think the price is too low? Add ten grand on top of the contract?” He yanked Tong Xiaoli back toward the room. He was strong, and drunk, she couldn’t resist, dragged along helplessly.

Qiao Shan stepped in, pulling Tong Xiaoli away and glaring at the boozy man. “Who the hell are you?”

The man eyed Qiao Shan. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m her sister—who do you think?” Qiao Shan said. “Messing with my little sis? You looking for a beating?”

“Nosy b1tch,” the man said. He kicked Tong Xiaoli aside, hurling the Wuliangye at Qiao Shan. She instinctively covered her head, waiting for the pain, but a shadow blocked the light above. “Bang”—the bottle hit the floor as a strong hand seized the man’s arm.

She looked up to see Zuo Yi’s face, brimming with murderous intent—like he might explode any second.

Zuo Yi shoved the man hard, then turned to Tong Xiaoli. “What happened?”

Tong Xiaoli steadied herself against the wall. “General Manager! This guy’s shameless! Threatened me—said I’d have to sleep with him to sign. Damn, a fifty-grand deal with strings attached! Why doesn’t he just drop dead? Idiot!”

Zuo Yi stared coldly at the man. “Mr. Lin, is that true?”

The so-called Mr. Lin fumed, “Mr. Zuo, don’t play innocent. Sending a woman here—we both know what that means.”

“Oh.” Zuo Yi stepped closer. “Our company’s women succeed on merit, not their bodies. If you’re after my employee’s tofu, sorry. No sincere intent to collaborate? We won’t waste time.”

The man, fueled by alcohol, spat in Tong Xiaoli’s direction twice. “Stuck-up b1tch! See if anyone deals with you again!”

Zuo Yi frowned, kicking him back two meters.

He advanced. “I can tolerate a foul mouth, but we’re all born of women—why insult them with your crap? Get lost.”

Zuo Yi turned back to the two girls. “Help her to the lounge downstairs.”

Qiao Shan was still dazed.

Just now… Zuo Yi was so damn cool! That kick was satisfying!!

In the lounge, Tong Xiaoli leaned on Qiao Shan as Zuo Yi poured her water. She clutched the cup, looking at him gratefully. “Thanks, General Manager. Sorry, the contract didn’t go through.”

Zuo Yi asked, “Wasn’t this Liu’s account?”

Tong Xiaoli explained, “Her son had a high fever tonight; she’s at the hospital. I subbed in.”

Instead of blaming her, Zuo Yi sighed. “It’s not easy for you girls out there working.”

Tong Xiaoli nodded. “Yeah, thanks for understanding.”

Zuo Yi had the restaurant manager take Tong Xiaoli home. After seeing her off, Qiao Shan stared at him in awe. “Zuo Stingy—wait, no, from today, you’re Zuo Generous! That kick was epic! So cool, incredibly handsome.”

Zuo Yi glanced at her. “You too—no skills, yet playing hero? Couldn’t call restaurant staff? They have security—why butt in? If you love the spotlight, go stand on the balcony for three days; the whole city will know Qiao Shan.”

“Stop lecturing me; you sound like my mom.”

Zuo Yi looked at her in frustration, his gaze flicking to her rear.

—Why did he want to spank it so badly?

At that moment, Qiao Shan’s phone rang—caller ID: Xiao Jia.

She stared at it, not answering, then looked up at Zuo Yi helplessly. “What do I do? It’s Xiao Jia again. How do I turn him down?”

Zuo Yi watched her calmly. “Answer it. Put it on speaker.”

Qiao Shan did as told, weakly saying, “Hello?”

It wasn’t Xiao Jia on the other end, but a young woman.

“Hello, is this Miss Qiao?”

“Um, yes. Who is this?”

“Oh, I’m Guo Fei, Wenwen’s mom.” She said, “I just got back this afternoon and chatted with the professor. I want to find a dad for Wenwen; he recommended you.”

“Guo Fei?” Qiao Shan recalled—Wenwen’s mother was named that.

“I’ve sent my requirements via text,” Guo Fei said. “Check them out. If you find a suitable man, introduce him soon. Payment won’t be stingy.”

“Um, okay.”

Qiao Shan hung up and read the message aloud: “Around thirty-five, good personality, likes music, preferably plays erhu, doesn’t mind me bringing Wenwen, divorced is best.”

“Except for the divorced part, the rest reminds me of someone,” Zuo Yi said.

“Yeah, me too.”

They said the name in unison.

“Jian Shizhang.”