Yearning For Warmth, Day and Night - Chapter 1
Chapter 1: Return Home
Late October. A chill in the air carries damp cold through the living room. On the sofa sits a man in his thirties with a crew cut, anxiety etched into his face and sweat beading across his forehead. He stares intently at another man and speaks in a humble tone:
“Assistant Pei, please—just two more days. I promise the full shipment will be delivered, no exceptions.”
Pei Tian is immaculately dressed in a suit and deep‑blue tie with golden buttons that flash cold light. Wang Yongshun gulps as Pei Tian replies:
“Mr. Wang, I’m not refusing to give you more time, but you failed to deliver as promised today. Who bears the loss?”
“Two extra days feels generous,” Pei Tian sighs.
Wang forces a dry laugh:
“I know—it’s entirely my fault. I’ll take full responsibility.”
Pei Tian smirks:
“Take responsibility? According to the contract, you owe a 10% penalty for each day delayed. And your other shipment is stuck at customs—it could be over two weeks before clearance.”
That means not just full compensation, but added penalties. Regret gnaws at Wang. He’d accepted a risky split shipment and now both batches falter.
Desperate, he pleads:
“Assistant Pei, I messed up. My company is young—could you show mercy?”
He looks pleadingly at Pei Tian, but Pei turns away and addresses someone across the room:
“Third Miss, may I ask your decision?”
Seated on a separate sofa is Third Miss Wei Hui. She wears a stunning red gown, arms folded, hair jet-black with loose strands around her shoulders. She embodies an icy beauty known throughout Jiangcheng. When she lifts her eyes, her gaze is penetrating—and Wang Yongshun shivers, sweat flowing anew.
Wei Hui speaks coldly:
“Mr. Wang, how do you propose compensation?”
Under her sharp eyes, Wang gulp and requests two days. She lifts a single corner of her lips without warmth:
“Granted. But what after two days?”
His back is soaked in sweat, chilled by the draft. He commits:
“I will pay in full.”
Wei remains composed:
“Better arrangement: I’ll give you seven days total. If nothing arrives in seven days, you won’t owe me at all. I’ve heard your Western‑suburb project is an unfinished building—fine. Consider that mine.”
Those words drain the color from Wang’s recovered face. Wei presses:
“Is that acceptable?”
He nods numbly:
“Yes, Third Miss.”
Pei Tian smirks inwardly—soon a new contract will follow. Wei stands and departs; Pei Tian follows. Wang watches her leave, rage and dread mingling.
Then, in the garden nearby…
Sharp shouts ring out:
“How dare you! You thief! I forbade you from anything!”
A trembling voice cries:
“I didn’t—I didn’t…!”
Wei Hui hears the commotion, glances briefly, and continues walking. Then, she is suddenly struck and steps back. Pei helps her steady:
“Miss Wei, are you alright?”
“Fine.”
On the ground lies a young girl—thin, wounded, silently sobbing. Surrounding her are several women wielding sticks and bl00d-stained branches. The atmosphere sours. Wei furrows her brows; silence deepens.
A cold voice breaks through—Shen Suqing, a known acquaintance, strides in. Wei ignores her nod and keeps walking—but the girl clutches Wei’s red dress with a small hand stained red. A tense silence follows.
Wei Hui commands:
“Look up.”
Startled, the girl trembles but slowly lifts her head. Her long hair is dry and tangled; her face filthy and bloodied—a raw wound across her forehead. She looks like she emerged from the trash—but Wei’s eyes register something else: those eyes are beautiful. After a moment, she realizes—they’re exceptionally beautiful.
Someone probes:
“Third Miss, you like her?”
In Jiangcheng, foundlings or “brought girls” aren’t unheard of—often abused. But Wei Hui, known for her quiet composure and disinterest in trouble, surprises all by saying:
“If you like her, bring her. …Actually, thanks.”
Pei Tian’s brow arches—did Wei just say thanks? Not no, but thank you? Before more thought, Wei walks on. The girl, kicked by a bystander, scrambles to follow, staying near Pei on the edge of the driveway. Pei opens the car door; the girl hesitates until he prompts her forward. She boards slowly, cringing toward the door seat, head low.
Inside the car, Wei—eyes closed—says:
“Going home.”
She then adds:
“Ask Ziyan to come by.”
The girl shrinks inward, avoiding looking at Wei. Outside, servants gasp as Wei leads her in. Upstairs, she instructs a maid:
“Take her to clean up first.” Without naming the girl.
Later, Wei reappears in fresh white casual wear—her assistant is about to question her decision when she fixes him with a cold look and he silently stays quiet.
A man enters urgently with a first-aid kit and asks:
“Third Miss, are you hurt?”
“Not really.” Wei sips her tea calmly. Then:
“The patient is over there.”
The young girl sits in a white nightgown, damp hair, scarred forehead. She slowly looks up. Despite the wounds, her features are delicate: large, clear eyes, long lashes, fair skin like jade. Only the fresh scar mars her beauty.
The man shakes his head:
“Well, you’ve learned the art of keeping a hidden beauty.”
Pei Tian tenses, fearing disaster.