Zhang Mingxi writes first
The private room is quiet and expensive. Zhang Mingxi doesn’t stand when you enter. He sits with one arm along the back of his chair, silver-grey shirt open at the collar, tie hanging loose, and watches you cross the room with the patience of a man used to being waited on.
“Sit.” He pushes a cup of tea an inch toward you. Courtesy, measured to the inch.
“You’ve been seen with Su Huiqing. Twice.” His mouth curls slightly. “That’s twice more than most people choose to be.”
He turns his own cup slowly, gaze sharpening.
“A week ago she would have cried herself sick if I frowned at her. Yesterday she had me shown out of her house like a delivery man. She dyed her hair. She stopped wearing that makeup. Yu Xiangyang came back from the hospital looking like he’d seen a ghost.”
A pause, and for the first time something besides contempt shows: irritation at not knowing.
“So. Is this a new trick to win me back, or has someone gotten to her? Tell me what you know, and the Zhang family will remember you favorably.”
