Trust and Probing

Wuli Coffee Shop—this was the place Shen Zhiyi had chosen.

Shen Zhiyi watched Zhao Chen push open the door, bringing in a trace of damp chill from outside.

He wore a simple black sweater, his hair slightly dampened by the mist, yet his gaze was calmer than it had been in the hallway that afternoon—still as a deep pool.

"Sorry to keep you waiting." He sat down across from her, his tone politely distant.

"No, I just got here too." Shen Zhiyi pushed the menu toward him. "What would you like to drink?"

"Ice water, thank you," Zhao Chen said to the approaching server. His gaze returned to Shen Zhiyi's face. "You wanted to see me about something?"

Zhao Chen had rushed over after receiving Shen Zhiyi's call, not knowing what she had in mind.

His bluntness caught Shen Zhiyi slightly off guard.

The Zhao Chen she had known before had always unconsciously paid her a little extra attention, even clumsily trying to please her.

But now, it was as though he had shed that youthful shell, leaving behind only some hard, cold core.

She adjusted her breathing and decided to be equally direct. "Those things you said in class—did you mean them, or were you just speaking out of anger?"

"What do you think?"

Rather than answer, Zhao Chen asked a question of his own. He leaned back slightly, watching her reaction.

Shen Zhiyi did not avoid his gaze.

"The data was highly professional. It didn't look like something thrown together on the spot. But the conclusion... was too shocking.

"You said a third of all families would go bankrupt, including yours. Why would you say something like that in public?"

She paused. "That doesn't sound like you."

"Not like the old me."

Zhao Chen corrected her. His ice water arrived, and he wrapped his hand around the glass. The chill against his fingertips made his thoughts even clearer.

"What was the old me like? A rich second-generation kid living off his father's name, with a bit of cleverness, always competing with Chen Hao over women?"

Shen Zhiyi did not admit it, but her silence was answer enough.

"Then that's right."

Zhao Chen tugged at the corner of his mouth, without the slightest hint of a smile.

"The old Zhao Chen is already dead. The person sitting here now is someone who has seen certain endings and intends to live differently."

"What kind of ending?"

Shen Zhiyi pressed, her heartbeat inexplicably quickening.

The Zhao Chen before her radiated a dangerous yet alluring air, like a faintly visible lighthouse in the mist. Even knowing it might be near hidden reefs, she could not help wanting to see that light clearly.

Zhao Chen did not answer at once.

He looked out at the hazy street beyond the window, as if gathering his thoughts—or weighing how much he should reveal.

The café's warm yellow light fell across his profile, outlining its sharp contours and revealing a faint trace of weariness and chill in his eyes that did not suit his age.

"The ending where, once the nest is overturned, no egg remains intact," he finally said, his voice low.

"But an intact egg can try to grow wings before the nest collapses, or... find another, sturdier tree."

"You want to be the egg that grows wings?"

Shen Zhiyi tried to use a lighter metaphor to ease the overly heavy atmosphere, only to find that her own voice was somewhat dry as well.

"No." Zhao Chen turned back, his gaze sharp as a blade.

"I want to tear down that unstable old nest and use its materials to build a new one that can shield us from wind and rain before the storm arrives.

"Even if, in the process, I crush many eggshells that others consider precious."

The resolve—almost ruthlessness—in his words made Shen Zhiyi's fingers curl slightly.

She confirmed it once again: in Zhao Chen's mind, the "family" and "company" he spoke of seemed to have become subjects to be dissected and reconstructed, not warm places of belonging.

"Does your father know what you're thinking?"

"He will."

Zhao Chen's tone was calm, yet carried an unquestionable force. "In a way he will have no choice but to accept."

The conversation fell into a brief silence.

Jazz music drifted lazily in the background, while the laughter and chatter from the next table seemed especially distant.

Shen Zhiyi felt as though she stood at the edge of some vortex, catching a glimpse of the bottomless undercurrent within.

She should have been afraid, or wanted to stay away, but deep inside, a stronger desire for truth and change seized hold of her.

"Did you sell your car? Was it for this?" She recalled the way he had arrived on a bicycle.

"Yes. Cash is winter food—the more, the better."

Zhao Chen admitted it frankly. "Emotions, pride, the respectability others see in you—all of it is worthless in the face of survival."

"Survival?" Shen Zhiyi frowned. "Will things really get that serious?"

"For many people, it would."

Zhao Chen set down his glass, the glass lightly tapping against the wooden table. "But for you, perhaps it doesn't have to."

He suddenly leaned forward, closing the distance. His lowered voice carried a strange, bewitching force:

"Shen Zhiyi, you asked me what you could do. I'm giving you an answer now—and a choice."

Shen Zhiyi held her breath.

"Protect yourself and the people you care about. Hold tight to your cash, and stay away from anything High Leverage, including Real Estate Investment that you think is 'guaranteed to make money.'

Improve yourself—your professional skills, legal knowledge, and judgment. Those are the only true riches that no one, no storm, can ever take away."

He spoke with complete seriousness. It was practical advice, not empty talk.

"And what else?" Shen Zhiyi caught the implication beneath his words.

Zhao Chen looked into her clear eyes. There was concern in them, doubt as well, and a sharpness that had yet to be worn away by the world.

He made a decision.

"If you're willing to trust me, someone who's 'changed the way he lives,' just this once..."