Jealousy

Money was a fine thing. To its owner, it was like a god, waving a hand to conjure all kinds of real, tangible goods. To everyone else, it was like a mirror, reflecting the myriad faces of the world and its countless desires.

The longer Meng Mingshu possessed money, the more deeply he depended on it. He measured friends, enemies, and lovers by its standards, using it to expose their true selves.

It was a complete and rigorous system, and he was rarely wrong—until that bastard of a kid shattered it.

Meng Mingshu took a swig of wine and tossed the porcelain flask to the ground. Its sharp crack rang out in the dark and lifted his spirits. In the short term, fine wine was more effective than money.

But no matter how expensive the wine, even if it filled his entire stomach, it couldn't chase away the chill spreading through his chest and belly. This autumn was cursed, Meng Mingshu thought as he stepped out of his hiding place in the dark and staggered toward the door he'd been watching for nearly an hour.

Surveillance had never been Meng Mingshu's forte. He used to pay others to do this sort of thing. But tonight's stakeout hadn't been part of the plan. He should have been spending the night at the home of a courtesan newly famous in Liuren Lane. Yet after a few cups of wine, he'd found himself coming here, doing something utterly beneath his station.

The second young master of the Meng Family of North City, heir to a fortune worth tens of millions, stood in a shadowy alley used by drunks to vomit and relieve themselves, staring at a woman's door and windows. If word got out, the whole city would laugh at him.

Meng Mingshu