Chapter 7

"You love money, but you have principles about how you take it."

He paused.

"Bai Qingqian kept saying material things didn't matter. In the end, she treated me like an ATM."

"At our first meeting, you said you wanted my money."

"In three years, you never touched a cent of company money you weren't entitled to."

Odd words.

Every one hit the mark.

I did love money.

I also didn't steal.

Didn't commit fraud.

Didn't take on other people's murky debts.

Only after the lawyer confirmed that the agreement carried no attached conditions did I solemnly sign.

When my first quarterly dividend arrived, I took a screenshot and sent it to him.

[Thank you, Mr. Lei. Wishing you happy travels and excellent health.]

He sent back a photograph of a glacier.

[Enough money to spend?]

Something warmed inside me.

Someone in this world was asking a woman holding nearly a hundred million yuan in assets whether she had enough spending money.

[Barely,] I replied.

He sent another hundred and eighty-eight thousand yuan and told me to buy something I liked.

I accepted.

Clear memo.

Proper procedure.

After the divorce, we got along more comfortably than we had during the marriage.

He didn't press me to have children.

I didn't police his choice of floral shirts.

If I found an irregularity in the accounts, I reported it directly to him and the auditors.

Without the tug-of-war of marriage, only mutual interests and trust between adults remained.

Much more efficient.

I also made a spreadsheet of the income Bai Qingqian had brought me.

Accumulated gifts: seven million three hundred and eighty thousand yuan.

Hospital payment: eight million eight hundred and eighty-eight thousand.

Total: sixteen million two hundred and twenty-six thousand yuan.

Looking at it, I felt a complicated gratitude toward her.

Without her, I wouldn't have had such a lucrative side job.

Her own life, however, soon collapsed.

Cheng Ye had taken her money abroad and cut off every way of contacting him.

Lei Wanjun recovered the house and car.

She had no income and still had to pay the postnatal care center and support the baby.

Her parents said she'd disgraced them and refused to let her come home.

She messaged me with curses.

Pleas.

Then asked me to get child support from Lei Wanjun.

I sent one reply.

[The baby's biological father is Cheng Ye. You should find him.]

She blocked me.

Two months later, the police called.

They asked whether I knew Bai Qingqian.

Whether I'd ever heard her mention "finding a wealthy family for the baby."

I gripped the phone.

A weight settled in my chest.

She'd tried to sell him.

The police had taken her from a café.

Through an illegal intermediary, she'd found a buyer.

The price was agreed.

She was preparing to take the money and hand over the child.

The other party had sensed something wrong and secretly called the police.

She'd been caught on the spot.

The child was placed temporarily with a child welfare organization.

The police continued trying to contact his biological father and other relatives who could take responsibility for him.

I went to give a statement.

Seeing me through a doorway, Bai Qingqian broke down.

"Happy now? This is all your fault!"

I stopped.

"You got pregnant by someone else and made him claim the baby."

"Spent his money."

"Forced him to divorce me."

"When you were exposed, you tried to trade your child for cash."

"You chose every step yourself."

She cried that she'd had no choice.

"I have no money! Formula, rent, a nanny—what doesn't cost money? Any bag of yours could feed him for years. Why won't you help me?"

I looked at her and suddenly understood our greatest difference.

I loved money.

So I knew how hard every yuan was to earn.

I could save.

Calculate.

Follow rules.

Put in the work.

She loved money too.

But she only wanted to reach into other people's pockets empty-handed.

When she couldn't, she blamed the baby.

Lei Wanjun.

Me.

Never herself.

After leaving the police station, I went to the welfare organization.

I didn't earmark a donation for that baby alone.

I donated to the organization for medical care, formula, and everyday expenses for all the children in its temporary care.

With parents like those, that child was pitiful.

And innocent.

Holding the receipt, I stared at the amount and mourned it for three minutes.

Painful or not, some money had to be spent.

People who'd been hungry and sick as children knew best what that felt like.