Chapter One: The Customer Is "It," Not Me

Mo Qinghan stood in front of the presidential suite, gripping the room card so tightly that it seemed the sweat from her palm might soak it through. The battle between “enter” and “don’t enter” raged in her mind, but in the end, “enter” emerged victorious.

She slowly opened the door, took a deep breath, and let it out just as slowly. It was just a thin barrier, she told herself. If it could save a life, she would profit from it as well.

The lighting in the room was dim; only a desk lamp was on. By its glow, Mo Qinghan could see the silhouette of a man in a bathrobe standing before the floor-to-ceiling window.

She hesitated before greeting him, “Mr. He, thank you for your generosity?”

He Zheyu, still facing the window, remained silent, ignoring her presence. Mo Qinghan felt lost, her hands clenching her dress at her sides to mask her nerves.

“Generosity?” He Zheyu finally echoed, letting out a brief, dry laugh. “This is something you’re trading your future for. What generosity? It’s just a transaction.”

Mo Qinghan was stung by his words. Nobody liked to be treated as a commodity, but she forced a nonchalant tone. “Then, as your merchandise, may I borrow your bathroom? After all, the smells from the subway and bus might lower my value.”

Only then did He Zheyu turn to glance at her, his gaze cold. “As you wish. If I were you, I’d finish my job first.”

Mo Qinghan was taken aback, stunned for a moment before replying, “Alright, as you wish. If you don’t mind the smell of my sweat.”

She spoke as she walked toward the bedroom, but just as she reached the door, He Zheyu spoke up, “The study next door.”

Mo Qinghan froze, incredulous. “The… study?” Her voice stuttered over the word.

“There are materials on the computer desk in the study. Translate them into English and have them ready for me by morning. Tonight, your clients are those documents—not me.” With that, He Zheyu disappeared into the bedroom without another glance.

Mo Qinghan couldn’t believe what she’d heard. By the time she recovered, the only response was the cold click of the closing door. Facing the door, she whispered, “Seems I misjudged you. Still, I’m grateful.”

She headed to the study, knowing it was best not to keep a “client” waiting. If this was how she paid back her debt, at least one corner of her life still had a sliver of light—perhaps gray, but better than darkness.

At dawn, the gentle breeze rustled the curtains, waking Mo Qinghan, who had fallen asleep at the computer desk.

She stretched languidly, glanced at the completed translations on the desk, and hurried out. At the door, she saw He Zheyu already dressed, sipping tea on the sofa, as if he had been waiting a long time.

Mo Qinghan stared at him—the man across from her exuded icy pride, his dark eyes calm, as if nothing in the world could unsettle him. His black hair fell over his ears, his striking features so captivating one couldn’t help but be secretly awed—he was almost otherworldly.

Yet, for all his beauty, he evoked no warmth in her. Instead, his innate, frosty authority sent a chill down her spine.

He Zheyu signaled to Han Mo beside him, who handed Mo Qinghan a prepared contract.

Mo Qinghan leafed through the “deed of sale” made up of several pages of A4 paper, but couldn’t find the main points.

Han Mo explained, “Miss Mo, the key points of this contract are: first, your future is at Mr. He’s disposal. Second, you are Mr. He’s private property and may not have intimate contact with any other man. Third, you may not reveal the existence of this contract to anyone. Fourth, outside this room, you and Mr. He are strangers. Should you violate any of these terms, Mr. He will cease paying for Mr. Mo Qingyu’s medical expenses.”

He handed her a pen. “Miss Mo, if you have no objections, please sign on the last page.”

Mo Qinghan took the pen and, without hesitation, signed her name in large, bold characters.

Han Mo then handed her a phone and bank card, prepared in advance.

“I don’t need these,” Mo Qinghan said.

Han Mo replied awkwardly, “Miss Mo, you should know that you have no right to refuse anything Mr. He gives you.”

She accepted the items, apologizing, “Sorry, it won’t happen again. May I go now? I have business at school.”

He Zheyu gave Han Mo a look, and Han Mo instantly understood. “As you wish, Miss Mo.”

Before leaving, Mo Qinghan bowed deeply to He Zheyu. For a heartbeat, the gesture unsettled him, but he quickly regained his composure.

Mo Qinghan waited for her bus at the stop, taking bites of a plain steamed bun and sipping mineral water. The breeze lifted a few strands of her hair, and though she wore a slight smile, only she knew the effort behind it.

All of this unfolded within sight of He Zheyu, who sat in a nearby car. Han Mo, doubling as his driver, remarked, “Happy lives are all alike, but unhappy lives are each unhappy in their own way. At eighteen, most girls are still cherished by their parents, but Miss Mo…”

“You’re talking too much today,” He Zheyu interrupted coldly.

Han Mo realized his mistake and said timidly, “Boss, Miss Yurou just called. She said there’s an event at her school tonight and hopes you’ll attend.”

“Alright.”