"Han Qian, hurry back—I'm starving!"
Just as Han Qian was preparing to work overtime, a call from Wen Nuan interrupted him.
He had forgotten that someone at home was waiting for dinner. The habit of the past three years prompted him to abandon work and return home. After all, some things could be done later. He whispered to Su Liang that they'd finish it tomorrow.
He squeezed onto a crowded bus and began his journey home, mulling over the leftovers from last night. Perhaps a quick reheat could suffice for dinner. But then doubt crept in—would Wen Nuan agree to that?
Why should he care? They were already divorced.
A silent battle raged within him as he rode the bus. In the end, he decided against buying groceries.
Upon opening the door, he found Wen Nuan curled up on the sofa, munching on chips. A vein twitched on Han Qian's forehead—was this what starving looked like? Wen Nuan quickly hid the chips and, kneeling on the couch, cried out that she was famished. She even threatened to call his mother and accuse him of abuse.
Han Qian took a deep breath.
"It's the first day at the new job—still getting used to it. Don't call my mom. She just asked me the other day whether we're going home for New Year. If she finds out we're divorced, you'll be fine, but I might not survive it."
"Oh please, New Year is still months away. Stop nagging! I'm starving. The groceries are in the kitchen. Move it! If you don't cook, I'll tell your mom you filed for divorce."
She hadn't started calling his mother "auntie," and Han Qian didn't mind. He walked into the kitchen to prepare dinner. Looking at the ingredients tossed onto the counter, he smiled faintly. They were mostly his favorites—was it a lucky mistake, or intentional?
While Han Qian busied himself with cooking, he suddenly remembered the assignment Yan Qingqing had given him and asked,
"Wen Nuan, is it true the land near the old airport at the district border is about to be redeveloped? Has Changxiang bid on it?"
"It's not exactly a bid. The city wants to pick a scapegoat among the major enterprises. That plot is destined to lose money. The board used some connections to get us involved for appearance's sake. Why? Is your new company bidding too?"
Wen Nuan had silently appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame as she watched Han Qian cook. Her sudden voice startled him. He turned, frowning.
"What are you doing here? Wear slippers. I don't even know if we're bidding—I just overheard some coworkers talking and got curious. It's definitely a money pit? Can I put carrots in Kung Pao chicken?"
"Whatever. I'm not eating it. That airport's for training rookie pilots—it won't be moved. The problem is that rundown neighborhood across from the decor market. Night flights make the locals miserable. Even City Hall is helpless. So? Relocation it is. But no one wants to take a loss, hence the scapegoat."
Han Qian set down the knife and frowned.
"So that's the story. Modern homes have decent soundproofing, but people want elevators now, and you can't build higher than the current buildings. The location's not great—traffic in the morning, hard for school runs. Across the street is the décor and small goods market, plus the bus terminal. A little further's RT-Mart and Fortune Street. Seems like no matter what you build, you'll lose money. Who handles the relocation compensation?"
"Keep stir-frying—I'm hungry!"
Wen Nuan raised a fist in mock threat, and Han Qian quickly returned to the stove. She continued:
"City Hall's covering the compensation. The land's supposedly up for auction, but it's all prearranged. For years, the city's played favorites with our group, so no one dares say no. That site's not fit for a housing complex or a mall. Build short, and it's too small. Build tall, the airport objects. It's a mess. I'm hoping Rongyao takes it—then they'll be too busy to compete with us."
As Han Qian concentrated on the wok, he began to piece things together—Yan Qingqing likely already knew this disaster would fall on Rongyao's head.
Four hundred thousand in two days.
"How big could the loss be?"
"If they don't build in five years, the land is reclaimed. City Hall will force development. No matter what they build, counting land and construction, the loss would be about what you owe me. I'm talking pure deficit. But worse is the reputational damage. Forget it. Stop daydreaming. Think about how you'll repay me. Every time I think of the divorce, I get furious. Tonight I want four dishes and eight sides."
"How about some eggshells? Want those?"
"Han Qian! You've changed. You've got someone else now! You're not nice to me anymore!"
Han Qian ignored her. During dinner, she stomped on his foot over a dozen times, but he didn't react. After the meal, he did the dishes while Wen Nuan stormed upstairs in a huff. Han Qian couldn't figure out why she was angry—he hadn't done anything.
Baffled but unbothered, he finished the chores and returned upstairs to review his documents. There was no rush to draft the proposal—he needed to start from the city's broader context, not just this plot of land.
As he was working, the door burst open. Wen Nuan, in pajamas, lunged at him, hitting and biting until she pinned him beneath her and triumphantly declared victory—then left, smirking and taking his phone.
"There's a cooling-off period even for divorce. I've blocked Lin Zongheng. You behave too. If you dare flirt behind my back, pay me back now."
Han Qian stared at her, despairing.
"Only a fool would choose a man four million in debt. And I don't even have WeChat. Who am I flirting with? You deleted my only QQ account! Wen Nuan, get over here—we need to talk. You can't just beat me up for no reason!"
As he stood, Wen Nuan dialed a number on his phone and shouted:
"Mom! Han Qian's trying to hit me!"
Chaos erupted. Han Qian never imagined she'd call his mother. He dropped everything to explain frantically that it was just horseplay—he never meant to hurt her. But his father took the phone and unleashed a torrent of scolding. He'd never accomplished much in life, but one thing he'd always done right was never letting Mom cook or get angry. Hearing Han Qian might hit his ex-wife was unacceptable.
Only after Wen Nuan vouched for him did things calm down. Their mother issued a decree—they must return home for New Year. She and Dad wouldn't be coming; without the kids, it didn't feel like a holiday.
When the call ended, Han Qian lay on the tatami mat, staring at the ceiling, defeated.
"Serves us right. Now we have to go home for New Year. If you don't go, Mom will dig until she learns we're divorced. Then you'll lose your stronghold."
Wen Nuan sat cross-legged beside him and sneered.
"You call that ambition? I'm going back to see Mom, not because of you. She's better to me than Li Jinhe ever was. Now move! Go shower."
"You're not even sleeping with me. Why should I—Wen Nuan, are you part dog? Let go!"
As they wrestled on the floor, somewhere over the ocean, Lin Zongheng was on a plane back home. He could wait no longer.