Chapter 4
I thought blocking Pei Yu meant no more ties to his circle.
But these past couple days, I’ve been “accidentally” running into his friends.
Some I’d met once or twice when out with Pei Yu; others, total strangers.
Maybe my gold-digger rep spread in his crowd.
Without fail, they all tried to shower me with money.
One thought my hair clip was cute and insisted on buying it with his bank card.
Another wanted to overpay for my coffee.
One even rode off on my unlocked shared bike, tossing me a black card.
I’m pretty, but not dumb.
Birds of a feather: anyone hanging with Pei Yu can’t be good news.
To avoid looking weak, I started job hunting seriously to fund my materialistic self.
I studied dance and got hired at a dance studio.
But work’s exhausting; after a few days, I felt drained.
I’m not cut out for this; not made to be a wage slave.
A gold digger like me should be on an island, sipping soda, watching sunsets in the breeze.
Maybe I was too tired; I didn’t want to walk the long way to the subway.
That day, with the car tailing me, I finally stopped.
Once in Liang Zheng’s car, I clutched my bag strap, sitting rigid: “Just drop me at the subway, thanks.”
“No problem.” He steered one-handed, glancing over: “I’m heading that way; I’ll take you.”
I’m not stupid—his company’s downtown; how’s that on the way?
He coughed: “I—I’m not that close to Pei Yu; I’ve only known him a few months.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t interested, zoning out.
He stopped the car curbside, leaned back, and hauled a pile of stuff from the rear.
I glanced: Patek Philippe watch, Harry Winston necklace, Bulgari bracelet, Hermès bags in multiple colors.
Seeing me look, he explained: “Don’t get me wrong; I know you’re not materialistic.”
He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a crumpled envelope: “This is what I really want to give you; the rest is just extra.”
I saw the envelope: big letters saying “Love Letter.”
What? People still write those?
I pushed away the letter, sternly correcting him.
“You’re wrong; I am very materialistic. I’m a gold digger, and not just that—I’m vain, snobby, stepping on the low to praise the high. I want to sit back and reap rewards, get rich without effort. I love money; it’s always first in my heart, and nothing can replace it!”
I blustered, head high.
I wanted him to see my rotten core: vain, shallow, through and through.
No projecting some idealized version onto me.
Before slamming the door, I sneered: “Sorry to disappoint; I’m no good woman.”