At 4 a.m., while Bai Shikun slept soundly beside her, Wang Rong sat up in bed, slipped on her robe, tiptoed out of the bedroom, quietly closed the door, went downstairs, and sat on the leather sofa in the spacious living room—Bai Shikun’s usual seat.
In front of the sofa was an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling glass windows. This villa was perched near the mountain peak, so during the day, sitting here you could see the rolling mountains outside. But Wang Rong never had the chance to enjoy the view—she always came here at night.
At night, the mountains were pitch-black, but if you looked far enough, you could see the dazzling city lights beyond the mountains—like a sparkling jewel pinned to the edge of the dark sky. This view was not visible during the day.
The nightscape was the only thing Wang Rong liked about the villa. She found the decor overly gray and cold, with not a single extra ornament—not even a painting on the wall—as if the owner wanted to leave no trace here.
This thought made Wang Rong uncomfortable.
Every time Bai Shikun fell asleep, she would quietly come downstairs, sit here, and gaze at the night, thinking about her future plans. But tonight, for some reason, memories from the past kept surfacing in her mind.
Suddenly, Wang Rong frowned and shifted her waist, wanting to change her sitting position to ease the sore, awkward spot on her body.
Her relationship with Bai Shikun had lasted for two years.
Two years ago, Wang Rong met Bai Shikun at a business social event. Of course, she knew who he was: a man worth tens of billions, and, according to the newspapers, a paragon with no hint of scandal.
At least, that’s what the media said.
So when he openly expressed his admiration for her, she was instantly conquered. At the time, Wang Rong had just taken up the presidency of the Society of the Virgin Mary and was at the height of her fame.
“You are unique. There are many beautiful women in the world, but I have never met one as beautiful and capable as you.” That was Bai Shikun’s compliment to her. Every time Wang Rong recalled these words, her vanity was stroked—after all, this was praise from a super-wealthy man.
But she knew it wasn’t enough. To truly win his heart, she had to make herself even more valuable.
Wang Rong knew the Bai family’s business empire included real estate and land development. She also knew Bai Shikun was planning a major redevelopment in the slum district where the Society’s primary school—her own childhood home—stood, to build a new middle-class community combining commercial, cultural, and residential use.
The Society’s complex, including the school, nuns’ dormitory, community hospital, and clinic, sat at the heart of these plans.
With a century of history and deep community ties, the Society’s buildings would not be easy to remove.
So Wang Rong took the initiative to tell Bai Shikun she could clear this obstacle for him.
And she succeeded.
Of course, besides fundraising and government support, most of the land purchase and new school construction funds came from Bai family enterprises.
This was only the first step. Soon, under her leadership, the nuns’ dormitory, hospital, and clinic would also be relocated and rebuilt.
Outside, the villa was enveloped in darkness—no stars, no moon, only a distant patch of lights glowing red at the horizon.
For some reason, tonight she found herself missing Xing Jun. She hadn’t thought of him for a long, long time.
Her affair with Xing Jun had only lasted a little over a year. When she was a trainee at the law firm, she learned that Xing Jun was a VIP client—also a charming, well-known figure in the financial world.
On her 35th birthday, the boss and colleagues threw her a party, and Xing Jun unexpectedly showed up.
She couldn’t recall exactly how their affair began, only that he brought her a kind of delight and intoxication she’d never felt as a woman.
Xing Jun was handsome, elegant, witty, always making her laugh—and most of all, he knew how to flatter her.
After marrying Fang Ming in her youth, Wang Rong had to bear the responsibilities of being a wife and mother.
Fang Ming treated her well, but was strict and controlling, and after marriage, all sweet talk disappeared—her biggest complaint about him. Perhaps it was because he treated her so seriously as a wife that he became so dull.
But Xing Jun treated her like a princess—even a queen.
That was the difference.
With Xing Jun, Wang Rong felt young and girlish again.
Fang Ming had been the husband of her childhood dreams, but Xing Jun was the perfect lover—beyond her imagination.
She knew there would never be a real future with Xing Jun, and she didn’t want one. They both had families; they just wanted a romantic, fleeting affair.
But her feelings for Bai Shikun were different.
She saw a report in a magazine about Bai Shikun’s golden wedding anniversary—his wife, now wheelchair-bound and heavily made-up, unable to hide her frail spirit.
Wang Rong knew that Mrs. Bai had been ill for ten years, dependent on medicine and technology.
So Wang Rong revived a childhood habit.
The newly built Society of the Virgin Mary Primary School included a chapel—small, but in a beautiful classical Western style.
The Virgin Mary statue, once in a playground corner, now stood inside the chapel.
Though busy, Wang Rong made time every night she was in the city to visit the chapel, offer fresh flowers, and pray by candlelight, asking the Virgin’s blessing—that she might soon become the next Mrs. Bai.
Wang Rong was certain the Virgin would grant her wish, just as she’d once sent her Fang Ming.
This day, Fang Ming behaved unusually: instead of having afternoon tea alone at a café, he had lunch with a young man.
Fang Ming sat across from the young man, unable to stop studying his features, barely able to contain his agitation and disbelief.
The young man, on the other hand, showed no discomfort, carrying himself with poise and warmth.
He even… had the same temperament.
Fang Ming was shocked.
The day before, on his way home, a tall, handsome young man had approached and politely asked, “Excuse me, are you Mr. Fang Ming?”
At first sight, Fang Ming was stunned—the youth looked almost exactly like her, Xia Yu.
“Hello, my name is Xia Lixian. I’m Xia Yu’s son,” the young man said gently, resolving Fang Ming’s confusion.
At the café, Xia Lixian took out his phone and showed Fang Ming a photo of two teenagers, about sixteen or seventeen, sitting on campus grass, laughing happily.
One was Xia Lixian, the other—his own son, Fang Zheng.
After looking at the photo, Fang Ming gazed blankly at Xia Lixian.
“That year, Fang Zheng had just arrived in San Francisco from this small city and entered the same university as me. We were assigned as roommates, even though we were in different departments,” Xia Lixian explained.
Father and son, separated by continents, but keeping close contact. Fang Ming knew his son had made a good friend upon arriving in the U.S.—a local Chinese boy who’d helped him with both studies and life, and with whom he was lucky enough to share a dorm.
But Fang Ming never imagined that this friend was Xia Yu’s son, Xia Lixian.
“Mr. Fang, do you believe in fate?” Xia Lixian asked, his eyes radiating a maturity beyond his years.
“So… why did you come to see me?” Fang Ming asked, conflicted.
“My mother sent me. She wanted me to tell you the truth she knows. She said maybe it’s fate,” Xia Lixian replied.
“You want me to break up with Ming? Impossible!” Xia Yu said calmly but firmly to the beautiful young woman before her.
She was angry. Though gentle by nature, even she had limits—especially at Wang Rong’s outrageous demand.
Of course, she knew about Fang Ming’s affair with Wang Rong. Long before this, her intuition had told her Fang Ming’s heart was straying.
“Miss Wang, we’ve been together for twenty years—longer than you’ve been alive. I won’t leave him, and neither will he,” Xia Yu said, her tone calm but resolute.
“That’s exactly why you should leave. You’ve made enough over the years, haven’t you?” Wang Rong sneered, her voice softer than Xia Yu’s but her words sharp as knives.
“If he really loved you, why wouldn’t he marry you after twenty years?”
“You—!”
Xia Yu couldn’t bear it. Shaking, eyes red, she almost slapped Wang Rong, but restrained herself.
Why didn’t Fang Ming marry her?
She knew the unspoken reason—that painful spot in her soul, her fatal weakness. Worst of all, Wang Rong seemed to see right through it.
Wang Rong looked Xia Yu in the eye and sighed.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJsao21FCsj
“Miss Xia, maybe you should believe that all this is God’s arrangement!” she said, her gaze even tinged with pity.
Xia Yu laughed coldly. “God arranged for you to be Fang Ming’s wife? We’ll see. I’m not leaving. If your God is so powerful, have him get rid of me.” She turned to go, unwilling to face this frightening girl any longer.
“We’ll see indeed. If you refuse to leave Ming within a month, the whole city’s media will dig up all the gossip about Fang Ming’s girlfriend Xia Yu working in sleazy bars,” Wang Rong said, her voice cold and lips curved in a cruel smile.
Xia Yu spun around, eyes wide in shock, staring at Wang Rong.
Wang Rong’s lips curled, her next words uglier still: “And… she even posed for filthy nude photos and adult films to make a bit of money…”
“Shut up!” Xia Yu screamed.
She had never, in her life, screamed so shrilly.
Both Xia Yu and Fang Ming had grown up in the slums, neighbors in the same building.
In that environment, hardship and temptation had led Xia Yu astray in her youth.
So Wang Rong’s first accusation was true.
But she hadn’t stayed long in that world; soon, Fang Ming had come to her and said, “Stop. From now on, I’ll take care of you.” He’d spoken calmly, not even meeting her eyes, but Xia Yu felt the weight of his words.
For the next twenty years, through danger and fortune, except for marriage, Fang Ming had kept his promise.
So Wang Rong’s second accusation was baseless.
So Xia Yu laughed bitterly. “I never did those things. What evidence do you have? Are you going to fake it?”
“I don’t care if you did or not, and neither does anyone else,” Wang Rong replied coolly. “Truth doesn’t matter. What matters is: people would love to see the successful businessman’s woman exposed as filthy and fallen.”
And the media would oblige, turning the public’s desires into “fact.” You can protest, but no one cares about the truth. The only certainty is that Ming’s reputation will be ruined.
That’s how people are: they idolize successful men, then crave to see them fall; they praise pure women, then want to see them dragged through the mud.
Wang Rong spoke calmly, but her eyes glinted with something that chilled Xia Yu.
Xia Yu was stunned by the malice in someone seventeen years her junior.
“And you know, I have plenty of friends in the media. If I want to ruin you, I absolutely can.” Wang Rong seemed to declare victory.
Xia Yu wasn’t afraid for herself, but she couldn’t bear to see Fang Ming’s reputation destroyed.
Seeing Xia Yu trembling, Wang Rong’s tone softened. “Miss Xia, I know you love Ming as much as I do. I’m leaving now—think it over.”
After Wang Rong left, Xia Yu finally let her tears fall.
She laughed—a sad, desperate laugh.
Wang Rong, you’re wrong. I love him so much more than you ever could…
In the café, Fang Ming listened quietly to the story. Most of the time, he stared at his cup of coffee, untouched and long cold.
Neither man touched their lunch.
“When she met my mother, she didn’t say she was pregnant—she wouldn’t show weakness to her rival. Only when you asked to break up did my mother learn Wang Rong was carrying your child,” Xia Lixian said, sipping cold coffee.
“If she’d simply told my mother she was pregnant, my mother’s nature would have made her leave anyway.”
Guilt choked Fang Ming, leaving him speechless.
He’d never imagined Xia Yu had suffered such bullying.
He’d never realized how ruthless Wang Rong had been, even as a girl. It seemed he’d never truly seen what kind of woman Wang Rong was.
The sense of defeat was worse than the failure of his marriage or career.
At least now, he understood why Xia Yu had that look of realization when he told her Wang Rong was pregnant.
“She… your mother sent you to tell me all of this?” Fang Ming finally managed to ask.
Xia Lixian smiled kindly, his gentle gaze making Fang Ming feel as if he were seeing an old friend.
“You know Zheng and I are friends. One day I invited him home, and as soon as my mother saw him, she froze—she knew right away he was your son.”
As a boy, Fang Zheng had resembled Wang Rong, but as he grew, he looked more and more like Fang Ming. Now, he was a younger version of his father.
Fang Ming was proud of his dutiful son; this was why he’d compromised, hoping to give his boy a complete family.
“My mother only told me these things recently, after much thought. She’d assumed you’d gone your separate ways, never to cross paths again.
But then, your son came to San Francisco, attended the same university as me, became my roommate, and my friend.
She thought this must be fate: that Heaven wanted her to tell you the truth. That’s why she sent me.”
Fang Ming was silent for a long time, then took a deep breath.
“So…”
He looked at Xia Lixian, forcing out two words.
He seemed to realize what the “truth” was.
Suddenly, unable to hold back anymore, he blurted out, “You’re my child?”
Xia Lixian looked at the weary, weathered man before him, his eyes brimming with tears. “My mother only realized in San Francisco that she was pregnant with your child.”
The handsome young man took a deep breath and continued, “My mother loved me deeply, but never spoke of my father. I never asked—I didn’t want to make her sad. If she wanted to tell, she would.”
He paused, then looked at Fang Ming. “Yes, I am your son. Zheng is my older brother; he was born a month before me.”
Xia Lixian seemed to have inherited his mother’s temperament—calm even in emotional moments. So when he said, “I am your son,” his tone was gentle, but his eyes shone with tears.
This was a cozy, literary café.
At that moment, the summer evening breeze drifted in through the dark green window, brushing past the long-separated father and son.
At night, Fang Ming couldn’t sleep. He got up, went to the living room, watched TV, and drank whisky.
Suddenly, he heard a strange noise from the bedroom—a heavy object falling.
Fang Ming was instantly alert. Was a thief climbing in the window? But this was the top floor—what kind of cat burglar would be so bold?
He quietly picked up an iron rod and crept toward the bedroom. Suddenly, he heard men’s and women’s voices arguing inside.
Impossible, he thought.
Could there be a female thief too?
The door was ajar; he peered inside and saw a man and a woman.
The woman stood by the window; the man was outside.
Outside was a drop of twenty floors.
The man was terrified, voice trembling and almost crying. “Rong… don’t… don’t be crazy! This won’t work! Let me in!”
The woman stood guard, blocking his return. “Why are you so useless? Isn’t there a beam? Is it that hard to climb over?”
The man really did cry, but kept his voice down so as not to alert neighbors—he had a reputation to protect. “You crazy woman! You think I’m some acrobat? I can’t make it! Just let him catch us, so what!”
The woman’s voice dripped with venom.
“Of course it doesn’t matter to you! Your wife doesn’t care if you have an affair. You say sorry and you’re a good husband, a good father.
But Ming will never forgive me. He wants to catch us red-handed so he can divorce me, with just cause!”
She laughed bitterly. “Then I’ll lose my family, my child—everyone will laugh at me. And you! You’ll lose nothing!”
The man dropped all pretense of being a gentleman. “You blame me? This was mutual! If you were so afraid of divorce, you should have been a good wife! Why have an affair?” He ignored her and tried to climb back inside, but he was no longer young and struggled.
The woman rushed to the bedside, grabbed a bronze statue—a two-foot-long rod-like sculpture.
She gripped it and lunged back to the window, jabbing the man in the chest.
It wasn’t a hard blow, but he hadn’t expected it—startled, his sweat-soaked hands slipped, he lost his balance, and fell.
Breathing hard, she calmed herself, placed the statue on the bed, wiped it with the quilt, wrapped it in a towel from the wardrobe, and put it back in place.
Fang Ming finally saw what it was: an abstract bronze sculpture of two nude figures entwined, so close they looked like a single rod.
He remembered—on the night he’d caught them at Wai Cheung Garden, when Wang Rong opened the door and he burst into the bedroom, the sculpture was on the bedside. He’d been furious just seeing it. “You… you wretch!”
He was shocked at himself for cursing his wife—something he’d never imagined he could do. At the time, the sculpture felt like a red-hot knife in his heart.
He’d never noticed the man he’d expected to find was already lying in a pool of blood below.
Fang Ming woke from his dream.
This time, he wasn’t startled—he didn’t feel afraid in the dream.
As he watched the scene from the doorway, it felt like a movie.
He got out of bed and took a cold shower.
The coolness washed over him, body and soul.
He didn’t care whether the dream was true or false.
He thought of Xia Yu, and of his other son, Xia Lixian.
At that moment, Fang Ming had made his decision.
End of Chapter Six
This story is entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. The author’s intent is to explore the relationship between women’s fate and faith, not to target any actual individuals. Please note.
Copyright Statement:
《Wang Rong: A Modern Parable》
Chapter Six: Bai Shikun and Xia Yu109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgrkhOxFzCa
Original work by Jing Xixian (King Heyin) (Vampire L).
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copying, adaptation, transfer, translation, or commercial use by any means without written permission.
© Jing Xixian (King Heyin) (Vampire L), All rights reserved.
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