Chapter 39: Zhao Qiyan’s Quiet Dominance

The trip to Shanghai had been planned in advance, but Ruan Jing had been so busy that it slipped completely from her mind. So when Zhao Qiyan showed up early that morning to pick her up, she stood there for a second, genuinely surprised. Then she rushed back inside, hurriedly changing her clothes, grabbing her phone and bag in a flurry of movement.

Watching her, Zhao Qiyan shook his head slightly. “I’m quite sure I reminded you yesterday.”

“Sorry,” she replied, fastening her bag strap, “I was… daydreaming while you were talking.”

Zhao Qiyan sighed softly, clearly a little discouraged. “It seems I’m not charming enough.”

More than enough, Ruan Jing thought to herself.

Just yesterday, he had been dressed in an unusually bright white outfit, his demeanor calm and composed, carrying an effortless nobility that drew attention wherever he went. People couldn’t help but glance his way. This man—talented, refined, and striking—naturally attracted attention. It was simply a fact she had learned to accept.

By one in the afternoon, the two were already seated in the stands of a large indoor tennis stadium, watching the first China match of the slender Swiss player Federer. The atmosphere was lively, the crowd buzzing with anticipation.

Just then, someone approached from behind and gently patted Zhao Qiyan on the shoulder.

He turned, stood up, and shook hands with a spirited middle-aged man.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you at an event like this.”

“I’ve been quite busy these past couple of years,” Zhao Qiyan replied.

The man smiled knowingly. “Then what brings you here today?”

Zhao Qiyan’s expression softened slightly. “I brought my girlfriend to have a look.”

“Oh?” The man raised his brows in surprise and glanced at Ruan Jing, who had already greeted him politely.

“Well then, I won’t disturb your date,” he said with a laugh. “My son is sitting behind me. If you’re free later, we can have dinner together in N City.”

“Alright,” Zhao Qiyan agreed easily.

After he sat back down, Ruan Jing leaned closer. “Who is he? He looks familiar.”

“He used to be a coach at the National Open. He’s retired now.”

“Wow.”

“What are you looking at?” Zhao Qiyan asked when he noticed her gaze drifting.

“The match,” she replied with a small smile.

But in truth, she had just realized something.

This man—calm, composed, seemingly upright—had surprisingly low moral standards when it came to certain matters.

That evening, they did end up having dinner with the retired coach. While Zhao Qiyan chatted comfortably with him, Ruan Jing found herself sitting beside the man’s ten-year-old son, discussing cartoons instead.

On the way back, Zhao Qiyan, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke. “How was dinner?”

“Very good.”

“So,” he continued casually, “what reward should I receive?”

Ruan Jing widened her eyes.

Was this what people meant by taking advantage and then pretending innocence?

“What do you want?” she asked cautiously.

Zhao Qiyan thought for a moment, then said calmly, “Stay with me for one night.”

Too outrageous.

At that moment, Ruan Jing finally understood—Zhao Qiyan’s true nature was arrogant… and quietly domineering.

—

Zhang Hailin had first noticed Ruan Jing at a basketball game. It wasn’t love at first sight, but her tall figure and aloof temperament had left a deep impression on him.

Standing outside the brick-red teachers’ dormitory building, he hesitated.

But he had already made up his mind. He had even sworn to his roommates—there was no turning back now. Retreating would mean losing face, not just before others, but before himself.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to discard the idea that “teacher-student relationships are taboo.” At most, she was only three to five years older than him. Without the professional context, it would simply be a May-December romance—nothing unusual.

After steadying himself, he stepped forward and knocked on the door, clutching the dorm number he had worked so hard to obtain.

He never expected that the door would be opened… by a man.

Zhang Hailin froze.

He considered himself fairly handsome, but the man standing before him exuded an imposing presence—refined, confident, and quietly intimidating.

“Who are you looking for?” the man asked, his gaze sharp yet composed.

“I… I’m looking for Ruan Jing.”

“She’s not here. Is something wrong?”

“When… when will she be back?” Hailin tried to keep his voice steady.

The man smiled faintly. “Half an hour. You can wait, or come back tomorrow.”

“I’ll wait.”

He stepped inside, feeling strangely out of place.

“Make yourself comfortable,” the man said, gesturing casually before stepping aside to answer a phone call.

Zhang Hailin sat stiffly, watching him from afar.

Men like this… either inspired admiration or jealousy.

“I like her.”

The words slipped out before he could stop himself.

The man ended his call and glanced sideways at him. His expression gave nothing away.

“I like Ruan Jing,” Zhang Hailin repeated.

“Oh,” the man replied calmly, “I’m her boyfriend.”

In that instant, everything collapsed.

Days later, dragged out of bed by his roommates, Zhang Hailin saw a trending post on the school forum—and finally realized why the man had seemed so familiar.

He was the associate lecturer who had recently given a widely acclaimed academic lecture.

Cambridge double master’s degrees. Alumni of Peking University.

Zhang Hailin sat there in silence.

He had once thought that if he worked hard enough—entered a top graduate program—he might one day surpass his rival.

Now, he realized how naive that had been.

And so, a war without gunfire ended… before the heroine ever knew it had begun.

—

Ruan Jing’s life, however, remained unchanged. Calm. Undisturbed.

One day, as she passed by the tennis court near the art college building, she spotted Ruan Xian, whom she hadn’t seen in quite some time, playing with several teachers.

She walked over, sat down, and watched for a while, occasionally cheering for her sister.

To be honest, Ruan Xian’s skills were… average at best.

Her serves were inconsistent, her shots unpredictable, and she had little coordination with her partner. Fortunately, their opponents weren’t much better. The entire match consisted mostly of both sides running around chasing balls.

It was less a competition and more an exercise in endurance.

When Ruan Xian’s group finally stepped down, the next group that went up was clearly more skilled.

“Jing, want to join?” one of the teachers asked, panting.

She shook her head. “No interest.”

“It’s just for fun. Even if you don’t know how to play, think of it as running.”

Ruan Xian clicked her tongue. “Old Qin, what are you implying?”

“No, no,” the man laughed nervously. “I thought you were running, not playing.”

“Get lost,” Ruan Xian snapped, then turned to her sister. “You used to like this. Why aren’t you interested now?”

“It makes you sweat.”

She couldn’t very well say that after playing with someone like Zhao Qiyan, everything else felt… dull.

Another teacher chimed in, shaking his head. “Girls just don’t like sweating. Jing, you still need exercise. You’ll understand when you’re older—life is movement.”

“I understand,” she replied with a polite smile.

Meanwhile, the match on the court had grown intense. Mixed doubles always made for the most exciting games—just as the saying went, men and women working together made things easier.

Ruan Xian glanced up, her expression turning sharp. “Jin Xiaoyao is really something. She insisted on partnering with Old Chen—turned a couple into opponents.”

“Her skills are good,” someone commented. “Old Chen isn’t as strong as his wife, so it balances things out.”

“What nonsense!” Ruan Xian scoffed. “Her smashes are insane! What’s so impressive about that?”

Even while being criticized, Old Qin only smiled. “San San, did something happen between you two?”

“I’ve already had children with her!” Ruan Xian snapped.

The group fell silent.

Everyone liked her straightforward personality—but when she truly got angry, it was intimidating.

Ruan Jing, standing nearby, glanced at her before speaking calmly, “Sis, can I borrow your racket? I’ll play for a bit.”

Old Chen’s wife stepped down, and the match resumed.

Forty minutes later, the score stood at 6–4.

The moment the game ended, Ruan Jing handed the racket back and said casually, “There’s something wrong with your racket. It keeps slipping.”

A perfect conclusion—from someone who had turned the score from 2–3 to 6–4.