After the Bankrupt Heiress Married into a Rich Family - Chapter 43

Chapter 43: Going Home

Mingzhu was pulled forward so suddenly she gasped: “Ah.”

Xitang Town.

The sky was clear, the sun was bright, and the clouds drifted lazily.

A seven-seater business van drove along the street. There were tourists on the road, but not many.

“Xitang (Silt Pond), Xitang (Wedding Candy)—actually, the name sounds very nice and has a good meaning, doesn’t it?” Master Chen had a round face that loved to smile. He spoke cheerfully to the four women.

When Secretary Qian Meiyi first arrived, she had rented a four-seater car for Mingzhu, which perfectly fit the four of them. Later, after inviting Master Chen to join them, they rented a seven-seater. The interior was spacious; Master Chen sat in the passenger seat, Xiang Qian drove, and Master Chen directed her on where to go.

Now, Master Chen turned back to smile at them.

Mingzhu held her mirrorless camera, filming Master Chen’s introduction. She nodded and smiled. “Wedding Candy—it really does sound lovely. To my ‘Weekend World Tour’ audience, if any of you are getting married, come visit ‘Wedding Candy’ to share in the good fortune.”

Mingzhu had taken lines classes. Although they were English acting classes, she had taken plenty of one-on-one Chinese elocution lessons after hours. Her voice was very pleasant. However, because her teacher was a retired news anchor who had even dubbed the old Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Mingzhu’s narration—though softened for her videos—still had an unshakeable “broadcasting” quality.

But interviewees found that professional tone reassuring. Master Chen had already grown comfortably accustomed to Mingzhu’s lens.

Master Chen: “I heard Miss Bai and President Rong got married?”

Mingzhu nodded, thinking to herself she’d have to edit that part out. She turned to Secretary Qian. “Sister Qian, let’s buy some wedding candy later. Even though we didn’t have a ceremony, we officially registered. We should hand some out to Master Chen and everyone.”

Master Chen laughed. “Oh, look at that! I didn’t mean it like that.”

Jiangjiang teased that he meant exactly that, and the car erupted in laughter.

Xitang had several ethnic minority customs. Master Chen acted as their guide, taking them to minority villages to gather material. Passing a wooden bridge, Master Chen introduced it: “This is the Wu-Xun Bridge. About ten years ago, during a typhoon around the Dragon Boat Festival, the bridge collapsed. All the schools here had to close.”

He pointed outside. “Look over there. There was supposed to be a project for a new bridge, but the investors ran into trouble—maybe they embezzled the money for something else—and the capital chain broke. It was left half-finished and abandoned. No one has fixed it since, and it’s a constant headache for the mayor.”

Mingzhu couldn’t see it clearly, so she asked Xiang Qian to stop. She stood by the roadside to fly her drone.

The drone footage showed a steel-structure bridge that was only half-built. It had a long span but sat unfinished—a real pity. Mingzhu asked Master Chen: “What’s the impact of not finishing this bridge? And how would finishing it change everyone’s lives?”

She knew the answer, but in filming, one must ask such questions to get the interviewee’s perspective on record.

Master Chen stood by the road and smiled. “Actually, there’s no huge day-to-day impact. It’s just that if we had that big bridge, even if the small bridges flooded, it wouldn’t cut off the residents. As for how it would change lives—well, the change would be massive. Everything would flow better, and the economy would thrive.”

Then, Master Chen recalled the old bridge collapse, his tone growing heavier. “That typhoon was called ‘Whale.’ It had a huge impact. The bridge fell, people were trapped, and supplies couldn’t get in. Medicine couldn’t get in either. A few elderly people passed away during that time.”

Mingzhu listened quietly. She knew this was a social issue. As a directing student, she shouldn’t shy away from any subject; she should specifically interview survivors and document it. But it was a painful memory for them. She couldn’t bring herself to do it; she preferred filming lighthearted topics.

Mingzhu asked, “What if a second ‘Whale’ comes?”

“Build the bridge,” Jiangjiang suddenly answered. Her mind was incredibly sharp. “Mingzhu, let your President Rong pay for the bridge. Put it under the name of your Mingzhu International. The town’s tourism would definitely be revitalized, and the economy would take off.”

Mingzhu: “…”

She had thought of it, too, but her marriage to Rong Zhao was fake. She couldn’t ask for a project worth hundreds of millions. If Rong Zhao refused, Mingzhu, no matter how thick-skinned, would be mortified.

“Don’t joke,” Mingzhu tapped Jiangjiang on the head. “Professional matters should be left to professionals. You can’t just build a bridge on a whim.”

However, Mingzhu took note of it. Not knowing about it was one thing, but now that she knew, she couldn’t ignore it—just as she couldn’t ignore the lack of school buses.

While filming, Mingzhu had already planned the soundtrack: which shot went with which music, which scenes to insert as B-roll, which shots would mirror each other, and which would have the most emotional impact.

In university, she had a high workload and filmed many projects. As a director, she had to be a “six-sided warrior,” learning to write scripts, dialogue, cinematography, editing, lighting, and dubbing. To write good papers, she watched a vast number of films and analyzed them deeply. All of this was accumulated experience.

For a year and a half after graduation, she had filmed many tourism promotional videos for her father’s company, doing all the editing and narration herself. Since Jiangjiang was an artist, her eyes were trained to capture aesthetic frames. With her help, the artistic quality of the footage was elevated.

Despite the tight schedule, Mingzhu and Jiangjiang edited as they went. They finished the video quickly.

Once the video was uploaded, the high-quality visuals, beautiful aerial shots, and cinematic editing—plus the heartwarming ending featuring the donated school buses—caused it to hit a million views and trend rapidly.

Simultaneously, Mingzhu had Secretary Qian find marketing accounts to promote Xitang Town on various platforms. Travel guides for the town were everywhere, using a “brainwashing” strategy of sheer visibility. It worked perfectly; even Master Chen’s jasmine tea was flooded with pre-orders.

Mingzhu also coordinated with the mayor for tourism promotion, training local staff on service attitudes, and had Jiang Heyu remind her father to strengthen management and add themed performances and parades.

Once everything was arranged, Mingzhu set off for home. She didn’t expect to revitalize the town in a single May Day holiday, but with the town and the scenic area working together for long-term development, things would get better.

May 1st, evening.

Looking down at Jiangyue City from the plane, the bright lights of the buildings, the warm glow of residential communities, and the arched lights of the elevated highways formed the main pulse of the city—a river of light like the Milky Way.

The plane roared to a landing, bounced a few times on the runway, and came to a stop.

Mingzhu and Jiangjiang got off the shuttle bus into the terminal and walked straight out. Xiang Qian and Secretary Qian stayed to wait for the checked luggage.

Mingzhu walked arm-in-arm with Jiangjiang. Before long, amidst the flowing crowd, she saw the person picking her up.

A slender silhouette, elegant temperament, looking like the moon or an immortal.

Having not seen her for a week, Mingzhu’s heart skipped more beats than the plane had on the runway. She had originally planned to be gone for three or four days, but she had been away for a full week.

Mingzhu’s breath hitched, and joy erupted from her chest to her eyes. She could no longer stay calm. She pulled her arm away from Jiangjiang and ran toward Rong Zhao with a smile.

There were several people in front of her. Mingzhu dodged and wove through them like an obstacle course, finally lunging into Rong Zhao’s arms. “Rongrong!”

Rong Zhao was pushed back two steps before she could steady herself. Her back was even hit by the bag in Mingzhu’s hand. She gently circled her arms around Mingzhu’s waist. “You’re back.”

Mingzhu stood on her tiptoes, arms around Rong Zhao’s shoulders, her cheek pressed against Rong Zhao’s. She felt the warmth of Rong Zhao’s skin and smelled her fragrance. Overwhelmed with a strange excitement, she whispered in Rong Zhao’s ear: “Did you miss me?”

Rong Zhao asked back, “What about you?”

“I did!” After saying it, Mingzhu realized she was being too transparent. She let her heels drop and took Rong Zhao’s arm. “Mrs. Rong thought about President Rong every day while she was away.”

Rong Zhao smiled warmly. “Mhm, me too.”

Mingzhu’s eyes brightened. Regardless of the truth, she was Mrs. Rong.

Jiangjiang walked over, squinting as she observed them. She felt more and more that her guess was right. The gaze between the two was far too “stringy” (charged), and the atmosphere was turning pink. Standing next to them made Jiangjiang’s face feel hot; she wanted to look away. Forget about her and He Chan—there was no way Rong Zhao would hug them the way she just hugged Mingzhu.

“Hard work,” Rong Zhao said to Jiangjiang.

Jiangjiang laughed. “Not for us. It was your secretary and driver who worked hard this week. They took care of everything. Sister Xiang even learned how to set up lighting, and Sister Qian learned how to walk in slow motion for shots.”

Mingzhu laughed softly, explaining to Rong Zhao: “We were short-staffed, so everyone had to play a part.”

Rong Zhao nodded understandingly. Chatting, the three walked toward the parking lot. Mingzhu held Rong Zhao’s arm the whole way. It looked like she was acting out a deep love, but she truly had missed Rong Zhao. Rong Zhao smelled good, felt good to lean against, and was comfortable to hold. Once Mingzhu attached herself, she didn’t want to let go. This past week, without Rong Zhao as a human body pillow, she hadn’t slept well at all.

At the car, Rong Zhao opened the door, and Mingzhu got in first. Taking the opportunity, Jiangjiang whispered to Rong Zhao: “Mingzhu bought you a gift, but she’s too embarrassed to give it to you. It’s in the crate with the tea.”

Rong Zhao raised an eyebrow.

Jiangjiang finished and then called out loudly: “Alright! I’m going to stay at a friend’s house. I won’t go with you. Bye-bye, Mingzhu babe!”

Mingzhu had just buckled her seatbelt but unbuckled it to poke her head out. “Aren’t you joining us for dinner? Which friend’s house? No friend’s house is better than mine!”

At the phrase “my house,” Rong Zhao smiled faintly.

Jiangjiang looked at Rong Zhao, who used her fingertip to push Mingzhu’s forehead back. “Don’t pry into a friend’s privacy.” She pushed Mingzhu back into the car.

Jiangjiang smiled knowingly, waved, and went back to meet Sister Xiang and Secretary Qian; her suitcase was with them.

Rong Zhao waited with Mingzhu in the car for the luggage. Mingzhu grew sleepier as she waited. After only a few words with Rong Zhao, she drifted off. She had been exhausted these past few days. Editing was mentally draining; she hadn’t slept enough, and performing the same operations repeatedly only to start over when it didn’t feel right was the most taxing part. She had been relying on alarms to drag herself up every morning.

Mingzhu slept deeply. Rong Zhao didn’t disturb her, adjusting the temperature so she’d be more comfortable.

When they arrived at Rongguang Villa, Mingzhu skipped dinner. She went to her room, took a quick two-minute shower without getting her hair wet, applied only lotion to her face without any body care, changed into pajamas, and went back to sleep.

When Mingzhu woke up again, it was the middle of the night—woken by hunger.

There was no one beside her. Mingzhu turned on the light and called out, “Rong Zhao?”

No response. She called louder: “Rong Zhao!”

Rong Zhao responded, her voice coming from a distance: “In the study.”

Mingzhu smiled, her energy returning. She got out of bed, saw her suitcases had been brought in and cleaned by the maid, and dragged the one containing the tea to find Rong Zhao.

At the study door, she stopped.

Rong Zhao was wearing elegant and sexy gold-rimmed glasses, looking at her computer. She was in silk pajamas—a silk camisole underneath with a silk cardigan over it. Her rose fragrance drifted toward the door.

Mingzhu took a soft breath. It smelled wonderful.

The curtains behind Rong Zhao were open. Outside, the clouds had parted, revealing a bright, white crescent moon. The night was deep and silent, the moonlight as clean as water.

Rong Zhao looked up from the screen. “Awake? Hungry?”

Mingzhu nodded. “Awake and hungry.” She smiled.

Rong Zhao took out her phone. “I’ll have the maid bring food to the dining room.”

Mingzhu dragged the suitcase in. “Okay. Tell her she can go to sleep after that. They’re older; staying up late makes them feel unwell.”

Rong Zhao glanced at her. “Mhm.”

Mingzhu waited quietly until Rong Zhao finished sending the message. Then, she walked over to Rong Zhao, her long legs leaning against the desk. “I brought you Master Chen’s private stash of jasmine tea,” she said slowly. “He said he keeps a bit for himself every year and won’t give it to anyone else, but he gave it to me this time.”

As she spoke, Mingzhu picked up the fountain pen on Rong Zhao’s desk. It was a beautiful pen with gold gilding that shimmered as she turned it. She looked at the pen for a moment, and when Rong Zhao didn’t respond, she glared at her.

Rong Zhao cooperated with a soft laugh. “I want it very much. How can Miss Mingzhu be persuaded to give it to me?”

Mingzhu leaned in, using the fountain pen to lift a strand of Rong Zhao’s hair. “We agreed you’d beg me. Have you thought about how to beg me yet?”

Mingzhu raised an eyebrow meaningfully, her voice trailing off suggestively.

Suddenly, Rong Zhao grabbed Mingzhu’s waist and pulled her close with force. Mingzhu was pulled forward so suddenly she gasped: “Ah.”

Startled, Mingzhu let out a short cry, her hands bracing against Rong Zhao’s shoulders. Rong Zhao took off her glasses, tossed them on the desk, and closed her legs. “Sit here.”

Mingzhu’s heart went into a frenzy. She sat astride Rong Zhao’s lap. Sitting like this, she was much taller than Rong Zhao. She looked down while Rong Zhao looked up, and the eye contact made her blood run hot.

Then, Rong Zhao hugged Mingzhu’s waist tight, her face pressing against Mingzhu’s pajamas as she inhaled deeply.

Mingzhu’s legs went weak, and her body felt like melting. She tilted her head back, her hands around Rong Zhao’s neck, her breathing growing ragged.

Rong Zhao bit open the button of Mingzhu’s pajama shirt. “Like this?”