It was high noon in China.
Upon waking, Shen Jing's first instinct was to search for her phone under the pillow. She yawned lazily, leaning against the headboard, and scrolled through her call history: Zhuang Ming, outgoing call, two hours.
What could I possibly have talked about with Zhuang Ming for two hours while I was drunk? she wondered. Could that robot, Zhuang Ming, actually hold a conversation with me?
I probably didn't think much of it. Maybe I just randomly pressed buttons, and neither of us hung up.
Shen Jing couldn't remember anything from the previous night, not a single detail.
Old Master Shen was having lunch and watched her come downstairs. A car from the Zhou Family had brought her home in the early hours; there was no need to guess who had arranged it.
As she was getting ready to leave for work, Old Master Shen called out to her.
"Still pestering him, huh?"
