Wang Chen didn't know what Ming Yao thought of him—and even if he did, it would not have mattered in the slightest. He had long since stepped beyond such fragile attachments. To him, love was not some sacred miracle sung about in legends, but a transaction like any other. People loved because there was something to gain—status, security, warmth, survival. He understood that truth clearly and felt no resentment toward it. That was simply how the world functioned.
Perhaps saints, those mythical fools preserved in scripture, could love without expecting anything in return. Wang Chen knew himself well enough to admit he was not one of them.
