Chapter 17

Ji Changsheng left the hotel and headed back to the office. It was 1:30 a.m., and only a few windows were still lit in the Ji Group building.

Feng Liang was analyzing Mu Jinpei’s behavior at the banquet for Ji Changsheng:
“If Mu Jinpei really were the child of the Gu family, based on his personality, he wouldn’t make such a high-profile move to get close to Xingyao—it would only raise your suspicions and backfire.

“Besides, if he wanted revenge, he’d do it in secret, leaving no trace. Taking action himself would be too costly—high risk, low return. He could end up losing everything. That’s not in line with his business instincts.

“There’s also the possibility that Mu Jinpei is Gu family blood, but he himself doesn’t know it, and the Mu family is keeping it under wraps. In that case, his pursuit of Xingyao would make sense.”

“Oh, Chairman Ji, according to reliable sources, Xie Junyi will be returning to Beijing for the New Year. Do you want to go visit him?”

Ji Changsheng didn’t say a word throughout. He kept turning the glass of water in his hand. He had drunk quite a bit earlier, and his throat was dry.

The water was already cold, but he hadn’t taken a sip.

He finally set the glass down and looked again at the file on Xie Junyi—one Feng Liang had recently compiled. “Set up a dinner with Xie Junyi over the New Year.”

Feng Liang nodded. “Understood. I’ll make the arrangements.”

Ji Changsheng waved his hand. “You can go now.”

Feng Liang quietly left, closing the door behind him. Working beside Ji Changsheng was always like walking on thin ice. But with this intel on Xie Junyi, he had gained more of Ji Changsheng’s trust.

Ji Changsheng drank the cold water and dialed a number. “Keep a close eye on Old Tang. Report to me immediately if anything unusual happens.”

He trusted Feng Liang, but he never assigned everything to one person. Just like he’d never put all his eggs in one basket.

It was deep into the night.

Xu Rui still hadn’t fallen asleep. She tossed and turned in bed.

“Damn, what are you doing, grilling squid?” Qi Chen was groggy with sleep. He pulled her into his arms and threw the blanket over her head. “Be good. Go to sleep.”

Xu Rui was irritable and kicked and squirmed.

Qi Chen: “…”

Shit.
That hurt enough to wake him right up.

Sleeping next to this tigress was like living with a ticking time bomb.

He didn’t even want to hug her—he just didn’t feel like arguing in the middle of the night. He had already gotten what he wanted earlier. So he turned over and faced away.

“Hey!” Xu Rui kicked him again. “I need to tell you something.”

Qi Chen, annoyed, grumbled, “Then just say it.”

Xu Rui thought it over. “Tomorrow, I’m going to M.K. to see Mu Jinpei.”

The room went quiet for a few seconds.

Qi Chen froze, making sure he’d heard right. He sat up with a jolt and turned on the light. “You’re really going to see him? You’re not messing with me?”

Xu Rui narrowed her eyes. Look at how excited he was.

Qi Chen looked serious for once. “If you manage to win Mu Jinpei over, I’ll get you guys a big wedding gift. Heck, I’ll even prep a red envelope for your future kid.”

A second later, he smacked his head on the bed frame. “Damn it!” He winced in pain.

That kick earlier nearly killed him. She really wasn’t holding back.

He rubbed his head and grumbled furiously. “Xu Rui, don’t take a good man like me for granted! Guys like me are rare!”

Xu Rui: “I’m going to see him for serious business. It’s not the shady stuff you’re imagining. I only told you out of courtesy—as a decent tool at best. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Qi Chen scoffed. “What kind of serious business? Let me guess—you saw him holding Xingxing’s hand tonight and got so jealous it’s leaking from your eyes. Just admit it. I won’t laugh at you. I’ll just gloat a little, maybe for a few days.”

Xu Rui didn’t bother to argue. She’d already told him, so she turned over and went to sleep.

Qi Chen was fully awake now, and since he couldn’t sleep, he wouldn’t let her sleep either. He yanked the blanket off her. “What ‘serious business’ could you possibly have with him? Gonna talk shop?”

Xu Rui laid her head on his arm but didn’t hit him again, knowing it would just encourage him. “Sleep. I’m tired.”

“How can you sleep when you’re going to see your dream guy tomorrow?”

“Shut up.”

“Tsk tsk tsk. Didn’t you say it was all business? I can tell—you’re just bitter and trying to butt in. Caught you red-handed. Now you’re pissed.” He scratched her chin. “Come on, Rui Rui, we’ve known each other since we were kids. Don’t you think I know exactly what’s going on in that little head of yours?”

He paused. “If you really want to go after Mu Jinpei, I’ll support you. I’ll even tell my dad I cheated and you caught me in the act.”

Xu Rui squinted and growled each word: “Shut. Your. Mouth. Sleep!”

But Qi Chen wouldn’t stop. He teased her, tickled her, kissed her.

“If you’re really going to see Mu Jinpei, just own it. Be bold. Don’t play coy. That’s not cool.”

“You wouldn’t get it,” she sighed. Then, surprisingly, she explained, “I want to help Ji Xingyao.”

The moment the words left her mouth, Qi Chen burst into exaggerated laughter.

Xu Rui pinched his arm to shut him up, but he kept goading her on purpose.

Her head throbbed from the noise. Through clenched teeth, she said, “Three… two…” Before she even got to one, Qi Chen frantically turned off the light. “You sure you’re not trying to win him back?”

Xu Rui snapped, “How many times do I have to tell you!”

“Fine, fine. I won’t hold it against you. You can cry on my shoulder—twice.” He pulled her into his arms and planted soft kisses on her.

After another round of “torment,” Xu Rui finally fell asleep—it was already 3 a.m.

---

The next morning.

Before 8 a.m., Mu Jinpei was already at Ji Xingyao’s building entrance.

Chu Zheng was also in the car to report the latest on Ji Changsheng. On the third day of the Lunar New Year, Ji Changsheng had arranged a dinner with Xie Junyi, and several influential business figures would also be present.

Mu Jinpei adjusted his cufflinks. Every time he tried to decipher Ji Changsheng’s actions, it consumed massive mental energy—one wrong move, and everything could unravel.

Ji Changsheng probably acted on Feng Liang’s suggestion this time, but how much he truly believed it was anyone’s guess.

There was also another possibility: Ji Changsheng was using this dinner as a pretext to get close to someone around Xie Junyi—not necessarily Xie Junyi himself.

And the closest people to Xie Junyi were Mu Wenya and Xie Yuncheng.

Both were unpredictable variables in Mu Jinpei’s calculations.

Mu Jinpei refocused and decided, “After New Year’s, I’ll return to New York for a while.”

Chu Zheng: “I’ll handle things here in Beijing.”

Just then, Ji Xingyao walked out of the building.

Mu Jinpei opened the car door and stepped out. He had just taken off his cufflinks and hadn’t put them back on—one was still in his hand.

Today, Ji Xingyao had her hair in a high ponytail, wore a smoky gray coat, and her skin looked like porcelain.

Clean, sharp, and confident.

Mu Jinpei pulled her into a hug, lifting her slightly off the ground before setting her down. “Sleep well?”

“Not bad.” Ji Xingyao pointed to his wrist. “From now on, leave your watch with me at night.”

Over the past month, his watch had been on her nightstand, and she’d slept soundly. But after returning it to him last night, she had a nightmare—chaotic and unsettling.

Chu Zheng moved to the back seat to give them privacy.

Inside the car, Ji Xingyao noticed his shirt cuff was open. “Did you lose a cufflink?”

“No.” Mu Jinpei held it out to her. “Help me put it on. Maybe it’ll inspire your next artwork.”

Ji Xingyao joked, “Cufflinks at my fingertips, love on my heartstrings.” She fastened it for him, then placed her hand over his and compared finger lengths.

The first time she saw his hands, she thought they looked like a painting. And that first time he stood by her studio’s floor-to-ceiling window—that silhouette was something she could never forget.

“Mu Jinpei.”

“Mm? What is it?”

Ji Xingyao looked at him—now that he was her boyfriend, she finally dared to meet his eyes directly. “So, are we still signing the agency contract or not?”

Mu Jinpei didn’t answer right away. He paused to think it over carefully, then made a concession. “Sixty-forty split. M.K. takes 40, you take 60.” He had previously insisted on an even 50-50 split.

Ji Xingyao replied, “Now that you’re my boyfriend, let’s schedule a time to talk business another day.”

Mu Jinpei understood the subtext: she still wasn’t satisfied with the split and was holding firm on her original 70-30 demand in her favor. He took her hand in his and said, “Can’t you give me a little face here?”

This was already a major compromise on his part. Aside from his parents, he had never yielded to anyone—especially not in business.

Ji Xingyao said, “If I didn’t want to give you face, I’d be pushing for 80-20.” Then, giving herself a perfectly justifiable reason: “A woman can’t let love cloud her judgment. Business and personal life have to stay separate. It wouldn’t be reasonable of me to ask for 80-20, so let’s just stick to my original 70-30.”

Mu Jinpei could tell Ji Xingyao, like him, had a clear internal scale—one that always operated with absolute rationality.

In their worldview, love was love, relationships were relationships, and business was business.

Just like how he could give her a multi-million-yuan auction piece as a gift, but wouldn’t consider shaving that amount off the contract to give her a 70-30 split.

This mindset came from his mother, Pei Yu. She founded M.K. Gallery and always kept personal and professional matters clearly separate. Her shareholdings, her dividends—everything was written clearly into contracts with no ambiguity.

It wasn’t that she hoarded the money—every year, she would gift Ji Xingyao’s father valuable art pieces.

And Ji Xingyao, if he guessed right, would be the same: even after they got together, she might generously gift him expensive artworks or spend all her earnings buying him things—but she would never change the terms of the contract.

She and his mother were cut from the same cloth, and naturally processed things in the same way.

As his mother once said: “Romance ends, marriages break apart—but a career is a woman’s only real security.”

Ji Xingyao was the same. She had even said herself: sometimes, she was so rational it bordered on heartlessness; other times, she was so obsessive she’d charge headfirst into fire.

His mother had been the same—completely unyielding in either mode.

That past Christmas break, he’d once again witnessed the polite coldness between his mother and father. She had clearly married him without love, which went entirely against her character.

He just didn’t know if Ji Xingyao would ever become so obsessed that she’d cast everything aside.

Regardless, the agency contract couldn’t be delayed anymore. Before, he could take his time negotiating with her. But now, as her boyfriend, any misstep could affect her emotionally.

So this was Mu Jinpei’s biggest concession yet: “We’ll go with your 70-30 split. I’ll have Legal draft the contract in the next couple of days. Tang Jialai will come to you to sign it.”

Ji Xingyao rewarded him first with a kiss—mental encouragement, of course. And some material encouragement as well.

When they reached her art studio, Uncle Zhang’s car was already parked nearby. Whenever Ji Xingyao was at the studio, he always stayed close, monitoring everything in the building from his phone.

Ji Xingyao asked Mu Jinpei to wait while she went to find Uncle Zhang.

Mu Jinpei waited near the building entrance, watching her head toward the open parking lot. His gaze followed her the whole way. Then his phone vibrated—it was Xu Rui calling.

He stared at the screen for several seconds… and didn’t answer. In the end, he declined the call.

Then he messaged Chu Zheng:

“Tell Xu Rui I won’t repeat myself again. This is the last time. She should just stay a bystander.”

Chu Zheng didn’t dare ask further and relayed the message word-for-word.

At that moment, Xu Rui was standing outside M.K.’s Beijing office. She had been waiting nearly two hours—from 7 a.m. until now—without seeing any sign of Mu Jinpei, so she had called him. And that was the response she received.

She didn’t know whether he could read minds or just knew her too well, but he seemed to immediately guess why she had called based on that missed call alone.

Xu Rui looked up. The M.K. logo shone bright and bold.

If she didn’t know anything, she wouldn’t feel so torn. But she did know. And watching a kind, beautiful girl like Ji Xingyao step by step walk into a trap—into the depths of hell—made her feel like an accomplice.

An unforgivable one.

Xu Rui didn’t respond to Chu Zheng. Instead, she dialed Mu Jinpei’s number again.

Mu Jinpei frowned, assuming she might be calling about something else. After a moment’s hesitation, he picked up.

Xu Rui got straight to the point: “Where are you? Not coming to the office?”

Mu Jinpei didn’t answer the question. Instead, he asked, “What do you want?”

Xu Rui still avoided the real reason. “When are you free? I’d like to talk to you face-to-face.”

After a short pause, Mu Jinpei said bluntly, “Back at the gallery, I told you—once you walked out of that reception room, forget everything you knew.”

Xu Rui knew his temper. She couldn’t confront him head-on. “I’ll treat you to a meal. For the sake of the five years I worked my ass off for M.K., can’t you give me this one courtesy?”

Mu Jinpei’s tone was icy. “You did your job, yes. But M.K. has never shortchanged you on your bonus.”

Xu Rui opened her mouth but had no rebuttal.

She sighed and fell back on the only card she had left—the personal one. “Fine. If not business, then at least privately… we’re still friends, aren’t we? Can’t we just have a meal and chat for a bit?”

Mu Jinpei didn’t answer. The line went quiet.

He looked toward the parking lot. Ji Xingyao had finished talking to Uncle Zhang and was walking toward him. Into the phone, he said coldly:

“Xu Rui, even personally, I owe you nothing.”

It was brutal. Unflinching.
And left no room for argument.