Chapter 10:

Ji Xingyao spent the entire afternoon preparing for the evening’s auction—from her hairstyle down to her shoes. She even temporarily borrowed her mother’s stylist.

Yin He asked what kind of event she was attending that required her to get so dressed up. Ji Xingyao didn’t want to explain the absurd and ambiguous arrangement between her and Mu Jinpei—a mutual use of each other that felt like both a promise and a farce.

She didn’t know if Mu Jinpei had any intentions beyond cooperation. As for her, her motives weren’t entirely pure either.

She told her mother she was conceptualizing “Xingyao 4”, exploring how different makeup looks might reflect different versions of herself.

Her daughter’s odd ideas were nothing new to Yin He. She just reminded her gently:
[Don’t forget the poster design. Thanks.]
Ji Xingyao replied:
[I’ll give you the first draft by early next month for sure.]

Since she’d made that bold promise, she’d have to start working seriously tomorrow.

The fairy-tale dresses in her wardrobe finally had a chance to see the light of day.

Based on the color of her gown, the stylist paired it with a pair of silver-gray stiletto heels—no platform, ultra-thin heel.

Ji Xingyao had gone home the night before and tried on all her high heels, and walking in them felt steadier than she had imagined. They weren’t as hard to manage as she’d feared.

“Xingyao, would you consider switching out your bracelet?” the stylist asked tactfully.

Ji Xingyao glanced at her wrist—she was wearing the matching watch, the one that paired with Mu Jinpei’s. After a moment’s thought, she said, “Leave it.” Even if it didn’t quite match the outfit, she could just hide it behind a clutch. No one would be looking that closely at whether the entire look was perfectly coordinated.

The stylist smiled gently and let her decision stand.

Ji Xingyao slipped on the silver-gray heels, stood up, and examined herself in the makeup mirror. She turned to ask the stylist and assistant, “Well? How do I look?”

“Sexy.”
“Feminine.”
“Enchanting.”
“You’ll outshine everyone tonight for sure.”

Ji Xingyao: “Okay, that’s enough flattery—I’m not giving out bonuses.”

Both stylist and assistant burst out laughing in unison.

She didn’t ask them to come along to the event—it would’ve felt too formal. Before they left, she gave each of them a handbag as a thank-you gift.

At first, they refused. This was part of their job, and Yin He already paid them generously. The workload was light, and they could even take private gigs.

Ji Xingyao pointed to the walk-in closet. “There are over a hundred bags in there, most of them still in the packaging. I don’t even use them. If you ever need any for your clients—bags, dresses, accessories—feel free to borrow.”

The stylist thanked her sincerely, then packed up her kit and left with her assistant.

Back at home, Ji Xingyao didn’t put on her heels. She carried them barefoot to the entryway and left them by the door.

She checked the time—already 5:00 PM. Mu Jinpei had said he’d pick her up at 6:00. Still an hour to go. Resting her chin in her hand, she sat on the sofa for a while.

This was the first time she was waiting for Mu Jinpei. Until now, it had always been him waiting for her. The wait felt long and torturous. She opened the music for the ballet her mother had sent and began sketching ideas for the poster.

Halfway through the music, she got up and started dancing along to the melody. Every movement of her mother’s star student, Zhou Yuxi, played clearly in her mind.

She tried mimicking them in the mirror. She got the general shape right, but not the spirit. And her toes, of course, couldn’t go en pointe.

When she was a child, her mother had tried to get her into ballet. But she was too young to understand anything. She’d gone to the practice room, seen the older girls’ feet, looked down at her own soft, chubby ones—and was afraid of the pain.

Maybe it wasn’t just the fear of her feet getting deformed. She simply had no interest in dancing. She was obsessed with painting—never got tired of drawing.

Her mother respected that and said something she didn’t quite understand at the time:
“Without passion, there’s no soul. You won’t dance like yourself.”

The song had looped several times. When she checked the time again, it was already 5:50.

Mu Jinpei called. He was waiting at the entrance to her apartment complex.

Ji Xingyao’s apartment building was still a distance away from the entrance of the residential complex. Uncle Zhang’s car could drive straight into the underground parking lot by the elevator, but Mu Jinpei’s car couldn’t get in. Still, she hadn’t asked Uncle Zhang to come along with her today.

After walking for a bit, she realized she had misjudged things—trying on shoes and walking in them were two completely different experiences. This was her first time wearing heels over ten centimeters high, and after walking for a while, she started to feel all kinds of discomfort. Her right ankle began to ache faintly, though her left foot still felt fine.

Mu Jinpei had brought Chu Zheng along. Today, Chu Zheng was acting as the driver, but later, he also had an important task—he was going to be the silent background at the auction, the one holding up the bidding paddle.

Chu Zheng’s phone rang again. It was the same overseas number, reminding him to check his email in time.

He logged in to his inbox. The message body was empty, only an attachment remained. He clicked to download it, and the second it finished, the email disappeared on its own.

“Mr. Mu, this just came from Feng Liang,” Chu Zheng said, handing his phone to Mu Jinpei.

It was the latest list of projects Ji Changsheng would be negotiating next year, dozens of them, big and small.

Mu Jinpei wasn’t interested in the projects themselves. He skimmed the list, but when he saw the name of an M.K. Group subsidiary and the listed project manager, his pupils contracted slightly.

Xie Junyi’s name stood out in bold, enlarged font, with a special note: (Xie Junyi proactively contacted the Ji Group, seeking collaboration on a South American market project).

The air in the car felt heavy and stifling. A cold wind slipped in through a small crack in the window.

After a long pause, Mu Jinpei handed the phone back. “Delete it.”

Chu Zheng glanced once more at the name ‘Xie Junyi’, then completely deleted the downloaded document.

From the rearview mirror, he observed Mu Jinpei. The cold gleam in his eyes sent chills down Chu Zheng’s spine. He nearly said, “We can’t let Ji Changsheng have any contact with Vice Chairman Xie.” But he swallowed it down.

There was no need to say his boss already understood.

Until now, Ji Changsheng had relied on Feng Liang for intel. Everything was under control. Mu Jinpei only let him see what he wanted him to see.

But now there was a wildcard. If Ji Changsheng met with Xie Junyi, there was no guarantee Feng Liang would be present during discussions—let alone privy to any confidential talk.

Things could quickly spiral out of control.

Years ago, when laying out his strategy, Mu Jinpei had already considered the possibility of Ji Changsheng and Xie Junyi working together. That’s why he temporarily stepped back from managing M.K. headquarters and came to oversee the domestic market personally. This way, all of Ji Changsheng’s collaborations with M.K. had to go through him—cutting off any direct contact with Xie Junyi.

But even the most detailed plans couldn’t prevent unforeseen developments. Who would’ve thought Xie Junyi would voluntarily extend an olive branch to Ji Changsheng? Whether this project proposal was a coincidence or intentional remained unknown.

Even if it was a coincidence, and Xie Junyi’s company just happened to want to collaborate with Ji Changsheng, someone as cautious as Mu Jinpei would never allow the slightest risk to exist.

Time seemed to freeze. Chu Zheng waited patiently for instructions.

Mu Jinpei said nothing, rubbing his temples in silence.

Xie Junyi was M.K.’s Vice Chairman—and his uncle by marriage. His adoptive father had a biological younger sister who married Xie Junyi. They had a son, a few years older than him.

He had never been close to his aunt’s family. Apart from Mu Wenhuai and Pei Yu, no one in the Mu family ever liked him.

Unfortunately, Mu Wenhuai held real power in the M.K. Group and was its largest shareholder. He had treated this adopted son as his own. When Mu Jinpei was still a child, his aunt had to be polite to him at least on the surface.

But as he grew up—and so did his cousin—things changed. Mu Wenhuai and Pei Yu had no biological children of their own. He was their only adopted son.

That’s when his aunt began to fight for her son’s interests, trying to persuade Mu Wenhuai to transfer all M.K.’s shares to her son instead.

After all, Mu Jinpei was an outsider.

But Mu Wenhuai refused. Instead, he and Pei Yu gradually transferred their jointly held assets to Mu Jinpei—making this child without Mu family blood the largest shareholder of M.K.

In recent years, his aunt and adoptive father had been like fire and water—virtually strangers.

For as long as he could remember, his mother, Pei Yu, had never spoken a single word to his aunt. He didn’t know the exact reason; perhaps it had to do with his adoption.

His origins were only known to the Mu family. Outsiders had always assumed he was the biological son of Mu Wenhuai and Pei Yu.

His aunt’s family now stood on the opposing side. If Ji Changsheng encountered Xie Junyi, then the secret of his identity might no longer be safe.

Mu Jinpei issued an order: “Find out the true reason behind Xie Junyi’s cooperation with Ji Changsheng. Before they meet, compile and organize everything you can on Xie Junyi and bring it to me.”
To ensure nothing went wrong, he had to strike first.

At the entrance of the residential complex, Ji Xingyao walked gracefully toward them. Her ten-plus-centimeter heels made her walk carefully, her posture perfectly straight.

Everyone who passed her on the way turned to look repeatedly. The stylist had once said that while clothes usually flatter a person, with her, it was the person elevating the clothes. The ombré blue-gray gown hugged her waist and shoulders perfectly, and her alabaster skin made the blue fabric look even more luminous.

As if sensing her presence, Mu Jinpei suddenly turned his head toward the window, paused in surprise for a few seconds, then opened the car door and stepped out.

Chu Zheng debated whether to get out and open the door for them but ultimately decided against it. His boss’s expression was calm as always cool and detached. The ruthless intensity from earlier had completely vanished, like geese flying through the sky, leaving no trace.

Mu Jinpei walked around to the other side of the car; his gaze fixed on her the whole time. He never hid the fact that he liked looking at her. This was the second time he’d seen her dressed to the nines—and unlike the last time, this time was for him.

Ji Xingyao finally reached him. Thanks to her heels, she now stood almost at ear level with him, no longer needing to tilt her head to speak.

Mu Jinpei personally opened the car door. “Thanks for doing this today.”

Ji Xingyao replied politely, “Don’t say that. Who knows, maybe I’ll need your help more someday.”

Once seated in the car, she let out a long breath internally. That walk had nearly killed her—her feet hardly felt like her own anymore.

But before she could fully relax, she had to get out and walk again.

The hotel hosting the auction was crowded today. They arrived late, and the spots near the elevator were already taken. Even though the organizers had reserved a spot for them, it was still some distance away from the elevator.

As Ji Xingyao stepped out of the car, her foot hit the ground, and a sharp pain shot through her ankle.

She hadn’t been able to check in the car since Mu Jinpei was sitting right next to her, but she suspected the strap had rubbed her ankle raw.

Despite the pain, she gritted her teeth and kept going, though her pace slowed.

Mu Jinpei thought she was just unaccustomed to heels and matched her steps, hands in his pockets. He gently swung one arm.

Ji Xingyao understood—he was offering his arm for support.

Right now, she really needed a crutch to relieve the pain, and as his companion for the night, she’d have to hold onto him when they entered anyway. Thinking this, she shamelessly slipped her hand around his arm.

Even through the fabric, she could feel a jolt of electricity—it must’ve been static from the material, she reasoned.

Before she could fully process the swirling, thoughts and fantasies rising inside her, the pain in her ankle brought her back to reality. With each step, the stabbing ache grew worse and more intense.

Ironically, she found herself wishing the walk to the elevator was longer.

The underground parking lot was chilly and damp, filled with the lingering smell of exhaust fumes. Yet around her, all she could smell was the clean, pleasant scent of Mu Jinpei.

He must work out regularly—his arm muscles radiated a reassuring sense of strength.

Mu Jinpei glanced at her high heels and said, “You’ve made such a big sacrifice today. You can make a request of me,” he paused, then added, “but being my model or splitting the agent contract doesn’t count.”

Ji Xingyao: “…”

This man—always a businessman at heart.
But aside from those two things, she honestly couldn’t think of anything she lacked or couldn’t get.

“Nothing for now,” she said.

Mu Jinpei replied, “Then I owe you one. Valid for a year.”

Chu Zheng followed them from a respectable two or three meters behind. He couldn’t tell whether his boss was still walking the track he’d carefully built—or if he had already gone off the rails.

A pair of high heels had earned a promise—and the key was, it was the boss who offered it first.

Xu Rui had once said more than once: no one could ever make Mu Jinpei let go of his hatred. No one could make him forget it—not even for a second.

Now, Chu Zheng didn’t know whether the boss was still immersed in that hatred or had simply—temporarily—forgotten it.