Chapter 14:

As Christmas approached, the Ji Group’s annual gala drew nearer.

One evening, Ji Xingyao received a call from her father, asking her to clear her schedule for the year-end party.

On the phone, Ji Changsheng specifically emphasized, “You and Jialai just need to attend—no other expectations. As long as you two enjoy yourselves, that’s enough.”

Ji Xingyao couldn’t shake the feeling that his words were too deliberate, like he was trying to cover something up. It wouldn’t be surprising if he and Uncle Tang had already conspired together—just waiting for her and Jialai-jie to walk right into their plan.

After hanging up, Ji Xingyao rested her chin on her hand, staring at the coffee machine on the wine cabinet. It had stood there silently, unused for four weeks—just like Mu Jinpei, who hadn’t shown up in just as long.

For some reason, a sudden idea flashed through her mind: ask Mu Jinpei to attend the year-end gala with her. If he came, perhaps her father would stop pushing her into social events, and she’d save herself a lot of trouble.

She zoned out for a moment.

Then, unlocking her phone, she pulled up Mu Jinpei’s number. Her fingertip hovered over the screen as she hesitated, struggling internally before finally making the call.

As the phone rang, she held her breath.

Seconds passed one by one. The call ended, but no one picked up.

—

Mu Jinpei had seen her call. He had just arrived at his grandparents’ house, where his parents and his aunt’s family were also present. He switched his phone to silent.

“Jinpei, how’s the project in Beijing going?” his grandfather asked.

Mu Jinpei had just opened the chat window on his phone, but he put it away and answered, “Still in the negotiation stage. We should have preliminary results after the New Year—I’ll update you then.”

His grandfather waved a hand. “Make your own decisions. It’s time you learned to manage things on your own.” One of the old man’s few regrets in life was not having a biological grandson or granddaughter.

He had lived there for over sixty years. He could be called open-minded, but somewhere deep down, tradition still had its grip on him.

But since his son didn’t want children, what could he do?

Now, in the twilight of his life, he had come to terms with many things.

Sitting beside Mu Jinpei was his mother, Pei Yu. Ever since arriving, she had kept her head lowered, distractedly stirring the coffee in her cup. She always looked like this at family gatherings—absent, quiet.

On the couch across from them sat Aunt Mu Wenya and Uncle Xie Junyi.

Mu Jinpei looked up by chance and saw that Uncle Xie’s gaze was directed toward him—intensely focused, but with an emotion he couldn’t quite identify.

Except his uncle wasn’t actually looking at him.

He glanced to his side. It was just his mother sitting next to him—no one else on their sofa.

Uncle Xie’s gaze was fixed on this side, while Aunt Mu’s eyes were filled with resentment, glaring at her husband.

Mu Jinpei looked away, unwilling to think further.

Pei Yu suddenly put down her coffee cup and whispered to him, “I’ll go check on the kitchen. You stay and chat with your grandparents.”

Mu Wenhuai was in the kitchen. The family chef was preparing lunch, but he was personally making Chinese dishes for Pei Yu. He didn’t know how to cook many things—only the few dishes she liked.

He heard someone behind him and turned. “There’s smoke in the kitchen. Go outside.”

Pei Yu replied, “It kills my appetite.”

Those four words, vague as they were, only Mu Wenhuai understood. She didn’t want to see certain people—even after thirty years, she still hadn’t let it go.

“How long are you staying this time?” he asked, turning to look at her. She was rinsing her hands under the faucet.

The water flowed, and the sizzle of scallions frying in oil filled the air. The kitchen was warm and lively.

After a moment, she turned off the tap and finally answered, “I’ll head back to Beijing after Christmas.”

Mu Wenhuai paused, his spatula still for a moment before he continued stir-frying. “Not staying a few more days?”

“It’s busy over there.”

“Mm. Work comes first.” Then he added, “I’ll visit you in Beijing when I can.”

Pei Yu didn’t respond. She dried her hands and walked to the other end of the kitchen to speak with the chef, asking how to make baked mushrooms with cheese. She wanted to learn—it was something Mu Jinpei had grown fond of lately.

—

The atmosphere in the Mu family had always been stifling. Mu Jinpei had known it since he was a child. Back then, he thought it was because of him. But as he grew older, he began to realize that the tension was rooted in secrets few were willing to talk about.

Family gatherings in the Mu household were rare—twice a year at most: once before Christmas, and once for his grandparents’ birthdays. Their birthdays were a day apart, so they celebrated them together.

Old Master Mu asked his daughter, “Why isn’t Yuncheng here yet?”

Mu Wenya didn’t really know and offered a vague excuse. “Maybe he’s flying the helicopter himself and took a longer route.”

Old Master Mu nodded. Their estate was several hundred miles from the city, and helicopters were the most convenient way to get there.

He turned to Mu Jinpei. “When are you going to buy one yourself? Save yourself the long drives. If you don’t want to spend the money, I’ll gift you one.”

Mu Jinpei responded half-heartedly. “Mm.” It wasn’t about the money. Helicopters gave him serious psychological trauma—he didn’t want to revisit the past, so he said no more.

After chatting with his grandparents a while longer, he stepped outside into the courtyard with his phone. Only now did he have time to return Ji Xingyao’s call. It was already past midnight in Beijing. He texted:

[Still awake?]

Ji Xingyao had just showered and was drying her hair. She replied:

[Not yet.]

A second later, Mu Jinpei’s call came in.

It had been a while since they’d spoken. The moment his deep, slightly hoarse voice came through the receiver, a strange, nameless feeling bloomed within her—slowly spreading through her chest, wrapping tightly around her heart.

Mu Jinpei said, “I saw your call earlier—I was at my grandparents’ house, talking to Grandpa.”

His honesty made Ji Xingyao feel a little guilty. “Sorry to bother you.”

She added, “I forgot about the time difference.” Actually, that wasn’t quite true—she’d assumed he was still in Beijing. She hadn’t realized he’d already gone back to New York.

Mu Jinpei asked, “Was there something you needed?”

“Yeah.” Ji Xingyao didn’t beat around the bush. “When are you coming back to Beijing?”

Instead of answering, Mu Jinpei asked, “Why?”

Just then, the loud thump-thump-thump of rotor blades drowned out everything else in the call.

He said into the phone, “A helicopter’s landing near me—hold on a second.”

A gray chopper descended slowly onto the helipad, sending waves through the grass like wind rippling through wheat.

Mu Jinpei looked up. It was his cousin Xie Yuncheng’s helicopter.

The aircraft touched down, and the bodyguards approached. Today, Xie Yuncheng had piloted the chopper himself. The cabin door opened, and he stepped out—long legs first. He’d inherited his father’s height, nearly as tall as Mu Jinpei.

It was only a short walk from the helipad to the villa, and he came down wearing only a dress shirt, not bothering with a jacket.

Mu Jinpei and Xie Yuncheng always kept things cordial but distant. At work, they exchanged pleasantries; in private, they had no relationship at all.

Holding his phone to his ear, Mu Jinpei caught the cigar Yuncheng tossed to him. The two nodded slightly at each other—silent acknowledgment—and then Xie Yuncheng headed indoors.

“Can you hear me now?” Ji Xingyao’s voice came through the phone.

Mu Jinpei: “Yeah.”

Ji Xingyao got straight to the point: “The Ji Group year-end gala is coming up. I don’t want to go alone.”

Mu Jinpei understood—she wanted him to go with her. If he showed up at the gala by her side, it would be as good as publicly acknowledging their relationship.

There was a moment of silence.

Ji Xingyao suddenly felt a flicker of regret. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked him for this favor. Even though they had promised to be there for each other with just a phone call, this time felt different.

This was her family’s company gala. If he accompanied her, it wouldn’t be like attending any other party—it would carry a deeper implication.

If he refused, it wouldn’t just bruise her ego; it might also affect future collaboration with M.K., and she could lose her chance to connect further with Pei Yu.

It would be a loss with far-reaching consequences.

She said tactfully, “I was too abrupt and didn’t consider your schedule. If you’re not available, that’s okay—I’ll just ask Jialai-jie to go with me.”

Mu Jinpei toyed with the cigar in his hand. After a moment of thought, he decided to go back. “What day is it?”

Ji Xingyao let out a breath of relief. “The 26th. Will you make it?”

“I will,” he paused, then asked, “Want to pick me up at the airport?”

Ji Xingyao’s reaction was a beat slower than usual. After confirming she hadn’t misheard, she replied, “Sure. Just send me your flight info in advance.”

The call ended, but the lingering echo remained.

Ji Xingyao leaned against the headboard and spaced out for a while.

The spot on her right foot that had been rubbed raw had already grown new skin—if she looked closely, it was a pale pink. Lately, she’d been wearing only flat shoes—the same pair that both her stylist and Tang Jialai had mocked, but they’d become her go-to.

Still not sleepy, Ji Xingyao got out of bed and picked up two watches from her nightstand. She walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, where the balcony held an easel and a full set of painting supplies.

Looking at Mu Jinpei’s watch, she could clearly picture his wrist when he wore it—every detail vivid in her mind.

Adjusting the lighting, she painted freely, creating a black-and-white themed oil painting titled Hand in Hand. The focal point of the painting was the matching couple’s watches.

The missing section on the man’s watch could be found on the woman’s.

Time seemed frozen, and Ji Xingyao immersed herself in the painting.

When she finally laid down her brush, she exhaled deeply.

Only then did she feel the ache in her back and the dryness in her eyes. She massaged her neck with one hand and thumped her back with the other. Pulling open the curtains, she instinctively squinted—

The early morning sunlight was so bright she couldn’t open her eyes.

It was dawn.

Unable to adjust to the sudden brightness, Ji Xingyao drew the curtains closed again.

A thin beam of light managed to sneak through the gap, falling gently across her canvas.

Yawning, she kicked off her slippers and climbed back into bed. She didn’t even bother pulling up the blanket—her head hit the pillow, and she was out.

—

Meanwhile, in New York, the night was just beginning.

Mu Jinpei’s apartment was on a high floor, with a view overlooking most of Manhattan. The city’s desire and greed, joys and heartbreaks, played out here every day.

The doorbell rang—it was Chu Zheng.

Mu Jinpei tapped a button on his phone, unlocking the downstairs entrance remotely.

Chu Zheng had come to deliver a work update, along with several documents needing signatures.

He spread the documents out and handed them over. While Mu Jinpei read through them, Chu Zheng stood by the table. From his angle, he had a clear view of Manhattan’s dazzling nightscape—mysterious, brilliant, lonely, decadent. Both paradise and abyss.

Mu Jinpei asked, “How far along is the situation with Xie Junyi?”

Chu Zheng replied, “Still compiling everything. Should take a few more days.”

Mu Jinpei didn’t want to tear apart the Mu family’s fragile harmony—but now he had no choice. “Look into Xie Junyi’s past relationships.” Then he added, “Book a flight to Beijing for the morning of the 25th.”

Chu Zheng hesitated for two seconds before reminding him, “There’s an important New Year’s party that day.”

Mu Jinpei knew. He had already weighed the pros and cons—clearly, the event in New York was more significant. But he had made up his mind: “I promised Xingyao I’d go with her to the Ji Group’s year-end gala.”

Chu Zheng didn’t say anything more. “I’ll make the arrangements now.”

—

Beijing’s weather had been pleasant for several days. There was no snow during Christmas either.

In the blink of an eye, it was the morning of the 26th. Ji Changsheng called Ji Xingyao early, reminding her not to overwork today and to arrive at the hotel early in the afternoon.

Ji Xingyao was getting her makeup done and half-heartedly acknowledged him.

Mu Jinpei would be landing in two hours, and she was going to pick him up. The painting of the watches was finished—she planned to bring it along too.

The flight wasn’t delayed. In fact, Mu Jinpei arrived twenty minutes earlier than expected.

In the crowded, bustling arrival area, Ji Xingyao immediately spotted that familiar figure—wearing sunglasses and a deep blue trench coat, the tallest person in the crowd.

He stood out so effortlessly—shining among strangers.

It had been over a month since they last met. He felt both familiar and distant.

When Mu Jinpei finally approached, Ji Xingyao noticed Chu Zheng beside him, along with several other team members. She gave Mu Jinpei a soft smile.

He took off his sunglasses. “Been waiting long?” he asked, reaching out to gently hug her.

The cool, crisp scent on him wrapped around her in an instant.