Chapter 22:

When Chu Zheng heard that Ji Xingyao would be accompanying them to New York, he thought he must have misheard or misunderstood, so he asked again to confirm:
“Miss Ji is going with us?”

Mu Jinpei: “Yeah.”
He offered no further explanation.

Naturally, Chu Zheng assumed,
“To ease Ji Changsheng’s suspicions?”

Mu Jinpei: “No.”

“?”

Chu Zheng understood—his boss was simply bringing Ji Xingyao along for fun. But given the special nature of this trip, having her there wasn’t exactly ideal. If they weren’t careful, things could go wrong.

He gently reminded him,
“Is that…wise?”

Mu Jinpei, who had been reviewing documents, suddenly looked up at him.
“You’re quite talkative today.”

Chu Zheng: “…Yeah, probably didn’t sleep well. My language center’s out of whack.”
Realizing he’d overstepped, he quickly put down his own papers and offered to refill Mu Jinpei’s coffee.
“Mr. Mu, should I have the chef prepare some dessert?”

After a long pause, Mu Jinpei finally said:
“Up to you.”

Chu Zheng took that as permission to prepare dessert and began wondering what kind would be suitable.

…

On the third day of the New Year, Ji Xingyao flew to New York with Mu Jinpei.

On the plane, Mu Jinpei and Chu Zheng were busy working. They sat across from each other, the table between them covered in documents needing signatures. Mu Jinpei listened to Chu Zheng’s reports while replying to emails—completely swamped.

Ji Xingyao sat on the other side of the cabin. The lights were on, so she couldn’t see much of the night sky outside.

She glanced at Mu Jinpei. He was resting his chin on one hand, his expression focused, staring at his laptop as though deep in thought.

Something about the scene made her want to sketch it. But she didn’t have paper or a pencil.

“Do you have a pencil and some blank paper?”
She walked over and asked him.

“No pencil,” Mu Jinpei replied, then told Chu Zheng to find a pen. He himself tore two blank pages from his notebook and handed them to her.
“Make do with these.”

But Ji Xingyao didn’t want to use the pen Chu Zheng had found. She pointed to the fountain pen beside Mu Jinpei.
“I want to use that one.”

Chu Zheng glanced at the pen—it held deep personal meaning for the boss. It was a keepsake from his biological father, and the only one he had. Over the years, Mu Jinpei had always kept it with him, even when traveling for work.

Everyone on the team, including Xu Rui before he resigned, knew not to touch that pen.

Mu Jinpei tried to reason with her.
“I’ll find you another fountain pen.”

But Ji Xingyao shook her head and insisted,
“I want that one.”

That pen was the only thing his biological parents had left him. It was over thirty years old. His father had used it for many years before passing it on to him. During that time, he’d had it repaired and its casing replaced.

He knew very little about his father, not even what he looked like—those memories had long faded. Occasionally, his great-grandmother would say a few things, but she always ended up crying. Eventually, she stopped talking about the past.

But the grudge against the Ji family? His great-grandmother had practically recited it to him every day.

When he was ten, she passed away. After that, all traces of his parents were lost—no photos remained, just this one pen.

Mu Jinpei hesitated for a moment, then finally handed the pen to her.
“It’s pretty old and doesn’t write that well.”

“That’s okay, I like antiques.”
Satisfied, Ji Xingyao walked lightly back to her seat and began to draw.

Chu Zheng glanced sideways at his boss. So, even Mu Jinpei had flexible boundaries—clearly, Ji Xingyao could do whatever she wanted with him.

Whether that was a good thing or not, he wasn’t sure.

Time passed quickly when busy. Two hours later, her fountain pen sketch was finished.

She put the pen and paper away and reclined in her seat.

Mu Jinpei was still discussing investment plans with Chu Zheng. He turned to glance at Ji Xingyao—she’d already fallen asleep, one arm hanging over the side of the seat.

He set his documents down and quietly walked over. He turned off the reading light above her and gently scooped her up in a princess carry.

Ji Xingyao stirred, blinking groggily. For a moment, she had no idea where she was.

Mu Jinpei whispered,
“Go back to sleep. I’m taking you to the bed.”

There was a private suite on the plane just for him—it included a bed, a sofa, and a bathroom, all fully equipped.

Realizing they were still on the plane, Ji Xingyao murmured, her voice raspy with sleep,
“Then where will you sleep?”

“On the sofa. Same difference. You go ahead and rest.”
He carried her into the suite. Only one dim yellow light was on—easy on the eyes.

Ji Xingyao looked around. The room was luxurious, decorated in cool tones.

Mu Jinpei laid her on the bed.
“Your suitcase is by the door. The bathroom has all your toiletries. Take a shower and sleep early. Good night.”
He kissed her on the forehead.

“Good night.”

The door closed. The room was so quiet she could hear her own heartbeat.

She sat up. The bed even smelled like him.

Back in the work area, Mu Jinpei resumed his tasks. Chu Zheng glanced at the time—it was 2 a.m.
“Mr. Mu, do you want to rest? We can continue tomorrow.”

“No need.”
Mu Jinpei had the chef prepare a light meal and some fruit. He’d been spending most of his time with Ji Xingyao recently, so work had piled up.

Chu Zheng was used to working late—if his boss wasn’t tired, he had to stay sharp too. He opened document after document, ready for signatures.

Mu Jinpei instinctively reached for his pen—but it wasn’t there. That’s when he remembered he had lent it to Ji Xingyao. The pen and her sketch were still on the other table.

Chu Zheng realized what he was looking for and brought both the pen and the drawing over.
“Mr. Mu.”

“What?”
Mu Jinpei took it. It was a sketch of him working—his profile, his hands, all captured with uncanny accuracy. He admired it for a few moments, then carefully folded the drawing and tucked it into his notebook.

…

Ji Xingyao slept soundly and woke naturally six hours later. It was still dark outside. In just over an hour, they’d be in Manhattan.

Mu Jinpei knocked and came in. Ji Xingyao was in a bathrobe, lounging on the sofa and gazing out the window.
“You’re up?” he asked.

“Just got up. The night view outside is nice.” She pointed at the window.

“Go wash up and get dressed—we’re landing soon.”

Ji Xingyao stood up, stretching her arms languidly.

At first, Mu Jinpei thought she was just stretching—but her arms stayed out, and she was looking straight at him. He got the message and walked over to hug her.

An hour later, the plane landed.

Uncle Zhang had come along this time too. Even though Mu Jinpei’s security team was far superior to Ji Xingyao’s, Uncle Zhang was still uneasy and insisted on coming.

New York’s nightlife had just begun. Ji Xingyao had slept the whole flight and was now full of energy.
She asked Mu Jinpei,
“Got any plans for tonight?”

He did—but no time to play.
“I have to visit my aunt. You can go shopping. Tomorrow, we’ll visit my grandparents.”

Ji Xingyao didn’t ask why he was visiting his aunt so late—she was more excited about the trip to the estate tomorrow.

Mu Jinpei took her to the villa—his usual apartment wasn’t as convenient.

As the car pulled into the driveway, Ji Xingyao said,
“I thought you lived in an apartment.”
After all, he shared her love of city views.

“I usually do,” Mu Jinpei explained. “But that place was remodeled—just one bedroom now. The rest are for meetings and guests. There’s no place for you to stay there, especially with Uncle Zhang around.”

Ji Xingyao got out of the car and was drawn to the garden. The shrubs were trimmed in a unique, elegant style, artistic even in the cold wind.
“These were trimmed to your taste, right, Professor Pei?”

“Mm.”
Mu Jinpei personally carried her luggage.
“Let’s go inside—it’s cold.”
Seeing her gaze fixed on the garden, he added,
“If you like it, you’re allowed to paint it.”

Ji Xingyao: “I’ll start by sketching your back. Once we’re back in Beijing, I’m going to paint it.”

When they entered the living room, Mu Jinpei set down her suitcase.
“You’ll be staying on the second floor. The housekeeper will take you to your room. There’s a gym, swimming pool, cinema, and art studio on the first floor. If you need anything, just tell the housekeeper.”

He gave her a hug.
“I’m heading out. I’ll try to come back early.”

Ji Xingyao: “Can I use the studio?”

Mu Jinpei: “There’s nothing off-limits, no secrets.”
Before leaving, he instructed the housekeeper to arrange several cars and security personnel for Ji Xingyao—she could go wherever she liked.

The housekeeper led Ji Xingyao to the second floor and said as they walked,
“Miss Ji, if you like the garden’s shrubbery, the view from the second floor is even better.”

The second floor had a viewing terrace over a hundred square meters in size. Just as the housekeeper said, from above, the scenery looked completely different. Ji Xingyao leaned on the railing. In the night, the courtyard below looked like an oil painting.

The cars in the driveway started up, and several vehicles drove out in succession.

Mu Jinpei was bringing a New Year’s gift to visit Mu Wenya. Some conversations were easier to have at home—and more effective.

Chu Zheng had found out that Xie Junyi was at a gathering with friends tonight and wouldn’t be home.

It had been years since Mu Jinpei had visited the Xie residence. They typically had no interaction. His sudden visit made Mu Wenya uneasy.

But since he was already at the gate, she couldn’t just turn him away. After all, real control of M.K. lay with Mu Wenhuai and Mu Jinpei—she couldn’t afford to burn bridges. So, she instructed the housekeeper to let him in.

Moments later, several cars entered the villa grounds.

Mu Wenya changed clothes and came downstairs. Mu Jinpei walked in carrying the gift box—he came alone.

Mu Jinpei: “Aunt, Happy New Year.”

Mu Wenya couldn’t feel any warmth or sincerity in his visit—his expression was as cold and indifferent as ever.

Mu Wenya: “Thank you, same to you.”

The servant brought in coffee and left the living room.

Mu Wenya sat down on the couch across from Mu Jinpei.
“Done with business in Beijing?”

Mu Jinpei picked up the coffee.
“No.”
He paused deliberately for a few seconds.
“Brought my girlfriend back to visit Grandpa and Grandma. Thought I’d stop by to visit you and Uncle too.”

The first half of that sentence was perfectly normal, but the second half made Mu Wenya’s skin crawl. She had a strong sense there was a hidden meaning. She was so thrown off she didn’t even bother to ask who the girlfriend was.

Over the years, she had become estranged from Mu Wenhuai, and her relationship with Pei Yu had been outright hostile. Now Mu Jinpei suddenly appeared at her home and said something so inexplicably pointed—it was hard to tell what he was scheming.

Mu Jinpei: “This jewelry set is quite unique. Not sure if it’s to your taste.”
He handed her the gift.

Mu Wenya: “Very thoughtful. It’s nice.”
She placed the jewelry box on the coffee table without even opening it. Only then did she ask,
“So, where’s your girlfriend from?”

Mu Jinpei: “Beijing.”

Mu Wenya: “That’s good. Your work focus has been in China these past few years anyway.”

Mu Jinpei: “My work focus is on M.K.”

Mu Wenya: “…”

She forced a smile—cold and faint.

His words had a clear subtext: don’t even think about M.K. Even if he’s physically in Beijing, he still controls the company headquarters.

Mu Jinpei: “There’s a cold front in Beijing recently—it’s even colder than Manhattan. Bring extra warm clothes when you go.”

Mu Wenya’s heart skipped a beat—he knew they were going to Beijing for the Lunar New Year.

Mu Jinpei: “It’s getting late, Aunt. Get some rest. If you’re free, feel free to stop by my office—I’ll be at the company the next few days.”
He stood to leave.

Mu Wenya was now completely unsettled. Everything he said seemed like a veiled message—he wanted to talk, but only if she came to him.

As Mu Jinpei turned to leave, he noticed, for the first time, a painting next to the fireplace. He paused. It was Xingyao No. 1.

Unlike Xingyao No. 2, this one had much more intense coloring and matched the fireplace’s decor perfectly.

Mu Wenya saw him staring at the oil painting with what looked like interest.
“Yuncheng bought that at an auction a couple years ago. I don’t see what’s so great about it.”

It wasn’t that she couldn’t appreciate it—she just hated all oil paintings because of Pei Yu. But unfortunately, Xie Junyi liked them, and so did her son. There was nothing she could do about it.

Mu Jinpei just nodded and offered no comment.