Chapter 29:

People came and went in the apartment building from time to time, but anyone who saw them would glance back repeatedly as if wary.

It wasn’t the first time Ji Xingyao had been carried in a princess carry by him, but this was a place she came back to every day, and some of the people here were somewhat familiar faces she often ran into.

She told Mu Jinpei to put her down. “I’ll walk by myself.”

Mu Jinpei didn’t look at her and kept his eyes straight ahead, seemingly distracted by other thoughts and appearing indifferent.

“Put me down,” Ji Xingyao insisted again.

Only then did Mu Jinpei look at her. “I already carried you; putting you down now would be troublesome.”

Ji Xingyao was speechless. His reasons were always bizarre and hard to argue against. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Why aren’t you wearing a jacket? Aren’t you cold?”

“Not really,” Mu Jinpei replied, already numb to the cold.

As they stepped out of the building, the bitter wind blew sharply—it was a wind tunnel here. The dry, cold north wind sliced through the gaps in their bones. Ji Xingyao instinctively shivered and leaned closer into his embrace.

Not sure if it was the wind or something else, she just opened her mouth to say something but ended up coughing several times instead, then fell silent.

Mu Jinpei was almost out of strength; running from the gallery to the apartment complex had nearly drained all his energy, yet he insisted on carrying Ji Xingyao all the way to the parking lot.

What Ji Xingyao didn’t know was that he had run the whole way, and that he even kicked a bodyguard to get upstairs to find her.

Chu Zheng, who saw this, felt both unsurprised and caught off guard. The night of the auction, the boss carried Ji Xingyao because her feet were rubbed raw—an act of tender care.

But now?

Maybe it was a tense feeling of something lost and found again.

He hurriedly opened the car door, marveling at the boss’s stamina and arm strength. Anyone else would be too exhausted to walk after running seven or eight kilometers.

Once in the car, Mu Jinpei instructed the driver to head to the hospital.

Ji Xingyao felt going to the hospital was completely unnecessary. She had no physical discomfort so far. What happened today wasn’t a near-death experience; at worst, it was a false alarm.

Going for a check-up was an overreaction, and more importantly, it would interfere with his work.

Mu Jinpei wouldn’t listen to reason. Without his consent, the driver didn’t dare change course and drove straight toward the hospital.

“No need for a check-up,” Ji Xingyao insisted.

Mu Jinpei stayed silent, pulled out the laptop kept in the car as a backup, opened it, and put on his headphones. Ji Xingyao remembered he still had a meeting, though he hadn’t brought any documents with him.

He should have been at the company at this time, but since he had come back and forth, he probably lost a lot of time.

Mu Jinpei glanced at his watch—ten minutes before the video conference started—and called Chu Zheng. “Connect my line to the meeting in a bit.”

Even though his father allowed him to skip the meeting, there were some crucial decisions he needed to be aware of.

His aunt had promised to cooperate with him against Ji Changsheng, but that was because she was forced. Now, she must be thinking about how to grab more power in M.K.

Before, nothing and no one could make him neglect work. Even if the sky fell, he would still be glued to the screen in the meeting room.

Today, his emotions broke loose.

That was very dangerous for him.

If he faced Ji Changsheng like this, he would undoubtedly lose.

Ji Xingyao handed him her coffee cup. “Take a few sips and relax.”

Mu Jinpei loosened a few buttons on his shirt, but his chest still felt tight. She lifted the cup to his lips, and he took a symbolic sip.

Ji Xingyao screwed the cup lid back on. She wanted him to return to work; the signal was unstable on the road, and he hadn’t brought the materials he needed for the meeting.

Leaning on his shoulder, she negotiated, “Can I skip the hospital? I don’t like check-ups, and some of the machines have radiation.”

Mu Jinpei didn’t respond. The real reason she didn’t want to go was clear to him—she was afraid of delaying his work. He put on his headphones and began calming himself, forcing his mind back to that initial point of absolute calm and cold calculation.

He tried to filter out unnecessary thoughts, but the person beside him kept talking.

Ji Xingyao touched his wristwatch. “I’m in good health. Having inhaled a couple of puffs of smoke doesn’t mean I have to be so dramatic and go to the hospital.”

Mu Jinpei glanced at her. “Where do you get so much to say?”

Ji Xingyao was stunned. His face was tense, eyes cold and emotionless—a look unfamiliar to her. She wasn’t intimidated and shot back, “So what if I talk a lot?”

Mu Jinpei met her gaze. The stubbornness in her eyes was loud and clear, mixed with a hint of grievance. He sighed quietly. “Be obedient.”

Ji Xingyao pressed on: “Why are you so emotional? Could you use a different tone?”

Mu Jinpei was used to control and dominance but was never an emotional person.

Years of business training and the oppressive environment of the Mu family taught him how to manage emotions and rarely show them. What happened earlier was an exception—his frustration and blockage finally burst out.

From the moment he learned about the apartment fire and ran all the way here, to sitting quietly in the car now, everything seemed calm, but inside, two huge forces tore at each other, suffocating him.

The seeds of hatred had long taken root in his heart, growing twisted and entangled for more than twenty years, as if thousands of hands were pulling him down into the abyss.

Once rational again, he knew what he had to do. But when facing Ji Xingyao, he couldn’t remain indifferent. Her coughing made him uneasy; he insisted on taking her to the hospital.

Mu Jinpei hugged her. “This concerns your health, so you must listen to me. I was wrong earlier for snapping at you. Won’t happen again.”

Ji Xingyao lowered her eyelids, not bothering to respond.

Mu Jinpei raised his hand, caressed her cheek, and kissed her lips lightly. “Sorry for my tone just now.”

Even if unhappy, Ji Xingyao knew how to read the situation. “Fine, I’ll get checked,” she said. “You don’t have to get out of the car. Keep busy with your work.”

Mu Jinpei nodded. “I’ll have Chu Zheng accompany you.”

The meeting time arrived, and the car fell silent. Ji Xingyao leaned against the door to avoid disturbing him.

She absentmindedly looked out the window. The scene in the apartment building kept replaying in her mind. She had just come out of the emergency exit when she saw him press the elevator button. At that time, the fire upstairs probably wasn’t out yet; thick smoke billowed. If she hadn’t called him, he would have taken the elevator straight up.

Unconsciously, they arrived at the hospital. Ji Xingyao glanced at Mu Jinpei’s side profile; he was fully immersed in the video conference, his expression cold and occasionally commenting.

His English was especially pleasant—if you’d never met him, you could just get lost in his voice and never want to wake up.

Ji Xingyao picked up her coat and bag, gently pushed open the car door, and after getting out, carefully closed it again.

Mu Jinpei didn’t hear the door opening or closing, but suddenly turned his head to see Ji Xingyao was no longer there. He watched her leave through the car window for a moment before looking away.

Chu Zheng accompanied Ji Xingyao through the full set of tests. The doctor said there was nothing serious and prescribed some lung-clearing medicine.

Ji Xingyao checked the time—two hours had passed since she entered for the examination. Mu Jinpei hadn’t called her; the meeting probably hadn’t ended yet.

Coming down from upstairs, she pointed to some seats in the corner of the lobby and told Chu Zheng, “Let’s rest there.”

Chu Zheng nodded, understanding Ji Xingyao didn’t want to disturb the boss’s meeting. After all, it involved some M.K. business secrets, and since Ji Xingyao’s English was good, she could fully understand whatever the boss said.

The chair was a three-seater, and the two of them took seats at opposite ends.

Chu Zheng organized the test reports to report back to the boss later.

Ji Xingyao was quiet, scrolling through her phone after sitting down. Unlike other women, she didn’t try to pry about the boss’s habits or preferences.

Sitting next to Ji Xingyao made Chu Zheng inexplicably uneasy. She was very much like the boss—her aura sharp and unapproachable, making it hard for ordinary people to get close.

This trait even Xu Rui didn’t have.

Thinking of Xu Rui, Chu Zheng finally had time to thank her for handling all the online information.

Xu Rui replied: [I told you there’s no need to be so polite, besides, it’s not like I’m doing it just for you.]

Chu Zheng typed a line, hesitated, then deleted it all.

Soon, Xu Rui sent another message: [I heard betrayal leads to hell, aren’t you scared? :)]

Chu Zheng: “…”

Was what he did considered a betrayal of the boss?

He didn’t know.

But one thing was certain—he wouldn’t get involved in anything that went against his principles.

The video meeting lasted until 6:30 pm, and night had fallen.

Mu Jinpei closed his laptop but still hadn’t seen Chu Zheng or Ji Xingyao come out. He grabbed his coat, got out of the car, and started walking briskly toward the outpatient building while calling Chu Zheng.

“Does she need to be hospitalized for observation?” Mu Jinpei’s voice sounded a bit urgent.

Chu Zheng: “No problem. They just prescribed some medicine. We’re in the lobby.”

Mu Jinpei quickened his pace. Soon, two figures also walked toward him from the outpatient building.

He had more instructions for Chu Zheng and told Ji Xingyao to wait in the car.

Chu Zheng walked side by side with the boss, their pace slow.

Only when they reached a quiet spot did Mu Jinpei speak: “Xie Junyi also attended today’s meeting. The project that the Ji Group is cooperating on in South Africa was brought up on the agenda.”

Chu Zheng listened quietly, roughly understanding the boss’s next move.

Mu Jinpei put his hands in his pockets and stopped by some bushes. After thinking for a while, he said, “Then let’s use Xie Junyi’s hand to deal with Ji Changsheng.”

Chu Zheng: “I will arrange and follow up.”

The South African project was personally inspected and favored by Ji Changsheng, which would naturally make him less guarded.

“We can’t let our guard down around Mu Wenya either.”

“Understood.”

“Call Zhang Bo and ask what he’s doing in Tianjin.”

“I already did. Zhang Bo called me to ask about Miss Ji’s safety. As for why he went to Tianjin, I asked too, but—” Chu Zheng hesitated for half a second, “Zhang Bo changed the subject and didn’t say anything.”

Mu Jinpei picked up a yellowed dead leaf and absentmindedly rubbed it.

Zhang Bo had been responsible for Ji Xingyao’s security for 17 or 18 years. His feelings toward her were like those of a father for his daughter, even more attentive than most fathers.

Suddenly, he asked Chu Zheng sideways, “Has Yaoyao ever complained about me to you?”

Chu Zheng: “?”

He really didn’t catch what that meant, and then he noticed Xingyao had become Yaoyao.

“Miss Ji hasn’t told me anything.”

Mu Jinpei nodded. On the way to the hospital, he knew he shouldn’t have taken out his own struggles on her.

She was like his mother—seemingly magnanimous on the surface but very petty inside. Saying “I forgive you” with her mouth, but marking it down in her heart.

“Go back. I’m not going to the company tonight.”

He stepped toward the parking lot.

Under the streetlights, his figure stretched long and blurry.

Chu Zheng sighed softly. The boss was now painfully aware yet helplessly indulging in his own downfall.

…

Tonight was cloudy, no moon visible.

The courtyard was brightly lit, shadows dancing on the trees.

“Mr. Xie, Miss Ji Xingyao plans to get a pilot’s license. She had consulted our training institution before and scheduled a physical exam for next week, but just called to postpone it until after the New Year. She had inhaled a lot of smoke during the fire in her apartment today and fears she might fail the lung and heart function part of the exam.”

Xie Yuncheng was leaning on the terrace railing smoking. He glanced at his secretary, “Since when did you become so interested in Ji Xingyao?”

The secretary: “…” speechless.

Dealing with a moody boss like this was tough.

It wasn’t until a few days ago when Xie Yuncheng asked if Ji Xingyao had any new works. Coincidentally, that day at the manor he saw Ji Xingyao with Mu Jinpei.

The relationship was complicated.

So he started paying more attention to Ji Xingyao’s movements. Then unexpectedly, she showed interest in a pilot’s license and chose the training institution under Xie Yuncheng’s name.

Xie Yuncheng said no more, took another drag of his cigarette, exhaled slowly, stubbed it out in the ashtray, and turned to go inside.

The secretary looked at the boss’s back and worried—should he continue reporting on Ji Xingyao’s movements or not?

He took the ashtray and went in, closing the terrace door.

Xie Yuncheng was pouring red wine, staring at the glass for a few seconds before putting the bottle down and going to the fridge for two ice cubes, which he dropped into the glass.

The secretary understood him well—wasting good wine like this meant his mood wasn’t good. There was something he didn’t know whether to say now or not.

Xie Yuncheng swirled the wine glass and glanced at the secretary out of the corner of his eye: “Can’t you say everything in one go?”

Secretary: “… Miss Tang asked me about your schedule today. She wants to show hospitality.”

Xie Yuncheng frowned and thought for a long time, “Which Miss Tang? An M.K. client?”

Among the boss’s many female companions, only one had the surname Tang. And Xie treated Tang Jialai differently from others. He assumed just saying the surname would be enough for the boss to know who she was.

The secretary had to say the full name: “Miss Tang Jialai.”

Xie Yuncheng seemed to have forgotten and really had no impression of the name, couldn’t recall any moments with her. “A client trying to get through connections?”

The secretary was frustrated—had they just broken up not long ago and the boss already forgot? Or was the boss really hurt by Tang Jialai and subconsciously blocked her name?

After all, Tang Jialai and the boss had known each other for nearly two years and dated for a few months—how could there be no memory at all?

He carefully put it: “Miss Tang had a brief fling with you.”

Now Xie Yuncheng was speechless. For him, a fling meant a one-night stand or a brief sexual relationship.

He had been with many women, never cared deeply, but wouldn’t forget their names.

He asked, “What’s Tang Jialai’s English name?”

The secretary gave the English name, and Xie Yuncheng nodded, finally remembering who she was. The secretary was puzzled—how could the boss not match her Chinese and English names?

He asked the boss, “Should we accept the invitation?”

Xie Yuncheng answered calmly: “What misunderstanding makes her think she still has a chance to get into my bed again?” He never took the same woman twice. If he didn’t stay the first time, it meant he had no feelings for her.

Before coming to Beijing, he had just ended a month-long relationship that fizzled out.

He asked again, “How did she get your number?”

Secretary: “Miss Tang was with you for over three months.” Among the boss’s companions, that was quite long. “At first, Miss Tang said she liked Ji Xingyao’s work, and later at the auction, you bought ‘Xingyao 1’.”

Xie Yuncheng frowned, “She thought I bought that painting because of her?”

The secretary didn’t dare say a word—because that was what he had thought, that the boss was settling down for a woman for the first time.

It was a misunderstanding.

No wonder the boss couldn’t match Tang Jialai’s names—it all made sense now. He never cared; everything was just others’ assumptions.

Xie Yuncheng already forgot how he met Tang Jialai or how long they had been together. If the secretary said three months, then maybe that was it.

The only impression he had of that relationship was that Tang Jialai knew oil painting, having studied it professionally before.

They probably lasted three months because of that common topic. When he went to exhibitions, she talked knowledgeably enough not to bore him.

He liked going to art exhibitions, influenced by his father.

Later, he also wanted to give up this hobby, but it had already deeply rooted in his bones—it was too late.

As for Ji Xingyao’s paintings, he had come across them before meeting Tang Jialai, but they were all still lifes. He was only somewhat interested in still lifes and didn’t expect Ji Xingyao to later paint portraits.

He bought “Xingyao 1” simply because he appreciated the painting—there were no complicated reasons behind it. Everyone else had overthought it.

The fallout with Tang Jialai happened because she didn’t know her place and really took herself as his girlfriend. On Tang Jialai’s birthday, she invited him to dinner, and he agreed to go.

However, that day there were too many things at work and he forgot. Later he called Tang Jialai to explain, but she hung up immediately, waiting for him to apologize and coax her.

At that moment, he got completely fed up and never contacted her again.

Tang Jialai probably waited for him to come back to her, but he had no leisure for that. Later she didn’t reach out either—probably because she couldn’t lower her pride, since it was she who ended the relationship.

The ice in the wine glass had melted halfway, and Xie Yuncheng took a sip. “Don’t answer Tang Jialai’s calls anymore.”

The secretary nodded, “Understood. It was my negligence today.”

Xie Yuncheng stared at the ice floating in the glass. “Set up a time with Ji Xingyao. I want to go to her studio and pick out a few paintings.”

…

Night was pitch black, the city lights on. Everywhere the eye could see was bustling and brilliant, yet he felt lost, unable to tell where he was.

Ji Xingyao leaned on the windowsill looking down at the city. The night view from this angle was different from what she saw at her apartment. The city seen from Mu Jinpei’s side looked lonelier.

After leaving the hospital, Mu Jinpei didn’t send her home but took her straight to his place.

The coffee was ready, its aroma lingering.

Mu Jinpei brought over the coffee. “It’s different from your usual beans. Try it and see how it tastes.”

With no driver or outsiders present, Ji Xingyao didn’t even bother to lift her eyelids—toward the coffee or toward him, she looked through both.

Mu Jinpei knew she was still holding a grudge—because of his earlier remark, “Where do you get so many words from?” He had apologized, but she wouldn’t let it go.

He put down the coffee and picked her up in his arms. “I’ll register your fingerprints.”

Ji Xingyao slowly raised her eyes and gave him a look, but there was no warmth in it.

Mu Jinpei carried her to the door, entered the code to open the management system, and offered, “From now on, you’ll be the administrator. You can reset the code.”

Ji Xingyao looked at him in disbelief, their eyes meeting.

The light in the entrance was dim and warm-toned, but on him it felt cold. After coming home, he went straight to shower and changed into a black home shirt.

Although the cotton shirt wasn’t very stylish, it exuded a cold, hard texture on him, like a sharp blade piercing the heart. Whenever black was associated with him, he radiated a dangerous aura.

His eyes were as dangerous as his aura but held more restraint. It was rare for him to yield repeatedly like this, and she didn’t keep pushing her advantage.

Ji Xingyao didn’t hold back at all—she directly changed the code and registered her fingerprints.

Once set, the door closed.

Mu Jinpei hugged her tightly, looking into her eyes. “Don’t be angry. Tonight I’ll carry you back.”

Ji Xingyao wasn’t quite sure how “carry” meant in this case, so she confirmed, “Carry me when getting in and out of the car?”

Mu Jinpei: “Carry you walking back to the apartment.”