Chapter 9

As noon approached, Chu Zheng finally found a moment to catch his breath. He leaned back in his chair to take a short nap. He had barely slept three hours the previous night, woke up early, and had been busy all morning—now, drowsiness was setting in.

At 5:30 in the morning, before dawn, he had received an overseas phone call instructing him to check his email.

The call had come from a number used by Feng Liang, and the email was from him too. For security reasons, Feng Liang now communicated exclusively with him and reported directly.

The gist of the email: he had already sent Ji Changsheng supplemental materials—twice—regarding Mu Jinpei’s birth records and had contacted all the witnesses who could prove Mu Jinpei was indeed the son of Pei Yu.

Feng Liang added: Chairman Ji remains suspicious. I’m not his only trusted aide.

As for the others working under Ji, even Feng Liang wasn’t sure who they were.

Less than 30 seconds after reading, the email self-destructed. It was embedded with a virus.

It wasn’t even 6:00 AM yet. After reading it, Chu Zheng couldn’t fall back asleep, so he went straight to the office—only to find the lights in Mu Jinpei’s office already on.

Maybe the boss was still adjusting to the time difference? But that didn’t seem right. His schedule had been normal lately. Why show up so early all of a sudden? Still, whatever the reason, it wasn’t Chu Zheng’s place to ask.

Thinking back on the morning, Chu Zheng nodded off and fell asleep in a light doze.

He had barely napped twenty minutes when his phone alarm went off.

He went to the restroom to splash cold water on his face, clearing his mind before getting back to work.

Then, Mu Jinpei called and asked him to come over. Chu Zheng brought along some documents that needed to be signed.

“You said this morning that Ji Changsheng is still suspicious, right?” Mu Jinpei pushed a sticky note across the desk. “In a while, go visit this person yourself.”

The note had only a surname. Chu Zheng knew exactly who it was. He tore the note into pieces, dropped them into the ashtray, and poured tea over it.

The blue-black ink slowly bled out, the writing fading until nothing was legible. The paper scraps blended in with the ash.

Chu Zheng then opened the documents that needed signatures and placed them in front of Mu Jinpei. He also had another matter to report.
“President Mu, Chairman Qi of Ruichen asked someone to invite you horseback riding this weekend.”

Mu Jinpei was in the middle of signing—his final stroke dragged so long it nearly tore the paper.

Chairman Qi’s invitation was clearly meant to pave the way for future collaboration between Ruichen and M.K. Xu Rui was currently serving as Vice General Manager of Ruichen, and her engagement to Qi Chen had already been brought up.

But Mu Jinpei had no intention of dragging Xu Rui into the trap set for Ji Changsheng, nor did he want Ruichen Group to suffer.

“Decline it.”

Chu Zheng replied, “Understood.”

Mu Jinpei closed his fountain pen. “I’ll be heading out this afternoon. No need to come with me.”

Chu Zheng understood immediately—whenever the boss didn’t want him to tag along, it usually meant he was going to see Ji Xingyao. So, that early-morning appearance at the office wasn’t due to jet lag after all—he was simply getting ahead on work to free up time for the studio visit.

Chu Zheng had barely slept three hours that night, and the boss had slept no more than him—but he showed no signs of fatigue, full of energy as ever.

Chu Zheng opened another folder and handed it over for review. It contained tomorrow’s schedule: two business meetings in the morning, a video conference in the afternoon, and an auction in the evening.

These small auctions were held regularly, but this time the host was a longtime friend of Pei Yu’s, so they couldn’t skip it.

“We’ll attend. I’ll enter at the end.”

Chu Zheng nodded. “I’ll arrange it.” The boss never liked crowds, even less so being in the spotlight. He was only going to show support, not attract attention.

Mu Jinpei buttoned up his suit jacket, picked up his phone, and left.

Beijing’s autumn was always too short. Before anyone had time to savor it, a wave of cold air swept through, and early winter arrived quietly.

The leaves on the roadside trees were tinged with yellow amid the green.

Halfway to his destination, Mu Jinpei suddenly told the driver, “Go to the gallery first.”

…

Zhang Bo dropped Ji Xingyao off at her destination, turned off the engine, and casually unbuckled his seatbelt.

Ji Xingyao quickly waved her hand, “Uncle Zhang, no need to get out. I’m just walking around for fun.”

Zhang Bo let it go and signaled the others to follow her.

He wasn’t the only one responsible for her safety. Others were protecting her in secret, something Ji Xingyao didn’t know. Unlike a hospital, a shopping mall was crowded and filled with potential risks. Nothing could be allowed to go wrong.

Ji Xingyao had only one requirement when shopping for shoes: the highest heels in the store—any style was fine. She gave the clerk her shoe size.

The salesperson brought out all the styles that met her criteria. Ji Xingyao didn’t try any of them on, barely even looked at the styles. “Two pairs of each, just pack them up for me.”

One pair was for practicing walking at home. If she accidentally scuffed the shoes or fell while practicing, she’d have a fresh pair to wear when going out.

During this process, the salesperson couldn’t help stealing glances at Ji Xingyao. She had never seen such a stunningly beautiful girl—blessed by the gods with both looks and figure, and even grace.

Then Ji Xingyao opened her wallet—and a row of black cards gleamed inside.

She had wealth and background, too.

The salesperson estimated that Ji Xingyao wasn’t short—even in flat shoes, she looked over 166cm. She couldn’t understand why she insisted on wearing ten-centimeter heels.

In under twenty minutes, Ji Xingyao walked out of the mall carrying over a dozen shopping bags. Her beauty, paired with the designer logos on her bags, made passersby turn their heads in awe.

Zhang Bo spotted the slightly disheveled Ji Xingyao from afar, arms full of bags, and quickly got out of the car to help. “Why didn’t you call me ahead of time? I would’ve come to carry those.”

“It’s fine, they’re not heavy—just shoes.” Ji Xingyao handed the bags over. Her phone rang in her purse, and when she pulled it out, it was Mu Jinpei.

They had just had dinner last night, yet it somehow felt like it had been ages since they’d seen each other.

Ji Xingyao answered, and his deep, magnetic voice came through, “You’re not at the studio?”

She hesitated for a second. She didn’t say she was out shopping. “I’m outside.” It only dawned on her now—he must’ve gone to the studio and found her missing. But then again, how could that be? Monday was usually his busiest day. Would he really have had time to go looking for her?

She asked cautiously, “Where are you?”

Mu Jinpei replied, “At the studio entrance.” He’d rung the bell for a while and no one had answered. Before she could say anything, he added, “No rush, I’ll wait for you.”

Ji Xingyao picked up her pace and walked toward the parking lot. “Aren’t you busy today?”

Mu Jinpei: “Not until December. Domestic operations haven’t started yet.”

It wasn’t that he wasn’t busy—just that things didn’t require his attention for now.

He had a high-level team of over a dozen professionals working around the clock. For the time being, they were handling the bulk of the workload. Since he wasn’t yet familiar with the domestic business landscape, he was still building connections and only made final decisions when necessary.

After years of being constantly busy, the sudden lull in his schedule felt unfamiliar.

Back when he had just graduated from university, his adoptive father had set extremely high, even harsh, standards for him. At the most exhausting time, he managed three multinational projects simultaneously.

On top of running the company, he had to balance his revenge plan—building up his own strength, or he’d never be able to compete with Ji Changsheng.

During those years, he averaged 17 to 18 hours of work per day.

There was no time to feel exhausted, and even less time for romance.

Back then, his entire team had to run at his pace. Xu Rui once asked him why he insisted on pushing himself to the brink.

Mu Jinpei stood outside the studio for a while, but Ji Xingyao still hadn’t arrived. At the end of the hallway were two potted plants and a trash bin. He walked over, about to light a cigarette, then remembered smoking was prohibited in the building, so he put his lighter away.

Looking out the window, he saw an endless sea of high-rises—Beijing was no longer what it once had been.

On her way back to the studio, Ji Xingyao received a message from Tang Jialai:
[Xingyao, are you busy?]

Ji Xingyao replied:
[Not right now. I’m on my way to the studio. Mu Jinpei is already there—probably to talk about the contract.]
Then she added:
[What’s up?]

Tang Jialai responded:
[Turns out our second boss came by to pick up the magazine just to bring it to you. Don’t rush—take your time and wear him down. Don’t lose your momentum to him.]

After all, Tang Jialai was employed by the gallery and paid by M.K., so she couldn’t reveal everything to Ji Xingyao and could only hint at things.

Still, knowing Pei Yu as well as she did, she was sure they intended to sign Ji Xingyao. As long as Ji Xingyao had the patience to negotiate slowly with Mu Jinpei, she’d be able to secure the best possible deal.

Then Tang Jialai changed the subject and began to vent:
[I need your help. Next month, it’s the birthday of my dad’s friend’s daughter. My dad insists I go, and now my mom’s siding with him, saying it would be rude if I don’t. I’m sure it’s a disguised matchmaking setup. Please come with me, I won’t survive alone.]

Ji Xingyao was a bit worried:
[I don’t have any experience. I’m not sure how I can help you.]

Tang Jialai replied:
[You don’t need experience—just stay next to me the whole time and keep talking, nonstop, so no one else gets a chance to butt in.]

That was easy enough for Ji Xingyao. And as it happened, she also had something she wanted to ask Tang Jialai about in person.

The two chatted the entire way, and time flew by. Ji Xingyao put away her phone just as Zhang Bo parked the car.

Mu Jinpei was already waiting downstairs.

Today, he was dressed in formal business attire—a dark suit with a white shirt and even a tie, clearly from some earlier business engagement. One hand was in his pocket, and he stood casually watching the passing traffic. In this relaxed state, some of his usual sharpness was softened, revealing a rare gentleness.

Ji Xingyao noticed that whether he was focused on work, carefully brewing coffee, or simply lost in thought, every version of him was captivating—impossible to look away from.

In his other hand, he was carrying a shopping bag marked with the M.K. logo. That must’ve been the magazine Tang Jialai mentioned.

Ji Xingyao walked up. “Sorry for keeping you waiting.”

Mu Jinpei replied, “I’m the one who should apologize.” He had assumed she had spent all her time at the studio. “Next time, I’ll call before I come.”

They entered the building together.

Inside the elevator, Ji Xingyao raised her hand to press the floor button.

Mu Jinpei’s gaze happened to fall on her wrist. He paused slightly. “Let me see your watch.”

Ji Xingyao had been so absorbed in chatting with Tang Jialai earlier that she’d completely forgotten about the watch. She hadn’t planned to show it off in front of him, it would’ve felt like she was trying to get his attention on purpose.

But now, she had no choice but to take it off and hand it over.

“It’s a piece by master designer Corey,” she offered, saving him the trouble of guessing.

Mu Jinpei, surprised, asked, “So yesterday when you borrowed my watch, it was to compare with this one?”

Ji Xingyao didn’t deny it.

He hadn’t realized that she had originally been drawn to that very watch. They had worn matching watches for over three years—and now, to meet again like this felt almost fated. He gestured, “Give me your hand.”

He had already helped her put on a watch once before, so Ji Xingyao didn’t act coy. She extended her hand.

Mu Jinpei placed the shopping bag with his feet, lowered his head, and carefully fastened the watch onto her wrist.

The moment seemed to stretch in slow motion, like it had taken three years to arrive.

The elevator opened. They had reached the 52nd floor. The two stepped out and began chatting about the art catalog.

The matching moment felt as though it had never happened.

But whether for Mu Jinpei or Ji Xingyao, it had clearly stirred deep undercurrents.

As soon as they entered the studio, the first thing Mu Jinpei did was take off his jacket and set it aside to brew coffee. He asked Ji Xingyao if she was busy tomorrow night.

Instead of answering, she asked in return, “Do you need my help?”

“Yes.” Mu Jinpei looked at her. “Come with me to the auction tomorrow night.”