“I’m the sponsor. I can keep her out of the packaging, deny her any camera time, even refuse to let her appear at all.”
Bo Jingyu’s face was ice. He showed no mercy.
“What do you mean? Are you kidding me?” Su Minghan shot back, darkening.
“Then make her tell the truth.”
Tian Danni pressed her lips together, fighting back tears. She stood there, humiliated and mute, feeling like she’d been dragged back into those brutal days abroad all over again.
“I really can’t figure out what you’re thinking!” Su Minghan leapt up, ready to drag her away. But she stubbornly stayed, shaking her head. “You saw it for yourself, didn’t you?”
Bo Jingyu’s hard eyes softened a fraction. “Mm.”
“She only mentioned a possible collaboration. I hadn’t agreed to anything.”
“What are you two even talking about? I don’t understand a word,” Su Minghan said, bewildered.
Bo Jingyu shot him a look and returned his attention to Tian Danni. “You can go now. Mr. Su and I have matters to discuss.”
She sniffed, obedient, and left.
“Come here.” Su Minghan sat back down, both angry and puzzled. Before he could get his bearings, a slap landed on the side of his head. Pain exploded; tears stung his eyes.
“What was that for?” he demanded.
Bo Jingyu sighed. “If she hadn’t been foolish enough to favor you, someone else would’ve poached her — and you’d be overjoyed, counting their money for them.” He paused, considering. “You mean the woman in the white suit earlier?”
“You’re that suspicious?” Su Minghan scoffed.
Bo Jingyu looked at him, exasperated. “Turns out my suspicions weren’t baseless. She was clearly there to sabotage us.”
“What’s Ahairui playing at? First she says both our artists should participate, then she goes and meets my artists one by one. That’s got to be deliberate.” Bo Jingyu’s voice tightened. “So you’re saying she didn’t just talk to Tian Danni — she also met with Xiao Shujing?”
This time Su Minghan looked at him with open contempt. “As if I’d let you pick me up at Yancheng University for no reason.”
At that moment a message from Qian Li pinged on Bo Jingyu’s phone. The thumbnail was a gaunt, hollow-cheeked Shen Ximan — dirt smudges on her face, wearing a gaudy apron, latex gloves on, trowel in hand as she shoveled fertilizer into tiny pots.
“Second Master, Miss Shen has been sleeping only three to four hours most days. She practically lives at the workshop. She even had to send the third miss to the orphanage...” Qian Li’s words sat on the screen like a slap.
Bo Jingyu watched the photo with a cold smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Had Shen Ximan staged this to win his sympathy? He had given her a black card that night — enough money to live comfortably for the rest of her life. Yet she chose this theatrical poverty. The more she played the helpless pauper, the more contempt he felt. It made him wonder just how involved she might have been in the grandfather’s injury. The little hope he’d harbored was dying.
“Pathetic,” Su Minghan muttered, craning his neck to look. He shook his head, feeling pangs of regret. He and Shen Ximan had once gotten along. Seeing her reduced to this underside of life pricked his conscience.
“If you pity her so much, go keep her company,” Bo Jingyu said, his voice like shards of ice. He tossed the phone onto the couch and didn’t bother to look at it again.
“I never said I pitied her,” Su Minghan protested. “I just feel sorry for her little sister — she’s so young, sending her to an orphanage is cruel.”
“Why should I take responsibility for someone who isn’t my kin?” Bo Jingyu’s stubborn lips said one thing; his mind had long since decided another. An Ruo felt like his own child — something to cradle and protect. The thought of her being sent away made him want to tear Shen Ximan to pieces. Had all her past attentions been an act?
“…Fine. I won’t interfere then.” Su Minghan shrugged helplessly.
Bo Jingyu rose, straightening his jacket. “Keep an eye on Tian Danni. She may still be working with Ahairui. We don’t yet know their intentions; better safe than sorry.”
“Got it. If you need me, I have nothing but time,” Su Minghan said dutifully, following him out.
The office fell back into quiet. Bo Jingyu idly stared at the contact in his phone labeled “President Xue” — the woman whose mannerisms had been strange and evasive. What was she up to? He headed for Hengshuo Group’s offices.
“You’ve been busy today, President Xue. Visiting a few different places?” Bo Jingyu ignored Xue Xiaoqi’s extended hand in the lobby. His smile didn’t touch his eyes.
“I only just got here,” she replied, squinting as if testing him. “Did you see me somewhere?”
“Maybe at an entertainment company. Women with your figure are easy to mistake for someone else,” he said, deflecting with a barb and a smile.
“Your praise flatters me,” Xue Xiaoqi responded, moving aside to let the revolving staircase clear. “Shall we discuss this on the second floor?”
“In just a few days you’ve managed to make the lobby look lavish. Typical of Ahairui — money means nothing.” Bo Jingyu’s words were pointed; to anyone else they might have seemed merely critical, but here the tone held a barb meant for her.
Xue Xiaoqi’s smile stayed perfectly composed. “Thanks to Mr. Bo and his family for taking such good care of this building. Without you, we wouldn’t have been able to take this prime spot.”
Bo Jingyu’s grin was like a snake ready to strike. One more misstep from her and he would crush whatever pretense she’d been keeping. But Xue Xiaoqi didn’t stumble. She slipped around danger with a finesse that was almost infuriating.
This woman was not simple. She didn’t bluster; she maneuvered. She hid in blind spots and baited opponents into mental tussles — and most people, baffled before the third move, were left tangled in her web.