“Qianchen, you can’t say that — Mom didn’t know before...” Yu Luqing’s voice trembled with the kind of self-justification only a mother could muster.
Ling Qianchen only sneered and said nothing.
Her words were useless consolation. He knew his mother had always been able to excuse herself. Yu Luqing’s hypocritical face tightened something in him—because it dragged back the memory of how Yuan Meng had arrived in the Ling household.
He’d never cared for Yuan Meng. She existed for him only when protocol demanded: a shared smile at a banquet, a nod at some function. In the beginning his mother had listened to a fortune-teller who declared Yuan Meng would bring the Lings good luck. But after the family hit trouble and power shifted, Yu Luqing began to despise a woman who had no standing, no clout. Her cruelty grew into public displays of contempt; she praised Beimo and set the two women side by side as a pointed comparison.
And through it all, Yuan Meng had endured.
Yuan Meng could have married into a richer, more powerful household. She could have chosen better for herself. Yet she came into the Ling family for him, offered loyalty without demand, never asking for a return. And now she had been divorced.
The thought made Ling Qianchen’s chest tighten with a guilt he hadn’t expected. He wouldn't change his feelings because of her status—he’d never loved Yuan Meng—but she had been sincere once, and that mattered. He wouldn’t let his mother continue to harass her new life.
Ling Qianchen said nothing, and Yu Luqing fell silent in frustration. Beside them, Beimo sat stung and resentful. She hated Yuan Meng with a white-hot envy—if the current disgrace came from Yuan Meng, then Yuan Meng would pay.
After finding out which floor Yuan Meng lived on, Jake started engineering chance encounters.
That afternoon he “happened” to run into Yuan Meng and Yan Ke’er again.
“Hey, Meng, we meet again — what are the odds?” Jake tossed his hair and flashed the smile he believed was irresistible.
Yuan Meng folded her arms and watched him coolly. Yan Ke’er rolled her eyes so hard it was almost audible.
Jake didn’t mind Yan Ke’er’s disdain. He’d steeled himself for it the moment he decided to pursue Yuan Meng; dismissive looks were part of the price. It was, in his mind, the possessiveness of a close friend.
“You aren’t busy?” Yan said bluntly.
“Not at all,” Jake replied. “You ladies going shopping? Mind if I tag along?”
Before Yuan Meng could answer, Yan snapped, “We’re girls. You tagging along is ridiculous.”
“Oh, my dear little Ke’er,” Jake said with a mock-compliment. “But I’m a big guy — I can be your free errand boy. Carry your bags, hold your things.”
Yan shivered. Nobody in her family called her “little Ke’er” unless they were teasing her. Hearing it from a man she’d only met twice made the hairs on her arms rise.
“Don’t call me that!” she said.
Jake shrugged like a man who was pretending to yield. “So, Meng—can I come?”
Yan tugged at Yuan Meng’s sleeve in warning, but Yuan Meng patted her hand gently, as if to reassure her, and then turned to Jake with a smile that carried its own quiet meaning.
“Fine. Stay close.”
Jake grinned like a kid who’d been given permission. He dutifully became their errand boy for the afternoon, following them through the shops, never showing anything but good humor as Yan placed him under increasingly bossy commands. His willingness to comply only deepened Yan’s guilt about the little tricks she’d played before—her resistance weakened.
Halfway through the stroll, Yan was the first to flag.
“Meng, let’s find a place to sit. My feet are killing me.”
Yuan Meng wanted to test Jake a little more and agreed. “There are benches ahead. Let’s rest there.”
Yan brightened and reached to hook her arm through Yuan Meng’s, but just then Yuan Meng’s phone rang. She glanced at the screen, eyebrows raised, and answered with a slow smile when she saw the caller ID.
“Yueyue.”
The name on the screen betrayed the call’s intention. Ling Qianchen was calling Ai Yue—Yueyue—not her. Yet he’d dialed Ai Yue from a number that happened to show up on Yuan Meng’s screen in this moment. Yuan Meng let the smile sit on her face and picked up.
“What’s up?”
Ling Qianchen had expected this reaction. He spoke plainly.
“I divorced Yuan Meng.”
If anyone else heard that line, it might have seemed curt or arbitrary. Yuan Meng caught the subtext immediately.
“And...?” she said, cool and unmoved.
Ling Qianchen held his breath, waiting for some kind of reaction he could exploit, but when none came he swallowed and laid his cards out.
“So, I’m asking you for a chance.”
He had thought it through: guilty conscience could be soothed with material compensation, but it couldn’t buy back feelings. If Ai Yue would give him a chance, he would fight for it—no obstacle too great, no humiliation too deep. He imagined his future like a neat plan laid out and ticking into place.
Yuan Meng made a soft, mirthless sound.
“Mr. Ling, I’ve already said it: we aren’t right for each other.”
“No—we never really got to know each other. That’s why you’re making a mistake. I believe, if you’d just give me a chance—” He was earnest to the point of desperation.
She cut him off, cool and distant. “Why should I give you that chance? There are plenty of people who say they like me. Am I supposed to answer every one of them?”
“I—”
“If you want to woo me, go stand in line.”
Ling Qianchen heard only those last words. The rest he let fall away. If Ai Yue would agree, he would stand in line, bear it all—whatever it took.
He tried to buy time with one more sentence, but before he could, another voice called out.
“Meng, come on! I’ve been waiting for you so long!”
Jake, who had spent a night practicing Chinese so he could sound earnest, had finally mustered the phrase. It wasn’t perfect, but it carried. Ling Qianchen, startled by the foreign voice, moved to ask for the caller’s identity, but Yuan Meng had already ended the call.
She hung up. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. The break had been deliberate. She’d been hung up on so many times before by Ling Qianchen—now that the divorce was final, she saw no reason not to return the favor.
“Did something good happen?” Jake asked, half-probing.
“Nothing,” Yuan Meng said, and then looked toward Yan twenty meters away. “Ke’er, we should go back.”
Yan had rested enough. “Okay,” she replied. She hadn’t come for fun; a competition was looming in a few days, and they needed to train. There was no point risking fatigue for a little distraction.
Jake’s face fell at the thought of leaving, but he hadn’t finished his mission and didn’t press the issue.
On the other side of town, Ling Qianchen lingered in a shadow of disappointment until his secretary knocked and stepped in.
“Mr. Ling, there’s an international hacking competition overseas in the next couple of days. The organizers invited Ling Group to attend. What would you like to do?”
“Go,” he said.
Ling Group was starting to stabilize, talent rebuilding. After the recent incident, he wanted to be hands-on—find talent, patch vulnerabilities, meet rivals face to face. It wasn’t just curiosity; it was precaution.
An hour later he was on a plane headed abroad.