Back at the villa, Feng Yu booted up her computer and scrolled through the day’s headlines.
Last night’s casino incident had been deliberately suppressed. The video of her and Xia Qianqian gambling together hadn’t leaked. Oddly enough, though, the press kept churning out stories about Xia Qianqian’s loss—except even those reports were being damped down. Nobody dared to mention the tape; instead, the gossip machine fixated on Xia Qianqian’s comings and goings at the casino.
“Feng’s pretty young widow seen carousing in a casino, cozy with an unidentified man—scandalous,” one headline sniffed.
“She’s shameless; her husband just died and she’s already out there? So loose,” jeered another.
Feng Yu followed the trail. Several posts, different usernames—but when she traced the IPs, they all pointed back to the same address. Someone was trying to frame them. She couldn’t help but find it amusing.
Her captors had hoped to corner her with ridicule—but they forgot one thing: the woman they were mocking happened to be a computer prodigy.
Years of being confined at the Feng household had left her little to do but study. Her room held a solitary computer; medicine she’d taught herself, and her hacker skills had sharpened into something dangerous. When you take something seriously, you get frighteningly good at it.
She collected every offending post, every ID and IP, dumped them all into a document, compressed and archived the file for later. The dossier could be useful when the time came.
On the homepage she found something else that drew a sardonic smile.
“Stunning: Diva Feng Yayin to be married?”
“Oh—turns out the diva’s just here to walk her sister down the aisle!”
“Feng’s sister to wed into a wealthy family; the diva herself will attend the ceremony!”
The stories exploded into trending topics. Feng Yayin was a household name; anything associated with her would ride the wave. Feng Yu’s lip curled. It was obvious: He Xinlan was trying to use Feng Yayin’s fame to force the marriage. The real question was whether a man like Mu Shiyan would be the sort to let himself be bullied into marriage.
Her phone buzzed. He Xinlan’s name flashed on the screen.
Feng Yu let the ring go to vibrate a few seconds, then answered with a lazy tone. “Yes?”
“Be at the Wanda Hotel at six tonight. Room 808. Do I make myself clear?” He Xinlan’s voice was sharp with arrogance.
Feng Yu’s eyebrow lifted. “What, Auntie? You want to humiliate me some more? Not enough the first time?”
He Xinlan’s voice immediately hardened. Memories of the last public disgrace—how Feng Yu had ruined her plan—made her teeth grind. “I’m just passing on your father’s request. Come or don’t—suit yourself.” Then she cut the line.
Feng Yu glanced at her screen. Tonight would very likely revolve around Mu Shiyan. She didn’t want a permanent rupture with Feng Haitan; she still needed to find her brother—where he was, who was treating him. She had combed every medical system she could access but come up empty. Whoever had taken him had been careful.
By six o’clock she was standing outside the Wanda Hotel. She knew He Xinlan’s motives were never pure, but knowing didn’t mean she could stay away.
The restaurant had three floors; the family had booked the second. Room numbers favored lucky digits—808. Feng Yu pushed the door open.
A cluster of people sat around a large table. Besides He Xinlan and Feng Haitan were Feng Qingsheng and Mu Shiyan.
Mu Shiyan’s expression flickered in surprise when he saw her—an almost imperceptible shift before the usual cool mask settled back over his features.
“With such bad luck walking in, what brings you here?” Feng Qingsheng sneered from beside Mu Shiyan. Her tone was full of disdain.
Feng Yu slid into a chair as if nothing were wrong. She glanced politely at Feng Haitan, then let her gaze rest on Feng Qingsheng. “Sister,” she said, “you haven’t even married yet and you already treat your own family like strangers. If you really marry someone and forget where you came from, won’t that be the ultimate betrayal?”
Feng Qingsheng’s face flushed through a dozen shades. Feng Yu’s eyes—black and white, sharp—curved into a sly smile.
When dealing with a woman who played the innocent martyr, the best tactic was to be even more convincingly sanctimonious.
“You—” Feng Qingsheng’s composure faltered. With Mu Shiyan present she still tried to keep up the lady act, but it slipped. She cradled her stomach and put on an expression of bliss. “Never mind. I won’t quarrel with you. After all, I’m about to be a mother.” She turned to Mu Shiyan, gleeful. “Isn’t that right, Shiyan?”
Feng Yu’s gaze immediately darkened. “You’re pregnant?”
“Of course I am. Shiyan and I are getting married soon.” Feng Qingsheng preened, utterly pleased with herself. Her pregnancy, she believed, had secured Mu Shiyan’s promise to take responsibility. Tonight was the engagement announcement.
He Xinlan’s face beamed. “Yayin’s busy and can’t make the wedding plans, but she’ll be back for the ceremony. We’ll arrange something spectacular. Shiyan, don’t worry about publicity—Yayin brings her own crowd. Half the industry showing up wouldn’t surprise me. The family will look good.”
Mu Shiyan looked detached and gloomy. From the moment Feng Yu had crossed the threshold he’d kept his eyes on her, as if monitoring a remnant of a storm.
Feng Qingsheng, jealous and smug, surged forward and squeezed into the space near him, forcing a bright smile. “Shiyan—do you like that?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Mu Shiyan said coldly.
Feng Haitan, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat. “Since we’re all here, let’s settle this. The date will be the fifteenth of next month. Now that that’s decided, let’s eat.”
An alliance between the Fengs and the Mus was all upside for him. He had every reason to be pleased.
Feng Yu raised a brow. Only a few weeks and this mother and daughter duo were already frantic with anticipation.
“Feng Yu,” Feng Qingsheng pushed, refusing to let her off the hook, “you have nothing to say? No congratulations for our engagement?”
What infuriated her most was that Feng Yu hadn’t fallen apart, hadn’t given the outrage and drama Feng Qingsheng expected. The flat calm enraged her more than any outburst could have.
Feng Yu swirled her drink, then looked up at her with a faint, mocking smile. “Last time you two were going to get engaged, something happened—because of me—and it ruined the announcement. Sorry about that. Don’t worry. When you finally have the wedding you’re hoping for, I’ll give you a suitably appropriate gift.”
The words hit like a slap. Feng Qingsheng’s face contorted green with fury. The memory of being upstaged and made a laughingstock still stung. This time she’d planned to secure everything—no interruptions, no embarrassing scandals. She wasn’t going to wait an instant longer to tie Mu Shiyan down.
Feng Yu’s smile never wavered. If they wanted spectacle and control, she could play along—on her own terms.