Chapter 31: "Wen Yinong, My..."

Wen Yinong never expected Mo Shao-shang to say something like that.

I kissed it quite hard.

H-how could he say such shameless words with a straight face?

For a moment, Wen Yinong's mind buzzed, as if she could see this employer's image in her heart—that of a cold, untouchable moon on a lofty peak—beginning to totter.

Shocked and flustered, Wen Yinong stood rooted in place, not moving, not answering.

Across from her.

Seeing her silence, Mo Shao-shang didn't press. He still leaned against the cabin wall, his gaze fixed directly on her.

Two gazes collided and interlocked in midair.

In the narrow corridor, the air seemed saturated with the man's presence, turning thick and oppressive.

Less than half a meter apart, she could clearly see the blue-black depths of the sea in his eyes, and beneath the calm surface, an unmistakable focus and possessiveness surging.

Enveloped in such a gaze, she involuntarily heard again in her ears that concern so blunt it bordered on intimacy...

Less than two seconds into their eye contact, Wen Yinong felt a tickling sensation at the roots of her ears, as if brushed by a kitten's tail. A numbness swept over her, her heart skipped several beats, and her breathing fell into disarray.

She lowered her lashes, her fingertips unconsciously gripping the tassels of her shawl.

The heart in her chest pounded like a drum. After a moment, Wen Yinong secretly took two deep breaths, finally managing to suppress a fraction of her panic, and forced herself to speak, answering vaguely, "It does hurt a little... but it's okay."

Hearing this, Mo Shao-shang's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. He took a step forward, his cold, crisp scent instantly invading her nose: "Let me see."

"No need..."

Wen Yinong retreated almost instinctively, flustered, wrapping herself more tightly in the cashmere shawl.

Beneath the shawl, the skin of her collarbone where he'd kissed her still burned faintly, repeatedly reminding her of that recent, out-of-control intimacy.

Mo Shao-shang's blue-black eyes never wavered from her. Beneath his calm tone flowed a concern that made her flustered: "There's my private doctor on the plane. If the pain doesn't ease, I can call him to take a look."

At those words, Wen Yinong nearly choked and coughed out loud.

Call a doctor to treat hickeys?

Only someone this shameless could propose something so absurd.

She ranted inwardly while shaking her head like a rattle drum, refusing incoherently: "No, really, no need... I appreciate your kindness, though."

The young rehabilitation therapist's panic was plain for all to see—her eyes darted about, and even her delicate ear tips flushed crimson.

Mo Shao-shang stared at her fixedly, one brow arching slightly, saying nothing.

Wen Yinong bit her lip lightly.

She wanted to just leave, but the plane's corridor was narrow to begin with, and Mo Shao-shang blocked the only path to the cabin. His tall, upright figure was like a spruce growing in some frigid land, squeezing out nearly all the space.

She was trapped, unable to escape.

Like a pitiful little insect, bound and entangled in an invisible spiderweb.

The surrounding air grew ever more delicate, ever thinner.

Abruptly—and luckily—a light set of footsteps approached from afar, breaking the taut silence of the corridor.

It was the chief flight attendant, walking slowly down from the end of the passage.

The plane had begun its descent, and Marry had come for the routine landing reminders.

Drawing near and seeing Mo Shao-shang and Wen Yinong, Marry clearly paused, her steps faltering for a moment. But the surprise lasted only an instant; understanding quickly surfaced in her eyes, and her face resumed its usual gentle, deferential expression.

Marry said nothing more, merely lowering her eyes appropriately and smiling: "Sir, Miss Wen, the plane is about to begin its descent. For your safety, please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts."

Marry's arrival broke the deadlock.

The frozen air began to flow again. Wen Yinong quietly exhaled, forced herself to ignore that scorching gaze clinging to her, squeezed out a smile, and replied to Marry: "Alright."

With that, she casually smoothed her hair, adjusted her shawl, steeled herself, and brushed past Mo Shao-shang, returning to the lounge area.

The soft music playing in the cabin had long since changed tracks, gentle and soothing.

Wen Yinong's cheeks were warm, and her heart still disobediently pounded, refusing to be calmed by the music. She sat back in the leather seat and was just about to flip through a magazine to distract herself when the seat beside her dipped slightly.

At the same time, that familiar frost-pine scent swept over her.

Someone had sat down beside her.

Wen Yinong's body stiffened. Then she held her breath, deliberately not looking, not listening, not paying attention, and lowered her head to fasten her seatbelt.

Yet even with silence at her side, his presence and pressure remained too intense to ignore.

Thread by thread, it eroded her nerves.

The seatbelt's metal buckle was cold and slick, continually slipping in her fingertips.

Wen Yinong tried again and again, but the slot seemed to be working against her—it slipped free several times, refusing to click in.

And the more anxious one gets, the less obedient one's fingers become.

Seeing the plane already descending while her seatbelt still wasn't fastened, Wen Yinong grew even more flustered, a thin sheen of sweat beading on her forehead.

Just then, the shadow beside her suddenly drew closer.

Wen Yinong's gaze flickered. Before she could react, that crisp scent—like cedar over an icy sea—had enveloped her completely.

Mo Shao-shang leaned in, his arm reaching lightly across her front, taking the uncooperative metal buckle from her hand.

In that brief instant, those long fingers grazed the back of her hand, almost imperceptibly, sending a shiver through her.

Wen Yinong's heart trembled, and she instinctively lifted her lashes.

He was very close—close enough that she could see the thick lashes behind his lenses and the faint shadows they cast on his face, close enough that his warm breath brushed gently past her ear, and the stiff fabric of his suit rubbed against the bare skin of her arm.

The whole process lasted only a few seconds, yet it stretched as long as centuries.

"Click." The seatbelt slid securely into its slot.

Mo Shao-shang unhurriedly sat back upright, yet his gaze remained fixed straight on her, his eyes unfathomably deep.

The heart-pounding proximity was finally broken. Wen Yinong felt as if granted amnesty, and only after a good while did she manage, very softly: "Thank you."

Hearing this, the corner of Mo Shao-shang's mouth curled into a faint, careless arc: "You're welcome."

*

About half an hour later, the flight came to an end.

The "Cloud Eagle" business jet landed smoothly on the runway of Nanjin International Airport.

The cabin door opened, and the evening breeze brushed against their faces, carrying the humid, slightly cool air unique to a coastal city, dispersing the sultry, ambiguous atmosphere inside the cabin.

On the open ground beside the tarmac, a black Rolls-Royce Ghost had been waiting for some time, its body gleaming like a mirror, reflecting the airport's bright lights.

Lin Ke had already gone ahead to make a brief handover with the ground staff.

Wen Yinong followed Mo Shao-shang down the airstairs. The cool night breeze cleared her head considerably. She shook her head, temporarily suppressing the surging ripples in her heart, and got into the car.

The interior was suffused with the mingled scent of top-grade leather and faint cigar—spacious, quiet, cut off from the world.

Once Lin Ke had also gotten in, the driver started the engine.

The car slowly pulled away from the airport, swallowed in the blink of an eye by the dense night.

It was quiet inside the car. For a long while, no one spoke.

Wen Yinong quietly glanced sideways at the man beside her.

At some point, a document had appeared in Mo Shao-shang's hands. He was reviewing it with lowered eyes and an expressionless face, looking every bit the overworked executive who had no intention of speaking to her.

Wen Yinong couldn't have asked for more.

She secretly exhaled, then turned her head to admire the unfamiliar scenery outside the window.

The international airport had been built in the suburbs of Nanjin. The city's greenery was evidently excellent—even at night, the deep outlines of large swaths of green space were faintly visible. Scattered garden-style villa clusters twinkled with sparse lights, nestled among lush trees, and now and then an artificial lake glimmered with fine silver light under the moon.

As the car entered the city proper, the scenery gradually shifted: skyscrapers rose from the ground, glass curtain walls becoming waterfalls of light, streaming with colorful neon. The streets were clean and broad, traffic flowing like water, and the windows of luxury flagship stores shone brightly, like exquisite amber display cases.

This was Nanjin.

One of the most prosperous international metropolises in the country—a byword for extravagance.

Wen Yinong was gazing absently at this sea of dazzling light when her eyes were suddenly captured by a building in the distance.

It was a skyscraper rising straight from the ground—not of traditional rectangular form, but spiraling upward in streamlined curves, like a frozen silver storm, brimming with futurism and sci-fi flair. The building's facade didn't seem to be ordinary glass either; its lighting effects shifted continuously, now soft as rippling water, now dazzling as the aurora.

Among the many brightly lit towers, it was like a breathing work of art—gorgeous, grand, and so unique one couldn't look away.

Wen Yinong was captivated by this magnificent, design-rich building. She quickly pulled her phone from her bag, aimed it out the window, adjusted the angle, and pressed the shutter.

Looking at the frozen image on her screen, she couldn't help but exclaim: "That building is so beautiful. The design looks really special."

In the front passenger seat.

Hearing this, Lin Ke turned his head, following Wen Yinong's line of sight, then smiled: "Miss Wen has good taste. That's the Mo Corporation's Nanjin branch building."

"Mo Corporation branch?" Wen Yinong blinked, not processing it. "Which Mo Corporation?"

At that, Lin Ke laughed softly and answered gently: "There are many people surnamed Mo in the world, but there is only one 'Mo family.'" Here, Lin Ke paused, looking at that radiant, light-streaked building, and switched to a simpler explanation. "To put it plainly, the building you find so beautiful is Mr. Mo's property."

Wen Yinong was astonished: "Really?"

"Of course it's true." Lin Ke's tone was certain and steady. "When the Nanjin branch building was being constructed, the boss not only personally decided the site and the investment, but also participated deeply in the conceptual design. The spiral structure, the intelligent light-and-shadow curtain wall—these initial concepts were all proposed by him. After its completion, the building even won the 'International Golden Ring Award for Future Architecture and Sustainable Design.'"

Wen Yinong was dumbfounded, then turned once more to gaze at that gorgeous structure towering against the night.

She knew her employer came from an illustrious background, could paint, could pan-sear steak, could brew wine—he had quite a few talents—but business magnate and architectural design...

That跨度 was simply too vast, utterly beyond her imagination.

A mix of awe and admiration welled up in her heart. Almost unconsciously, Wen Yinong blurted out, murmuring to herself: "He's good at everything. So impressive."

The moment the words fell, the quiet of the car was broken by a low voice.

That voice said, light as a breeze: "Thank you for the compliment, Teacher Wen."

"..." Wen Yinong snapped back to herself.

Realizing her praise had been overheard by the very person concerned, her cheeks burned faintly. She coughed lightly in embarrassment, then turned her head back to the window and said no more.

At that moment, the building happened to shift its light display, an abstract giant eagle appearing on the intelligent curtain wall.

It perched high above, overlooking the prosperity of the entire city of Nanjin, silently proclaiming the influence of this vast commercial empire.

The dazzling nightscape continued to streak backward past the window.

Thinking of something, Wen Yinong quietly glanced sideways again at the man beside her.

Mo Shao-shang's attention had returned to the document in his hands. The chain of his gold-rimmed glasses dangled against his cheek. His whole person was handsome, distinguished, composed—yet revealing a trace of barely perceptible weariness.

Actually, he wasn't many years older than her. Still so young.

To helm such a huge commercial empire at so young an age—it must be hard, right? Plus, Auntie Zhang had said that Mo Shao-shang suffered from chronic headaches and poor sleep quality...

Wen Yinong furrowed her brow slightly.

Somewhere in her chest quietly softened; a strange, almost tender pang gently swept across the lake of her heart.

*

Before long, the car slowed, approaching the entrance of a top-tier hotel in the city center.

The hotel building was magnificent, classical and modern styles cleverly fused. Huge crystal chandeliers lit the portico bright as day. Steps laid with deep-red carpet extended into the revolving glass doors, and doormen in crisp uniforms waited on either side, composed and meticulous.

The Rolls-Royce came to a stop. Lin Ke got out first and pulled open the rear door, his demeanor deeply respectful.

A long, straight leg wrapped in tailored suit trousers stepped onto the spotless red carpet.

Mo Shao-shang alighted at his ease.

Standing beside the car, he didn't leave immediately. Instead, he bent slightly at the waist, extending his right hand toward the car's interior, palm up.

An exceptionally gentlemanly gesture—yet one that allowed no refusal.

Inside the car, Wen Yinong was lifting her skirt hem, about to step out, when she saw this scene and couldn't help but pause.

Beyond the window, the lights blazed, outlining the man's upright profile and extended hand. Such a gesture in public was very formal—and extremely conspicuous.

Wen Yinong hesitated at first, but quickly realized: this was the entrance to the auction venue, with people coming and going, countless gazes converging here.

She had come as Mo Shao-shang's companion; entrusted with a role, she ought to fulfill it. By any measure, she couldn't refuse such a gentlemanly, gracious invitation from her employer.

Thinking this, Wen Yinong secretly took a deep breath and steadied herself. Then she raised her hand and gently placed it into that long, strong palm.

The palm of this hand was warm and dry, yet its fingertips carried a trace of the night wind's coolness—a contradictory, peculiar sensation.

Wen Yinong's heart trembled slightly.

The next second, Mo Shao-shang's fingers closed, gripping her firmly, drawing her out of the car. He turned and, together with her side by side, stepped through the venue's grand doors.

*

The auction was held deep within the hotel, in a standalone Chinese-style courtyard building.

Passing through a moon gate and into a covered corridor, lantern light swayed over the bluestone path. The main hall was open and soaring, its four walls artfully divided by dark wooden lattices and plain silk screens, the screens painted with far-reaching ink landscapes and finely wrought flowers and birds.

The guests were uniformly well-dressed, their bearing refined and noble.

They sat in rosewood armchairs in twos and threes, exchanging soft pleasantries, while attendants in Chinese-style mandarin-collar uniforms moved soundlessly through the room bearing ebony trays with clear tea or porcelain wine cups.

From a beast-eared incense burner, pale smoke curled upward, and a subtle fragrance drifted. The atmosphere in the hall was truly elegant and weighty.

Suddenly, the ambiance, which had been flowing as placidly as a pond, hitched for a brief moment—as if an unseen stone had been cast into a lake, ripples spreading soundlessly.

For no apparent reason, as if drawn by some invisible gravity, the crowd either halted their conversations or lifted their eyes from the exhibition catalogs, all turning to look toward the entrance.

A matched pair of beauties appeared at the venue.

The girl was very young, no more than twenty-five or twenty-six, with clear, graceful features—radiant and alluring. A blue fishtail evening gown generously displayed her exquisite waist and hip curves, a cashmere shawl draped casually and effortlessly over her shoulders. She was beautiful beyond compare.

And the man beside the young woman wore an ink-black custom-tailored suit, his features sharply defined, his face handsome—his whole person like a moving masterpiece by a famous painter.

Standing beside the girl, his tall, upright figure cast a shadow, gently shrouding her within it. Without any word or gesture, merely by standing there, he was like a lone cliff peak, shielding her from all the prying gazes of the outside world.

The attention of everyone in the hall fell upon the two newcomers.

Low murmurs began to ripple.

Over here.

Feeling the dense gazes cast from every direction, Wen Yinong felt a little nervous. Her palms grew damp, and she instinctively wanted to withdraw her hand.

Yet the moment this thought surfaced, before she could act on it, Mo Shao-shang crushed it.

His fingers tightened, gripping her harder, and at the same time his slightly calloused fingertip gently stroked the back of her hand.

"Don't be afraid." Mo Shao-shang lowered his head close to her ear, speaking softly, in a volume only the two of them could hear. "Just follow me."

"..."

Wen Yinong froze for a beat, then lifted her eyes to look at him.

The man's expression was careless and unperturbed, unmoved by all winds. The surrounding clamor and gazes seemed to have nothing to do with him.

And it was in this moment that Wen Yinong inexplicably formed a feeling.

This, perhaps, was the world that truly belonged to Mo Shao-shang—a world full of scrutiny and calculation. A kingdom whose rules were set by him.

And tonight, he had brought her into the very center of this world, placing her beneath the eyes of everyone...

In the few seconds she drifted in thought, footsteps sounded from afar, calling Wen Yinong's attention back.

She focused her gaze.

A middle-aged man in a Mao suit was hurrying toward them, his face wreathed in an eager smile, followed by several younger men and women.

Reaching Mo Shao-shang, the middle-aged man inclined slightly at the waist and said beaming, "Mr. Mo graces us with his presence—forgive us for not greeting you from afar. We beg your pardon."

Mo Shao-shang's expression didn't change. He merely gave a slight nod in return: "President Li is too polite."

The middle-aged man addressed as President Li smiled even more broadly, his gaze then shifting to Wen Yinong at Mo Shao-shang's side.

Presumably finding the young woman beautiful yet unfamiliar, a flicker of curiosity and inquiry passed through President Li's eyes. After a moment's deliberation, he spoke again, smiling as he ventured tentatively: "And this young lady is...?"

Wen Yinong moved her lips, about to speak, when Mo Shao-shang's voice sounded first—instantly smashing all her thoughts into a blank white.

"This is Miss Wen Yinong," Mo Shao-shang said, his expression and tone perfectly calm, as if stating the most ordinary thing. "My girlfriend."

Author's Note: Momo: When you're out and about, your status is whatever you give yourself. Wife, kiss kiss.

Nongnong: ...

—

Random 100 red envelopes