Chapter 43: Like.

Chapter 42: To Like. ¶ The pigments used for body painting wash off very easily. ¶ Wen Yicong stood beneath the showerhead, letting the warm water cascade over her body.

Steam rose and gathered on the bathroom's glass door, forming a hazy veil. ¶ She half-closed her eyes, feeling the vivid colors on her back peel away bit by bit, dissolving into streams of every hue that traced the slender curves of her waist and spine before pooling on the tiles in a tangled, suggestive blur. ¶ Much like her thoughts at this moment—chaotic, knotted. ¶ For more than twenty years, Wen Yicong had been dutiful and conservative in her thinking, never once crossing any line with a man. ¶ But since meeting that man, every rule, every principle she had, had been shattered, one by one. ¶ Reason told her to keep her distance.

She ought to be afraid, ought to resist, ought to stay clear-headed. ¶ Yet the pigments flowed away, while the marks Mo Shaoshang had left on her heart could not be washed off. ¶ Out of nowhere, that low, hoarse voice sounded again in her ear. ¶ Mellow, stirring Italian, laced with a feverish, almost pathological undertone, like the cold, venomous flick of a serpent's tongue brushing a shallow kiss along her ear: ¶ 'Guarda, tesoro mio.

Sei una cattivella, ti piace da morire, vero?' ¶ Look, my treasure. ¶ You're a naughty girl.

You love this kind of thing to death, don't you? ¶ Wen Yicong's eyes flew open, her lashes trembling faintly as droplets struck them. ¶ Through the swirling steam, she glimpsed her own blurred outline in the mirror. ¶ Without meaning to, she recalled the shivers his brush had drawn across her skin. ¶ And the soft, reverent kisses he had pressed along her spine... ¶ An especially bold, especially absurd thought rose slowly from the depths of her heart. ¶ Perhaps Mo Shaoshang was right. ¶ She was a naughty girl. ¶ That man had planted a curse in her, poisoned her, opened a window for her onto Eden. ¶ She liked his paintings, liked his kisses, liked every sensation he brought her. ¶ Liked the way he dragged her into that bottomless blue, let her sink, let her lose herself, let her become a stranger even to herself. ¶ And liked... ¶ Him. ¶ --- ¶ The night was thick as ink. ¶ A silver-gray Bugatti Veyron streaked along an empty stretch of road, its engine shattering the countryside quiet and startling a few crows from their roosts in the branches. ¶ A moment later, the Bugatti Veyron pulled up before a factory that had been abandoned for years. ¶ The engine cut.

A door opened. ¶ A tall figure stepped out from the driver's side. ¶ Then, with a soft thud, the man swung the door shut behind him. ¶ He surveyed his surroundings—desolate, bleak.

Wild grass shivered in the night wind, dead branches clawed at the air like specters, and only a few thin shafts of moonlight managed to pierce the black clouds, casting a faint, lonely chill over the entire factory compound. ¶ Suddenly a gust of wind swept through, stirring the loose strands of hair across Pei Xizhou's forehead. ¶ He was still in the same attire he'd worn at dinner with Wen Yicong—a pale gray cashmere overcoat over a white shirt—his whole bearing refined and elegant, as though he'd just stepped out of some academic salon, utterly out of place amid the desolation. ¶ Yet on that handsome face, the usual warmth and ease was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a cold, still calm. ¶ Pei Xizhou stepped forward and walked into the factory. ¶ The door groaned behind him, a sound like a wail. ¶ Inside, the factory was pitch-black; in a space that had been without power for years, only a few thin shafts of light filtered in through the broken windowpanes.

Two dark figures stood by the window smoking, the ember tips glowing and fading in the dark. ¶ At the sound of footsteps, both men immediately crushed out their cigarettes, rose, and arranged expressions of respect on their faces. ¶ 'Young master.' ¶ 'Young master.' ¶ Their voices were neither loud nor soft, and their echoes rolled through the empty factory. ¶ Pei Xizhou gave a slight nod, a trace of deference to elders in his eyes, his tone mild: 'Uncle Han, Uncle Sun.

Sorry to keep you waiting.' ¶ The two men addressed as 'Uncle Han' and 'Uncle Sun' were, in full, Han Minshan and Sun Dafu. ¶ Han Minshan was tall and thin, just past fifty, wearing rimless glasses, refined and scholarly, looking at first glance like some university professor.

He wore a dark jacket, stood ramrod straight, and even in the abandoned factory carried the habitual reserve of a man accustomed to power. ¶ Sun Dafu, beside him, was noticeably a few years younger, of medium build, his dyed-black hair hidden beneath a baseball cap.

Beneath the brim, a pair of glittering eyes; his lips curved in a smile, but the smile never quite reached his eyes—there was always a foxlike cunning in it, the creases at the corners deepening with each grin, a perfect old fox. ¶ 'Not at all, young master.

We two old things just got here ourselves.' Sun Dafu replied with a smile, warmth in his voice.

He paused, his gaze falling on the kraft envelope in Pei Xizhou's hand, a tentative note in his tone: 'By the way, young master, you said you had something important to give us.

What is it?' ¶ Pei Xizhou said nothing, casually handing the envelope over. ¶ Sun Dafu took it, broke the seal, and drew out a thick stack of documents inside.

The light inside the factory was too dim; he instinctively turned sideways, borrowing the thin ray leaking through the broken window, squinting as he scanned the pages. ¶ Less than half a minute later. ¶ Then his fingers tightened.

He jerked his head up to look at Pei Xizhou, alarm and suspicion mingling in his eyes.

'Young master, this is...' ¶ 'Let me see.' Han Minshan, seeing Sun Dafu's reaction, frowned and reached out to take the documents. ¶ Han Minshan pushed his glasses up, borrowed the half-ray of light from the broken window, and skimmed through the dense rows of data and clauses at speed. ¶ After reading, Han Minshan's face, too, underwent a sudden change. ¶ He looked toward Pei Xizhou, a clear hesitation in his voice: 'Young master, are you intending to...?' ¶ Pei Xizhou gave no answer, made no move, only regarded the two men in calm silence, his elegant, handsome face sheathed in frost, not a trace of warmth in his eyes. ¶ After several seconds, he spoke, his voice very soft, every word perfectly distinct: 'At an opportune moment, introduce this private credit fund project to the Mo Group's Investment Department.

I'm sorry to trouble you, uncles.' ¶ '...' ¶ Han Minshan, shrewd as he was, understood Pei Xizhou's intent almost instantly.

He glanced down at the documents in his hand again, then frowned and stepped closer to Pei Xizhou. ¶ 'Young master,' he said, voice low, a complex heaviness between his brows, 'are you truly set on making this move?' ¶ Pei Xizhou's back was straight; his gaze met Han Minshan's scrutiny, and the corner of his mouth slowly curved into an arc. ¶ The smile was faint, even gentle, and yet somehow, when that gentle, faint smile fell into the bleak night and met Han Minshan's eyes, it sent a chill down the spine of this seasoned middle-aged man. ¶ 'Uncle Han,' Pei Xizhou spoke again, his tone unhurried, as casual as if he were pricing a wildflower, 'I've thought about it for a long time, and I've finally figured something out.' ¶ He paused, then continued: 'Actually, making the Mo Group collapse overnight isn't as hard as we thought.

It might even be said to be very simple.' ¶ Han Minshan and Sun Dafu exchanged a glance, both faces complicated, neither speaking. ¶ Pei Xizhou went on, his voice growing softer, and cooler: 'It only takes three steps.

First, drain the Mo Group's cash flow.

Second, ignite a public opinion crisis and destroy the Mo Group's reputation.

Third, have all the raw material suppliers terminate their supply contracts on the grounds of fearing the conglomerate will implode and be unable to pay.' ¶ At this, he suddenly turned to look at the two men, a strange light flickering in his eyes—glinting, burning—the hatred suppressed for years had finally found an outlet. ¶ 'Do you believe it,' he said, his voice trembling slightly, his whole being in an abnormal state of exhilaration, 'with this combination punch, three prongs at once, the Mo Family's commercial empire will, on paper and in public opinion—boom! go bankrupt overnight.' ¶ When the words fell, the factory sank into a deathly silence. ¶ Night wind poured in through the broken window, rustling a few dead leaves across the floor. ¶ After a long while. ¶ Han Minshan finally spoke, his expression complicated: 'Young master, we understand your plan now, and indeed... it's seamless.' ¶ He sighed lightly: 'But, if I may speak frankly, you've underestimated the Mo Group.' ¶ 'All these years, Old Sun and I have worked inside the Mo Group; we know very well the influence Mo capital has on global financial markets.

For an investment project of this scale, the Mo Group's review is extremely strict.

It has to pass risk control and compliance before it can reach the decision-makers.' He gripped the documents in his hand, stepped closer to Pei Xizhou, his tone earnest: 'Young master, this is no small matter.

You must think it over carefully.

Once word leaks and that man learns of your plan, the consequences will be unthinkable.' ¶ Pei Xizhou listened, and the arc at the corner of his mouth deepened rather than faded. ¶ He raised a hand and lightly gripped Han Minshan's shoulder, the gesture natural and intimate. ¶ 'Uncle Han.' ¶ Pei Xizhou looked straight at him, his voice warm: 'Of course I know it won't be easy to make Mo Shaoshang stumble.' ¶ His smile deepened; he patted Han Minshan's shoulder twice, leaned his face closer, and said softly: 'But my dear Uncle Han, isn't that why we still have you and Uncle Sun?' ¶ Han Minshan's eyes shifted. ¶ 'Uncle Han, Uncle Sun,' Pei Xizhou withdrew his hand, his gaze passing over both their faces, a note of wistful hoarseness entering his voice, 'you are the elders who watched me grow up.' ¶ 'My parents passed early.

All these years, without your and Uncle Sun's care, there would be no me today.' As he spoke, Pei Xizhou brushed some dust from Han Minshan's shoulder, his movements gentle, his tone soft, his gaze sincere to the point of devotion: 'In my heart, I've always looked upon you as fathers.' ¶ Han Minshan, hearing these words, was deeply shaken. ¶ 'Young master...' When he spoke again, this middle-aged man's voice already carried a tremor, his throat parched: 'Back then, Old Sun and I followed your parents to build their empire.

The grace they showed us, we could never repay in a lifetime.

You're being far too kind.' ¶ Pei Xizhou shook his head. ¶ 'Uncle Han, what my parents wanted was not your gratitude.' His voice grew heavier: 'Every night I dream of them.

They say—' ¶ The next instant, hatred flared in Pei Xizhou's eyes, each word ground out between his teeth: 'A-Zhou, don't let anyone from the Mo Family go.' ¶ Han Minshan was pinned to the spot by that gaze, unable to utter a word. ¶ The factory was deathly still. ¶ Only the night wind howled and shrieked, battering the broken windows. ¶ Just then, Sun Dafu, who had been silent for some time, suddenly spoke. ¶ 'The young master is right.' His voice was hoarse and low, full of the ruthlessness of a man burning his bridges: 'I'll do it.' ¶ Han Minshan turned sharply toward him: 'Old Sun...' ¶ Sun Dafu did not meet Han Minshan's eyes.

He looked at Pei Xizhou, hatred and guilt churning and surging in his gaze, along with something more complex—an almost redemptive resolve. ¶ Seeing this, Han Minshan tightened his grip on the documents, a flicker of reluctance in his eyes, and said: 'Old Sun, after the Pei Clan fell, it was Old Master Mo who took in the young master, who took in us two stray dogs.

What we're doing now is the same as condemning the entire Mo Family to ruin.' ¶ At this, Sun Dafu suddenly laughed.

The laughter was low and heavy, eerily threaded with an inexpressible bleakness. ¶ 'Back then, the Mo Group, for its own selfish interests, caused President Pei and his wife to...' He laughed until he had enough, drew a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice carried a vicious killing intent: 'Even if they truly are ruined beyond redemption, it's the retribution they deserve.' ¶ 'Young master, you're right.

We must bring down the Mo Group, make the Mo Family pay blood for blood.' ¶ Pei Xizhou smiled faintly: 'Uncle Sun, thank you.' ¶ Sun Dafu pledged in a heavy voice: 'Young master, rest assured, I will give it everything I have.' ¶ Having spoken, both turned to look sidelong at Han Minshan. ¶ Han Minshan stood before the broken window, moonlight stretching his shadow into a twisted, elongated shape.

He fell into a long silence, so long that only the wind remained in the factory. ¶ Finally. ¶ Han Minshan closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. ¶ When he opened them again, that trace of reluctance had faded, leaving only a heavy, resolute stillness. ¶ 'Alright,' he said, his voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible, 'I will... give it everything I have too.' ¶ A look of satisfaction appeared in Pei Xizhou's eyes. ¶ He curved his lips, and in the blink of an eye his whole bearing returned to its usual refined, gentle manner, as if the man brimming with hatred moments ago had been nothing but a midnight illusion. ¶ 'Thank you, uncles,' he said with a smile, his tone modest and sincere. ¶ Han Minshan looked at Pei Xizhou, his heart a tangle of emotions. ¶ After a moment, he glanced down at the documents in his hand again, as if remembering something, and his brow knit slightly. ¶ 'Young master, although we will all do our best to push this through, you know the people at the Mo Group are no fools.

Once any problem is discovered in the review process...' ¶ Han Minshan did not finish the sentence. ¶ Pei Xizhou, however, was not at all concerned: 'Uncle Han, you're worrying too much.

The Italians have always been reliable; the data they provide is, of course, impeccable.

A receivables factoring business tied to a highly-rated giant like this—low risk, generous returns—no capitalist would pass up meat already at his lips.' ¶ At this, he paused a beat, his gaze sweeping over Han Minshan and Sun Dafu, his brow arching meaningfully: 'Besides, isn't there still you and Uncle Sun for the review stage?' ¶ The two middle-aged executives fell silent. ¶ Not long after, Sun Dafu put the documents back into the envelope and nodded solemnly: 'Rest assured, young master.

Leave it to us.' ¶ Pei Xizhou gave a slight nod: 'Thank you for your trouble.' ¶ With everything that needed to be said said, Pei Xizhou turned and walked toward the factory door. ¶ When he reached the door, he suddenly stopped. ¶ 'Uncle Han, Uncle Sun.' ¶ The young man's gentle voice came from the darkness, calm as a stagnant pool, chilling to the bone: 'I've waited for this day a long time.

Don't disappoint me.' ¶ Han Minshan and Sun Dafu lowered their eyes and heads, silent. ¶ Pei Xizhou stepped forward, walking into the night without looking back. ¶ The Bugatti Veyron's engine roared to life, and soon disappeared at the end of the desolate road. ¶ Inside the factory, Han Minshan and Sun Dafu stood shoulder to shoulder in the cold moonlight, watching the retreating headlights with grave expressions, silent for a long time. ¶ --- ¶ The next day. ¶ Morning sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows into the playroom, dyeing the wooden floor a pale gold and filling the room with warmth. ¶ Wen Yicong was giving Airi his lesson as usual. ¶ This morning was floor-time; she sat cross-legged on the carpet, patiently guiding Airi through the interaction. ¶ The little boy was in very good form today, occasionally meeting her eyes of his own accord, even reaching out to lightly touch the toy in her hand. ¶ Wen Yicong praised him with a smile, but somewhere in her heart there was an indescribable absentness. ¶ From time to time, while guiding Airi, her gaze would stray, unconsciously, toward the doorway. ¶ Since last night, Mo Shaoshang had not appeared again. ¶ That morning, Heng Shu had said the employer had gone out early, seemingly on some urgent business... ¶ Honestly. ¶ The employer had no obligation to report his whereabouts to his therapist—what was she moping about? ¶ Wen Yicong turned it over in her mind, shook her head, cast all her tangled thoughts to the winds, and went back to focusing on Airi's lesson. ¶ --- ¶ Principal Zhang Yao was astonishingly efficient. ¶ After Mo Shaoshang agreed to let Airi join the social skills class, Wen Yicong passed the good news along to Zhang Yao, who quickly rounded up several ASD children in similar circumstances and set up a social platform. ¶ That afternoon, Wen Yicong, together with the live-in nanny, took Airi to the Star Bridge Children's Rehabilitation Center. ¶ In the sensory-integration room at the center, there were three other autistic children of about Airi's age. ¶ Wen Yicong, together with another special-education teacher, guided the children through some simple interactive games. ¶ Since returning to China from Italy, this was the first time Airi had left Mo Manor. ¶ In the unfamiliar environment, little Airi was visibly tense, clutching a round wooden block and refusing to let go.

Wen Yicong, heart aching with tenderness, sat beside him, held his small, delicate hand, and kept him company as they watched the other children play. ¶ As time went on, Airi's body was no longer stiff as stone; he gradually relaxed. ¶ Just then, one of the children rolled a small ball to Airi's feet. ¶ Airi noticed the ball, his clear, bewildered blue eyes blinked, and then he actually bent down, reached out, gently touched the ball, and pushed it back. ¶ Seeing this, Wen Yicong froze for a moment. ¶ Then her eyes grew hot, an impulse to cry welling up in her. ¶ After class, she carefully wrote down the day's observations and progress in her notebook: ¶ In today's social skills class, Airi showed visual attention toward his peers for the first time.

Notably, Airi still maintains a clear avoidance tendency toward blue objects. ¶ In contrast, his guardian seems to harbor a markedly different obsession with blue, even displaying an almost infatuated visual preference. ¶ This makes me wonder: is Airi's avoidance of blue a simple sensory rejection, or an unconscious response to environmental cues around him? ¶ Mo Manor, like its master, seems to hold many secrets. ¶ --- ¶ At dusk, the sun setting behind the hills, Wen Yicong brought Airi back to the Manor House. ¶ After seeing the little one through dinner and playing a while with the puzzles he liked, the live-in nanny appeared again, ready to take Airi to wash up and rest. ¶ 'Airi, good night.' Wen Yicong paused, met the boy's eyes at his level, waved, her smile sweet and bright: 'Good night!' ¶ Airi's gaze swept quickly over the pretty, gentle face before him; a moment later, he too raised a small hand and gave an awkward wave. ¶ A warm, soft layer seemed to gently wrap Wen Yicong's heart. ¶ She reached out and patted Airi's little head, then stood, watching the nanny take Airi by the hand and disappear around the staircase. ¶ With the day's work done, Wen Yicong let out a long breath. ¶ So tired. ¶ But also fulfilling, and happy. ¶ In a good mood, she stretched her neck and arched her back, planning to go back to her room, soak in a hot bath, and sleep comfortably through till broad daylight. ¶ But the moment she turned, something suddenly tightened around her wrist. ¶ Wen Yicong started, eyes wide as she turned her head. ¶ Abrupt, yet as if fated, Mo Shaoshang had appeared behind her at some unknown moment. ¶ The man wore an all-black suit, crisp as if drawn with a ruler, travel-worn, as though he had just hurried back from somewhere.

His shirt collar was slightly open, revealing the sharp, defined line of his collarbone, and a thin sheen of sweat covered his broad forehead. ¶ Under the dim, murky light of the corridor, those blue-black eyes watched her through his lenses, deep and brooding. ¶ Wen Yicong's heart skipped a beat. ¶ 'Mr.

Mo, you...' ¶ Before she could finish, the man slightly raised a hand, his forefinger lightly touching her pink, soft lips. ¶ The long, slender fingerbone was cool, hard, and strong, carrying a faint, elusive cold fragrance—like winter mist, or cedar. ¶ 'Shh.' He looked at her, his voice low and heavy: 'Come with me.' ¶ Wen Yicong was stunned, her lips moving several times, but before she could utter a single word, the man had, without ceremony, taken her hand and was leading her out of the villa. ¶ The large hand gripping her wrist was immensely strong, tight enough that she could not break free. ¶ Or rather, Wen Yicong did not want to break free. ¶ The night breeze was cool, stirring her hair. ¶ The moon in the sky curved its eyes in a smile, then quietly hid behind the thick clouds; the moonlight was completely blocked, and everywhere she looked, the world was left with nothing but a thick, ink-like blackness. ¶ Mo Shaoshang led Wen Yicong, through the Manor's little paths, across a vast lawn, farther and farther, until they reached an open space at the edge of the Manor House. ¶ They stopped. ¶ All around was a heavy darkness, no lamps, no moon; only the windows of the distant main house gave out a few scattered points of light. ¶ Wen Yicong looked around in confusion, not knowing what the man wanted to do, nor why he had brought her here. ¶ In such a dark, deserted place, surely he didn't intend to, here, with her... ¶ A guess leapt into her mind, and the tips of Wen Yicong's ears instantly burned. ¶ Her lips moved for an instant, just as she was about to ask something—bang! ¶ A muffled explosion burst overhead. ¶ Wen Yicong gave a great start, instinctively covering her ears and raising her eyes. ¶ The next instant, her dark, bright pupils contracted sharply. ¶ In the pitch-black night sky, an enormous firework burst into magnificent bloom. ¶ Wen Yicong's eyes went wide. ¶ That giant firework was a portrait. ¶ A young woman's face. ¶ Curved brows and eyes, the corners of her lips slightly raised—the girl's smiling face.

Golden light traced the outline of her cheeks, crimson firelight bloomed into the blush on her face, and the portrait-firework burst wantonly across the night sky, gorgeous and dazzling, breathtakingly beautiful. ¶ This was... ¶ Her, as drawn by Mo Shaoshang? ¶ In the few seconds Wen Yicong stood stunned and lost, 'bang bang bang'—more fireworks bloomed like a thousand flowers, lighting up the boundless night. ¶ One after another, all of them were her. ¶ There was her downcast profile, her startled wide-eyed look, her laughing crescent-moon eyes, her faintly frowning, lower-lip-biting expression... ¶ Vivid, lifelike, every burst different. ¶ Every burst was her. ¶ The fireworks lit up the entire sky—gold, crimson, silver-white, a kaleidoscopic cascade of light that shattered the night into shards of black crystal, transforming into a skyful of brilliance. ¶ Wen Yicong stood dumbfounded under the night sky, watching the countless portrait-fireworks burst and burn across the darkness, illuminating the whole heavens, then slowly fade. ¶ She raised a hand and gently covered her lips. ¶ At the same time, as the fireworks flared, she finally saw the scene around her. ¶ They stood in a sea of roses. ¶ Roses of many colors, lush and bewitching, like a painting by nature itself, everywhere, as far as the eye could see, stretching into the depths of the night.

The night wind passed, the waves of flowers rose and fell, the rich fragrance rushing at her, almost making her dizzy. ¶ Fire trees and silver flowers, crimson roses. ¶ The whole night was dreamlike and intoxicating. ¶ Wen Yicong was as if under a freezing spell, pinned to the spot, unable to move.

She forgot to speak, forgot to blink, even forgot to breathe. ¶ Just then, a voice sounded behind her, calm and light, casual. ¶ 'These fireworks were custom-made for you.' ¶ 'Every burst of light, every bloom, I personally decided—even the rhythm of their flickering was tuned to the frequency of your breathing.' ¶ '...' Her heart and soul in tumult, Wen Yicong's eyes unexpectedly grew moist.

Her lashes trembled a few times, and she slowly turned around. ¶ Far, yet near, the gentleman in his crisp suit stood in composed elegance, his blue-black eyes as if having drawn in the vast Milky Way, fixing their gaze on her. ¶ 'Last night, when I learned you had a date with Pei Xizhou, I was in a bad mood and frightened you.

I want to offer you my sincere apology.' He continued, his tone as usual, betraying no extra emotion: 'You don't like diamonds, don't like jade—seemingly have no interest in jewelry.' ¶ 'I thought, a girl so beautiful and gentle might prefer flowers.' ¶ ----------------------- ¶ Author's note: Mo Mo: Flowers for wifey—roses, fireworks, and this little (sickly) delicate flower of mine. ¶ ———— ¶ Random 100 red packet~