Chapter Eleven So It Turns Out Mitsuba Was Him
After returning to his room, Zhao Qingwu made a phone call to someone, asking them to look into something for him. Perhaps the person on the other end asked when he needed the results. He replied, “As soon as possible,” then hung up and went to the bathroom.
By the time Mo Qinghan woke up, it was already afternoon. The nurse and doctor had come by several times to check on Mo Qingyu, who had reminded them to keep their voices down so as not to wake Mo Qinghan. He had heard her quietly crying under the covers the night before, and wanted her to sleep a little longer—at least in sleep, she was free from worry.
When Mo Qinghan got up, she tidied the books and other things in the hospital room, then told Mo Qingyu she was heading back to school. She had found a part-time job for the holidays and would be staying on campus, promising to visit him when she had time.
She had barely left the hospital when Zhao Qingwu, sitting in his car, honked the horn. Mo Qinghan glanced at him, but ignored him completely, as if he were invisible.
Zhao Qingwu grew irritated, got out of the car, and, gripping the door, shouted angrily, “Mo Qinghan, just try taking another step forward. The reason you won't acknowledge me is because you're afraid of upsetting your patron, isn't it?”
At his words, Mo Qinghan stopped in her tracks—not because she didn't want to keep walking, but because she was so startled that her legs went weak, and even her voice trembled. “Zhao Qingwu, don't talk nonsense!”
Zhao Qingwu said coldly, “You really won’t cry until you see the coffin, huh? Would I be saying this if I didn’t have proof?”
Sweat broke out on Mo Qinghan’s clenched fists as she forced herself to think calmly for a couple of seconds. Zhao Qingwu might suspect her of having an improper relationship with someone, but judging from his words, he didn’t know it was He Zheyu. That realization calmed her somewhat. She strode over to Zhao Qingwu’s car and, steadying her voice, said, “I want to see the evidence you’ve collected—what exactly proves I have a patron?”
Zhao Qingwu sneered, “Get in the car first.” With that, he climbed back inside.
Mo Qinghan got in, shut the door, and said, “Show me.”
Zhao Qingwu tossed a manila envelope onto her lap. Mo Qinghan opened it and saw densely packed information, tracking every detail of her life from the moment she was born. As she flipped through the documents, Zhao Qingwu smoked and said, “The so-called foundation you talk about might fool some naive kids, but your real patron is this person named Sanye, isn’t it?”
Hearing the name “Sanye,” Mo Qinghan’s hand froze mid-page. In disbelief, she asked, “Who did you say? Sanye?”
Seeing her confusion, Zhao Qingwu choked on his cigarette. After a moment, he replied, “What, you don’t even know your own patron’s—”
But Mo Qinghan was no longer listening. Her mind was blank. How could it be Sanye? In a flash, she understood why He Zheyu had never forced her when it came to intimacy between men and women. She had always wondered why, if He Zheyu bought her for her innocence, he never crossed the line unless she was willing. Now she saw—He Zheyu was Sanye; Sanye was He Zheyu.
Mo Qinghan threw the documents back at Zhao Qingwu. “I don’t understand why you’re investigating me. Is it just because your friend needs help from the foundation?”
“I’ve already made my intentions clear—I want you to be my woman. But you’re full of secrets—”
“So you investigate me and tear open wounds that had already scabbed over, making them bleed anew, never letting them heal. Is that it? How could Yuruo ever fall for a hypocrite like you?”
In fact, Zhao Qingwu’s original intention was to help Mo Qinghan break free from her patron, but hearing her words, the veins on his forehead bulged in anger, and he grinned wickedly. “Exactly! A hypocrite is the perfect match for a shadowy, sham wife like you. You already serve one patron; with me, you could earn even more. I guarantee I’m better in bed than your current patron.”
Mo Qinghan slapped him. “Scum!”
That word completely infuriated Zhao Qingwu. He shoved the passenger seat flat, and before Mo Qinghan could react, he was on top of her, pressing her down. He kissed her as she struggled and shouted, and when their lips met, Mo Qinghan bit him hard. Zhao Qingwu retaliated, and soon the taste of blood filled both their mouths. They remained locked in this struggle for a long moment. When Zhao Qingwu saw the tears at the corners of Mo Qinghan’s eyes, his heart softened. He sat back in his seat and wiped the blood from his lips with a tissue, while Mo Qinghan slowly sat up, wiped her own mouth, and said coldly, “If you think two lives mean nothing to you, go ahead and report me to the school. And I’m too filthy for your exalted self—don’t get involved with me again. Yes, I sell myself, but you can’t afford me.” With that, she got out of the car.
Zhao Qingwu hadn’t expected things to turn out this way. He slammed his fists twice into the steering wheel, then sat in the car, dazed, watching as Mo Qinghan hailed a taxi.
Inside the cab, Mo Qinghan told the driver, “To the airport.”
They drove for a while before the driver finally spoke. “Miss, looks like you’ve had a rough time. There are tissues in the back—wipe the blood from your face and mouth.”
Mo Qinghan ignored him, repeatedly dialing He Zheyu’s number, but no one answered. She tried Han Mo next, but again, there was no answer.
Seeing she didn’t respond, the driver fell silent.
Once out of the taxi, Mo Qinghan went straight to the service desk, produced her ticket and ID, and asked the airline staff, “Please help me change my ticket to the earliest available flight.”
The attendant, noticing the blood at the corners of Mo Qinghan’s lips, on her face, and hands, asked, “Would you like to clean up first?”
“No, please just handle the change as quickly as possible,” Mo Qinghan replied.
“Alright,” the attendant said, tapping at the keyboard. After a while, she said, “There’s a flight in one hour, but only economy class is available—no business class. Is that alright? And—”
“No need to explain. That’s fine.”
Mo Qinghan took her new ticket, exchanged it for a boarding pass, and entered the waiting area.
After finishing an urgent video conference, He Zheyu picked up his phone from beside the computer and saw it had run out of battery. He plugged it in, and once it was charged, saw a dozen missed calls from Mo Qinghan. When he tried calling back, her phone was already switched off. Panic surged through him.
He sprang from his chair just as Han Mo burst in, breathless. “Boss, two urgent matters. First, Miss Zhao Yiya has arrived—she’s staying right next door to you. Second, Miss Mo seems to have run into some trouble. She suddenly changed the ticket I booked for her and is already on the plane. She’ll arrive at 2:00 a.m. tomorrow.”
At the mention of Mo Qinghan, the furrow in He Zheyu’s brow smoothed slightly. Then his tone turned cold. “How did Zhao Yiya find out I was here?”
Han Mo replied, “I suspect Miss Yuruo leaked your whereabouts. You know she’s dating Zhao Yiya’s brother.”
He Zheyu agreed with Han Mo’s speculation. After a pause, he said, “You stay here at the hotel. I’ll drive to pick up the girl myself and won’t come back. However you deal with Zhao Yiya is up to you.”
Han Mo looked at He Zheyu, resigned, but had no way to refuse. “Boss, one last request.”
“Speak.”
“Please have dinner with Miss Zhao Yiya.”
He Zheyu understood Han Mo’s intent and replied, “Alright.”
Han Mo informed Zhao Yiya that He Zheyu would dine with her. She chose a white strapless gown with a pink jacket, swept her softly curled hair to one side, and applied makeup that was both simple and exquisite, accentuating her femininity.
He Zheyu was already in the restaurant, sipping red wine he had let breathe. Zhao Yiya handed her coat to a waiter and, in seven-centimeter heels, sauntered over to He Zheyu. Her alluring walk caught the attention of many foreigners in the restaurant, but she had eyes only for the man by the window, in a dark blue shirt, with a few strands of hair falling over his brow, looking as unruly as ever—He Zheyu.
After sitting down, Zhao Yiya spoke softly, “Zheyu, you’re not angry with me, are you? I just missed you too much.”
He Zheyu poured her a little wine and said, “Try this—it’s my favorite red.”
Zhao Yiya, touched by his gentleness, blushed as she took the glass, sipped it lightly, and savored it. “This wine tastes like love—sweet.”
He Zheyu ordered the dishes and, over the course of the meal, plied Zhao Yiya with drink. Before long, she was tipsy, and with the sleeping agent Han Mo had added to her glass, it wasn’t long before Zhao Yiya was slumped over the table, fast asleep.
He Zheyu instructed Han Mo to carry Zhao Yiya back to her room, then went to the hotel garage and drove straight to the airport. Though physically present at dinner, his mind had been with Mo Qinghan all along, wondering what could have driven her to such actions. He checked QQ as well, but Mo Qinghan had not messaged his Sanye account.
He Zheyu arrived at the airport an hour before Mo Qinghan’s flight was due. The ashtray in his car was overflowing—testament to his anxious wait.
After landing, Mo Qinghan called He Zheyu to confirm the details. He told her to note his license plate to avoid getting into the wrong car.
Before long, she spotted the car with the matching plate. She assumed Han Mo was driving, but as she drew closer, she realized it was He Zheyu. She opened the front door and got in.
He Zheyu noticed she was empty-handed, carrying only a canvas bag slung across her shoulder, her head lowered in silence. He asked nothing else, only one question: “Are you hungry?”