Chapter Eighteen: A Clash of Wills (Part 1)

After finishing her breakfast, Mo Qinghan changed her clothes and packed her belongings into a large bag. She looked at the key in her hand, pondered for a moment, then casually tossed it into a corner of the room behind her. She tried searching for it a few times but couldn’t find it. The corners of her mouth curled up in a sly, triumphant smile. Carrying her things, she closed the door and left without a backward glance.

When He Yurou woke up, her head ached slightly—perhaps a consequence of too much drinking. Though the alcohol had worn off, the lingering effects would take some time to fade. She felt around and realized she was still dressed. Surveying the room’s furnishings, she understood she was in a hotel, but how she’d gotten there escaped her. The last thing she remembered was getting out of Zhao Qingwu’s car, walking and crying, then spotting a bar by the roadside and going in for a drink. She vaguely recalled Zhao Qingwu arriving afterwards, and then she got drunk. Suddenly, she remembered Zhao Qingwu following her, carrying her into the hotel, and other such fragments flashed through her mind. Her cheeks flushed, and there was a hint of hearts in her eyes. She had completely forgotten what Zhao Qingwu had said in the car. After indulging in her daydreams, she got out of bed, tidied herself up, and left the hotel.

At his desk, He Zheyu tried several times to call Mo Qinghan, but each time he put his phone away. Han Mo had witnessed this back and forth several times. Han Mo made a cup of tea and placed it on He Zheyu’s desk, saying, “Boss, I tried calling Miss Mo, but her phone’s been off the whole time. Maybe…”

Before Han Mo could finish his sentence, he was intimidated into silence by the cold glint in He Zheyu’s dark eyes. He Zheyu took a slow sip of tea and asked, “Do you know where Zhao Qingwu is now?”

“He’s at a private club called Hyacinth, hanging out with some friends.”

Upon hearing this, He Zheyu stood up and said, “It’s time I paid my nephew-in-law a visit.”

“Nephew-in-law?” Han Mo looked utterly confused at He Zheyu. “Boss, isn’t he supposed to be your future brother-in-law? Your relationships are really complicated.”

While Han Mo kept on muttering, He Zheyu had already left the office and vanished.

After arriving at the private club called Hyacinth, He Zheyu went straight to the suite where Zhao Qingwu was. There were four or five young men about Zhao Qingwu’s age sitting on the sofas flanking the doorway, along with four elegantly dressed young women—clearly all from wealthy backgrounds. Zhao Qingwu sat alone in the center of the sofa, drinking. When He Zheyu entered, Zhao Qingwu merely raised an eyebrow and glanced at him, as if he had expected He Zheyu’s arrival all along.

One of the young men asked, “Mister, who are you looking for? Perhaps you’ve got the wrong room?” The guests here were all people of wealth and status, so the young man spoke politely.

He Zheyu turned off the music in the suite and, looking only at Zhao Qingwu in the center, said, “I’m here to talk to him. Anyone not involved should go home.”

Another boy, somewhat disgruntled, replied, “Who are you? Just because you say so, we’re supposed to leave?” The others joined in, “Yeah! Who do you think you are?”

“He Zheyu.”

Those three simple words instantly silenced the noisy room. In Nan City, everyone knew He Zheyu—the master of this city. One by one, they quietly slipped out.