Chapter Thirty-Five: The Gathering Storm (Part 3)

After uttering those words, Mo Qinghan immediately regretted it. She felt as if the entire room had turned into an icy cavern, so cold that she could almost feel the blood in her veins freezing solid in that very instant.

He Zheyu fixed his gaze on Mo Qinghan, his pupils contracting violently. The faint trace of a smile that had lingered on his face vanished without a trace, and when he spoke, his voice was chillingly low: “How does he think he’ll steal you away? Doesn’t he know that you are the one I would still kiss even if I had to rip off my oxygen mask? And you’re also the one I would drag down to hell with me if I had to go. If Zhao Qingwu wants to ‘take you,’ he’d better first weigh whether he’s even up to the task.”

With those words, he swept aside the long hair that had fallen across her chest, parting it with his fingertips. Then he bent down and marked her neck with all his strength, leaving his own indelible imprint. The pain brought tears to Mo Qinghan’s eyes. She didn’t know if she was truly the person He Zheyu would kiss with his last breath, but she was certain she was the one he would take down with him to hell.

Clutching her neck, she glared at the culprit behind all this, who seemed extremely satisfied with his handiwork, a wicked smile curling his lips. “Make sure you show it to him later—don’t forget this ‘gift’ I’ve prepared for him.”

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll provoke him, and he’ll tell his sister everything about us?” she retorted.

He Zheyu smirked. “Unless he wants to destroy you completely, but from the looks of things now, he won’t go that far.”

Mo Qinghan wanted to say more, but just then the doorbell rudely interrupted their conversation. It was He Zheyu who opened the door. Han Mo, standing outside, seemed momentarily surprised to see him, then said, “Boss, it’s about time.”

His gaze swept to Mo Qinghan, who stood beside He Zheyu. A mischievous grin flickered across Han Mo’s face. Mo Qinghan immediately understood and quickly pulled her hair forward to cover the telltale mark on her neck, hiding that provocative blush beneath the fall of her hair.

Mo Qinghan attended He Zheyu’s lecture, but she hid herself in the most inconspicuous corner of the auditorium. Many students eagerly asked questions—some about the future hiring standards of the He Group, others about how to plan one’s own future path. At one point, a female student stood up, excitement shining in her eyes, and asked shyly, “Mr. He, do you require your partner to meet certain standards, just as you do when managing your company, before you’ll consider her suitable to be in your circle?”

He Zheyu’s gaze flickered briefly to Mo Qinghan in the corner. Unlike the cold, impassive expression he wore in meetings with company executives, his face now held a trace of warmth. “I don’t have such high requirements for my partner,” he replied. “I only hope to meet someone I truly like, who happens to like me just as much.”

Another student chimed in, “Mr. He, is the person you like Miss Zhao Yiya, your longtime fiancée?”

Standing onstage, He Zheyu merely smiled without answering, tacitly acknowledging the student’s assumption.

Sitting in the shadows, Mo Qinghan felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Before leaving the house, he had sworn up and down that she was the one he would kiss even if he had to tear out his oxygen tube. Yet now, on stage, he silently admitted that his chosen one was someone else.

They say beautiful women are adept at deception, but aren’t handsome men just the same? At least in He Zheyu, she saw a living, breathing example.