Volume One, Chapter 11: Wen Yuqin’s Threat

Wen Xuyu walked to the end of the corridor. She took a deep breath and answered the call.

"Wen Xuyu, you really are capable," Wen Yuqin spoke with a tone laced with obvious sarcasm, tinged with a malicious pride. He had truly underestimated the worth of his own daughter.

A cold chuckle escaped Wen Xuyu's lips. "So it seems Bian Xunzhou didn't lie to me. He really did give you a billion."

Wen Yuqin had no intention of arguing. He went straight to the point, his voice hard and devoid of warmth. "That's none of your concern. The only thing you need to do now is to make the Lu family willingly break off the engagement. And you must not reveal anything about the money."

"You make it sound so easy," Wen Xuyu's hand clenched tightly at her side, anger flickering in her eyes. Sell herself and then be expected to help them count the money?

"Hmph. I don't care how you do it. Just make sure Third Young Master Lu himself breaks the engagement. If not, you know what will happen," Wen Yuqin threatened coldly. "The hospital told me they've recently found a compatible donor."

A wave of suffocating cold swept through Wen Xuyu's chest. She shouted, "Enough!"

After a moment’s silence, she closed her eyes, a gesture of reluctant compromise. "I’ll go."

"I’ll give you three days," Wen Yuqin’s voice brooked no argument. "If Lu Baiqian doesn’t take the initiative to end things in three days, don’t blame me for being ruthless."

The call ended. Wen Xuyu gripped her phone, trembling all over.

She had long understood that, in Wen Yuqin’s eyes, she would always be nothing more than a tool to be manipulated at will. For profit, he could grovel for favors, could sacrifice her happiness without hesitation.

But one day, she would escape the Wen family with her adoptive parents.

...

The study.

Bian Xunzhou suddenly pressed a hand to his chest, his brows furrowing. The sensation didn’t last long and soon faded.

Lu Zhao, who was reporting nearby, noticed and grew anxious. "Sir, are you all right?"

"I’m fine," Bian Xunzhou replied coolly, his slender fingers interlaced atop the desk. "How is Yulin Entertainment, under the Shang Group, doing these days?"

Lu Zhao handed over a file. "Yulin Entertainment is currently registered under Chen Lirong. Most of the artists in the company have little experience, and there are major flaws in their management."

He paused, sneaking a glance at the man across from him before continuing, "Moreover, according to my investigation, Chen Lirong’s brother, Chen Lie, has been cashing out company shares repeatedly. I doubt the company can last much longer..."

When Lu Zhao finished, an eerie silence filled the study. Unseen currents swirled in the air, carrying a hint of menace.

Bian Xunzhou finished reading the file, half reclining in his chair, his right index finger tapping rhythmically against the back of his hand, lost in thought.

After a long pause, he spoke. "I understand. You may go."

Lu Zhao had no choice but to leave. The study door opened, then closed again.

Bian Xunzhou leaned back, lighting a cigarette for himself. He closed his eyes, his mind drifting back to that night.

...

In the cold, damp warehouse, the air reeked of rust and mildew, so acrid it made one’s stomach churn.

A little boy curled up in the corner, his hands and feet bound tightly with coarse hemp rope, flesh chafed red. His face was streaked with tears, lips bitten pale, yet he dared not make a sound.

His mother knelt before him, her hands tied behind her back, hair disheveled, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth—yet her gaze was gentle and resolute.

"Don’t be afraid, child..." Her voice was barely a whisper, as if trying to banish his fear.

Her face was contorted with pain, cold sweat trickling down her temples, mixing with blood and staining her collar.

The kidnapper stood nearby, holding a camera, its lens trained on them.

Harsh lights illuminated the mother’s pale face. Her eyes squinted against the glare, but she straightened her back, determined to shield her son.

"Speak into the camera. Tell them you’re suffering. Tell your husband to bring money to ransom you!"

The kidnapper’s voice was coarse and brutal. He kicked the mother’s back hard.

She gave a muffled groan, crashing heavily to the floor, but not a single scream escaped her lips.

The boy’s tears streamed uncontrollably. He wanted to rush to his mother, but the ropes held him fast.

He could only watch—watch as they smashed her with sticks, watch her clothes soak in blood, watch her crumple in agony yet gaze at him with gentle eyes, silently telling him, "Don’t be afraid..."

"Mom... Mom..." At last, he couldn’t hold back, his cry hoarse and ragged from deep within his throat.

But the kidnappers only sneered, pressing a foot down on his mother’s back, grinding it mercilessly. Her body convulsed, a mouthful of blood splattering the floor.

"If you don’t speak, your son will taste the same pain!" The kidnapper’s voice was icy and cruel.

His mother’s body stiffened, her eyes suddenly resolute. Summoning her last strength, she lifted her head and screamed into the camera.

"Shang Rongyuan, if you have any conscience left, don’t push things so far. Otherwise, even as a ghost, I won’t forgive you!"

Before her words finished, the stick struck her head again, heavy and merciless.

Her body convulsed violently, then collapsed, limp, never rising again.

"Mom—!" The boy’s wailing was heart-rending, but his mother’s eyes were closed forever.

The kidnappers’ twisted laughter, the click of the camera, and the desperate cries mingled in the air.

...

"Mom—"

In the silent room, Bian Xunzhou’s eyes snapped open. He gripped the chair’s armrest, his fingers trembling.

Who knew how long he’d slept? The study was pitch black. The cigarette once burning on the floor was now nothing but ashes.

Bian Xunzhou massaged his aching brow; it had been a long time since he’d dreamed that dream.

"Mom..." he murmured quietly, voice rough and nearly inaudible, his gaze shadowed. "Please wait a little longer. I will make them pay."

...

Wen Xuyu lay on the sofa, trying to ignore the discomfort in her chest.

She had just finished her shower, changed out of the red cheongsam, and chosen a sky-blue long dress from the wardrobe.

After much deliberation, she finally dialed that number.

"Hello, Shen Mo."

"Xuyu, is it really you?" The person on the other end exclaimed, unbelieving. "Are you all right? Where are you now? The Wen family hasn’t done anything to you, have they?"

A barrage of questions came at her. Wen Xuyu felt a bit overwhelmed, but warmth rose in her heart.

Shen Mo was a friend she’d met while working part-time in college.

Before the Wen family found her, she often filled her spare hours with part-time jobs—tutoring, handing out flyers, working as a coffee shop waitress—she’d done it all.

Once, after finishing a tutoring session, she was rushing back to campus and passed through an alley, only to stumble upon a group of thugs beating someone.

Without hesitation, Wen Xuyu threw down her backpack and charged in, scattering the thugs in short order.

That was how she met Shen Mo—the same year, at the same school—a youth full of righteous fervor.