When Qiao Jin walked out of the hospital, Fu Linxiao was waiting in the car at the curb.
Cars were stacked up behind him. Qiao Jin instinctively went to open the back seat, paused, then shut it and quickly got into the passenger seat instead.
“What kind of weird habits has President Lu drilled into you?”
Fu Linxiao started the car, aggressively squeezing it into a jam-packed intersection like he owned the road.
“Maybe the back seat has a lower fatality rate,” Qiao Jin replied, buckling up. He glanced over his shoulder. “Lu Pingzhang’s parents and brother all died in car crashes. Zheng Rongguang told me that his parents were in the front seats—his dad driving, his mom in the passenger seat. Lu Boyang was in the back. He was injured, but not nearly as badly. Maybe sitting up front freaks him out a little… Also, the car behind us is cursing us out.”
“Let them curse.”
Fu Linxiao rolled down the window and casually flipped them the bird. “Idiots.”
Angry honking erupted behind them.
Qiao Jin wasn’t exactly impressed. He sighed quietly.
“Speaking of President Lu’s brother,” Fu Linxiao said, eyes on the road, inching dangerously close to the bumper ahead, “the guy I hired to dig into it finally gave me something. Lu Boyang had a ton of surgeries while he was hospitalized—craniotomy, thoracotomy, major orthopedic procedures, spinal reconstruction… all big stuff. But he was conscious. His brain was damaged, sure, but nowhere near being a vegetable.”
Which meant… he must have been in excruciating pain.
Qiao Jin fell silent again.
He turned to look out the window, his eyes dry and irritated—he instinctively reached for his eyedrops but paused.
“His internal organs were shot too,” Fu Linxiao said after a moment of quiet, glancing at Qiao Jin. His voice was low. “I heard President Lu had already arranged for large-scale blood screening back then. A few matches came through—young guys, all about the same age as Lu Boyang.”
“Linxiao.” Qiao Jin didn’t use the eyedrops. He cut in gently. “Lu Pingzhang donates billions every year to hospitals—just to help patients in critical condition, especially those who need transplants after traumatic injuries.”
He turned his face to the side and rolled down the window, trying to ease the overwhelming motion sickness building in his gut.
Fu Linxiao waited until Qiao Jin had recovered a bit before speaking softly. “I’m not saying he’s a bad person. I know he does a lot of good. What I mean is—Qiao Jin, Lu Pingzhang is a lot scarier than what you see on the surface. What he shows you… is only the part that can exist under the sunlight.”
Qiao Jin said nothing. He kept his gaze fixed outside, his expression distant.
The night had grown darker. The cars ahead began to space out more, and the wind pouring in from the window was strong.
The wind helped—it finally cooled him down a little.
“He paid for my college tuition.” Qiao Jin let the cold air blow on him and spoke quietly. “During senior year, he also funded my corneal transplant.”
The dazzling lights of the city kept rushing past outside the car window, dragging with them all the noise and clamor of the world.
The wind tossed Qiao Jin’s hair across his forehead. He narrowed his eyes slightly, as if getting pulled back into the memory.
“I wrote him three thank-you letters. He never replied.” His lips tugged faintly into a smile. “I didn’t send one senior year—my eyesight was already going. I thought… we’d never meet again in this life.”
His head tilted back slightly, but his eyes remained downcast. The pale color of his face was almost ghostly in the wind.
“Then my mom’s condition worsened. ICU stay, three years. Complications stacked up. Monthly base cost was 1.4 million. The nusinersen injections were 680,000 each, every two months. The best meds, top-tier specialists, three full-time nurses… none of that is something money alone can buy. My vision hadn’t even fully recovered then—Lu Pingzhang took care of all of it.”
The car fell into a short, heavy silence.
Qiao Jin exhaled, a bitter little smile playing at his lips. “People don’t just keep receiving things forever. Eventually, you’ve got to pay the price.”
“Besides,” he murmured, “he’s Mr. Lu.”
Fu Linxiao didn’t quite catch that. “What?”
Qiao Jin’s hair was damp from the night air, jet-black like ink. His lashes were the same dark hue, lowered now as he whispered,
“I’m sitting here today—all because of him.”
Lu Pingzhang truly was his benefactor.
And when someone holds that title over you, everyone else has to take a step back.
“Ah…” Fu Linxiao sighed softly, understanding now. He deliberately shifted the mood. “Forget the gym. Way too exhausting. Wanna go play cards?”
Qiao Jin’s eyes were slightly red at the corners. He turned to look at him. “Just the two of us?”
“Sui Ran too,” Fu Linxiao replied. “That guy’s been going on and on about you lately. Think of it as making new friends. Get out, blow off some steam.”
Tonight, with Lu Pingzhang definitely not coming home—
Qiao Jin had, for once, complete freedom.
Qiao Jin shrugged casually. “Sure.”
Golden Domain Club was one of the city’s old institutions. Back in the day, it had been shut down more than once during crackdowns, but no one really knew what kind of connections the owner had—somehow, it had never gone under.
By the time Sui Ran arrived, he’d already found a fourth player from the club: a server wearing a bowtie.
“Just relax,” Sui Ran patted the guy on the shoulder. “You don’t have to pay if you lose. If you win, the pot’s all yours.”
The server immediately bowed slightly. “Thank you, bosses.”
Fu Linxiao pulled out the chair next to Qiao Jin and sat down. Sui Ran took the seat across. Qiao Jin closed the door behind him, but left it slightly ajar to let in some air.
The tiles were dealt. Sui Ran picked up his hand, glanced at Qiao Jin. “How high are we playing?”
“I’m good with anything,” Qiao Jin said calmly.
“Of course you are.” Sui Ran let out a sigh. “You’re someone who can drop tens of thousands on a single book.”
“Come on, don’t start playing poor in front of us wage slaves,” Fu Linxiao joked. “You’re practically cover-story material for a finance magazine.”
“Mass resignation season,” Sui Ran muttered, sighing again. “Times are tough.”
Qiao Jin looked down at his tiles, quietly arranging the deadwood, then started discarding, one by one.
He knew how to play mahjong, but just barely—rookie level. He wasn’t used to planning big-picture strategies.
Sui Ran claimed an 8 of Characters from his discard, and with a polite smile said, “Thanks, President Qiao Jin.”
. . .
Lu Pingzhang was having dinner with Liu Chengxu from Antarctic Pictures. The meeting had been arranged by Bei Kaiyuan—the same boss from the auction—and Liu had brought along one of his sales managers. The four of them were now playing a round of cards at Golden Domain.
Liu offered Lu a cigarette. Lu took it, and Liu lit it for him before lighting his own.
Beside them, Bei Kaiyuan waved at the smoke like it was poison. “Gonna choke to death in here—someone get me a mask.”
Liu gave a look to the sales manager, who immediately stood and went to ask a server for a mask.
“Smoking’s bad for your health. Secondhand’s even worse,” Bei Kaiyuan said as he put on the mask. “My wife’s strict. Don’t mind me.”
Lu Pingzhang glanced at him, his expression unreadable. Liu Chengxu chuckled along awkwardly.
As the last hand of the night was underway, Liu finally brought it up. “President Lu, I wasn’t in the office earlier today. A couple of our new hires said some dumb things—they don’t know any better. President Qiao Jin didn’t show up today, otherwise I would’ve had them apologize to him directly.”
The sales manager jumped in right away: “Yes, totally my fault. I handled it poorly. I’ll make sure to apologize to President Qiao Jin personally sometime soon.”
Lu Pingzhang’s face remained completely impassive. Smoke drifted up in front of him in thin, twisting tendrils. He discarded an 8 of Characters.
Liu Chengxu froze—he was holding three of those in his hand—but kept quiet.
Bei Kaiyuan picked up a tile and chuckled, trying to smooth things over. “Old Lu’s got the big-brother aura—sharp mind, broad heart. If he didn’t have to keep up appearances in front of the missus, this deal would’ve been wrapped up already.”
Liu Chengxu exchanged a look with the business manager—neither of them had figured out who Lu Pingzhang’s “wife” was supposed to be.
“It’s fine,” Bei Kaiyuan jerked his chin toward Lu Pingzhang. “They had no idea who Qiao Jin was. If they had, this whole mess wouldn’t have happened, right?”
“Ohhh,” Liu Chengxu, sharp as ever, caught on immediately. “So she’s our sister-in-law! No wonder they’ve been saying today how President Qiao is handsome, charismatic, more striking than even the male celebrities in the company. Guess the rumors were true.”
Lu Pingzhang bit down on his cigarette, finally lowering himself to reveal a faint, unreadable smile.
His voice was slightly raspy, probably soaked with smoke: “We can sign the contract—but it needs a few changes.”
Liu Chengxu held his breath.
Lu Pingzhang drew a tile and pushed his hand forward.
“Damn,” Bei Kaiyuan muttered, “Another pure suit? Every damn round? You’ve got no shame.”
Liu Chengxu had only managed one small win since the game began, and the business manager hadn’t even eaten a tile. Still, Lu Pingzhang was finally budging, so that was a win in itself.
He didn’t dare let out a sigh of relief though, just smiled and said, “Sure. I’ll have the lawyers revise it as soon as we’re back.”
Lu Pingzhang took two last drags from the cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray. “So, what part needs changing?”
Liu Chengxu reached to offer him another cigarette, but Lu Pingzhang waved it off. The watch on his wrist was as cold and indifferent as the look on his face.
Liu Chengxu put the cigarette away and thought for a second before saying, “The part about Bai Yuan. We had a clause about her attending events to raise her profile, and the company giving her some priority for resources. Who knew she’d screw it up… But I do need to clarify—those leaked photos? That wasn’t from our side.”
“I know,” Lu Pingzhang replied.
Liu Chengxu had assumed Lu Pingzhang was at least a little interested in Bai Yuan. Maybe she couldn’t be his wife, but she could at least be a mistress.
He was counting on her to end up in Lu Pingzhang’s bed that night and lock down that backing.
She did go to the hotel that night—but ended up in the bed of Xi Sheng’s CEO instead.
And someone caught it on camera.
That’s when Liu Chengxu realized Bai Yuan wasn’t playing with a full deck. Compared to Lu Pingzhang, Hou Wude wasn’t just lacking in background and wealth—he wasn’t even in the same league in terms of looks or presence.
“She’s young, and easily tempted,” Liu Chengxu sighed with frustration. “The company’s decided to shelve her for a while, let the storm die down. How long do you think we should keep her out of sight?”
That was a polite way of putting it.
Once an artist gets shelved, screen time isn’t even the biggest issue. It’s the resources that get rerouted. Coming back from that is nearly impossible.
But Lu Pingzhang didn’t even spare Bai Yuan a thought. He knew this was all Hou Wude’s doing—Bai Yuan was just collateral damage, disposable.
Under the table, Liu Chengxu kicked the business manager, prompting him to speak up with a forced smile, “President Qiao said this whole mess with Bai Yuan hurt your reputation, which is why he got so upset and walked away before signing. Since she caused the problem, we’ll make sure she’s dealt with.”
Liu Chengxu looked to Bei Kaiyuan, hoping he’d jump in and back them up.
Bei Kaiyuan leaned back in his chair and gave a casual “Tch.” Then he added, “Just shelve her completely. Let Qiao Jin cool off, and you’ll have peace at home too.”
“Hm?” Lu Pingzhang’s tone shifted. “He’s mad because of that?”
The business manager took a risk and guessed that “he” referred to Qiao Jin, keeping his smile steady. “Yes, yes. Everything was going smoothly, the contract was practically signed. But the moment Bai Yuan came up, he got upset and left.”
Bei Kaiyuan chuckled and pulled out his phone, showing them a video from that morning of Zheng Rongguang getting his face scratched by his wife. “Monkey see, monkey do. You brought your wife to the banquet—what’d you expect? You brought chaos to yourself.”
Lu Pingzhang frowned as he watched, his eyes locked on Qiao Jin’s figure in the video.
Zheng Rongguang was getting dragged away by his ear, and Qiao Jin was behind him, trying to stop it—except his relaxed pace and calm face made Lu Pingzhang suspect he was enjoying the show.
“You’re lucky that’s all you got,” Bei Kaiyuan said, tapping the phone on the table. “Go home and patch things up with your wife.”
The relationship between Lu Pingzhang and Qiao Jin wasn’t something you could explain in a sentence. Outsiders only saw the surface.
He wasn’t the kind of man to show off his spouse in public like Bei Kaiyuan. If Qiao Jin appeared in the spotlight, people would start digging into who he was. And if things got serious, he could end up hurt—or worse, tempted.
Just like what had happened between Lu Boyang and Bai Yuan.
Lu Pingzhang couldn’t accept either option.
He just wanted to keep Qiao Jin tucked safely at home—relaxed, free, always within reach. Someone he could see the moment he opened the door.
In the heavy, smoke-filled room, silence settled as Lu Pingzhang paused for a few seconds, seemingly lost in thought. Then he cleared his throat and finally said to Liu Chengxu, “Fine. Change it the way you suggested.”
