Chapter 7

As dusk approached, Su Qingci opened his WeChat Moments.

It might be hard to believe, but the renowned painter’s WeChat contact list contained only three friends.

Pei Jingchen, Annelise, and his grandfather, Su Baidong.

He didn’t really need to pin Pei Jingchen to the top—with only three contacts, everything was clear at a glance—yet Su Qingci did so anyway.

　　His social life mirrored his sparse WeChat contacts—no friends, no confidants. Even work-related buyers and organizers were handled by Annelise; Su Qingci couldn’t be bothered.

Pei Jingchen rarely posted on Moments, and when he did, it was about career matters. Su Baidong, however, was quite active—though his posts were all high-profile promotions for Wulin Group. Pei Jingchen’s icebox-cold feed relied entirely on Annelise’s efforts to fill it: today showcasing gourmet meals, tomorrow sharing scenic views, the day after featuring two adorable pets, and every other day venting frustrations, dishing out gossip, and stirring up drama—a bustling hive of activity.

　　His latest update showed him strolling down the Champs-Élysées with friends.

Su Qingci couldn’t bear to look any longer—if he did, jealousy would consume him.

Suddenly, he lost all interest in the light show. Shopping and sightseeing only felt worthwhile with someone else, didn’t they?

A WeChat notification pinged—it could only be Annelise. Su Qingci ignored it for a moment, letting his mind go blank for three minutes before picking up his phone. The contact, usually buried at the bottom of his list, had jumped to just below the pinned ones, marked with a bright red “1”.

Su Qingci was secretly startled. Before he could read the message, his phone rang—it was Su Baidong’s secretary.

　　“Young Master, I’m downstairs.”

Su Qingci hung up immediately and tapped to view the message. His grandfather had sent: [Golden Powder Aristocrat. Old Wang will pick you up. Three minutes.]

When Su Qingci descended to meet Secretary Wang, the secretary visibly startled, hesitated, then said, “Young Master, we’re supposed to go to Golden Powder Aristocrat.”

　　Su Qingci waved his phone. “I’m not blind.”

Secretary Wang fell silent and opened the car door for Su Qingci.

Back in the driver’s seat, Secretary Wang put on his Bluetooth headset and answered the call: “Yes, sir. Rest assured, I’ve picked up the person. We’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

　　Having worked at the Su Corporation for over thirty years, Secretary Wang was seasoned and meticulous—when he said twenty minutes, he meant twenty minutes.

Su Qingci was led into the main hall by a well-trained waiter. Spotting him from afar, Su Baidong approached, frowning. “For an occasion like this, why are you dressed so casually?”

　　Su Qingci replied expressionlessly, “If Secretary Wang had been any later, I’d have had to wear my pajamas.”

Su Baidong’s face immediately fell.

Su Qingci ignored it. “Shall we leave then?”

Su Baidong suppressed his temper. “Get in the elevator.”

　　Su Baidong became a father at nineteen and a grandfather before forty-five. Now in his sixties, he remained remarkably robust—as vigorous as a tiger, striding with youthful energy. Save for a few grays at his temples, his naturally youthful face made his true age nearly impossible to guess.

　　His face was carved from the same mold as his son, Su Ge.

Su Qingci turned his back to him, unwilling to look at him.

“Do you know Miss Vivian?” Su Baidong’s tone softened, likely because Su Qingci had come to the hotel so obediently.

　　His feelings toward this grandson were complicated. As his only grandson, he couldn’t say he disliked him, but he certainly didn’t care for him either. That’s why he never bothered bringing Su Qingci to his usual cocktail parties and social engagements. He didn’t want the boy tagging along, making appearances, and stirring up trouble.

Su Qingci replied, “I don’t know.”

　　Through the elevator door’s reflection, he suspected Su Baidong might be overthinking things.

In Su Qingci’s dictionary, the phrase “respect elders” simply didn’t exist—even if this man was his father’s father.

The elevator chimed, doors sliding open.

The reason he’d come to Golden Powder Aristocrat was because…

He saw her.

　　“Oh my gosh, you’re Su Qingci? My idol!” Vivian swept toward him, her champagne-colored skirt billowing.

　Su Qingci’s gaze passed through her and settled on Pei Jingchen in the distance.

Lingyue’s annual banquet was held at the Golden Powder Noble.

Pei Jingchen was conversing with a young man—a bespectacled fellow with receding hair—who wore an obsequious expression, chuckling and nodding obsequiously. When clinking glasses, he deliberately held his cup lower than Pei Jingchen’s.

　　After a few more moments of conversation, Pei Jingchen turned and locked eyes with Su Qingci, standing several dozen meters away.

The hotel lobby shimmered with gold and splendor as socialites flowed through the space. The two industry elites gazed at each other.

Su Qingci felt a sudden pang of unease.

　　He felt compelled to approach and clarify to Pei Jingchen: “I came with Chairman Su.”

Pei Jingchen had naturally noticed Su Baidong and gave him a slight nod.

“It’s true,” Su Qingci emphasized. He really wasn’t a stalker—don’t get the wrong idea.

Pei Jingchen: “Mm.”

　　He was clearly here for him—why use Su Baidong as an excuse?

Su Qingci never imagined he’d one day be disgusted by his own hypocrisy. What a shameless liar he was!

Was it a last-minute pang of conscience before his demise?

“Mr. Pei, this is…” Ling Yue’s business partner approached.

　　Pei Jingchen introduced, “Su Qingci—the ‘Qingci’ from Qingci Miaoju.” He then turned to introduce CEO Zhang, CEO Li, and CEO Liu to Su Qingci.

He didn’t recognize a single one by name, but the mention of their respective industries sparked some recognition. Su Qingci genuinely felt pleased that Pei Jingchen had connections with such heavyweights.

　　Similarly, the bigwigs were frankly a bit taken aback upon first meeting Su Qingci.

In such settings, everyone wore bespoke suits—formal and respectable. Yet Su Qingci sported jeans, a wool sweater, and especially sneakers, clashing starkly with the atmosphere.

　　Yet despite his casual attire, the cool, noble aura radiating from him commanded respect. After all, those who graced the third floor and above of the Golden Powder Aristocrat weren’t nobodies. Like oil and water, they didn’t mix. Following the logic, a vague answer began to emerge.

“Could you be the Su young master from Wulin?”

　　The crowd instantly fell silent with respect upon hearing this identity.

Su Qingci gave a perfunctory nod, stealing a glance at Pei Jingchen’s expression.

Pei Jingchen remained composed, smiling and chatting with the other businessmen who approached him.

Su Qingci said, “You guys go ahead and have fun. Don’t mind me.”

　　Then he turned to Pei Jingchen: “Don’t drink too much.”

Pei Jingchen fetched him some dessert from the buffet, his gaze lingering on Su Qingci.

The fitted jeans accentuated Su Qingci’s lean yet sturdy waist, his legs long and straight. Looking up, only his flawless swan-like neck complemented the high-neck wool sweater.

He truly suited black—somber, cool, alluring yet enigmatic.

Pei Jingchen had never said he disliked black.

But when Su Qingci wore it, he didn’t mind.

　　After exchanging pleasantries, everyone dispersed to mingle.

Su Qingci lingered for a moment before turning and encountering the young man with the receding hairline and glasses who had clinked glasses with Pei Jingchen earlier. The man flashed an ingratiating smile: “Forgive my poor eyesight—so you’re the young master of Wulin. My apologies, my apologies.”

　　After the clichéd opening and overly flattering praise, the bespectacled man attempted to add Su Qingci on WeChat, only to be flatly refused.

　　Vivian was Su Qingci’s ardent fan, but that didn’t stop him from rejecting her WeChat request with equal indifference.

“Contact my agent for paintings. I’ll have her reach out to you.” Su Qingci’s lack of tact stemmed from a genius’s arrogance, a strong man’s utter disregard for others.

　　Vivian wasn’t the least bit upset; if anything, her admiration grew.

Su Qingci detested social engagements and recoiled from interacting with strangers—which explained why he had no friends.

He’d come here solely to catch a glimpse of Pei Jingchen. Now that he’d seen him, Su Qingci wanted to leave.

　　As he stood up, he accidentally bumped into a waiter, spilling a bit of red wine on himself. Su Qingci reassured the waiter it was fine and went to the restroom to clean up.

He dabbed at the stain with a damp towel; the dark fabric hid it well enough.

Heading out, he suddenly recognized a familiar voice in the hallway—one he’d heard just minutes before.

　　It was the young, balding guy with glasses talking on the phone.

“Don’t even get me started. I hit another wall. Everyone says Pei Jingchen is easygoing and makes friends easily, but I can’t even add him on WeChat!”

“What’s wrong with me? I graduated from a top-tier university! I’m more than qualified to be Lingyue’s technical director!”

　　“Forget it. Guess who I just ran into? Su Qingci—the heir, the grandson, the crown prince of that Wulin Coffee you’re always drinking.”

“You should’ve seen him in person. I’m telling you, he’s unreal! That face, that waist, those legs, and that aura—utterly breathtaking.”

　　“I just can’t figure it out—how did he end up with that poor guy Pei Jingchen? Even if he’s made something of himself now, it doesn’t change the fact he came from dirt-poor roots. Su Qingci comes from a wealthy family—he could have anyone he wants.”

“You’re right, it’s all about looks. That’s why they say he’s got good fortune! Alright, I gotta hit the bathroom. We’ll chat later.”

　　Su Qingci heard footsteps drawing nearer. As the bespectacled guy tucked his phone into his pocket and turned toward the restroom, he collided unexpectedly with Su Qingci. Startled, his left hand trembled, sending the phone crashing to the floor with a sharp “clack.” His right hand shook too, jerking back from the sting of cigarette ash.

　　The bespectacled guy was drenched in sweat: “Su… Su… Young Master Su, I wasn’t talking about you guys.”

Su Qingci’s entire body trembled, his pupils suddenly contracting.

A slim mint-flavored cigarette!

In an instant, the world spun, breathing became difficult, and his soft stomach was gripped by an invisible force, convulsing violently.

　　Panicked, Su Qingci braced himself against the wall. The color drained from his face, leaving him deathly pale in an instant, drenched in cold sweat.

He shoved the bespectacled boy aside roughly, stumbling back toward the restroom. He burst into a stall, knelt before the toilet, and retched violently—

　　“Ugh!”