Chapter 30: The Granting of a Title

As soon as he stepped out of the hospital room, Wen Yanli unconsciously quickened his pace. That morning, he had received a sudden call and borrowed Lu Zhiyuan’s private jet to fly over from Jinzhou. Now it was already half past seven in the evening; to reach Shen Mei’s hometown in the neighboring city, the first thing he needed was a car.

Everything had happened so abruptly that he’d pulled quite a few strings just to have the autopsy request submitted. Now that Song Mi was aware, within the bounds of the law, she would certainly fight with all her might. Shen Ye's only direct relative was Shen Mei—if Shen Mei relinquished her rights, his own status and position would, without a doubt, be insufficient.

Although not sufficient didn’t mean entirely without recourse, but it would certainly require more trouble, and cost more time and energy. Of course, he could have chosen not to tell Song Mi about any of this; not only would it have reduced the risk of interference, but even going to Shen Mei for her signature on the authorization would have been more relaxed, without this sense of racing against time.

Yet he had chosen to be forthright.

Leaving the hospital, he strode quickly to the roadside and hailed a taxi. Once inside, he called the gatehouse at the Feng estate.

Half an hour later, at the highway entrance, a black SUV was parked conspicuously—one might even say domineeringly—on the open space beside the toll booth. A man was perched on the hood, legs dangling, apparently smoking.

Wen Yanli’s brows furrowed slightly at a glance. Uncle Jiang couldn’t possibly have lost control over something so trivial—this was most likely a coincidence. Sure enough, a message popped up on his phone: “Young Master Li, Jiang Fei was sent back by Young Master Jue. Young Master Jue is delivering the car to you himself.”

This was deliberate. If he’d known earlier, he would have made other arrangements. Uncle Jiang had timed it perfectly, knowing Wen was about to reach the rendezvous. Since he’d called suddenly to request a car, it must be urgent, and he wouldn’t want any more delays at such a critical moment.

As soon as the taxi stopped, the driver said, “Sir, we’re here.”

He paid, got out, and as he approached, Feng Jue leapt off the hood, tossed his cigarette to the ground, stamped out the glowing tip, and blew out a final smoke ring. “Haven’t run into you for half a year now.”

Wen Yanli looked at him. “How’s your grandfather’s health?”

“Why don’t you go see for yourself if you’re so concerned?” Feng Jue fiddled with the car keys in one hand, the other thrust casually in his pocket, eyes fixed on Wen’s. “What about my aunt?”

He moved his lips. “Same as always.”

Then, silence.

He was in a hurry, so he reached out. “I have things to do.”

Feng Jue nodded to himself, then glanced around, visibly ill at ease. Wen Yanli realized he wanted to say something, and checked his watch.

“Cut the act,” Feng Jue snapped, unable to contain his irritation. “You—”

Before Wen’s glare could cut him off, Feng Jue pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, swallowing his words. “I don’t care. By Spring Festival at the latest, if you’re still holed up in that shabby little law firm, I’ll walk out on the spot!”

With that, Feng Jue tossed the keys into the air, brushed past Wen’s shoulder, and strode off. After a few paces, he called back, “My old man says you should go see him when you have time!”

By then, Wen Yanli had already opened the car door and sat down. Hearing that, his hands paused; he turned to look at the figure swaggering across the road under the night sky.

Quickly, he slotted the keys in and started the engine. As he turned the SUV toward the toll booth, Feng Jue’s blue Dongfeng, parked on the roadside, started up as well.

The night was deep and dark; the two cars drove off in opposite directions. In the rearview mirror, the man’s profile was as finely carved as jade. If one looked closely, they’d see his lips curved into a light, easy smile—a subtle arc of quiet delight.