Chapter 39: How Does President Song Want to Play?

The restroom door was left ajar.

As Wen Yanli approached, he heard the woman inside finishing a phone call. Only after she hung up did he rap his knuckles lightly on the doorframe. “Are you alright?”

Song Mi, oblivious to his presence, tucked her phone into her handbag and stepped out.

The man’s impeccable manners seemed to be etched into his very bones. Noticing the door was open, he stood with his back to the wall, keeping a respectful distance. Standing thus, the restroom remained completely out of his line of sight.

Something stirred within Song Mi. Her gaze fell on his handsome profile, and, as if possessed, a thought flashed through her mind: If she were to have a son in the future, would he inherit such a striking face, one that could turn the world upside down?

What a pity.

She swiftly cut off the wayward thought. As she gathered herself, the man’s voice sounded again. “Are you feeling unwell? Do you need me to accompany you to a doctor?”

At his words, Song Mi’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Today, the man’s concern struck her as oddly unsettling.

His tone was as calm and indifferent as ever, yet—somehow—there was an unusual attentiveness to it.

A glimmer danced in her amber eyes. She looked at him squarely, took a step forward, then another, finally reaching out a hand toward him. “Mr. Wen, you refuse to accept my advances, yet you show me such concern—”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll get the wrong idea, hm?”

She moved forward, he retreated.

But with the wall at his back, he could only step back so far. In that moment, the two of them were left in an ambiguous, almost fashionable tableau.

He had been cornered.

Wen Yanli slowly lifted his gaze, meeting the woman’s eyes at close range.

Song Mi lightly braced her hands on the wall, trapping him between her arms. “But as I see it, Mr. Wen hardly seems the type to shy away from a game.”

As she spoke, her eyes traced the lines of his brows, his lashes, his eyes, his nose, his lips—finally lingering on the sharp contours of his mouth. “Or is it that you and Miss Lu are about to make things official, and you have neither the time nor the heart for other matters?”

The distance between them had shrunk to almost nothing, close enough to feel each other’s breath. Just a few more centimeters and she could have brushed her lips against his.

Yet Song Mi did not close the gap.

Flirtation, after all, was only enjoyable when both parties played in sync.

She was tempting him, and didn’t mind being a little forward—but she had no intention of performing a one-woman show out of sheer desperation.

Wen Yanli watched as the sparkle faded from her eyes, as if something real was urging him to reach out and stop her.

Just before that last thread of interest faded away, his lips curved slightly. “And how would Miss Song like to play this game?”

“Is it a simple matter of being bedmates, meeting at a whim and heading straight for a rented room?” His long, deep-set eyes revealed nothing of his true emotions, only a cool, almost casual consideration. “Or is Miss Song, with all her wealth, planning to keep me as a long-term lover?”

As he spoke, his gaze slid downward, settling on the rise and fall of her chest—mirroring the teasing provocation she had shown him only moments before.

Before he had spoken, Song Mi had already withdrawn her hands and stepped back, putting distance between them.

It was restraint.

And also, a hint of ennui.

Yet having her own moves so evenly matched and returned, she found herself once again intrigued—her suppressed interest reignited by his candid, deft retort.

Damn it.

Her honey-colored eyes glimmered; a ripple of laughter danced from the corner of her eyes to the dimple at her lips. “That depends on what Mr. Wen wants.”

“So long as it’s not something ridiculous like ‘forever and ever, just the two of us, unwavering until death’—those things don’t exist.” She slowly crossed her arms, half embracing herself. “I think I can assure you, Mr. Wen, there’s no reason for you to feel wronged.”

Wen Yanli regarded her for a moment before replying in his usual mild tone, “The terms are certainly tempting.”

Song Mi arched an eyebrow. “Yet Mr. Wen seems unmoved.”

His lips pressed together in silence.

There was no point in continuing further.

“Thank you for lunch, Mr. Wen.” With that, she turned and walked away at an unhurried pace.

She had barely taken two steps when he moved behind her. Song Mi glanced back. “No need to see me out, Mr. Wen.”

“If I were to enjoy your attentive care three times in a single day,” she drawled, “I’m afraid I might lose my self-control and do something impulsive.”

Wen Yanli frowned ever so slightly.

She met his eyes, her lips curving with a smile that was at once confident and nonchalant. “Better to save it for later. Once you’ve made up your mind, you can pay me back—with interest.”

Such contradictions only made her more enticing.

Wen Yanli watched as her figure receded, until she disappeared entirely from view.

For a brief moment, he found it almost impossible to suppress the irritation roiling in his heart.

In just one short week, she had twisted her ankle, run a high fever until she fainted, narrowly escaped a deadly car crash, was now a month pregnant, and had just vomited again…

Did this woman really believe herself to be some thousand-year-old fox spirit, immune to death and injury?

And what did that make him?

A penniless scholar, bewitched and led astray?

After a while, a curve of self-mockery tugged at his lips. As his eyes lowered, the storm in them subsided completely.

He pulled out his phone, which had been vibrating for some time. “What is it?”

…

The following afternoon, Shen Ruming stormed straight to the 66th floor of Sihai Tower, looking for Song Mi.

She’d thought that the photos arriving daily in the mail, even if strung together into a video, would amount to little more than evidence of misconduct—scandalous liaisons, perhaps.

For celebrities like Rong Yue and Li Xinyue, image was everything—more important than looks or talent combined. If their reputation was truly ruined and fans turned against them, it would be over. If things couldn’t be salvaged, she could always make the painful decision to start grooming new talent from scratch.

But she never expected that today’s photo would reveal something truly damning.

In these times, once someone in the industry got tangled up with such things, they were finished—not only themselves but everyone around them.

An hour ago, the two involved had already confessed in tears, and named several close acquaintances from other agencies.

She couldn’t and wouldn’t care about the others. But now she had no doubt that Song Mi was deadly serious—and had the power to crush her with a single blow.

Still, Shen Ruming had to ask: what had she done to deserve being singled out for this public execution?

At the door to Song Mi’s office, an assistant stopped her. “Miss Shen, please make an appointment.”

Shen Ruming snorted. “So you remember my surname is Shen? I was beginning to wonder…”

Inside, Song Mi caught some of the commotion through the surveillance monitor. She dialed the internal line herself. “Let her in.”

The door swung open.

Song Mi certainly knew why Shen Ruming was here.

Her stilettos sank noiselessly into the cashmere carpet, but the resentment she carried was impossible to silence.

Shen Ruming had probably stamped every ounce of her bitterness into the floor.

Not until she stopped directly across from Song Mi’s desk did Song Mi look up at her, unhurried. “Seventh Miss, did you see it clearly?”

“If not, I have the original video—high definition.”

Shen Ruming suppressed the sparks in her eyes and mustered all her composure. “Since you haven’t released it publicly, you don’t actually want me dead.”

“Song Mi, just tell me—what do you want?” She stepped forward. “Before the Old Master died, he made it legal: none of us can sell, transfer, or give away our shares. Other than dividends, even if I wanted to sell them like scrap paper, it would take a whole heap of paperwork.”

Song Mi’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Rules are dead—people are alive.”

Shen Ruming nodded. “If more than half of the twelve of us agree, we can petition for a new division and usage of the shares.”

“So the Old Master told you even that!”

Song Mi neither confirmed nor denied it. She added, “Before Shen Yanlie turns eighteen, his mother, Tang Lishi, manages his dividends. If a vote is required, he’s counted as abstaining.”

“So, six votes will do.”

Song Mi raised her eyes, meeting Shen Ruming’s complicated gaze.

In truth, Shen Ruming had little affection for her biological father. He’d dallied with her mother, then forgotten her. Her mother was tough, endured illness and hardship, and raised her alone until she was five.

Her mother suffered from kidney failure. Had she known her father was the famous Shen Sihai, she would have crawled to his mansion for money, for help—anything to keep her mother alive one more day.

Later, Shen Sihai did bring her home, and she lived the pampered life of a rich young lady. But even that couldn’t stop her mother’s grave from growing wild with weeds year after year.

Shen Sihai had a horde of wives and children. It was natural he felt nothing for a daughter found halfway through life. But what about the sons he’d raised from childhood? Why entrust the family business to this mysterious woman before her, who was even carrying another man’s child?

The scorn on Shen Ruming’s face was plain for Song Mi to see.

Yet as soon as Shen Ruming spoke, Song Mi realized she’d misunderstood her intent. “How many shares do six people hold? Is it worth it for just Rong Yue and Li Xinyue?”

“I want money—fifty million.”

Song Mi didn’t refute her, instead responding with a note of admiration, “Seventh Miss seems confident—you must have collected plenty of secrets on your siblings over the years.”

Shen Ruming snorted. “The pot calling the kettle black!”

Aren’t you threatening me with my artists’ secrets now?

Song Mi only laughed. “But you’re mistaken—I don’t intend to ask you for anything.”

“As you said, you’re the fifty steps, I’m the hundred. I can’t imagine why I’d ask someone who can’t even keep up with me to do my work.”

She sneered. “Fifty million. Are you worth it?”

Song Mi was bold—because she had the capital to be bold.

Half an hour before Shen Ruming arrived, Song Mi had already sent a “welcome gift” to everyone, based on yesterday’s intercepted information.

From the thirteen general managers of Sihai Group’s business divisions to the three old foxes, and the branch managers in the capital—everyone got their share.

Barring any surprises, her phone would be very busy tonight.

Back in the present, an enraged Shen Ruming lunged forward and swept everything off Song Mi’s desk—folders, documents, notebooks, pen holder—all crashed to the floor.

“Song Mi, I’m warning you! However you deal with Sihai Group, however you deal with Shen Sihai’s sons and daughters—it’s none of my business!”

“If you want the measly shares I hold, I’ll give them to you for nothing!” Shen Ruming braced herself against the desk, glaring down at her. “But if you dare expose that video, if you go after Jiaxing, I’ll fight you to the death!”

Song Mi calmly shifted her chair back, gliding away from the desk. “If that’s not enough, Seventh Miss, by all means—continue.”

In an instant, Shen Ruming’s fury surged from her toes to the top of her head, wave after wave threatening to consume her.

In nearly thirty years of life, she had never been driven to such rage—she wanted nothing more than to leap forward and tear this arrogant woman to pieces.

But she couldn’t.

If she did, not only would Jiaxing be finished, but she’d likely face criminal charges for assault.

She would not make such a foolish move.

She’d considered playing her trump card—several times the words were on her lips, only to be swallowed back.

That was her last bargaining chip; it had to be used at the right moment.

So she vented by smashing things—desk, pantry—anything she could break, she did. When her hands tired, she picked up a laptop and threw it; later, anything handy would do.

The more she smashed, the more frenzied she became; her destructive energy grew.

Within ten minutes, the spacious office was a shambles, glass shards everywhere.

People outside heard the commotion and knocked in alarm. Song Mi replied that it was nothing, but their worry was not eased. Soon, a male assistant rushed in, only for Song Mi to tell him to let her be.

Two minutes later, Ye Zhao burst in, also ready to intervene, but Song Mi stopped him as well.

When Shen Ruming finally wore herself out, panting as she returned to stand before Song Mi, Song Mi glanced coolly at her watch. “Seventh Miss, your stamina is lacking—barely twenty-one minutes in total.”

Shen Ruming swept her hair back, sniffed indifferently, and pointed at her. “Song Mi, you’re ruthless!”

“But let me remind you,” Shen Ruming smiled with brazen confidence, her finger slowly lowering, “you’re not invincible either, Song Mi. You have weaknesses too.”

Song Mi watched as her finger stopped—pointing directly at her belly.

—So she knew?

Her eyes sharpened, but her face remained impassive, waiting for her to speak.

Shen Ruming stared hard at Song Mi, trying to catch her first reaction—to gauge the value of the card she held.

Yet this woman’s composure and cunning were deeper than Shen Ruming had imagined. Even knowing what was being implied, she didn’t so much as flutter an eyelash.

The old master, wise and shrewd his entire life, had brought home a true marvel.

One sitting, one standing—the air between them thick with silent psychological warfare.

Half a minute passed. Shen Ruming had yet to speak. Song Mi was about to prod her further when Shen Ruming abruptly withdrew and turned to leave.

Glass shards crunched under her heels, echoing with a broken wail.

At last, Song Mi let her eyes close and open, her body relaxing as she sank fully into her chair.

Ye Zhao approached her. “Miss Song, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

During her standoff with Shen Ruming, Song Mi had already pinpointed the issue to Jinzhou Second Hospital.

If Shen Ruming’s people could secretly snap photos of her with Ming Hao, it was possible they had followed her to the hospital. If they saw her enter in the middle of the night, tracing the thread to her medical records would not have been difficult.

Sealing off information is never foolproof—it’s just a matter of price.

She gathered her thoughts and smiled. “When Assistant Lin lands, have him call me immediately.”

…

A week later, on the first floor of Sihai Tower, Song Mi stepped out of the chairman’s private elevator and immediately spotted Wen Yanli in a grey suit.

The man saw her as well.

This was their first encounter since the lunch that day.

Though she hadn’t personally followed up, Song Mi knew exactly why he was here.

The autopsy report for Shen Ye had come back. Forensic examination had found traces of sedatives in Shen Ye’s stomach.

If the plan had been for a live-streamed suicide, why had one of them taken sleeping pills beforehand?

Given this major discrepancy, the police had launched a formal investigation.

Yunxi Villa was preliminarily identified as the first crime scene. As Shen Ye’s attorney, Wen Yanli had been coordinating with Sihai Group’s legal team on the case. Logically, his presence made sense.

But whether it was truly necessary for him to come in person—that was another question.

With the chairman’s elevator at the far end, Song Mi had to pass right by him to exit.

Staring was impolite, but to look away as if one had never seen the other—more so.

Was this his way of declaring they were now strangers?

But then his thin lips parted. “Miss Song.”

Song Mi slowed, her amber eyes glinting with faint mockery as she looked at his striking face. “I thought perhaps your eyesight was poor today, Mr. Wen. Didn’t see me there.”

—Calling him blind?

A flicker of irritation crossed Wen Yanli’s brows. This woman tolerated not even the slightest slight when she was in no mood to be civil.

Not only did she not tolerate it, she made it clear—if this were a business negotiation, she would see you dead, and make sure you knew why.

He was always calm and composed, yet with her, a restless energy seemed to stir in him.

He pressed it down before replying in his usual tranquil tone, “Heading out, Miss Song?”