Chapter 52: Besides, Mier already has someone

This was exactly the person Song Mi wanted to see, but not entirely. More than the man, perhaps she wished to meet his mother.

The man wore a royal blue suit jacket, black trousers, and a pair of deep blue matte leather shoes—neither strictly businesslike nor too casual. Yet, with his natural poise, anything he wore became eye-catching.

This reminded Song Mi of her wild shopping spree in the men's section at the mall just this afternoon, timing it perfectly. By now, the director had probably arranged for the freshly laundered clothes to be delivered to her apartment. So, was her timing off this time?

As the man stopped before her, Song Mi quickly concealed the ripple of emotion in her eyes and greeted him coolly, “Attorney Wen.”

The man’s brows, already slightly furrowed, tightened further. “Why aren’t you at home resting?”

She wore a silver top, the half-turtleneck adorned with a row of decorative Chinese buttons sweeping down to her collarbone, paired with dark green wide-legged pants that accentuated her tall, slender figure. Her waist looked so delicate, it seemed barely a hand could encircle it.

Caught off guard, Wen Yanli felt an ache deep in his chest.

She had lost weight.

Seeing the faint tide in his deep eyes, Song Mi’s heart softened, and she teased, “Perhaps I’ve come to find my truant bodyguard?”

Like sunlight piercing through clouds, a sudden brightness shone in the depths of his dark eyes, the frost on his expression melting away.

He curved his sharp lips into a subtle, restrained smile. “So President Song came all this way just to put someone in their place?”

Wasn’t that exactly it? Last night, he’d said she wasn't a model patient but had at least found herself a competent bodyguard. He’d just praised her for being so responsible.

“Does it hurt?”
“It hurts a lot!” they both replied, voices overlapping.

Their eyes met; sparks kindled between them, not fierce but full of delight.

Song Mi’s eyes curved into a smile, the knot in her heart dissolving. But Wen Yanli’s expression quickly cooled, and his gaze tightened around her. “No champagne, wine, or cold drinks. Leave in half an hour.”

Song Mi’s eyes flickered. She was about to speak when a figure caught her peripheral vision. With one glance, she recognized the elegant middle-aged woman. Judging by her presence, who else could she be but the man’s mother?

“Ah Li, here you are.”

Before Song Mi could look at him, the man had already turned aside and strode over to greet the woman, “Mom.”

Wen’s mother caught sight of Song Mi. Song Mi clearly saw her eyes widen with a hint of surprise before settling into composure.

“This is Song Mi,” Wen Yanli introduced, his expression unchanged. “My mother.”

Song Mi hesitated inwardly but showed nothing on her face, offering a polite nod. “Good evening, Madam.”

“Miss Song.” After this brief greeting, Wen’s mother’s gaze did not linger. She quickly turned to her son. “Teacher Ye and Uncle Hua are all asking to see you!”

Wen Yanli’s gaze briefly rested on Song Mi’s face, only to see her smile graciously. “Attorney Wen, you’d better accompany your mother.”

“Excuse me, then.” Feng Shengzhi glanced once more at Song Mi.

“Excuse me.”

A fleeting meeting. Aside from noting the woman’s impeccable poise and clear signs of a good upbringing, nothing else could be discerned—yet that much was evident just by looking at Attorney Wen himself. As for why Wen’s mother favored Lu Zhizhi, that would soon become clear.

But the man was domineering enough to only allow her half an hour!

Watching mother and son walk away, Song Mi recalled the look in the man’s eyes as he forbade her from certain drinks. She narrowed her eyes, a gentle ripple spreading within them, like a spring breeze over a lake.

...

Meanwhile, Qiao Weiwei was enduring Qiao Yudong’s scrutiny.

“That girl just now—is she the best friend you always mention? Your sworn sister?”

Qiao Weiwei nodded enthusiastically. “Well? Isn’t she stunning?”

Qiao Yudong’s brows drew together. “She doesn’t look like someone who’d come out with you.”

“I’ve told you a thousand times, I’m perfectly straight! Just because I don’t date guys doesn’t mean you can peg me as a lesbian forever. Besides, Mi’er already has someone!”

At this, an image of Song Mi’s strikingly clear and beautiful face flashed unbidden in Qiao Yudong’s mind. Pure as lotus rising from clear water, untouched by artifice—the purer, the more alluring. He’d met plenty of women, all types of beauties, but none quite like Song Mi.

To put it simply, she was captivating.

She hadn’t done anything but greet him properly, yet he felt himself drawn in.

He had noticed Song Mi the moment he walked in. He’d always avoided entanglements with his sister’s friends, the ties were too close and potentially troublesome. But with Song Mi, he felt the opposite—he wondered if she was even within his reach.

Already involved with someone?

He recalled his sister’s words.

Though Qiao Weiwei had spent years abroad and wasn’t in the same circles as her brother, she understood the predatory ways of their privileged set well. After he’d spoken, she had caught his eye and raised a warning brow.

Sensing the vibe, Qiao Weiwei immediately fired a warning shot. “Mi’er is your own sister’s lifesaver! Don’t get any ideas!”

Qiao Yudong reached out and ruffled his sister’s hair. “Worry about yourself.”

“Ugh, bro! My hair!”

Actually, Qiao Yudong had noticed something else as soon as he approached—his tomboy sister, who never bothered with makeup, had clearly dabbed on blush today, and even he could see it.

What was going on? Was she changing her ways?

But her makeup skills were abysmal—her cheeks were as red as a monkey’s bottom!

Not only that, she’d even worn a skirt for the first time!

To be honest, aside from her messy hair, she actually looked… quite graceful.

Qiao Weiwei, with her strong features and healthy, pearl-like glow (if not as pale as Song Mi), was a budding beauty in her own right—full of energy and charm.

Noticing her brother’s gaze, Qiao Weiwei fussed with her hair, mumbling, “It’s all messed up. Mi’er spent ages blowing it out for me at home.”

In truth, she was nervous. She’d iced her face until it was numb, and Mi’er had helped with contour and blush until she looked like a stage performer. She was still afraid of being found out.

Damn it! She could remember exactly what the man who slapped her that night looked like. Once Mi’er had dealt with the Shen family, she’d make sure to pin that bastard down and slap him herself!

If not for her quick thinking—using Lu Zhizhi’s art exhibit as an excuse to dress up and put on makeup—she’d never have gotten this past Qiao Yudong in any other situation.

Thinking of Lu Zhizhi, Qiao Weiwei remembered her other purpose for coming: to help Mi’er gather intelligence.

“By the way, bro, you’re an art expert. Tell me, how are these paintings?”

She immediately pulled Qiao Yudong aside, toward the dimmer corner, making it harder for him to scrutinize her face.

Qiao Yudong looked puzzled. “Since when are you interested in art?”

...

Ye Ying’s influence was undeniable. Before long, guests from every corner of the gallery were drawn to the Shuiyue Hall.

The small hall was arranged with an exquisite touch of Eastern aesthetics, perfectly matching Ye Ying’s New Oriental Impressionist style. Guests gradually filled every seat, and many had to stand.

As the surround sound system played the curator’s gentle narration, Ye Ying’s works over the years were projected frame by frame on the central wall, and the atmosphere reached a peak of appreciation and excitement.

From what Song Mi observed, many present were genuine art lovers, and Ye Ying’s fans were numerous. It seemed Lu Zhizhi was better at marketing herself than at painting.

Song Mi wouldn’t call herself an expert, but she had her insights—art is priceless, but works are not; Ye Ying’s style, both before and after fame, hadn’t improved much, remaining too single-minded, not quite distinctive enough to be called a true school.

In short, her work was mediocre. At least in Ye Ying’s lifetime, these paintings had little collectible value.

Song Mi wandered leisurely, glancing at her watch after standing for a while. She still had fifteen minutes.

Earlier, she had looked up to see him sitting with his mother in the front row. To Wen’s mother’s left sat Ye Ying, and then Lu Zhizhi.

Song Mi took out her phone, about to message Qiao Weiwei, when someone approached from her left. “Mi’er, do you think anyone will buy Lu Zhizhi’s paintings tonight?”

Song Mi replied, disinterested, “There are always a few fools.”

Qiao Weiwei gave her a thumbs up. “You’ve got a good eye! My brother said the same thing!”

“I thought Lu Zhizhi must have some real skill to put on such a show. But this—this is all we get?” Qiao Weiwei rolled her eyes in her signature fashion. “I even put on a skirt for this! For this!”

Song Mi couldn’t help but laugh. “Why the skirt?”

Qiao Weiwei gestured up and down. “When have you ever seen me dressed so awkwardly?”

Then she patted her face. “And this makeup—like a Peking Opera performer.”

Judging by her good mood, her facial injuries must have been successfully concealed. As for Lu Zhizhi, there would be time enough to deal with her.

She’d seen the man, exchanged sweet words—this trip was worthwhile.

With that, Song Mi stopped teasing. “I’m about to leave. What about you?”

She added, “And just so you know, I’m not taking you in tonight. If you’re stranded, go find Ye Zhao downstairs.”

“Hey! Mi’er, why are you turning your back on me?” Qiao Weiwei hurried after her, linking arms. “Already leaving? I just saw Attorney Wen! Did you two talk? And who’s that middle-aged woman beside him? His mom?”

Qiao Weiwei fired off her questions so fast that Song Mi couldn’t get a word in.

“She seems close to Ye Ying. Could those two be planning to match Wen with…”

Just then, a low voice called, “Miss Song.”

It was Lu Zhizhi.

Song Mi heard it, as did Qiao Weiwei, who gave her a questioning look. Song Mi glanced back, then turned and greeted, “Miss Lu.”

Lu Zhizhi’s gaze shifted to Qiao Weiwei. “And this is?”

“My friend, Qiao Weiwei,” Song Mi replied coolly.

Lu Zhizhi assumed her hostess demeanor. “Miss Qiao, thank you for coming.”

Qiao Weiwei forced a fake smile. “Oh? And you are?”

A blatant snub—photos and profiles of Lu Zhizhi were everywhere, as was her name on the exhibit. Yet she acted as though she’d never heard of her. This wasn’t mere oversight; it was a clear attempt to belittle.

But Qiao Weiwei had to maintain her composure. “Lu Zhizhi, student of Teacher Ye.”

“Oh, so it’s Miss Lu.” Qiao Weiwei feigned embarrassment, laughing awkwardly.

It was all too fake—even Song Mi could hardly bear to watch.

For someone like Lu Zhizhi, who prided herself on her social grace, it was a hard act to maintain. If she lost her temper, she’d seem petty; if she held it in, she’d be inwardly seething, her face betraying her. It was all so exhausting.

But Lu Zhizhi’s attention had shifted elsewhere. She had come over to Song Mi deliberately—this was a signal. Very soon, Song Mi would no longer be able to laugh.

One, two, three…

From their position, Song Mi and Qiao Weiwei were facing the white wall used for projections.

So when the exclamations began, Song Mi looked up to see the images on the wall.

And heard the sound.

Scenes from that night between her and the man played out before everyone.

The room erupted.

“What’s going on?”
“This is… way too much!”
“Who are they?”
“Oh my god, is there a problem with the system?”

Some even commented on the bodies involved.

Some covered their eyes, others coughed or turned away. But the video kept playing.

Instinctively, Song Mi looked for the man. In that moment of distraction—crack—a stinging pain struck her cheek.

Lu Zhizhi had slapped her.

Qiao Weiwei reacted first, stepping up and shoving Lu Zhizhi. “How dare you hit Mi’er!”

Lu Zhizhi staggered back, then spun around, pointing at Song Mi with tearful outrage. “Miss Song, why did you do this? Don’t you know you’ll ruin Ah Li?”

Then someone in the crowd said, “Isn’t that man… him?”

“I think so…”

“It’s him, right…”

Elsewhere, Feng Shengzhi’s face turned darker. She had no idea why, at an art show, something involving her son was suddenly being displayed. Where had this come from? How had it appeared here?

For a few minutes, her mind went blank.

Until Lu Zhizhi’s anguished cry—“Don’t you know this will ruin Ah Li!”—and the mention of “Miss Song.”

Wasn’t that the same Miss Song her son had just introduced her to?

From Lu Zhizhi’s words, was this woman the one who had done something to her son?

Embarrassment was only part of it—mostly she felt confusion.

She couldn’t grasp the situation at all.

She glanced at her son, who seemed unfazed, eyes downcast, lost in thought.

Then, in the next instant, he stood.

She grabbed his arm, whispering, “Where are you going?”

Wen Yanli gave her a calm glance and said to the man on his right, “Uncle Hua, could you please look after my mother?”

“Of course…”

Song Mi, having recovered from the slap, now looked at Lu Zhizhi with icy, dangerous eyes. “So you’re saying I arranged for this video to be played?”

Yet her lips curled into a playful smile.

She was stunning—pale as snow, lips a delicate crimson, her eyes half-mooned with sly dimples peeking through. The contrast was chilling, and Lu Zhizhi found herself inexplicably afraid as Song Mi deliberately slowed her voice. “Then, Miss Lu, where would I have gotten this video?”

Lu Zhizhi’s ability to switch expressions was Oscar-worthy. Her tear-streaked face displayed shame, shock, anguish—every emotion layered and rich. “Miss Song, if you dared to do it, why not admit it? Didn’t you come to me with a video like this just days ago, demanding I leave Ah Li?”

Song Mi’s smile deepened. “And what is your relationship with Attorney Wen?”

Just then, perfectly timed, the man appeared. “None whatsoever.”

Song Mi looked up, meeting his gaze.

He looked back at her.

For a moment, a silent understanding passed between them—nothing needed to be said.

That single phrase, not too heavy nor too light, was enough to shatter Lu Zhizhi’s composure, but she was desperate now and not about to give up. “Ah Li, I know you had no choice. Even if there’s something between you, I…”

“Song Mi, is this why you abandoned me?”

Suddenly, as Lu Zhizhi wept, a male voice Song Mi had never heard thundered from outside.

After the accusatory question came another: “Did you betray me for this lawyer, cast me aside like garbage, and even destroy our child?”

Song Mi, who’d been exchanging glances with Wen Yanli, raised her brows at this and slowly turned her head. She was curious—what more awaited her tonight?

Sure enough, the room buzzed even louder.

Whispers, head-tilting, people confirming her identity, speculating about the men.

Even Qiao Weiwei came over, tugging her arm. “What’s going on, Mi’er?”

By now, Song Mi had a fair idea. Sure enough, a familiar figure soon emerged from the shadows.