Chapter 73: Why Isn’t He With You? He Lets You Go Out Alone?

There was only Song Mi in the room, and judging by the scene, she had been drinking alone for some time. Her Burberry coat hung neatly on the standing rack; she wore a crisp white shirt over a black turtleneck, paired with slim black pencil trousers. The style was exceptionally simple, devoid of any unnecessary adornment.

But she was beautiful, tall and slender, her proportions nearly flawless. With her innate air of aloof elegance, even the most elementary combination of black and white became transcendent and striking when worn by her. The sight was arresting, piercing straight to the heart.

Huo Qingjue quickly ordered himself to look away, lowering his gaze; it swept over the bottles on the liquor cabinet. One bottle of red wine was already more than halfway empty. Did she have a remarkable tolerance for alcohol?

Song Mi paid no mind to the visitor's scrutiny. Only when Huo Qingjue settled onto the sofa beside her did she lean forward, unhurried, picking up her glass from the cabinet and raising it toward him. "Congratulations, Young Master Huo."

"No, soon I should call you President Huo," she continued, lifting her long lashes to meet his quietly reserved gaze through her glasses.

Huo Qingjue smiled softly, "Thank you for your generosity, President Song!"

"Generosity?" Song Mi had indeed drunk quite a bit, but with her capacity, this amount was barely enough to moisten her throat. "Young Master Huo, you are truly modest."

"But I fear my hand will be hard to cut off," she added, bringing her glass to her lips, taking a bold sip.

Her playful tone lingered in the air, and before him was the graceful sight of her chin lifted as she drank, the wine sliding smoothly down her throat.

A strange urge seized Huo Qingjue—he wanted to loosen his shirt collar, undo another button, but he restrained himself. "Then I'll punish myself with three glasses first."

Song Mi said nothing, idly turning her glass in her hand. Only after Huo Qingjue drank three full glasses of red wine did she set hers down serenely and speak, the teasing note gone and a hint of coldness in her beautiful eyes. "Young Master Huo, you have quite the tolerance."

He glanced at the half-empty bottle by her glass, the one she had already consumed much of before he arrived. "In business, victory is already a bit unfair; I can't take advantage of President Song in drinking as well."

There was a subtle ambiguity in his words, but Huo Qingjue himself had no such intention—at least, not until the instant he realized the remark might be inappropriate. When the words fell, he noticed immediately, but to offer a correction would seem suspicious.

Song Mi was watching, waiting to see if he would explain his “slip of the tongue.” He did not. That, too, matched her judgment: Huo Qingjue was simply speaking to the matter, not being frivolous. Indeed, before he entered, she had already drunk most of a bottle. His three full glasses equaled her own.

So, up to now, her impression of Huo Qingjue was: strictly business.

It seemed the next step was to discuss terms. But first, there was something she needed to probe. "Young Master Huo, with your fine drinking and upright conduct, you must have many friends far and wide."

"I recall you praised me in the car at noon, saying you’d witnessed my flair and boldness before." Song Mi leaned back bit by bit, her spine sinking into the sofa. "If I’m not mistaken, you meant the incident at Miss Lu’s art exhibition."

Her red lips curled into a careless smile. "Given your close relationship with the Lu siblings, did Mr. Lu not give you any advance notice of Wan’s good fortune today?"

At this, Huo Qingjue paused, not so much in response to Song Mi as to Lu Zhi Yuan. Her words brought to mind what Lu Zhi Yuan had said a week ago: "Never give up too soon, Huo. Wait until the last moment."

At the time, he’d taken it as a polite platitude. Was there a deeper meaning?

So, was today’s Shen family scandal exposed by Lu Zhi Yuan? For revenge against Song Mi? But that seemed excessively circuitous—and would he risk offending Shen San and Miss Tang for that? Lu Zhi Yuan’s protection of his sister was understandable, but for a mere private grievance, was it worth throwing a bomb onto Shen Sihai's grave?

The dead can't climb out of their coffins to bite. But now, Sihai Group was blacklisted and booted from the West Suburb redevelopment project. If Song Mi was truly angered, would he not fear she’d retaliate against the Lu Corporation in business?

If Lu Zhi Yuan was so reckless with public and private matters, Huo Qingjue would need to reconsider their friendship from now on.

Though his mind raced through these thoughts, it happened in the span of a few seconds, and his expression remained perfectly composed, his doubt subtle and measured. "President Song, are you suggesting that Mr. Lu had something to do with today’s events?"

For her part, Song Mi could discern nothing from Huo Qingjue’s face. She was convinced that if he’d had any inkling about today’s events, he would have prepared a contingency plan.

But it didn’t matter whether Huo Qingjue knew in advance; her question was merely to lead to her next point. "As I understand it, Wan Group and Lu Corporation have always cooperated amicably. All the Lu Corporation’s daily chemical brands are regular guests—indeed, honored guests—at Wan supermarkets."

By now, Huo Qingjue realized what Song Mi's condition was. He had long since assessed the level and quality of Lu Corporation’s products and whether they deserved the “regular” and “honored” status Song Mi described.

But for now, he was not yet the master of Wan Group. And he was certain Song Mi was well aware of his current position at Wan, so he dispensed with any pretense and spoke plainly. "If I’m not mistaken, President Song, I can only hope you lend me a hand for the moment."

In the face of Huo Qingjue’s candor, Song Mi habitually narrowed her eyes, but didn’t rush to reply.

Soon, Huo Qingjue added, "At present, I do have something I can reveal to you, President Song."

After hearing him out, Song Mi’s eyes lifted ever so slightly, and she laughed. "It seems Young Master Huo is truly determined to get my proposal!"

It was a clear jab, not only about his desire for her proposal, but also mocking how quickly he’d sell out Lu Zhi Yuan for it.

Yet her tone was measured, and to Huo Qingjue’s ear, not especially biting.

He was no paragon of virtue himself. Besides, Lu Zhi Yuan had never confided in him—if he meant to trade favors, why not give advance warning of today’s developments? If he’d had three days’ preparation, he wouldn’t have been caught so off guard.

At this point, the negotiation finally took a substantive turn.

Song Mi was neither greedy nor regretful. She could afford to hold onto the proposal, but there was no need. Business was never a competition of pride or stubbornness. If Huo Qingjue dared promise her terms, she would share everything she had—fair and square.

Before Huo Qingjue could speak, Song Mi glanced at her watch, then stood up. "Then, Young Master Huo, tell your team to prepare for an all-nighter."

"In half an hour, my people will be at your company’s door."

Suddenly, she remembered something. "But there’s one person you’ll need to invite yourself."

After Song Mi rose, Huo Qingjue followed suit. He had expected her to agree, but not with such complete openness. This woman possessed an extraordinary boldness—and an even greater allure.

Suppressing his emotions, Huo Qingjue quickly asked, "Who?"

"A newly hired architect I brought in just yesterday," Song Mi replied, retrieving her coat from the rack but draping it over her arm instead of wearing it in front of him.

Before Song Mi could pull open the door, Huo Qingjue called out, "President Song."

She turned and saw him pick up two wine glasses from the cabinet, then walked over and handed her the one she had used, raising his own first. "Thank you."

Song Mi accepted without hesitation. "You’re welcome."

...

Leaving the private room, they reached the staircase, where Qiao Weiwei hurried up from below. "Oh, Mi, you came—why didn’t you have someone let me know?"

On the last step, Qiao Weiwei stood with hands on her hips, catching her breath. "What, you’re leaving? I just got back and you’re heading out again?"

"How is it! We’ve seen each other twice today and I haven’t even said a word to you!"

Song Mi laughed. "At lunch you were so eloquent, you nearly talked yourself parched. Did you forget?"

Qiao Weiwei frowned, her expression suddenly awkward. "Um… well… I didn’t actually say what I wanted!"

Song Mi understood—she was likely about to discuss her situation with Pei Qiuyang.

But matters of the heart—what advice could others offer? Especially since she herself was still in limbo.

Rationally, she knew it was time to withdraw. Emotionally, she couldn’t.

Just now, alone in the private room drinking, she’d nearly called Lawyer Wen several times.

Her hand resisted, but her heart could not stop thinking.

As she drifted off, Qiao Weiwei leaned in and sniffed. "Mi, you’ve been drinking?"

"You usually don’t drink at all," Qiao Weiwei stared straight into her eyes, then looked behind her. "Where’s Lawyer Wen?"

"He didn’t come with you? He’s okay with you going out alone?"

Longing, it seemed, was something you could suppress, ignore, and dismiss, but once spoken—even hearing a name—would bring a pang to the heart.

She had never experienced this before; today was her first time, and she had mastered it instinctively.

Across from her, Qiao Weiwei’s imagination soared. "Did you have a fight, so you came here to drown your sorrows?"

"Impossible!" Qiao Weiwei’s expression was lively. "Lawyer Wen is so good to you, would he argue?"

"…Unlike some people—a real scoundrel, heartless dog!"

Qiao Weiwei’s indignant demeanor amused Song Mi, though she was feeling a bit hungry. She hadn’t eaten dinner, had nearly a whole bottle of red wine, and while she didn’t feel drunk, her stomach was truly empty. The thought of it made her even hungrier. "Hey, are you going to stand here and tell me your drunken tales of volcanic passion?"

"Shh, shh, shh!" Qiao Weiwei quickly made a hushing gesture. "I’m the boss’s wife here, keep your voice down, at least give me some face!"

Song Mi started down the stairs. "It’s still early, there’s no customers."

"I’m hungry, boss’s wife, what’s good to eat nearby?"

Qiao Weiwei’s eyes lit up at the mention of food; lately her appetite was excellent. "Hey, hey, hey, why go downstairs if you want to eat?"

She reached out to pull Song Mi, but withdrew quickly, mindful of her back injury. "Don’t you know about delivery?"

"Come on, let’s find a room. I’ll order on my phone and have it brought up!" She pulled out her phone to order, asking what Song Mi wanted.

Song Mi thought it was a good idea.

As they left the stairwell and walked inside, Huo Qingjue approached from the corridor on their right.

Qiao Weiwei looked up and saw him. "Mi, didn’t you say there were no customers?"

Then, "Did you come with him?"

Song Mi replied, "Mm, discussing something."

"Weren’t you two at Tianxiang Lou at lunch?" Qiao Weiwei whispered, "I saw from the window."

Though they didn’t run into each other directly, greetings were exchanged. Huo Qingjue said his farewells, and Song Mi and Qiao Weiwei picked a small private room to enter.

Qiao Weiwei spent ten minutes ordering food, then put her phone away. After a bit of emotional preparation, she began hesitantly, "Um… Mi, what do you think is going on between me and Pei Qiuyang?"

Song Mi settled comfortably on the sofa, half-closing her eyes, uninterested. "You haven’t told me—how would I know?"

"I told you, didn’t I? We… we slept together!" Qiao Weiwei, usually brash and fearless, became a different person entirely when facing matters of love.

Song Mi was not surprised; such contradictions were common.

"So you slept together—then what?"

Qiao Weiwei shifted her posture, sitting cross-legged, gathering her courage, but her head dropped as she spoke. "It was… my first time!"

Song Mi almost laughed again. "So?"

"You want him to commit for life, marry you tomorrow with grand ceremony?"

"Not quite!" Qiao Weiwei wasn’t so old-fashioned, but, awkwardly, "He… seems nice, and… I kind of…"

Seeing her nearly bury her head in her knees, Song Mi asked directly, "Was it earth-shattering for you?"

She switched words. "Was he… skilled?"

"Are you hooked now?"

Qiao Weiwei hemmed and hawed, finally admitting it, then rambled on about it.

Song Mi interrupted, "So your problem is you want to sleep with him again, or several times, but you’re embarrassed to say so?"

Eventually, Qiao Weiwei asked, "Mi, what about you and Lawyer Wen—how did you start, and how is your feeling, before and after?"

Just then, Qiao Weiwei’s phone rang—not the food delivery, but the restaurant calling to say something was sold out and asking if a substitute was acceptable.

Song Mi was relieved; she didn’t want to talk about Lawyer Wen—not for any reason but because she missed him too much. With the wine now affecting her, she missed him even more. It felt as though the moment she closed her eyes, she’d see his face.

When Qiao Weiwei finished the call, Song Mi seized the chance to excuse herself to the restroom, taking her coat with her.

She planned, after freshening up, to text Qiao Weiwei that something urgent had come up and she had to leave, and when Ye Zhao arrived, she’d exit Meise and head back to her apartment.

She didn’t know why, but suddenly she wanted to return home. Very much so.

She could simply call and hear his voice—her phone was right there—but she wouldn’t. She wanted only to go home, to the kitchen he’d worked in, to the bed they’d shared for half a month.

Because his presence lingered there.

It was as if, once she was back, immersed in those familiar traces, she could finally feel at ease.

Song Mi knew her condition wasn’t good. Her back pain was one thing; her emotions were another.

After texting Ye Zhao, she turned on the faucet, splashed water gently on her face, composed herself, and walked out of the restroom.

Her impatience made her leave Meise’s door before Ye Zhao arrived, heading alone toward the parking spot.

Thus, when those two men approached her, she was already aware of the danger. She wanted to evade, but it was too late—or rather, she moved too slowly.

At that critical moment, a voice suddenly called from the side, and a figure rushed toward her. "Careful!"