Chapter 103: A Romantic Kiss by the Seaside

She could feel his rising and falling breath, his unique scent enveloping her tightly, rendering her powerless to resist, slowly succumbing bit by bit.

Linglan lifted her eyes and finally saw him open them. Their gazes met, and she sensed the cold depth in his look directed at her.

Yet his face remained as calm and inscrutable as still water, silent as ever, though the slight tightening of his grip around her arm betrayed a faint tension. She knew he never let his emotions show, but it was precisely this suppressed silence that made her heart uneasy.

Mo Zhicheng glanced away, no longer looking at her. Driver Chen silently focused on the road, not uttering a word, dutifully concentrating on his task. Linglan then noticed the car was not heading to “Tiancheng” but toward the seaside villa. She realized this had all been arranged by him.

******

Meanwhile, Tang Pei had cleared the media away, ensuring Mo Zhicheng a quiet environment. Afterwards, Tang Pei drove off alone.

“Uncle, do you like Mom Linglan? Do you? Do you?”

“Yes!”

Perhaps Mo Zhicheng overheard this, as Tang Pei furrowed his brow instinctively. He knew he shouldn’t cross boundaries, that he should remain clear-headed and keep a safe distance from her. But today, when he saw her stumbling away from the reporters, fleeing in panic to hide in an empty corner, compassion welled up inside him. So during the fundraising event, he quietly sought her out.

It seemed ever since he met her, he had cared for her like a sister. There is a kind of woman in this world who naturally stirs a man’s instinct to protect and care for her.

“Uncle, do you like my Mom Linglan?”

“Do you?!”

The innocent voice lingered in his mind. Tang Pei told himself he only saw her as a sister, nothing more! Slowly, the tension in the man’s brow eased...

Over there,

The Bentley did not stop at the villa but rather by the seaside. Driver Chen watched Mo Zhicheng’s expressions carefully and politely replied a few words before taking his leave, sensing the moment.

Linglan heard the soft click of the car door closing and followed Chen’s departing figure with her eyes. Why had Mo Zhicheng parked the car here? The solitude, the chill in the air inside the car—all seemed to crystallize into ice.

The next moment, Mo Zhicheng opened the car door and tossed out a single command: “Get out!”

It was the only sentence he had spoken to her since the journey began, brief and terse.

Seeing her remain motionless for a long time, he turned to look at her, his expression like the deep sea before them—beautiful to behold, yet beneath the surface, waves surged tumultuously.

Linglan stepped out of the Bentley and followed behind him. Mo Zhicheng stood before the car, gazing at the roaring sea. Linglan halted. She felt she was easily angering him, and now his cold demeanor seemed especially unwelcoming.

Her arms hung silently by her sides, fingers intertwined, unconsciously clenching. “President Mo...” she broke the silence, calling softly, “What’s wrong?” she asked tentatively.

Mo Zhicheng furrowed his brows and glanced sideways at her. “What did you call me?”

“‘President Mo’—that’s just what everyone calls you,” Linglan explained. “It’s polite.”

“They’re them. You’re you!” Mo Zhicheng snapped lightly, leaving Linglan wide-eyed and momentarily speechless. “Remember what I tell you. Don’t make me remind you a third time!”

Linglan understood clearly what he meant—it was his displeasure at her addressing him so formally. He was being petty.

She felt a slight tremor throughout her slender frame. Her delicate figure, already thin and fragile, swayed in the sea breeze. The strands of hair falling by her temples fluttered lightly, partially covering her serene face. Because she had accompanied him to the event, she wore a faint makeup; her complexion was like a peach blossom, with a faint blush on her cheeks. And since she had cried, her eyes now seemed to glisten as if wet with tears.

Her thin clothes left her looking somewhat desolate, the sea wind seeming ready to scatter her delicate figure. Mo Zhicheng’s brows knitted even tighter. With a resigned sigh, he removed his wool coat and stepped forward to drape it over her shoulders. Unexpectedly, she instinctively struggled, disturbing his patience. With strength, he pulled her back, trapping her between the car and his body.

Linglan looked back at him, still trying to regain her composure when the man bent down and kissed her. His kisses were fierce, as if that was his nature, lingering on her lips without release, his eyes fixed intently on the woman beneath him, missing not the slightest change in her expression. “Do you know where you went wrong?” he murmured, finally addressing the matter at hand.

Linglan pressed her arms against his chest, but it did little to deter his growing boldness. His hands slid into her soft black hair, steadying her head, forcing her to meet his fathomless gaze.

She nodded gently.

“Where did you go wrong?” he asked again.

“I shouldn’t have stormed out so impulsively in front of so many people, embarrassing you,” she answered sincerely.

Mo Zhicheng frowned, their eyes locked. In her clear gaze, he saw through his own anger. He shouldn’t be mad, nor should he force her to admit fault as if interrogating her. Clearly, his actions were out of control. He pressed, “Leaving without permission? Is that the only mistake?”

Linglan pondered seriously, then added, “I was disrespectful to you in front of Little Lingling.”

“And?”

“And...” Linglan bit her lip instinctively. Was she really to voice her suspicions? She hesitated, then carefully said, “I shouldn’t have been alone with Director Tang...” Her voice grew softer. “It upset you.”

Mo Zhicheng was stunned. His cold hands cupped her cheeks gently. “He said he likes you.” His body pressed closer to hers.

“Children are innocent; Director Tang was only joking,” Linglan said. She hadn’t expected he heard everything, but she had always believed that young Tang’s words were just playful, never suspecting any overstep.

Mo Zhicheng knew the truth as well. Though he understood there was nothing real, the images he had seen haunted him, stirring waves in his heart.

He envied the harmonious scene—the child’s innocent laughter, the carefree childhood. She held him, smiling like a blooming flower, fresh and beautiful. The child preferred Tang Pei, the three of them sharing a tacit understanding, their glances meeting like a happy family enjoying blissful moments.

In reality, she had done nothing wrong. Her only fault was not knowing how to refuse other men; worse was that she made him sad, causing a gnawing pain in his heart, as if it were being slowly torn apart.

“What about the child? Shouldn’t you tell me honestly?” His tone softened.

Linglan looked at him, unwilling to hide this from him or cause suspicion. Besides, Little Lingling was a child she had sponsored after graduating college. The adoption was legitimate and had nothing to do with Ye Shao, so naturally, it had no connection to him.

So, she recounted the entire story of adopting Little Lingling from beginning to end.

Unexpectedly, she saw surprise, praise, and admiration reflected in his eyes. Mo Zhicheng did not interrupt her. She spoke clearly, “She suffers from a rare form of dilated cardiomyopathy, a very uncommon case. Currently, there is no particularly effective treatment.” She smiled faintly, as if in a daze. “Zhicheng...” she called softly, like a gentle May breeze, brimming with spring vitality, making one unwilling to break away.

“If you only had thirty-five years to live, what would you want to do most?” she murmured.

The question felt sudden and profound.

Mo Zhicheng held her face in his hands, startled by the resolve in her eyes, hearing her add, “Just a hypothetical,” she smiled.

“Not to regret anything,” he replied.

Linglan nodded, a gentle smile unfolding as if she agreed wholeheartedly. “Not to regret anything,” she whispered. Time slipped like sand through fingers—watching it trickle away, impossible to grasp or hold. All one could do was live without wasting it, so that when looking back, there would be no regrets.

The sudden change in topic made the previously tense atmosphere heavy.

Mo Zhicheng bent down and lightly kissed her red-rimmed eyes. “She calls you Mom; what should she call me?”

She smiled. “You look so stern, you scare the child—and me too.” Yet he felt her slight trembling. Looking at her flushed cheeks, chilled by the wind, he finally released her and buttoned his coat tighter around her. “Let’s go home.”

Home?!

He said home!

Linglan watched his departing figure, lowered her eyes, and hurried to catch up. But after only a few steps, the man turned unexpectedly, pulled her close around the waist, and lowered his head to kiss her again. Their embrace deepened, the heavy coat slipping off onto the soft white sand. The setting sun blazed across the horizon like fire, casting flickering shadows on the gray sea. Amidst the vast expanse, only their entwined silhouettes remained, perfectly framed against the stunning seascape—a masterpiece born of nature and fate.

******

As night approached, Mo Zhicheng was preparing ingredients in the kitchen. The phone on the dining table kept ringing incessantly.

Linglan passed by and glanced curiously. She carefully peered at the figure in the kitchen, but the man seemed unaware. Her gaze returned to the glowing screen on the table, and hesitation crept over her. Quietly, she stepped closer, her eyes frozen for a moment. She reached out, fingers trembling slightly.

Turning her back to the kitchen, she shielded herself with her body, cautious and timid as she took the phone. She saw several multimedia messages.

Her heart pounded rapidly. Just as she was about to open the messages, she hesitated. Opening them would be noticed. The sender was an unknown number. Nervously, Linglan quickly took out her own phone and snapped a photo of the sender’s number.

“Linglan...” the man called.

“I’m coming!” she replied in panic, placing Mo Zhicheng’s phone back and slipping her own device into her pocket. “I’m coming...”

At dinner, Linglan seemed distracted, while Mo Zhicheng’s cooking was masterful, the dishes beautiful and appetizing. Linglan lowered her head, fiddling with the food in her bowl.

Noticing, Mo Zhicheng asked, “What’s wrong? Not to your taste?”

Snapping back to reality, Linglan shook her head and smiled. Then she softly said, “Oh, I almost forgot something.”

“What?”

“Your phone rang just now. I didn’t get a chance to tell you. Look at my memory—check it out so nothing important is missed.”