Chapter 7: Confrontation
“Sister Linglan, are you all right?” Ye Linglan brushed away the bead of blood at the corner of her mouth, steadying herself with one hand on Xiaowen’s arm. “Don’t make a sound—” she warned, her voice edged with anger, pulling Xiaowen behind her. No sooner had the words left her lips than another sharp slap rang out. When the second blow landed on her right cheek, she wondered if she might go deaf. Her ears buzzed incessantly, as if filled with a thousand bees. The corner of her mouth split, her teeth scraping the inside of her cheek, flooding her mouth with the taste of blood.
Dizziness washed over Ye Linglan. Before she could recover, she sensed a commotion behind her, followed by a languid, drawling voice directed her way—a tone typical of the idle sons of the wealthy: “I must say, President Mo, your girls here are quite something! One refuses to obey, another doesn’t even know the most basic rules. Even dares to barge into a private room I reserved? Or have you simply spoiled them with your usual tenderness, letting them run wild like this?”
President Mo?
Pulling Xiaowen protectively into her arms, she whispered soothingly, “Don’t be afraid—” forgetting in that moment that she herself was in no position to protect anyone, like a clay Buddha crossing a river. Without turning, she saw the heavy shadow cast across the carpet, looming over her like an immovable boulder, exuding an oppressive force. The room’s dim light grew even more murky as the figure approached. From the corner of her eye, Ye Linglan caught sight of polished leather shoes passing beside her. Instinctively, she bowed her head. A tall, upright figure clad in a three-piece black suit, crisp white shirt, with a tie of grey-blue stripes that added a touch of lightness to the classic black and white ensemble.
Mo Zhicheng took his seat with an air of elegance. “It seems I’ve failed in my discipline, spoiling Young Master Qin’s mood,” he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. His gaze slid toward her only fleetingly, but Ye Linglan caught the sharpness hidden in his eyes. Clearly a man used to the ways of the world, his words gave nothing away. With Mo Zhicheng’s arrival, the tense, volatile atmosphere in the room eased a little.
The man called Young Master Qin took a cigarette from its case and offered it to Mo Zhicheng, who accepted with a polite smile, holding it lightly between his fingers without lighting it. Seeing this, Qin raised his brow and glanced at Ye Linglan, whose hair was disheveled, her appearance wretched. She turned her face away. “No matter, President Mo. Perhaps I’ll help you teach them a lesson myself.”
A bodyguard hauled Ye Linglan up. Xiaowen clung to her desperately, sobbing until she was nearly unrecognizable in her tears. The man dragged them apart by force. Off balance, Linglan stumbled backward. She felt a sudden grip at her waist and, before she could react, had crashed against a man’s knee. Looking up, the glow of the wall lamp illuminated his handsome features. “President Mo—” she gasped.
She scrambled to her feet, but her slender frame, already weakened by the earlier blows, could barely support her. As she stood, her legs gave way and she collapsed to her knees before the man.
Young Master Qin’s gaze never left her. Eyes narrowed, he chuckled, “But President Mo, the ladies at Night City are truly more beautiful with each passing one.”
“—”
“Where did you find such a rare beauty, President Mo?”
Ye Linglan lifted her eyes slightly, casting a sidelong glance at the languid Qin across from her. Only now did she see his features clearly. Still kneeling at Mo Zhicheng’s feet, she was caught between retreat and advance, as Qin’s mocking voice drifted over her.