Chapter 78: Steeped in Jealousy

In those deep eyes, a hidden storm was brewing.

He remembered the way she glanced back at him as she turned away, her delicate brows knitting slightly, a look of lost bewilderment flickering in her pupils. Like a child who had lost her way, she stared back at him blankly, as if a natural, gentle melancholy flowed in her veins—an aura that made it impossible to look away.

Tang Pei murmured something by his ear, but Mo Zhicheng suddenly realized he hadn’t heard a word. Amid the ornate carvings and flourishing splendor, he saw only her—clad in a simple, elegant dress, faint and graceful, like a lotus in clear water, pure and untouched by the world. It wasn’t until he finally heard, “Mr. Mo, the banquet is about to begin,” that he snapped out of his reverie.

Mo Zhicheng paused, and as Tang Pei glanced at the two exchanging glances, he gave a timely reminder, “Mr. Mo, the banquet is about to begin.”

“Yes.” Only then did the man withdraw his gaze, though before leaving, he gave her a look filled with unspoken meaning. Ye Linglan didn’t understand, but as she looked down at her necklace, her heart gave a sudden jolt, as if a towering structure was collapsing in an unstoppable avalanche. She unclenched her fist, only to realize her palm was slick with cold sweat, trembling uncontrollably.

“Thank you all for joining us…” Tang Pei stood at the main table, smiling, his words flowing effortlessly. When his eyes swept over Ye Linglan, he saw her turning away, hurrying out. Where was she going?

Mo Zhicheng caught a glimpse—she was leaving?

Ye Linglan, after inquiring several times, learned that the “flower” piece had been taken to the storage room, and she immediately rushed over. Why had the lilies of the valley suddenly wilted? Something was odd—she had to find out why.

The dim storage room was tucked away in the farthest, most inconspicuous corner of the convention center. She switched on the wall lamp, gently closed the door, and scanned the room. There, among the fresh blooms, the lilies of the valley looked withered and lifeless. She bent down and caressed them, frowning in confusion, murmuring, “How could this happen?” Every lily had been handpicked by her; as she gazed at them, her eyes brimmed with heartbreak and regret, and she sighed deeply.

She broke off a stem and brought it to her nose. The faint fragrance lingered, with no trace of any acrid scent. Then why? She examined the base of the flowers—everything was intact, nothing seemed amiss. Where was the problem? Her gaze finally fell upon the pink blossom among them. She picked it—hyacinths had been substituted at the last minute, but what variety was this?

Suddenly, with a sharp sound, the room was plunged into darkness.

Startled, she turned around. The door had slammed shut, the wall lamp was extinguished, and she couldn't see her hand in front of her face. She rushed to the door, fumbling for the handle, twisting it repeatedly, only to realize the room had been locked from the outside.

“Bang, bang, bang—Open the door!” she shouted, pounding on the panels. In a flash, she remembered her phone. Steadying herself, she turned it on—only to discover there was no signal in the storage room. Shocked, she felt despair—this was bad! She hammered on the door with all her might. “Is anyone there? Open up—!”

But the grand architecture of Night City meant the storage room was hidden away, and at this hour, with the banquet in full swing, no one would notice. “Open the door—!”

In the corridor of the convention hall, elegant music drowned out the cries of the trapped woman.

——

At the banquet, the air was fragrant with perfume, and glasses clinked in celebration. Amid the opulence, every socialite’s gaze fell upon that tall figure in a black tailcoat—understated, luxurious, imposing. Mo Zhicheng glanced at his watch; half the evening had passed, yet he found it utterly tedious. He nodded absently, then raised his glass and drained it in one swift motion.

“Mr. Mo, Zomble is easy to get drunk on,” a gentle, feminine voice sounded beside him. He turned to see the brown eyes of Jiang Min, who approached with a soft smile.

“Thank you for the reminder.” Mo Zhicheng offered a faint smile, but his words lacked any real attention—he spoke to his subordinates out of habit, and even his smile held a distant coldness.

Seeing Mo Zhicheng withdraw his gaze, the waiter promptly replaced his empty glass with one filled with champagne. “Mr. Mo, please.”

“Thank you.” His tone was indifferent, as if an unnamed emotion had been simmering in his chest since the banquet began. He glanced toward the dance floor, where couples danced the waltz with timeless grace.

Jiang Min followed his gaze. “Mr. Mo, tonight is your birthday, and yet you’ve declined invitations from so many ladies.”

Mo Zhicheng smiled slightly, swirling the wine in his glass, but said nothing.

Jiang Min, watching him, could not hide her admiration. At the last staff banquet, he had broken formality and invited Ye Linglan onto the dance floor, leading her in a gentle waltz. Drawing a deep breath and mustering her courage, she leaned closer, “Mr. Mo,” she said, her voice trembling, “would you accept my invitation to dance?” She extended her right hand, hopeful.

To her surprise, Mo Zhicheng turned his head and glanced at her. “Ladies shouldn’t dance the social waltz.”

“What?” Jiang Min was startled, not understanding his words. Before she could respond, the man seemed lost in thought for a moment.

—Ladies shouldn’t dance the social waltz.
—Flirting in retreat and advance, Eileen Chang once wrote, is nothing but refined seduction and… licentiousness.

Her voice echoed in his ears. The sound was not as enticing as the woman before him, yet when those red lips parted, her smile would tilt ever so slightly, her eyes shimmering, her voice flowing like a clear spring, melodious and nuanced.

Mo Zhicheng’s breathing grew heavy. The woman's face before him overlapped with another beauty in his mind. Suppressing his emotions, he drained his glass. His gaze swept the dance floor and the far corners of the banquet—where was Tang Pei?

——

Ye Linglan kept pounding on the door, not knowing how long she hammered—until her voice was hoarse and her throat raw. Leaning against the door, she wiped the sweat from her brow—she had been locked in for over an hour. “What should I do?”

She refused to give up, continuing to knock, trying to draw attention.

Finally, she heard movement outside, and the wooden door of the storage room slowly opened. Ye Linglan squinted, her eyes struggling to adjust to the light. She was saved, though she scarcely cared who had locked her in.

She hurried to the dressing room and grabbed a fresh bouquet of lilies of the valley—the one she had set aside for herself. She rushed back toward the banquet and, just as she emerged from the corridor, ran into Tang Pei. “Brother Tang!” she blurted out, forgetting to address him formally. Tang Pei turned, striding over with worry in his eyes. “Where have you been? No one could find you, and your phone wouldn’t go through. The banquet is almost over.”

“Almost over?” She glanced down at the flowers in her hand. “I need to hurry and give this gift to Mr. Mo.”

Tang Pei’s eyes traveled to the fresh bouquet. “So you were gone all this time just to prepare that?” Ye Linglan said nothing. Tang Pei sighed softly, “I’ve seen stubborn people, but never anyone quite as stubborn as you.” After all, it was just a bouquet—what more could he say? She had once claimed to admire Mr. Mo, but he’d thought it just polite words. “Go on, then.” He managed a smile, furrowing his brow, a strange tightness in his chest, though he couldn’t quite say why.

When Ye Linglan finally returned to the banquet hall, the guests were already dispersing—she was the only one who arrived late. She looked around, searching for the man’s figure.

Mo Zhicheng spotted her instantly at the entrance—two figures entering one after another. The woman, cradling a bouquet, her sweat-dampened brow and breathless cheeks betraying her exhaustion, was followed by Tang Pei. As they entered, Tang Pei glanced at the perspiration on her forehead. The man drew a handkerchief from his breast pocket and offered it to her. Mo Zhicheng couldn’t hear what he said, but saw the woman turn away shyly. The man lowered his eyes and gently wiped away her sweat, earning a bright, clear smile in return—a smile so elegant, so captivating.

At last, their eyes met—a spark ignited in the brief collision of their gazes.

Ye Linglan froze, then hurried toward him. With a belated blessing, she apologized softly, “Mr. Mo, on behalf of Project Team Three, I wish you a happy birthday.”

He raised his brows slightly, as if waiting for more. She had been absent from the banquet—where had she gone, and why was she with Tang Pei?

She steadied her breath. “These are lilies of the valley.” The white blossoms drooped gently, as if caressed by the breeze. “They represent my wish for your happiness.”

Slightly tipsy, Mo Zhicheng regarded her with a playful expression, leaning in as if to tease, accepting the bouquet from her hands. Their fingers brushed for an instant, and she immediately averted her gaze, catching the faintest hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth.