Chapter 96 His Origins (Bonus Chapter for Yiyi's Diamonds)

"After she got her wish and married his father, she later returned to China with him after he finished his studies abroad."

The beginning of the story seemed to hold no great waves: a wealthy Chinese-American woman fell in love with a brilliant Chinese student studying in America. But in that era, such things were always painted in bold and passionate strokes.

"They started a business in Nanjiang with the help of her mother's family. His father's career flourished and rose by leaps and bounds, at one point earning great fame throughout Nanjiang. But—" Ye Linglan listened. That single 'but' tugged at her heart. Yet looking at Tang Pei's gaze, which drifted past her shoulder into the distance, he said flatly: "But for reasons unknown, at the very peak of his career, his father became addicted to drugs."

"—"

"You know that once you touch that stuff, it's like drinking poison to quench thirst—it destroys a person's will."

Linglan drew in a sharp breath. Tang Pei continued: "Because of the drug addiction, the Mo family's fortunes plummeted, deteriorating day by day. The company's financial situation was forced into dire straits. Her mother used her own family's wealth to stem the tide and save the Mo Corporation."

"What happened then?" Linglan frowned, drawn into the story.

"His father was once sent to a rehabilitation center and only returned to the Mo Corporation six months later. They thought it was all over, but good times didn't last. He relapsed, and the rehabilitation failed. His mother began to take control of the Mo Corporation's finances to keep it from being drained dry. But his father's craving was unbearable, and he was set up by others, borrowing from loan sharks at exorbitant interest that he couldn't repay. He nearly dragged the Mo Corporation into its final abyss. Pressured by the loan sharks, his mother sold the Mo Corporation's equity to pay off his debts, not realizing it was a bottomless pit. In the end, reduced to poverty and desperation, he was driven by his creditors to leap from a building to his death. His mother couldn't bear his father's passing. She fell into melancholy, her spirit collapsed, her mind broke, and she developed severe depression."

The truth is always more brutal and more tragic than one imagines. It turned out that everyone carries a past no one else truly knows—a past steeped in blood and ruthlessness. Linglan's thoughts had begun to drift; she could no longer say what she felt.

Tang Pei turned to look at her. "In other words, from the age of seven, he became an orphan. He learned to beg, learned to use his fists to snatch bits of food from other children, until he met his godfather—a man who had been making his way in the Chinese underworld since 1953, one of the earliest elders to rise in the gambling industry. The man taught him how to survive in this world of the strong devouring the weak, and when he had finally grown strong, sent him to America to study. It wasn't until six years ago that he returned to Nanjiang and, with lightning speed, seized his unshakable position in Nanjiang's gambling industry. So, Linglan, everything he has today did not come simply or easily. The President Mo you see is only one part of him."

Linglan drew in a sharp breath. He returned to Nanjiang six years ago—that was exactly the time the Ye family was being swallowed up. Were these two events a coincidence, or had they been planned for a long time? She was shaken, unable to move.

Tang Pei ended his account. In her eyes, he saw the expected shock, but that shock was veiled in a thin mist of tears. She stared blankly at him. "I'm telling you this because of your relationship with President Mo. But Linglan, I hope you'll keep what I've told you in your heart. Because as for all this, President Mo is tight-lipped with the outside world."

But she wanted even more to know—what had he endured in those years he'd survived alone? What people had he met? And also, a man who had left with nothing at all—under his godfather's help, what experiences did he truly have in America? After returning to China, how had he managed to acquire the Ye Group in one fell swoop with such thunderous speed, turning the entire financial world upside down in just one year?

And why did Mo Zhicheng, upon returning to China, deliberately cripple the Ye family?

His methods were so seasoned, so masterful, and his actions so cold-blooded, nearly driving the Ye family to ruin without mercy. Was it connected to his past?

Linglan breathed deeply, feeling as though struck by a thunderbolt, more mysteries flooding toward her.

Without powerful financial backing, no one could have accomplished such a feat.

Since his return to China a few years ago, bursting onto the financial scene out of nowhere, the media's fascination with him had never ceased. But about his murky and mysterious origins, they remained conspicuously silent and tight-lipped.

Only now did Linglan understand: he had deliberately buried everything, sealed the media's mouths, and prevented anyone from dredging up the past.

"Linglan," Tang Pei called, seeing her dazed state. "Linglan—"

Ye Linglan pulled her thoughts back and realized her fingers were tightly gripping the edge of her cup. Tang Pei asked worriedly, "Are you all right? Did I scare you?"

"No, I'm fine—" She quickly averted her gaze and, in her panic, knocked over the cappuccino in her cup, spilling wetness all over the table.

Tang Pei pulled out a tissue and handed it to her at the right moment. Linglan hesitated, then lowered her eyes, took it, and wiped quickly. She couldn't ask about Mo Zhicheng's connection to the Ye family. Sighing softly, she still had one more question. In a low voice, she asked, "Brother Tang, I also want to ask you—do you know 'Tingyu'?"

Tang Pei was briefly taken aback. "Tingyu? Leng Tingyu?"

Linglan was curious that he knew the woman's full name. From this, it was clear she had a close relationship with Mo Zhicheng. But Tang Pei's lips curved into a faint smile. "Do you really not know who the former Gambling King of Nanjiang is? The man I told you about—the one who roamed both the legitimate and underworld worlds in the Chinese community."

Linglan shook her head. Tang Pei dipped his finger in the tea and lightly wrote on the table.

"Leng Hongwen!" Linglan read aloud. "Then Leng Tingyu is Leng Hongwen's daughter!" She was almost certain of the answer.

But Tang Pei said, "Just search it on the internet, and you'll find out."

Back in the office, Ye Linglan's heart was a tangle of emotions. She glanced toward Mo Zhicheng's office. She'd heard he had a business lunch, so she'd taken the opportunity to meet with Tang Pei. Looking at the slightly open venetian blinds, the leather swivel chair still empty. He hadn't returned yet. Pulling her gaze away, she opened a webpage. She knew she shouldn't be so curious, but she couldn't help clicking, typing and deleting, and finally entering "Leng Tingyu" — Search!

Instantly, the screen filled with all kinds of information about the woman, from every direction, overwhelming. Indeed, Nanjiang Gambling King Leng Hongwen's name was thunderously renowned—a gambling king whose empire had stood unshaken for decades, a life full of legend. And Leng Tingyu was Leng Hongwen's youngest and most beloved daughter.

On the white, stark page, she finally saw the woman's elegant, beautiful features. Linglan froze. There were only a few photos, but they displayed the woman in all her poses: long, slightly curly hair in deep coffee tones with a soft, glossy sheen; a smile so sweet it was dazzling, making everything around her seem radiant. She possessed both beauty and talent—at twenty-five, she already held an MBA from Harvard University. This was what it truly meant to be a person of high society: a noble pedigree of pure bloodline, refined by a comprehensive upbringing in both Eastern and Western culture. And her romantic history was shrouded in mystery, filled with curiosity, a subject of endless public fascination.

Linglan stared blankly at the woman's photo, and the woman seemed to gaze back at her.

—Isn't it the middle of the night over there? How can you not sleep? Tingyu!

The man's voice seemed to drill into her mind. Linglan felt a sudden emptiness. It went without saying that Mo Zhicheng and Leng Tingyu were intimately connected.

She closed the website listlessly, lowering her eyes with a sigh, lost in thought for a moment. When she raised her head, she was startled. Mo Zhicheng was standing not far away, his overcoat draped over his arm. So he'd just returned from his business lunch. Linglan averted her gaze, focusing only on her work, but the corner of her eye caught the direction he headed. He entered his office. Only then did she look up and watch him close the venetian blinds—swish—shutting out the world beyond.

Linglan snapped back to attention. Not long after, Lin Jia called her over and arranged the next phase of work.

But Linglan sensed that this time Lin Jia was showing her special consideration. "You've just come back to your post, so you may still feel a bit out of sorts physically and mentally. Take this week to adjust yourself. You've done well with the exhibition center. Though there was that small incident at President Mo's birthday party, that matter has been resolved, and Jiang Min got what she deserved. Project Team One has suffered a heavy blow because of Jiang Min and is now short on talent. I want to take this opportunity to train you well. Don't disappoint me."

Lin Jia's words made Linglan feel flattered and surprised. Lin Jia training her—this was indeed a good opportunity, because she wanted to get closer to the high-level secrets of "Night City." She even felt this path would give her more peace of mind than using her body to please Mo Zhicheng. "Thank you, Manager Lin."

Linglan offered a simple thank-you and withdrew. Her mind had been unsettled these past days. As she closed the door behind her, her hand brushed against the Zipper in her pocket—its warmth slowly steadying her heart.

Linglan had just returned to her seat and picked up the Zipper when she couldn't help telling herself: Don't waver. Don't feel pity for that man. But the next moment, she was startled by a sudden ring on the desk.

Ring, ring, ring—

Ring, ring, ring—

The abrupt sound shattered the entire cubicle. Puzzled glances were cast her way, some merely curious, some watching for entertainment. As all eyes converged on her, the ringing continued. She pulled herself together and answered. "Hello?"

"Come in."

It was Mo Zhicheng!

"Yes, sir!" Linglan replied politely, hanging up. She glanced around, and those gazes, as if on cue, quickly retreated. She waited a moment, grabbed a file, and walked toward Mo Zhicheng's office.

Knock, knock—

She gently opened the door. At a glance, Mo Zhicheng was reclining in his leather chair, eyes closed, resting. She locked the door and walked over quietly. "President Mo—" she called. "President Mo—"

"Hm." Mo Zhicheng murmured. There was the smell of alcohol in the air, and a faint flush on the man's face. So he'd been drinking at his lunch meeting? Seeing this, Linglan asked softly, "Would you like me to pour you a glass of water?"

"Yes."

His lounge had its own small tea room. Linglan poured him a glass of honey water and set it on his desk. "Drink a little water to sober up."

Seeing him frown slightly: "Just leave it there." Mo Zhicheng opened his eyes a little, looked at her standing beside him, then lowered his head and rubbed his aching temples. "My head hurts so much it feels like it's splitting. Give me a massage…"

But Linglan stood there for a long time without moving. Scenes flashed before her eyes, one after another—

—From the age of seven, he became an orphan.

—Everything he has today did not come simply or easily. The President Mo you see is only one part of him.

Mo Zhicheng didn't take the cup. His eyes narrowed, watching her closely, and he caught the dazed look on her face—her hands clasped together, gripping tightly. He raised an eyebrow lightly, his drunken haze clouding his gaze, and pulled her wrist, dragging her into him. She let out a startled cry as he made her sit on his lap.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, her slender waist fitting perfectly in his grasp. The man buried his head in her neck as if setting down all his weariness, and breathed deeply. He murmured to himself, "Why won't you massage me? What are you hesitating about now…"

Ye Linglan frowned, instinctively resisting his touch, shrinking away and shrinking again. But he ignored it, kissing her fair, tender skin, his teeth sinking in. She froze, trembling slightly in his arms. The delicate kisses fell densely, a dangerous and dizzying sensation sweeping over her like a storm.

She whispered, "Don't do this… you're drunk…"

But he kept kissing, his drunken, wanton tenderness intoxicating enough to melt one's heart. His arm lay across her chest. "When I'm drunk, I can forget everything else. My Linglan!"

It was precisely because he meant it that she felt afraid. She felt the damp kisses eroding her bit by bit. He narrowed his eyes, gazing at the purple-red love marks left on her pale skin. But the next moment, he abruptly grabbed her chin, displeased. "You're distracted!" He frowned even deeper. "What are you thinking about while you're in my arms?"

"Nothing—mm—"

Before she could pull her thoughts back, a rough kiss sealed her lips.