Chapter 111: Not Obedient at All

“President Fu, there are many ways to express love. Your love tends to be more obsessive, outward, and greedy, while some kinds of love are steadier, more rational, and blessing in nature. At different stages of life, the way one loves also changes. Ultimately, it depends on each person’s character. To be honest, I haven’t really been in many relationships. Over the years, I’ve devoted all my energy to the Fu Corporation—there’s simply no time for romance. I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn or misunderstood anything, giving a poor answer.”

The assistant had long mastered the art of diplomacy.

Fu Yanyan narrowed his eyes slightly, a shadow of thought flickering behind them.

“So, A’Wan loves me. It’s just that her way is more rational?”

“Yes, President Fu, you truly are incredibly perceptive. If she didn’t love you, why would she cook for you, and why would she persistently advise you?”

Fu Yanyan’s mood visibly brightened as he walked toward the kitchen.

Watching the woman he once yearned for, who had been distant and unreachable, now bustling about preparing food for him stirred a complex feeling in his chest—joy mingled with an inexplicable tenderness.

“President Fu, you just sit down, there’s no need to—”

The maids busily prepared the meal, several of them flattering and fawning nearby.

But instead of leaving, Fu Yanyan, for the first time, took a dish himself.

Lacking any experience, he simply lifted the food from the oven and kitchen table, carrying it casually to the dining table.

Everyone was slightly surprised—after all, the dishes were hot, yet he placed them down without hesitation.

Not a flicker of pain crossed his face; instead, he spoke with concern.

“This is also my way of loving A’Wan.”

“Fool, doesn’t your hand burn?”

Zhong Huayan gently picked up his palm, her slender fingers tracing the rough surface. Though his hands looked like white jade, they felt rough and coarse, perpetually cold and unable to be warmed. As she pondered this, the man turned his hand, enveloping her delicate fingers in his palm.

“It’s fine. My hands are tough; they don’t burn.”

The maids in the kitchen looked as if they had seen a ghost. After such an overdose of public displays of affection, who would still want to eat?

Later that evening, outside the villa, the weather suddenly cooled as autumn winds whispered through the garden chimes. The bell of the ancestral hall’s Guanyin temple tolled, sandalwood incense filled the air, permeating the entire villa. Across the tranquil, dark lake stood dazzling towers of opulence. Within the quiet, somber room, soft yellow lamps flickered to life on an ancient Chinese-style dining table, guarded on both sides by stern-faced bodyguards and mercenaries.

“A’Yan, call everyone to eat; the maids have prepared plenty.”

“Assistant Li, make the arrangements.”

The assistant took the boss’s suit jacket from his wrist and gently draped it over a chair, then waved to the attendants on both sides.

Outside, under the vast sky and shimmering waters, countless lights burned bright, fueled by soaring greed. But once beyond this lake, all wealth would be severed by the sword of Guan Gong, even if drenched in blood. Every disaster would be borne across by the Bodhisattva, no matter how great the sins.

This was the realm of the Fu Corporation, where all that was good and ill resided, where kindness and ruthless tactics coexisted.

As the two ate, silence fell between them.

Fu Yanyan was lost in thought.

The woman paid no attention to the patterned shadows cast by the carved redwood window onto her face. The soft crimson motifs traced along her jawline, down her neck, slowly creeping onto her cheeks.

Magnificent and delicate, her Jiangnan water-town beauty resembled the exquisite sails drifting on a lake within a fireworks-lit alley, lotus lanterns floating as wishes on the water. When she looked up, her eyes shimmered with clarity and unwavering resolve... By the time he came back to himself, she had already finished her meal.

“I think I over-salted this dish.”

“Just right, not salty at all.”

Fu Yanyan’s focus had hardly been on the food, but when he noticed her glance, he smiled faintly and explained,

“A’Wan, I’m not picky when it comes to food. I just prefer it salty.”

After the meal, he leisurely wiped his fingers with a napkin. “A’Wan, you should go rest. I still have some matters to attend to.”

Zhong Huayan nodded and stood, preparing for a bath with the servants’ help.

As she soaked in the tub, she gently pulled aside the floor-to-ceiling window curtains and gazed at the sly moon outside. Unintentionally, through a gap in the drapes, she noticed a figure standing on the back hill.

Not short, a man dressed in black, standing silently, watching from afar. Though his face was hidden in the shadows beneath the crescent moon, there was a faint, familiar aura about him.

Such a temperament was rare—carefree, even his stance with hands in pockets bore a nonchalant air. When he descended the hill, he was surrounded by several others.

Zhong Huayan lay back in the tub, weary.

If she were Fu Yanyan, the first person she would deal with was Xu Yaochuan.

Not letting him roam free to torment slowly. Xu Yaochuan was heartless; when mad, he was ruthless even to himself.

She wasn’t sure if she had seen correctly.

Maybe her nerves were tense. Perhaps he was just one of the Fu family’s mercenaries.

She remained in the bathtub until she saw the bodyguards outside the villa pass by, and the maids outside the room clearing the dishes. Only then did she feel somewhat at ease.

It was a dark, windy night.

Midnight.

In a pitch-black corridor, a man held a medical kit and a scalpel. The cold blade spun deftly over his pale, sickly fingers before he slowly and gently opened the door.

Doctors on either side stood ready, masked, unwilling to watch the scene that would unfold.

He had removed his suit jacket, his white shirt draped elegantly over his frame, sitting down unhurriedly and gracefully on a stool.

From his cool lips came a faint hum of Kunqu opera, making him seem like a ghost incarnate in the silent, shadowy room.

Fu Yanyan played idly with the knife, not long but gleaming with deadly light.

Moonlight outside illuminated only half his face.

“Xu Chuyin, you know I don’t want you to suffer too much. I just want to hear…”

“Fu Yanyan, I won’t tell you what Yanyan asked me this afternoon.”

“Tsk, not obedient at all.”

Fu Yanyan could not bear the intimacy in the way he said “Yanyan.” It was tantamount to courting death.

With a glance, Fu Yanyan signaled.

The bodyguards immediately understood, opening a cage to drag out a boy hidden in the darkness. The boy was covered in bleeding wounds; dragged out roughly, his once handsome face was now contorted in pain.

He glared fiercely at the impeccably clean man before him. His wounds, salted afterward, throbbed relentlessly, robbing him of sleep. He had wasted away, looking like a ghost, pale and trembling with hunger.

Xu Chuyin clearly heard the man humming the song “A Dream of Nanke” under his breath.