“President Xi, what are your thoughts on this?” Zhou Zhengyuan’s voice became exceptionally gentle.
Xi Yu finally moved.
He slightly lifted his eyelids, sweeping a glance over everyone present. That look was like the wind on a winter night. Then, he turned to the head of the public relations department, his voice cold and indifferent: “No comment.”
These four words were Xi Yu’s stance.
His tone was as calm as if he were commenting on the nice weather today.
For more than ten seconds after he spoke, the meeting room remained deathly silent.
Zhou Zhengyuan’s smile froze on his face, taking a couple of seconds to slowly fade away.
He was an old hand, having seen all kinds of situations, but these four words were clearly not within his expectations.
A statement from official media was standard crisis management procedure. Xi Yu had refused outright, without even giving a reason.
Assistant Lin, sitting to Xi Yu’s left, typed a few words on his notebook without changing expression, as if he were already accustomed to such situations.
“President Xi, this matter doesn’t just affect you…” another shareholder attempted to speak.
Xi Yu looked at him.
The man swallowed the rest of his sentence.
“Is there anything else?” Xi Yu asked.
No one dared to answer.
“Meeting adjourned.”
Xi Yu stood up, the chair sliding back half an inch from the force with which he pushed it back, emitting a faint sound.
He strode toward the door, his leather shoes making almost no sound on the carpet.
The meeting room door closed behind him.
In the corridor, Assistant Lin quickly caught up, pulling out the black private phone from his suit’s inner pocket and handing it over screen-up.
“President Xi, this private phone has been ringing nonstop.”
Xi Yu glanced down.
There were over thirty missed calls on the screen, all from the same number.
The Old Master.
He frowned and tossed the phone back into Assistant Lin’s hand.
“Don’t answer any calls.”
Assistant Lin opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but seeing Xi Yu’s expression, he swallowed his words and silently returned the phone to his inner pocket.
Xi Yu took the private elevator down to the underground garage, where the car was already waiting.
He got into the back seat and ordered the driver to take him back to his private residence.
Right now, he needed a place with no one around.
The drive took forty minutes.
Xi Yu leaned back in the seat, eyes closed, replaying every fragment of last night in his mind.
The wine had been fetched from the bar by Assistant Lin, the glass was new, and no one had touched his drink midway.
So it wasn’t the wine.
The room had been booked by his secretary. He had been sent in after getting drunk, with someone accompanying him the whole time.
Where did things go wrong?
And that woman.
Wen Yining.
He remembered how she had looked when she woke up this morning—her pupils unfocused, her eyes filled with innocence, opening her mouth to explain but unable to utter a single word.
That expression didn’t seem fake.
He had seen too many people feigning innocence. Their eyes were evasive, calculating, observing your reaction before deciding what to say next.
But her eyes were empty.
Truly empty, as if she couldn’t remember anything.
Xi Yu found this woman utterly annoying.
The car turned into the villa area, the French parasol trees on both sides casting mottled shadows under the streetlights.
The car came to a stop, and Xi Yu pushed the door open and got out.
The lights were on in the courtyard.
He walked into the yard, and as soon as his hand touched the doorknob, the door opened from the inside.
The butler, Old Chen, stood at the doorway, his expression slightly different from usual.
He had worked for the Xi family for twenty years and had seen all kinds of situations, but at this moment, there was a subtle tension in his eyes.
“Young Master, The Old Master is here.”
Xi Yu’s hand paused mid-air for perhaps only half a second before he pushed the door open and entered.
The entryway lights were all on.
As he changed his shoes, he glanced toward the living room. A man sat on the sofa, his hair completely white, yet his back straight as a spear. He held a rosewood cane in his hand and did not turn around at the sound of movement.
“Back?”
The Old Master’s voice was neither loud nor soft, as if asking how his day had been.
Xi Yu handed his coat to Old Chen, walked over, and sat down in the chair opposite The Old Master.
“Grandfather.”
Only then did The Old Master turn to look at him.
Though in his eighties, his eyes shone bright as lamps, sweeping over Xi Yu from head to toe before his cane tapped lightly on the floor.
“Explain clearly what happened last night.”
Xi Yu’s expression remained unchanged, his tone as if reporting work: “I will have someone contact the other party and compensate her for all losses.”
After he spoke, silence filled the living room for two seconds.
Then The Old Master’s cane struck the floor with a heavy, forceful thud.
“Is this how my grandson behaves?!”
Xi Yu’s brow twitched slightly, but he said nothing.
The Old Master stood up, leaning on his cane as he walked over to stand before Xi Yu, looking down at him.
Even seated, Xi Yu, who stood over six feet tall, was not much shorter than The Old Master, yet the old man’s imposing presence seemed to tower over him.
“A man must take responsibility. A young woman’s innocence is priceless—it cannot be casually resolved with money!” The Old Master’s voice echoed in the empty living room. “Xi Yu, what did your parents teach you? Even if they didn’t teach you, I, your grandfather, have taught you for twenty-six years. And all you learned was to settle things with compensation?”
Xi Yu’s hands slowly clenched on his knees.
What had his parents taught him?
No one had taught him.
His parents had barely even seen him—how could they have taught him anything?
“What do you want me to do, then?” His voice was lower than before.
The Old Master looked at him deeply, as if gauging his sincerity, then spoke word by word: “Go to the Wen family at once and propose to their youngest daughter.”
The grandfather clock in the living room ticked once.
Xi Yu stared at The Old Master for three seconds before the corners of his mouth slowly lifted into a smile.
The smile on his handsome face held no warmth, the curve of his lips slight, his eyes cold as ice.
“Impossible.”
The Old Master’s cane struck the floor a third time—this time twice in quick succession, the urgent thuds serving as his warning.
“Say ‘impossible’ one more time, I dare you.”
“I will never marry her.” Xi Yu’s tone remained calm, even carrying a hint of politeness. “That woman schemed relentlessly, taking advantage of my guard being down to do such a thing. And you want me to marry her? Grandfather, she is unworthy of the Xi family’s standing, and even less worthy of being your granddaughter-in-law. Put this thought out of your mind.”
“Unworthy?” The Old Master let out a cold laugh. “The Wen family’s youngest daughter comes from a scholarly family, well-educated and refined. Which elder in our circle hasn’t praised her as a true lady from a distinguished house? How many times have you met her? How much do you even know about her? And you dare say she’s unworthy?”
A flicker of emotion finally stirred in Xi Yu’s eyes—but only a flicker.
“I don’t care what kind of noble lady she is.” He stood up, towering a full head taller than The Old Master, looking down at the stubborn old man before him, his voice turning cold. “Someone who would stop at nothing for money and power, climbing into a man’s bed so casually—I, Xi Yu, wouldn’t give her a second glance.”
Xi Yu was very tall, forcing The Old Master to tilt his head slightly upward, his gaze growing more scrutinizing.
He looked into Xi Yu’s eyes, where there was a deep, deep scar in those dark pupils—unseen by others, but he could see it.
“What? Are you afraid she’ll love you for your wealth and power, not for who you are?”
Xi Yu’s pupils suddenly contracted.
The air in the living room seemed to grow thin all at once.
The Old Master’s lips slowly curved upward.
How could he not understand what his own grandson, whom he had raised, was thinking?
Xi Yu had emotional purity issues—this was no secret.
This secret was a source of shame for him, something that would embarrass him if brought up.
When Xi Yu was three years old, his mother came to the old mansion to see him for the last time.
That woman, wearing a camel-colored coat, crouched down and patted his head, saying, “Mommy is leaving. You must be good.”
He asked her where she was going. She said, “To a faraway place.”
Back then, he didn’t understand what “faraway” meant, thinking she would return in a few days as usual.
But she never came back.
He waited an entire year, until his fourth birthday, when the nanny told him his mother had remarried abroad.
His father never showed up from start to finish, not even a phone call.
Later, he overheard the servants in the old mansion whispering that his father never wanted him in the first place—he was forced into existence by the elders of both families. Once born, the task was complete, and no one wanted to take responsibility.
Xi Yu grew up in the old mansion.
The Old Master hired the best tutors and provided the finest resources, but he couldn’t give him parental love.
Not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t.
The Old Master himself was a product of an arranged marriage; he didn’t know how to love a child either.
Over time, Xi Yu slowly learned to need no one.
He didn’t need his parents’ care, his friends’ companionship, or a woman’s tenderness.
Those things were like luxury items in a shop window to him—beautiful, but irrelevant to him.
He turned himself into a wall, impenetrable and unyielding.
Until now, with just one sentence, The Old Master had cracked a fissure in that wall.
“I won’t propose marriage.” Xi Yu’s voice was lower than before, as if something were stuck in his throat. “Grandfather, you don’t need to provoke me.”
The Old Master looked at him for a long time, so long that the grandfather clock ticked through another half-circle.
Finally, leaning on his cane, he walked toward the door.
As he passed Xi Yu, he paused, placing a hand on his grandson’s arm—those hands were withered but strong.
“I’m not provoking you.” The Old Master’s voice suddenly grew very soft, like a beach after the tide recedes, revealing the rough sand beneath. “I just don’t want you to be alone anymore.”