After Du Zhuojun caused that incident, Qin Yan raised the salaries at her newspaper, successfully stabilizing the staff.
But Du Zhuojun was no pushover. Nancheng Daily began directly competing with Qin Yan’s paper.
The two sides’ chief editors were worlds apart in ability. Qin Yan’s side won decisively, driving the newspaper’s circulation even higher and making it the second-best-selling newspaper in Nancheng.
“If this keeps up, our Vernacular Times is really going to become an authority,” Ling Manyun said happily.
“I’m planning to launch a morning edition to further stabilize our circulation,” Qin Yan said.
At present, Vernacular Times was an evening paper.
“That works,” Ling Manyun said. “When do you want to start?”
“It’ll take some time to prepare. We should be able to launch it by the end of the year.”
“We’ll need to hire more people,” Ling Manyun said.
Both she and Qin Yan had the same temperament: once they decided to do something, they did it. If they failed, the worst that could happen was starting over.
Qin Yan didn’t want to expand the paper merely to stabilize its circulation. She wanted to push Nancheng Daily out of the market altogether.
The monthly salaries and writing fees of well-known chief editors were already astronomical—fifty or sixty silver dollars a month. Even a bank general manager made only thirty silver dollars.
Cheng Tianxun had given Qin Yan one hundred thousand silver dollars. Even if expanding the paper didn’t make her any money, she could squander that fortune for most of her life.
Since she already had the advantage, why shouldn’t she press it?
How could she simply allow someone else to snatch away everything she had worked so hard to build?
If Du Zhuojun hadn’t caused that scene, Qin Yan might not have gone so far. But now, she intended to drive Du Zhuojun’s Nancheng Daily out of business entirely.
Qin Yan never said any of those ruthless words aloud. Ling Manyun had simply understood her intentions on her own.
Qin Yan was steady in everything she did. She kept her ruthlessness hidden beneath the surface and was never one to boast about what she planned to do.
In the midst of their endless work, the Mid-Autumn Festival arrived.
That morning, Qin Yan went to the Marshal’s residence to deliver festival gifts to her parents-in-law.
“Marshal, Mom, since the Young Marshal isn’t home for the holiday, I won’t come over to celebrate with you,” Qin Yan said.
The Marshal remained indifferent.
The Marshal’s wife didn’t mind. She might not even celebrate the festival herself.
The Marshal had four concubines and more than a dozen children, all of whom lived at the old residence. It was a traditional garden compound covering more than a thousand mu of land. It was simply somewhat remote, close to the city walls.
Qin Yan’s filial gestures toward her parents-in-law were rather like burning incense at a temple—a simple matter of showing sincerity and fulfilling an obligation.
After “paying her respects,” Qin Yan went to the newspaper office.
The newspaper was officially closed for the holiday.
She worked overtime, and Ling Manyun did too. The entire office had only the two of them.
They spent the day discussing plans for expanding the paper.
The preparations were bound to be hectic.
By the time they finished the important work, dusk had already fallen. A full moon hung above the treetops, and the night sky was clear of clouds.
Qin Yan called the restaurant downstairs and ordered a full meal. She and Ling Manyun would celebrate the festival together.
“If you married Qin Yao, the holidays would be much livelier,” Qin Yan joked.
“I have no interest in that kind of liveliness. You’re married, yet aren’t you spending the holiday with me?”
Then Ling Manyun added, “I hate holidays the most. Every holiday at my family’s house is a battle of schemes and hidden agendas. The Qin Marshal’s residence is the same. Fortunately, I escaped.”
“I hate holidays too,” Qin Yan said. “Every year, Mrs. Ye finds some way to bring Lan Muhe back. When that happens, I’m locked in my room and given a bowl of egg-drop noodle soup.”
Ling Manyun looked at her in surprise.
“They treated you that badly?”
Then she suddenly understood.
“No wonder you hate egg-drop noodles.”
She asked, “Didn’t the Lan family ever take you back?”
“Never.”
Qin Yan smiled faintly.
“At my wedding, Madam Lan and Chief of Staff Lan both attended. Madam Lan just sat there like an ordinary guest. There wasn’t the slightest extra emotion on her face.”
Even if she didn’t feel guilty, surely there should have been at least some awkwardness, shouldn’t there?
There wasn’t.
Madam Lan had been completely composed. If anything, Chief of Staff Lan had seemed more nervous.
Qin Yan envied that kind of mentality.
“Wouldn’t even abandoning a cat or a dog leave you with more feelings than that?”
She had only been three when she was abandoned. She simply hadn’t known how to speak yet. How could she have been so unbearable that people wanted to get rid of her?
“What a cruel heart,” Ling Manyun said angrily.
“Fortunately, I grew up,” Qin Yan replied.
She was no longer powerless.
Ling Manyun changed the subject.
After dinner, they organized their documents. Qin Yan drove Ling Manyun back to her apartment before getting back into her car and heading to the villa.
Halfway there, she noticed a car following her.
Qin Yan checked the rearview mirror twice to make sure, then sped up.
One hand remained steady on the steering wheel while she drew the small pistol with the other.
She loaded a bullet into the chamber and pressed harder on the accelerator.
The car behind her sped up as well, refusing to fall back.
Qin Yan knew this road very well. She was considering where to turn and looking for an opportunity to fire when the car behind her suddenly surged forward.
Its entire body slammed into a large tree by the roadside.
Qin Yan eased off the accelerator and noticed another car behind it.
It had a black body and no license plate.
She recognized it.
It was one of the cars Cheng Tianxun often rode in.
She slowly reversed her own car. There were quite a few pedestrians on the street, but they had already scattered in fright.
Then Qin Yan saw Cheng Tianxun.
He was wearing a somewhat dirty military uniform. With swift movements, he fired several shots into the driver’s seat and front passenger seat of the car ahead.
The gunshots sent the curious onlookers running.
Then he dragged a young man out of the back seat.
He was very young, perhaps only fifteen or sixteen. His forehead had been cut open by the car window, and blood covered his eyes.
“Who are you?” Cheng Tianxun demanded as he hauled him upright.
“You—you can’t kill me! My father is Du Rongfei!”
The boy tried to sound tough, but his entire body was trembling with fear.
Cheng Tianxun threw him heavily to the ground.
“Take him back to the prison. We’ll question him slowly later.”
“Yes, Marshal,” his adjutant replied.
Qin Yan walked over.
“Young Marshal, why are you back in the city?”
That was the first thing she asked.
The last time Cheng Tianxun had spoken about leaving, he’d said he would be gone for one or two months.
It hadn’t even been half a month.
“I finished what I needed to do. Sucheng is close enough, so I came back,” Cheng Tianxun said.
Then he asked, “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Let’s go home.”
Qin Yan nodded.
When they returned to the villa, Cheng Tianxun, as usual, had to hold a meeting first.
His trusted men arrived one after another.
Qin Yan instructed the maids to change the sheets and bedding and laid out his pajamas. She also had the small kitchen prepare his favorite late-night meal.
She went to take a bath first, then sat beneath the lamp and slowly dried her hair.
The man who followed me was probably Du Zhuojun’s younger brother, Qin Yan thought.
He was very young, perhaps fifteen or sixteen.
The Du family’s troubles really never seemed to end.
It was nearly midnight before Cheng Tianxun finally finished his work.
He returned to the master bedroom and saw Qin Yan sitting beneath the lamp, reading a book.
Her back was to him.
Cheng Tianxun wanted to call out to her, but for a moment, he couldn’t remember her name.
The harder he tried to think of it, the farther the name seemed to drift away.
He clearly remembered it.
It felt as though the name were right on the tip of his tongue, almost within reach, yet somehow he couldn’t grasp it.
“…Write your name down and give it to my adjutant later. Tell him to remind me,” Cheng Tianxun said to her. “Sometimes, all of a sudden, I just can’t remember it no matter how hard I try.”
“My name is Qin Yan,” she said.
He nodded.
“I’m going to wash up first.”
When he came out of the bathroom, he was wearing only a bath towel, his hair still wet.
After casually rubbing it dry, he leaned down and kissed Qin Yan.
Qin Yan turned her face away and avoided his kiss.