After dinner.
Rong Yichen and Guan Xuanzhi walked downstairs side by side. The marble floor reflected the warm yellow glow of the corridor lights, stretching their shadows long behind them.
Rong Yichen had his hands in his pockets, his fingertips absently rubbing the cold lighter inside. He turned to the person beside him. “Why was that Huo Yan guy staring at me the whole time?”
Guan Xuanzhi glanced at him, her tone unruffled. “Guess the old gay’s in heat.”
Rong Yichen stopped short, his round eyes widening. “Huh?”
Seeing his reaction, Guan Xuanzhi chuckled and asked, “How old are you again?”
“Twenty,” Rong Yichen answered at once, unconsciously pressing his tongue against his cheek.
Guan Xuanzhi hummed and lowered her eyes to message her assistant, her fingers tapping rapidly across the screen. “Watch out, or that old bull might try to eat you, little tender grass.”
Guan Xuanzhi’s warning made Rong Yichen think of Huo Yan’s face instead: sharp brows, deep-set eyes, and a hard jawline that looked carved from stone. Yet his gaze was as dark as a pool. Thinking about it now, Rong Yichen found him pretty hot.
He rocked along with a light step, his voice carrying a hint of casual interest. “You know, he’s actually exactly my type.”
Guan Xuanzhi’s hand holding the phone paused slightly. She looked up at him, eyes narrowing, and drawled teasingly, “I never would’ve guessed. You’re into guys, huh?”
Rong Yichen blinked twice. He didn’t deny it, only grinned.
At the entrance to the club, Guan Xuanzhi bent and got into the car her assistant had brought. As the window lowered, she raised an eyebrow at him. “Be careful how you carry on in the capital from now on.”
Rong Yichen waved, then turned toward the club’s parking lot. His baseball cap was pulled low, hiding most of his face and leaving only his clean-cut jaw visible.
Suddenly, a gust of wind swept through, carrying the chill of autumn as it rushed past the rows of parked cars.
Rong Yichen’s baseball cap perched loosely on his head was snatched up by the wind. He reached for it at once, but his fingertips only grazed the brim. He was a fraction too slow.
His white hair spilled down like a waterfall, whipped into disarray by the wind. A few strands clung to the side of his neck, making his skin look almost dazzlingly pale.
He lowered his head and gathered his hair. Beneath the streetlights, his profile looked especially soft; his eyes tilted slightly upward, his expression momentarily helpless in the wind, yet there was a natural wildness about him.
Not far away, the rear window of a black Maybach was lowered only a narrow crack.
Huo Yan sat inside, watching him from a distance. His fingertips lightly rubbed the corner of the document in his hand. The paper had torn, but he didn’t seem to notice.
His gaze remained fixed on that figure, and his Adam’s apple bobbed uncontrollably.
At dinner, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off Rong Yichen. The young man had sat there, idly turning his wineglass, his eyes glinting with a guileless cunning—and something enticing.
Huo Yan pressed his knuckles to his lower lip, his fingertips brushing his cool lips as darkness churned in his eyes.
He watched Rong Yichen casually twist his long hair up behind his head, baring his slender neck. The wind was still blowing, and a few loose strands fluttered against his cheek. The young man wrinkled his nose and tucked them behind his ear. The gesture was so light, so soft, like a feather brushing the center of Huo Yan’s heart.
His breathing suddenly grew heavier.
The face from his memory gradually came into focus.
Huo Yan reached up and lowered the window. The evening breeze poured in, seeming to carry the faint citrus scent of the young man—the same scent he’d noticed at dinner. He watched Rong Yichen open his car door and get in. Only when the engine started did Huo Yan slowly look away. The cigarette between his fingers had long since gone out, yet he seemed only just to have come back to himself. In a hoarse voice, he said to the assistant sitting in front, “Look into Rong Yichen.”
His voice was so rough it sounded like sandpaper scraping wood.
.
Rong Yichen drove toward Cloudscape, casually tossing his baseball cap onto the passenger seat, its brim slanting against the leather.
While waiting at a red light, he glanced idly into the rearview mirror. It reflected a face that was almost too beautiful: sharp brows, eyes tilted slightly upward, a high nose bridge, and pale lips. Even the faint flush still lingering on the tips of his ears gave him a careless, wild air. He raised an eyebrow at his reflection and tapped the mirror lightly with a fingertip, then gave a quiet laugh. “Tsk. There’s really nothing to fault about this face.”
But the thought of having to go out in this dump wearing a black wig irritated him. His knuckles tapped the steering wheel without conscious thought.
Then he decided he’d get his hair done tomorrow.
Just then, his phone rang loudly, interrupting his thoughts.
Rong Yichen tapped speakerphone, his tone immediately softening into just the right amount of obedient sweetness. “Hello, Grandfather. What is it?”
Old Master Rong’s voice came through the phone, aged but strong, warm yet leaving no room for refusal. “Rong Yichen, the Sheng family’s old master is turning eighty tomorrow. They’re holding a birthday banquet at Yueting Grand Hotel in the evening. You should go and make an appearance. While you’re there, Grandfather will introduce you to someone—a younger member of the Sheng family. He’s a good person. You young people should have a chat.”
“Okay,” Rong Yichen replied obediently, though his fingertip traced a small circle on the steering wheel, a glint of amusement passing through his eyes. He could pretty much guess what the old man was planning.
.
Songfeng Residence.
The floor lamp in the study cast a warm yellow glow. Huo Yan sat on the leather sofa, scrolling through Rong Yichen’s file on his tablet.
The Rong family’s illegitimate son. He’d disappeared overseas after the age of five and wasn’t found until he was sixteen. He’d grown up in Country Y, majoring in internal medicine at university. After returning to China, he’d entered Jing University’s medical school as an exchange student and was currently interning at its First Affiliated Hospital. In the photo, the young man wore a white coat and gold-rimmed glasses. His features were refined and handsome, making him look like an entirely different person from the casual, white-haired young man Huo Yan had seen outside the club.
Huo Yan’s finger slowly moved down and stopped on the three characters of Rong Yichen’s name. With his other hand, he gently traced the hideous scar across his abdomen—the mark left by an accident four years ago.
When he was twenty-four, he’d been working on a business trip abroad when a terrorist shot him. A black-haired child had saved him with a small scalpel, giving him emergency treatment in an alley. That was the only reason he’d survived.
But when he woke up, the child had vanished without a trace. Even when he sent people to look, they couldn’t find the child.
He’d never expected to meet him here—or that he would have grown into such a striking young man.
His thin lips parted. In a hoarse voice, he repeated the name from the file. “It really is you.”
Huo Yan leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. In his mind, the image of Rong Yichen with his white hair tousled by the wind played over and over: the white strands, the flushed tips of his ears, and those eyes shining like stars beneath the streetlights.
.
Early the next morning, Rong Yichen headed straight to a hair salon and had his conspicuous long white hair cut short and dyed a neat ink-black. The short strands lay neatly behind his ears, revealing his sharply defined jawline. He looked less casually wild and more like a handsome young man.
That evening, he flagged down a taxi and went straight to Yueting Grand Hotel.
The ballroom’s crystal chandeliers shone so brightly they were almost dazzling. Amid the swirl of fine clothes and perfume, the men and women wore designer formalwear, every gesture exuding wealth and status. Rong Yichen alone wore a black tracksuit and the plainest white sneakers, like an outsider who’d wandered onto a lavish stage by mistake.
As soon as he stepped inside, countless gazes turned toward him. Some were curious, some dismissive, and some openly contemptuous.
Rong Linchuan stood by the bar with his childhood friend Lu Ze, swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand. Lu Ze nudged him with an elbow and tipped his chin toward Rong Yichen, his tone flippant. “So that’s your cheap illegitimate little brother? Dressed like that, is he here for a marathon or a birthday banquet?”
Rong Linchuan glanced over, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly. He pressed a finger to the rim of his glass and took a sip, his tone cool. “Not worth bothering with.”
Lu Ze raised an eyebrow. Seeing that Rong Linchuan didn’t want to talk about it, he smoothly changed the subject. “By the way, did you hear? Someone died at Nightglory last night.”
“Have they caught the killer?” Rong Linchuan asked, his voice flat.
“How could they?” Lu Ze sneered. “Whoever did it left not a trace. They’re ruthless.”
Rong Linchuan didn’t respond. He took another sip of his drink, but his gaze returned to Rong Yichen as Old Master Rong beckoned him over. The young man lowered his eyes slightly and listened obediently to his elder, like a little beast being stroked the right way.
Unambitious and mild-mannered.
Rong Linchuan looked away. It seemed Rong Jingtang had found another easy person to manipulate.