MG CH15

Yan Zishu set the fruit basket he bought at the hospital entrance on the bedside table. “I heard about the child. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Yuan Mu glared at him, her face pale and cold. “Spare me your crocodile tears. You must be dying to laugh right now.”

Indeed, not just Fu Jinchi—anyone who knew the situation would probably suspect that Yuan Mu losing her baby was orchestrated by Fu Weishan, with none other than his right-hand man Yan Zishu as the executioner.

No one would believe that Yan Zishu had actually chosen to spare her. But the plot had corrected itself once again.

He sat in the chair opposite the hospital bed, thinking of a classic horror movie. The survivors seemed to have escaped disaster, only to have Death inevitably come for them, one by one, according to plan. There was no escape.

So the phrase “crocodile tears” wasn’t quite accurate—in this case, it was more like “the fox mourns the rabbit.”

This was also why Yan Zishu had come to the hospital without telling Fu Weishan first.

On the surface, since things had unfolded along their destined course anyway, he was simply here to play out his part.

But deep down, it felt like he was standing by the scene of a car crash on the highway, pausing briefly before returning to his own vehicle—to keep driving forward, while secretly wondering how to escape Death’s pursuit.

So his conversation with Yuan Mu ended up meaningless—just two doomed pawns mocking each other.

Yuan Mu, having been scolded by her own father as “worse than a pig for giving birth,” felt numb to it all.

She had always been a puppet in someone else’s hand. Now she truly had nothing.

If she’d only secretly gotten pregnant, she might’ve pretended nothing happened and gone back to being a C-list actress.

But after that scandalous trending post, she lost everything and would never rise again.

If her agency demanded compensation, she’d have to go begging her father—the same man who called her a pig.

Her fate wasn’t much better than what the original plot had in store for her.

After leaving the hospital room, Yan Zishu received a short video. Things had happened too quickly for his spies to catch live footage, but they’d managed to pull surveillance from nearby cameras. The footage showed Yuan Mu waddling down the steps with her nanny following, when suddenly a group of school kids came running and playing behind her. One of them accidentally knocked her down the stairs.

His man asked, “Mr. Yan, do you want us to keep investigating?”

Yan Zishu walked along the crowded street. “It was an accident. What’s there to investigate? Drop it.”

No matter what the truth was, people would still blame him for it.

Earlier, after dropping him off at the hospital, Fu Jinchi had tactfully left. Yan Zishu called a cab back to the office and told the company drivers to contact insurance and tow the broken-down car from Fu Jinchi’s hotel for repair.

After taking care of everything, he stood before the office’s floor-to-ceiling window, looking down. It hit him—the farce had ended in a messy but predictable way. And the final outcome? A car that needed repairs.

Of course, there were lingering effects—Yuan Mu’s father didn’t get what he wanted, and someone in the Fu family lost their leverage. So knives might secretly turn toward Yan Zishu, causing small troubles for Yinghan Group.

But these attacks weren’t serious—just like the original story, where Yuan’s father’s revenge came to nothing. Yan Zishu could handle this alone.

Who knew if Fu Weishan secretly felt relieved? Outwardly, as always, he remained the cold, rich CEO.

Yan Zishu’s daily work life still appeared busy. No one knew that after this incident, he had started something bold—quietly transferring personal assets to a Swiss bank account.

And he was slowly building a fake identity as the designated heir to those funds—just in case.

Like the protagonist in a movie fighting fate, he wouldn’t gamble without preparation.

Whether he’d ever get to use that money to start a new life—who could say?

Meanwhile, Ji Chen knew nothing about the whole illegitimate child scandal.

But under the pressure from Yan Zishu, he’d cautiously rejected Fu Weishan’s pursuit.

It wasn’t an easy decision. Over the weekend, when Ji Chen went home, his mother—coughing as she cooked—asked if he had a girlfriend and told him to bring her home someday. Guiltily, he’d replied vaguely.

His mother kept saying she needed to get better so she could have the strength to look after grandchildren. He couldn’t disappoint her.

So Ji Chen went to Fu Weishan’s office, bowed, and apologized. Fu Weishan was surprisingly gracious—said he understood, that for most people, changing one’s orientation took courage, and even apologized for having come on too strongly.

Fu Weishan assured him that personal feelings and work were separate, and he still supported him professionally.

Ji Chen was grateful. But soon after, while eating in the company cafeteria, admin staff politely suggested he sit at the long tables reserved for regular staff instead of the management round table.

Where he ate was no big deal—but the shift in treatment stung.

A while later, Fu Weishan entered the cafeteria surrounded by middle managers. Staff rushed to serve them an assortment of dishes. Fu Weishan laughed and chatted with others—never sparing Ji Chen a glance.

As for work privileges—once Yan Zishu leaked the news of Ji Chen rejecting Fu Weishan—everyone knew the score.

“So this is what happens when you play hard to get and fail?” Ji Chen thought bitterly.

He was back to being a lowly errand boy.

Fu Weishan didn’t need to give direct orders to ostracize him. The others would handle that themselves.

One day, the unlucky HR director came to Yan Zishu again, embarrassed, reporting that Ji Chen had gotten into a fight at work and asking how to handle it.

Yan Zishu let Ji Chen sit in a small conference room on the office outskirts for two hours.

The room was meant for small meetings, offering privacy, but with poor afternoon lighting. With the door shut, it felt suffocating.

Ji Chen—small, thin, and pale—had taken a punch to the face and still felt it throb.

He’d sat there forever. His phone battery nearly dead, he debated going to find a charger. Then, finally, the door opened.

He shot to his feet. “Assistant Yan…”

“Sit.” Yan Zishu sounded impatient this time. He pulled up a chair for himself. “Didn’t you just write a self-reflection the other day? Now HR says there may be senior staff bullying juniors. Tell me—what happened today?”

Ji Chen didn’t want to talk. He hesitated, unable to speak.

Yan Zishu gave him ten seconds. “What is it? Can’t say it?”

Ji Chen stared at the table.

“Why did you throw a punch?”

“…”

“Or who started it?”

“…”

“I’m busy. Spit it out. If you don’t speak, how’s anyone supposed to understand you?”

“Assistant Yan, I’ve made up my mind.” Ji Chen finally looked up. “I want to resign.”