MG CH14

From the moment Yan Zishu arrived, he could see that Fu Jinchi, the hotel’s host, was so busy he barely had a moment to spare. The two of them hadn’t even exchanged a word in private.

After delivering a brief opening speech, saying the usual polite remarks and cutting the red ribbon, Fu Jinchi personally led the guests inside for a tour.

The hotel was built in the style of a manor, continuing the old colonial house aesthetic—with serene ponds and water corridors, bronze fences, and small splash pools outside, while the interior was decorated with floral wallpaper and vintage tiles.

Mingling among the crowd, Yan Zishu listened as the guests praised the hotel’s “style” and “uniqueness,” though he couldn’t tell if they were being sincere or not. He politely echoed a few compliments himself.

Once the tour ended, the lobby manager had already prepared refreshments for the guests. After enjoying some tea and snacks, those who had no other business politely took their leave.

Yes, the formalities passed that quickly.

At the entrance, Fu Jinchi stood to personally see the guests off, shaking hands one by one.

When it was Yan Zishu’s turn, Fu Jinchi wasn’t in a hurry. He first sent off the others to their cars, then turned back and invited him warmly like an old friend: “Won’t you give me the honor of staying for a meal?”

Yan Zishu, standing by, glanced at the departing cars and teased, “Mr. Fu, aren’t you playing favorites here?”

Fu Jinchi laughed. “To tell the truth, despite all the bustle today, you’re the only real friend here. How could it be the same?”

“Really? I thought I saw several of your Fu family elders just now.”

“Elders are another matter entirely. Entertaining them is exhausting and hardly relaxing.”

Men’s mouths were made for lying, and he said it all so seriously, as if it were true.

Seeing that Yan Zishu didn’t immediately decline, Fu Jinchi struck while the iron was hot and enthusiastically pulled him along: “The place just opened—help me test the restaurant, will you? I’ve been busy all afternoon and starving. We haven’t had a chance to talk.”

Dragged along, Yan Zishu followed him, taking several turns to reach the restaurant.

While waiting for the food, Yan Zishu naturally offered some customary congratulations and well-wishes for the opening.

Fu Jinchi returned the courtesy, asking about his recent work and whether he’d been busy. The atmosphere was unexpectedly harmonious.

Truthfully, part of why Yan Zishu agreed to stay was because of yesterday’s phone call. He thought Fu Jinchi might take this chance to slip in some hints about Yuan Mu—or try to fish for information from him.

But neither happened.

Instead, Fu Jinchi seemed genuinely focused on just treating him to a meal.

Of course, scoring a free meal at a five-star hotel wasn’t exactly a loss.

Fu Jinchi instructed the restaurant manager to serve a simple selection. When the dishes arrived… well, they were rather pretentious.

Besides the usual Chinese and Western menu, this place offered a special “cultural” selection—recreations of ancient recipes from works like Shanjia Qinggong. Dishes like “Peach Rice,” “Golden Chicken,” “Governor’s Soup,” “Locust Leaf Cold Noodles,” “Plum Blossom Broth”…

The manager proudly gave a lengthy explanation of the historical background before leaving, quite satisfied with himself.

In truth, “Governor’s Soup” was just amaranth and eggplant; “Locust Leaf Cold Noodles” were plain chilled noodles; “Golden Chicken” was simply boiled chicken seasoned with sesame oil and salt. The flavors were fine, but the gimmick clearly outweighed the substance.

Yan Zishu hadn’t intended to comment, but Fu Jinchi insisted on asking his thoughts.

Flipping through the menu, Yan Zishu couldn’t help teasing, “What, no Imperial Jade Liquor for sale?”

He paused, realizing he’d joked with Fu Jinchi so casually.

But Fu Jinchi just laughed: “Art imitates life, my friend. Business is all about playing these little games.”

He handed over the menu—designed like a hardbound book—open to the “Golden Chicken” page, which featured a quote from Li Bai: ‘On the table, ten cups of green liquor; in the cup, a taste of golden chicken.’ “See? Just these two lines let us add a zero to the price.”

Yan Zishu chuckled. “No wonder they say there’s no such thing as an honest merchant.”

He was teasing Fu Jinchi like one of those satirical skits—slap the word “imperial” on anything and the price soars.

Too bad there was no regulatory agency to stop it.

This was what “high-end consumption” really meant—one willing to fleece, one willing to pay.

Fu Jinchi accepted it without shame: “You work in the art world—you can auction things for sky-high prices and mock me for this? Pot calling kettle black. What do the rich really buy? Identity, status, respect. Someone has to give them a place to flaunt their ‘refined’ tastes.”

He smiled warmly. “They’ll burn their money anyway—why not let them burn it here?”

“You’re right,” Yan Zishu smiled. “You’re a natural businessman—that’s exactly what I meant.”

Somehow, under Fu Jinchi’s persistent charm, Yan Zishu found himself bantering with him.

Fu ladled soup for him. “Try it—the chef used to cook for state banquets. You won’t get this elsewhere.”

Yan Zishu quickly took the bowl himself. “Let me.”

Their fingers brushed—he flinched slightly—Fu Jinchi calmly set the bowl down in front of him.

Since there was “Golden Chicken,” naturally it came with “Green Liquor.”

Though there was no Imperial Jade Liquor, the wine list featured options that might as well have been “180 yuan a glass” in spirit.

Yan Zishu declined, citing that he had to drive.

Fu Jinchi didn’t press. “Next time, then.”

Yan Zishu meant to head straight back to the office, but just as he was leaving, he got an urgent call: “Mr. Yan…”

Fu Jinchi tactfully stepped aside. When the call ended, he asked, “What’s wrong? Work emergency?”

Yan Zishu hesitated—unsure if he should speak—then decided to see Fu Jinchi’s reaction and said, “They said Miss Yuan took a fall and started bleeding—possible miscarriage.”

Fu Jinchi showed genuine surprise—not faked: “Better be careful, then.”

Yan Zishu decided to head to the hospital and see for himself.

Since Fu Weishan was away, he hadn’t taken the luxury car today—just the company vehicle. But as everyone knew, company cars had their own quirks. Just as he was about to drive out of Jinfengtai, the engine began smoking—completely dead.

As he stood by the gate, trying to hail a ride, Fu Jinchi pulled up and offered to drive him.

To lighten the mood on the way, Fu Jinchi turned on the music—classical pieces flowing from the car’s speakers.

Another call came. Yan Zishu answered, listening to more updates. Fu Jinchi lowered the music, glancing sideways—only to see Yan Zishu looking steadily back at him, his dark eyes deep and unreadable.

Fu Jinchi felt a flicker of unease. “What is it?” he wondered whether to say aloud, Don’t worry, I didn’t hear a thing.

Yes—ever since he’d heard this news, Fu Jinchi had naturally assumed this whole affair was Yan Zishu’s doing.

Even though he’d warned him not to interfere, Fu Jinchi knew full well—how could Yan Zishu possibly obey?

Everyone—inside and outside the Fu family—said the same: that Yan Zishu was utterly, fiercely loyal to Fu Weishan. Some even whispered nastier things—suggesting the two were like some warped version of the young master and the faithful maid from old novels.

The first time Fu Jinchi heard that, he’d almost burst out laughing: And what did that clever little maid get in the end? Not even the title of concubine.

But now… Fu Jinchi found it strange.

Not because of Yuan Mu’s accident, but because even after hearing the news, Yan Zishu didn’t look relieved or triumphant—only slightly frowning, as if lost in thought. His expression was unreadable—no satisfaction, no scheming glee, no delight—only a kind of weary insight, as if he’d seen fate itself.

But that ghost of a feeling faded in an instant—like mist vanishing in the sun.

Yan Zishu turned away. “It’s nothing. Sorry to trouble you with this ride.”

Fu Jinchi smiled and said it was no trouble, turning the music back up.

In truth, Yan Zishu had downplayed the situation. That morning, Yuan Mu had fallen down the steps of a small square. Her nanny quickly noticed, and she was rushed to the hospital. By the time they were en route, the surgery was long over—the child was already gone.

A nurse pushing a cart passed by the door. Yuan Mu was in a private room, but her noisy father wouldn’t shut up.

“Damn it, are you brain-dead? We worked so hard setting this up, and you screw it all up by falling?!”

“I told you—I didn’t fall on my own! Someone pushed me when I passed that square!”

“And that’s why I said to stay inside the house! You just had to wander off! Can’t you sit still without causing trouble?!”

Yuan Mu was exhausted and annoyed. “What, am I supposed to stay locked indoors like livestock? You think I’m a pig?”

The man exploded. “A pig can at least give birth! You can’t even manage that—you’re worse than livestock!”

“Enough noise!” A nurse poked her head in. “This is a hospital—keep quiet! The patient needs rest. Stop disturbing her!”

Yuan Mu’s father angrily lit a cigarette—only to get scolded again.

His foul mood boiling over, he argued with the nurse but was no match for a seasoned hospital worker—and finally stormed off in frustration.

Later, the nurse returned and asked Yuan Mu, “There’s a Mr. Yan here to see you. Will you take the visit?”

Private rooms cost extra, so visitors weren’t allowed in without the patient’s consent.

Yuan Mu closed her eyes for a while, utterly drained. “Fine… let him in.”