MG CH9

The rumor was that President Fu Weishan had taken a liking to an intern.

Helen, the head of the secretarial department and a sharp, professional career woman, despite her own curiosity for gossip, decisively played the role of enforcer when people started speculating about Ji Chen and Fu Weishan’s relationship.

But her authority only extended to stopping her team, like Ben, from spreading rumors outside the department. She couldn’t silence the entire company.

After the celebratory banquet, everyone at Yinghan witnessed Fu Weishan chatting amiably with Ji Chen, an unknown intern, for the latter half of the event. Fu even personally handed him food!

It was prime material for a real-life fairy tale—a domineering CEO and a Cinderella-like college student. The story was juicy enough to fuel endless chatter during the monotony of work, with various versions sprouting like mushrooms after rain.

During this time, Fu Weishan and Ji Chen grew noticeably close. Fu took him to romantic hotspots and gifted him small trinkets. Perhaps the only person oblivious to Fu’s flirtations was Ji Chen himself.

Ji Chen naively believed these were all “business” outings. He was, indeed, easy to fool.

Unsurprisingly, people at the company began to curry favor with him on the surface while gossiping behind his back.

“That Ji Chen guy doesn’t seem like Fu’s type. How did they even get together?”

“I heard he started in the secretarial department. That’s probably when he made his move.”

“But if he had that kind of pull, why was he transferred out? There’s a missing piece here.”

“Word is, Yan Zishu wasn’t happy with him…”

“What’s this got to do with Yan?”

“Maybe he was worried Ji Chen would seduce the boss and ‘ruin the kingdom’ with his charm?”

Yan Zishu coughed lightly outside the break room.

The chatter stopped dead.

He walked in, and the gossiping employees swiftly pivoted to discussing client demands and work schedules.

Behind him, whispers of panic erupted: “…We’re doomed! How much did Yan hear? Why’s he even on our floor?”

Of course, Yan Zishu was just there to coordinate with another department, not to police gossip. He ignored their murmurs.

Back in his office, he found a new email: Yuan Mu’s DNA test results.

Thanks to technological advances, fetal paternity tests could now be done early in pregnancy.

The child was indeed Fu Weishan’s. Yan Zishu wasn’t too surprised.

In the original plot, Fu Weishan gave her money, sparking a conflict with Ji Chen.

Yuan Mu, aiming to climb the social ladder, was later “dealt with” by the jealous Assistant Yan.

The unborn child vanished quietly in its mother’s womb.

Yan Zishu frowned at the email, then picked up the phone to arrange a meeting with Yuan Mu.

She chose a serene teahouse in the suburbs.

Yan Zishu arrived as scheduled. The teahouse was members-only, admitting only those with reservations—a place for the wealthy to relax and show off. Ornate beams, elegant pavilions, calm waters, and falling petals—it was sophisticated and tasteful.

He handed his keys to the valet, and a server in a blue-gray robe led him inside.

The staff uniforms weren’t tacky faux-hanfu; they had a refined 1920s-30s vibe. Yan Zishu couldn’t help but take a second look.

A man and a woman sat at a waterside table, the surroundings quiet and private.

“The test’s done. It’s his child—a boy,” Yuan Mu said, still radiant, her belly slightly rounded. She rested a hand on it, her initial caution replaced by newfound confidence. “Fu Weishan didn’t even show up?”

“Regrettably,” Yan Zishu said diplomatically, “Mr. Fu isn’t fond of children and isn’t ready to be a father.”

Following her hand, Yan Zishu glanced at her belly. He’d heard pregnancies typically showed around four or five months, and the later an abortion, the greater the harm. She should’ve acted sooner, he thought. They keep giving me these headaches.

It wasn’t his child, yet here he was, stuck playing the villain.

“Cliché as it sounds—” He slid a check across the table. “This is some compensation. Please accept it.”

Yuan Mu’s hand shot up, knocking over her teacup. She grabbed her phone as a server rushed to clean up.

“What’s this?” she snapped. “Even a tiger doesn’t eat its cubs! You think you can brush me off with money and a lackey?”

Yan Zishu, the “lackey,” didn’t take the bait. “You can state your terms.”

“I just want to have this baby. I don’t need anything else. But he has to carry the Fu surname.”

“If you don’t want anything, why insist on the Fu name? Legally, the child can take your surname.”

“I’m traditional. My child should take his father’s name.”

“I don’t know who’s been advising you,” Yan Zishu said, “but my personal advice: if you lack the means or the smarts, don’t cling to big dreams. Not every ‘success story’ is like Young Master Fu.”

He sipped his tea. “And even with Young Master Fu, where’s his mother now?”

Yuan Mu gritted her teeth, playing dumb. “You men wouldn’t understand. As a mother, I want to protect my child.”

Yan Zishu conceded, “I don’t understand. Whether you’re protecting him or using him, either way…”

“What do you want, then?” Yuan Mu’s voice turned shrill. “Throw me a lousy check, spout a bunch of nonsense, and now that you’ve offered money, what’s next? Sending a few goons to drag me to the hospital for an abortion?”

Before Yan Zishu could react, several servers, alerted by the commotion, edged closer.

He glanced up at the corner, where a security camera’s red light blinked silently.

This was expected. If he were Yuan Mu, knowing he was at a disadvantage, he wouldn’t come unprepared either.

“No misunderstanding here. I have a baseline of law-abiding decency,” he said, unruffled. “I’m just the middleman, relaying Mr. Fu’s stance. But you should prepare yourself—most of the Fu family’s illegitimate children fare worse than the lucky ones. If you insist on giving birth, the child will face discrimination and hidden threats. He might not even want to come into this world.”

Yuan Mu fell silent. Yan Zishu continued, “Think it over carefully. Contact me if you need to.”

He drained his cold tea, smiled faintly, and stood to leave.

Near the entrance, Yan Zishu suddenly paused. A perceptive server approached. “Sir, your car’s being brought around. Anything else you need? Did you forget something?”

Yan Zishu frowned, turning to ask, “Can you tell me the name of your boss?”

*

He was led to a two-story building deep within the teahouse, adorned with red walls and green tiles. This was the staff area, marked “No Guests Allowed.”

Fu Jinchi stood with his hands in his pockets. His usual preppy style blended seamlessly with the retro ambiance of the office, lit by colorful stained glass. He looked like a playboy straight out of 1930s Shanghai.

Yan Zishu now understood why Yuan Mu insisted on meeting here—no wonder she had access to a members-only venue.

As for himself, even with foreknowledge of the plot, he only had a vague sense of Fu Jinchi’s ventures—a rough outline.

The novel wouldn’t list Fu Jinchi’s businesses one by one; after all, a villainous boss deserved some mystery.

But this was awkward, like badmouthing someone only to find them standing behind you.

Fu Jinchi leaned against the desk, gesturing toward an armchair. “Assistant Yan, please sit. It’s rare you visit—my humble place is honored. We have a great chef out back. Care to stay for dinner?”

Seeing Yan Zishu hesitate, Fu Jinchi walked over and pulled out the chair. “Sit. Do my chairs bite?”

Yan Zishu sat, grasping for small talk. “I didn’t realize this was your place. Quite charming.”

Fu Jinchi shrugged. “Mine or not, it’s all from the old man. I just keep it running for fun.”

He placed a hand on the chair’s backrest, the posture and atmosphere teetering on dangerous. Yan Zishu shifted slightly to the side.

Unlike the oblivious Ji Chen, Yan Zishu wasn’t naive. A good-looking person rarely lacked admirers, and Fu Jinchi’s masculine charm was practically radiating, laced with strong innuendo.

Fu Jinchi leaned closer. “After all, among the Fu family’s illegitimate kids, I’m one of the lucky ones. That’s what you meant, right?”

Here came the reckoning. Yan Zishu owned up immediately. “My apologies. I spoke too freely. My fault.”

But he quickly turned the tables. “Though, considering your snooping isn’t exactly honorable, can we call it even?”

“No way, that’s slander,” Fu Jinchi drawled lazily. “The camera’s right there, plain as day. As the manager, I have every right to check it. If you want to point fingers, ask Ms. Yuan why she picked that seat.”

“She has the pull to get in here?”

“Here’s the deal: Ms. Yuan came to me, saying she’s pregnant with my brother’s child and worried someone might come after her. She wanted to use my place for a talk. Couldn’t refuse a small favor like that, so I kept an eye out. Didn’t expect it’d be you.”

“…”

Fu Jinchi added, “But honestly, your ‘success story’ jab was pretty sharp.”

Yan Zishu’s scalp tingled. He was done sparring verbally with Fu Jinchi.

He wasn’t ill-mannered and knew he was in the wrong for gossiping. He’d only tried to dissuade Yuan Mu with harsh words to avoid “handling” her per the plot, not wanting to rack up bad karma arguing with a pregnant woman.

Talking to Fu Jinchi was exhausting—his words pulled you along, back-and-forth endlessly, draining brain cells.

As long as Fu Weishan was the protagonist and the plot kept rolling, everything was fated. Why play the praying mantis against the cart?

He regretted not pretending ignorance and leaving earlier.

So Yan Zishu cut to the chase. “Fine, I was wrong. Just tell me what you want me to do. I’ll accept it.”

Fu Jinchi assessed him. “Not a hint of sincerity. Bet you’re cursing me in your head.”

But he softened, almost placatingly. “It’s not that serious. Plenty of people badmouth me—you’re not the worst. If you feel bad, owe me a small favor. I’ll cash it in later.”

Yan Zishu demurred, “No, no,” but agreed to the latter. “Alright.”

Fu Jinchi grinned. “Good. It’s a deal.”