Return in Triumph

When Mu Qingcheng entered the room, Mu Qing was sitting with his head lowered, fiddling with an art book. Printed on those pages were works by an anonymous jewelry designer—few in number, yet each one a classic. Mu Qingcheng glanced over them indifferently before moving her gaze away, then began to arrange the contents of the food box onto the small table, one item at a time.

Mu Qing, however, was brimming with enthusiasm. Holding the book up, he pointed at a brooch and brought it to her eyes, saying, “Qingcheng, look, isn’t this brooch beautiful?”

It was a bird-shaped brooch, handcrafted from the finest obsidian. The lines were exquisitely fluid, the wings carved in lush detail, each feather vivid and lifelike. What stood out most were the bird’s eyes—two golden cat’s eyes set in, so animated they seemed almost alive. Its talons gripped a long, winding vine, at the end of which curled a delicate flower bud. From every angle, the brooch exuded grace and refinement.

“Yes, it’s truly beautiful,” Mu Qingcheng replied, glancing at it with a knowing smile.

At that moment, she took the book from Mu Qing’s hands and pressed a bowl of thick, fragrant chicken soup into his, urging, “Drink your soup—stop getting lost in your art.”

“Alright,” Mu Qing chuckled, sipping the soup with the spoon in small mouthfuls. After a while, as if suddenly recalling something, he asked casually, “Who were you talking to at the door just now?”

“A girl—the one we saw at the entrance to the riding club last time.”

“Xia Wan?”

Mu Qingcheng’s hands paused mid-motion. She turned her head to see a look of surprise flicker across Mu Qing’s overly pale face.

Bracing her hands on her knees, she bent down to look him straight in the eye, probing, “Brother, do you know her?”

“Yes, I’ve met her a few times.”

“A few times?” Mu Qingcheng raised her eyebrows, slightly taken aback. Her eyes searched Mu Qing’s face for hidden meaning. After a moment, he seemed to realize her suspicion, furrowed his brows, and lightly tapped her forehead.

“Don’t be cheeky—what wild notions are you imagining?”

“Nothing at all.” Yet the faint warmth from his fingertip startled Mu Qing. He looked at Mu Qingcheng with concern and scolded softly, “You’re running a fever and still bringing me food? Does Grandpa know?”

“Well… Ah-choo—” Mu Qingcheng tried to deflect, wearing a mischievous expression, only to suddenly sneeze.

Mu Qing’s face darkened as he urged, “Go home at once, do you hear me?”

“All right, all right.”

“You just don’t know how to take care of yourself.”

“We’re both the same in that regard.”

Afterwards, Mu Qingcheng didn’t linger—Mu Qing sent her straight home.

…

But as she reached a bustling intersection, Mu Qingcheng suddenly changed direction and drove into the underground garage of a large shopping complex.

The car that had been tailing her immediately erupted in a frenzy of camera shutters. Even though the driver’s face was obscured, every movement of the vehicle was captured in detail.

…

This shopping center was a top-tier luxury destination, combining hotel, dining, and entertainment. From the thirteenth floor upwards were hotel rooms, and the very top housed the most extravagant presidential suites.

When Mu Qingcheng stepped out of the elevator, she made her way directly and confidently toward a suite tucked in the corner. Oddly, the door—which should have been firmly shut—was ajar, and even before she entered, the heavy scent of alcohol wafted out.

As she pushed the door open, a cleaning lady happened to pass by with her trolley, catching sight of a slender figure slipping into the darkness within. From inside, a drunken yet exuberant voice rang out, “Darling, you’ve finally come—”