Across the digital landscape, the tides of public opinion were shifting with violent speed. Although Jiang Muhang had attempted to scrub the internet clean, the effort backfired, fueling a massive backlash . Headlines like “Jiang Xuan’s Image Collapses,” “The True Face of the White Lotus” [a slang term for someone who appears pure but is actually calculating], and “Jiang Xuan’s Vicious Human Shield” dominated the hot search [trending topics on platforms like Weibo].
Netizens found the sudden disappearance and reappearance of these topics suspicious, but it only sharpened their tongues. Jiang Xuan’s previous persona had been too flawless, too ethereal; so the sight of her shoving Su Yue toward a blade was a psychological shock that turned her fans into her fiercest critics.
“Don’t listen to them. None of it matters,” Jiang Muhang said firmly, snatching the phone from his wife’s trembling hands.
Jiang Xuan looked like a ghost, her voice barely a whisper. “Muhang, you said the trending topics were gone… that the videos were deleted.” Why was the internet now a carnival of her disgrace? Netizens had even turned the footage of her betrayal into Biaoqingbao [reaction memes or mocking GIFs] to ridicule her.
Jiang Muhang’s face was a mask of cold fury. He had indeed ordered the deletion, but Jiang Ci had countered him instantly, pouring money into Shuijun [literally ‘water army,’ or paid internet trolls] to keep the scandal alive. Faced with a choice, the media moguls preferred to offend Jiang Muhang rather than cross the path of the “Insane Lord” Jiang Ci.
“It’s Big Brother,” Jiang Muhang admitted, a rare trace of helplessness cracking his stern composure. “He’s manipulating the strings. We can’t take him on head-to-head right now.” To clash with Jiang Ci while Jiang Xuan’s reputation was in tatters would only invite total destruction.
Jiang Xuan froze. The realization that even her powerful husband was being suppressed by Jiang Ci felt like a weight dropping into her stomach.
“Xiao Xuan, I have to protect you first,” Muhang murmured, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His face softened with a rare, heavy tenderness. Touched by his devotion, Jiang Xuan’s eyes welled with emotion said . “Muhang, thank you… I understand.”
High above the city, in the penthouse office of the Shengshi Building, the atmosphere was stark and monochromatic. The minimalist black-and-white decor usually felt clinical, but the warm winter sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows lent the space a golden glow.
It was Su Yue’s first time in Jiang Ci’s sanctuary. She sat tucked into the plush sofa, her gaze drifting to the man behind the coffee-colored desk. Dressed in a razor-sharp black suit, he was the picture of focused power. She found herself mesmerizedby this scene. Even when he had been blind and scarred, she had felt his magnetic pull; now, fully recovered and dazzling, he was almost too much to look at.
Yes, she thought with a secret spark of pride, my Jiang Ci is perfect.
“Come here.” His voice, deep and magnetic, broke the silence of the office.
“You should keep working, I don’t want to be a distraction,” she replied softly. She was on winter break and had no filming scheduled, so she had followed him to the company on a whim.
Jiang Ci looked up, casually tossing a heavy file aside. “You can come closer now. You’ve seen enough from a distance.” His senses were as sharp as a predator’s; he had felt her eyes on him from the moment she sat down.
Caught red-handed, Su Yue didn’t pull away. She set down her cup of hot milk and walked toward him. The moment she was within reach, he pulled her into his lap. “Bored?”
“Not really,” she murmured, nestling against the broad expanse of his chest. She liked this version of him—serious, exuding the nonchalant authority of a king in his counting-house.
Jiang Ci shifted her, parting her legs so she sat astride him, bringing their bodies into a seamless, heart-to-heart alignment. Su Yue was wearing a pale yellow sweater today; the soft hue made her skin look like fine Yangzhi Yu [mutton-fat jade, the highest grade of white jade, prized for its translucent, dewy glow]. Her lips had a moist, sweet sheen that made his pulse quicken.
Tsk. I want to take a bite.
His long, slender fingers slipped beneath the hem of her oversized sweater, the cool air meeting his warm touch. “Does the injury on your back still ache? Should I ‘disinfect’ it for you again?”
“It doesn’t hurt!” Su Yue gasped, her back pressing against the edge of the mahogany desk. She quickly clamped her hand over his mouth to stop his teasing. “I don’t need your ‘disinfection.’ Don’t you find it… messy?”
Jiang Ci raised an eyebrow, a wicked glint in his eyes. The next second, she felt a hot, damp pressure against her palm. Startled by the sensation of him licking her hand, she yanked it back. “Jiang Ci!”
A predatory smile played on his lips. He slid a large hand behind her back, cushioning her from the sharp edge of the desk. “I don’t mind at all. My little Yue’er smells like a dream… every inch of her is a delicacy.”
Su Yue’s face burned a brilliant crimson. Looking at his handsome, laughing eyes, she realized she could never win against a man this shameless. She let out a soft, resigned hum, melting into his embrace.
Jiang Ci saw her surrender, her dark eyes shimmering with affection. He caught her delicate chin between two fingers, his calloused thumb rubbing against her skin, sending tiny, ticklish sparks through her.
“Kiss me.” He knew her better than she knew herself now. He had discovered that the hollows of her throat, the shell of her ear, and the base of her spine were her most sensitive triggers. Even a feather-light touch would leave her breathless and trembling.
“We’re in the office,” she whispered, though her grip on his shoulders tightened. “What if someone walks in?”
“No one enters without my permission,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, possessive growl. He straightened her chin, his lips hovering inches from hers. “Slowpoke.” The rare gentleness in his tone was swallowed as he claimed her mouth.
He kissed her with a slow, agonizing thoroughness, as if savoring a rich Mangguo Dan-gao [mango cream cake], tasting and exploring every corner of her sweetness until the air in the office felt thick with heat.
Suddenly, a sharp knock at the door broke the spell. “President Jiang.”
Jiang Ci didn’t pull away. His expression turned lethal, but he ignored the interruption entirely, his eyes dark with interrupted desire.
“Someone is there… Jiang Ci, stop,” Su Yue struggled, her mouth red and swollen, looking utterly alluring.
“I can’t hear them. I don’t care,” he rasped, licking his lips as if tasting the lingering scent of milk and sugar. He tried to lean back in, but she pressed her hands against his chest.
“Your subordinate is waiting. Don’t be difficult,” she whispered.
Jiang Ci’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. He pressed his thumb heavily against her lower lip, his voice listless and hungry. “Not enough. Not nearly enough.”
Su Yue’s face flushed again. She tilted her head and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek. “You’re more of a spoiled brat than Hao Hao now,” she teased. The fragrant kiss seemed to appease the beast, if only for a moment.
When his assistant, Gu Qing, was finally allowed in, he was met with a President Jiang who looked profoundly displeased.
“What is it?” Jiang Ci asked, his face a mask of icy professionalism.
“The receptionist says a woman named Song is here. She claims to be a relative of the Song family and says she has vital information to discuss with you,” Gu Qing reported.
“No,” Jiang Ci drawled, leaning back lazily. “Tsk. Do I look like I have time for social calls?”
“She mentioned it concerns Su Yue,” Gu Qing added quickly.
“Let her in.” The change was instantaneous. One second he was indifferent; the next, his aura was sharp enough to cut glass. Gu Qing stood in silent awe; his boss truly only had eyes for one person.
Song Nianyue entered his office, suppressing the tremor in her hands. She had been prepared to wait all day or even jump in front of his car. As she walked toward the desk, she couldn’t help but stare. Jiang Ci was devastatingly handsome now that his scars had vanished—it seemed his “wife” truly had a Midas touch.
“Speak,” Jiang Ci said, his gaze sweeping over her with the coldness of a winter gale.
“I know it’s you who is suppressing my family’s business,” Song Nianyue said, biting her lip. Since she had offended Jiang Ci, her family had lost their standing and were on the brink of ruin. “We can’t take any more hits. If this continues, we’ll go bankrupt.”
Jiang Ci said nothing, his hand resting casually on the armrest, waiting for her to get to the point.
Song Nianyue had thought her plot at the banquet was perfect, but the reality was a heavy blow. Her father had told her the Sheng Group was systematically dismantling them. She had worked too hard for her life of luxury to lose it now.
“Jiang Ci… for the sake of the time I saved your life… please. Let us go.”
Jiang Ci let out a low, mocking sneer. “Save the nonsense. I don’t have time for fables. Your ‘score’ has only just begun to be settled.” She had tried to have Su Yue stabbed to death; did she really think he would let her live?
Song Nianyue’s face turned ashen. She knew his reputation—ruthless, merciless, a man who played by his own rules. “I made a mistake! But I was instigated by Jiang Xuan! She’s the one who pushed me into this. Please, just this once…”
Jiang Ci’s finger twitched on the armrest. He let out a dark, dry scoff. “So, there really were some rats who slipped through the cracks…”
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