The moment Rong Ruxue stepped into the hall, a heavy silence fell.
Every pair of eyes turned to her—cold, accusatory, burning with restrained fury.
Qiao Yuhua was the first to break the stillness. Her voice was slow, deliberate, yet thunderous enough to make the air tremble.
"What… exactly did you do at Cuiwei Xiangyin today?"
The weight of her tone struck Rong Ruxue like a blow. Her legs wobbled; her heart raced.
"G-Grandma, I… I…"
Ever since Rong Ruxue had learned the difference between being a biological child—like her brother, Rong Yichen—and an adopted one like herself, she had tread carefully in the Rong household.
She knew she was not bound to them by blood, and though they had always showered her with affection, deep down she understood one cruel truth—when the time came to choose, she would be the first to be sacrificed.
Rong Lihong's sharp gaze narrowed.
"What? Cat got your tongue? You weren't afraid to offend that Shen Zeyan, yet now you tremble before us?"
Rong Lihong, lounging on the side, let out a low sneer.
"Mother, that Shen Zeyan is not someone ordinary people can provoke. He's difficult, uncompromising—borderline impossible to handle. The other day, Han Jingxian came to the Han family estate. I heard from reliable sources that the Shen family is actually sending him to Wuhan to temper his… temper. Apparently, there's some old master there—the same man who trained Shen Waiyuan in his youth—who will now mentor Shen Zeyan. Even his own family approaches him with caution. And this foolish girl…" She cast a disdainful glance at Rong Ruxue. "…went and offended him."
Rong Lihong had married into the Han family, becoming the wife of Han Zhiguo, the Han family's third son. Shen Zeyan's mother, Han Jingxian, was the Han family's eldest daughter—making her Rong Lihong's elder sister-in-law.
Hearing her daughter's words, Qiao Yuhua's fury deepened. Her glare was sharp enough to pierce skin.
"Do you have any idea what you've done? The entire Rong family is now the laughingstock of Beijing's upper circle! Do you even comprehend what it means to be banned from Cuiwei Xiangyin? It means we are no longer welcome among the city's elite. We won't be able to network, to maintain our influence… Tell me, Rong Ruxue—what in heaven's name were you thinking when you dared to stand in front of him?"
Rong Lihong let out a mocking laugh.
"Oh, what else? She probably thought seducing Shen Zeyan would be easy. With her surgically enhanced looks and heavy makeup, one flutter of her eyelashes and she could marry into the Shen family."
The moment the words left her mouth, both Rong Ruxue and Fang Meiling stiffened.
Their eyes widened, panic flashing within.
Rong Ruxue, her voice trembling, hastily protested, tears glistening on her lashes.
"No… No, Auntie, I didn't intentionally approach Young Master Shen. I only went to Cuiwei Xiangyin because I'd heard so much about it and wanted to see it for myself. Meeting him was pure coincidence! I swear, I did nothing that could offend him—but the moment he saw me, he… he just became angry."
"Oh... Than tell me why did he..."
"Enough!"
The single word cut through the room like a blade. All heads turned toward the doorway—where two new figures stood, their presence immediately altering the atmosphere.
"Husband."
"Big Brother."
"Father."
Fang Meiling, Rong Lihong, and Rong Ruxue spoke in unison, their voices overlapping in varying tones of surprise, relief, and caution.
The man who had just entered was none other than Rong Minghao—and beside him stood his son, Rong Yichen.
Rong Minghao, though thirty-seven, looked no older than twenty-nine or thirty. His striking appearance was almost legendary within Beijing's upper circles. It was said that before his marriage, he had been the source of countless broken hearts, his name whispered with longing in drawing rooms and private banquets alike. His admirers had been so numerous that people jokingly claimed they could line up all the way "from here to France." One infamous story still circulated in hushed tones: years ago, a renowned Hollywood actress had caught sight of him in New York and, utterly captivated, followed him back to Beijing, determined to marry him. The scandal escalated when she claimed to be pregnant with his child—a claim that, with the formidable influence of Old Master Rong, was swiftly and ruthlessly quashed. The actress was blacklisted from the industry overnight, disappearing from public view as if she had never existed. Such was the power of the Rong family, and such was the allure of the man now standing in the hall.
Even decades later, Rong Minghao's looks had lost none of their brilliance. Time had not worn him down; it had only added depth to his charm. His features were a perfect blend of sharp masculinity and refined elegance—the kind of face sculptors might dream of capturing in marble. His brows were dark and perfectly arched, lending his gaze a natural authority that could silence a room. Deep-set eyes, the color of dark amber, held a glint of intelligence and unyielding confidence. His straight nose and defined jawline framed a mouth that rarely smiled, yet when it did, it could disarm even the most guarded of hearts. The years had given him a mature sturdiness, the quiet dominance of a man accustomed to power and deference.
He carried himself with the same disciplined grace he had possessed in youth, his posture impeccable, his movements precise. Beneath his impeccably tailored navy suit, the outline of a well-maintained physique was visible—broad shoulders, a lean waist, and the faint stretch of fabric over a muscular chest. He was a man who could stand silently in a crowd and still command all attention without uttering a single word.
Qiao Yuhua immediately stood up, her eyes brightening the moment her gaze fell on her son. Seeing him after almost a month brought a wave of emotions crashing over her. It was always like this—ever since he took over the Rong Group, Rong Minghao had devoted his entire life to the family business, often disappearing for weeks on end.
The reason the Rong family now stood as the second-largest conglomerate in the country was because of him. Every empire needs a tireless king, and he had played his role to perfection. She stood before him, her gaze softening as she took in the sight of him, her eyes misting over. Her voice trembled with the faint reproach only a mother could wield, "So, you finally remember you have a home? That you have a mother… and a son?"
Rong Minghao sighed, a helpless smile tugging at his lips. "Mom, you know how stressful it is to run a company. One moment I'm in Beijing, the next I'm halfway across the world."
Qiao Yuhua's expression eased slightly. "You must be tired," she said, her voice gentler now. "Go rest, and don't trouble yourself with our household matters. I will handle them."
But Rong Minghao shook his head immediately. "No, Mom. You don't have to worry about Cuiwei Xiangyin's matter. I've already spoken with the current president of the Shen Group, Mr. Shen Waiyuan. He assured me he'll take care of it. He's a sensible man—although they're more powerful, they wouldn't want to cross the Rong family."
Relief washed over Qiao Yuhua's face, and for the first time that day, she smiled. "Alright, if you say so." She then turned to the boy standing beside him, her expression softening even further. "A Chen, did you miss your grandmother?"
Rong Yichen gave a small nod, his clear voice carrying a touch of warmth. "Grandma."
He was, without exaggeration, the living reflection of his father—a carbon copy drawn with the precision of heaven's own hand. Though only fourteen, his beauty already eclipsed most men in Beijing's elite circles. His eyes, shaped like his father's phoenix eyes, held an added youthful sharpness—a quiet arrogance that spoke of a birthright to stand above others. Yet unlike his father's cool detachment, there was something approachable in him, a distinct smile that could warm the coldest heart, a presence that brought people a sense of calm rather than intimidation.
His demeanor was naturally distant and composed, as if the world had to earn his attention, yet once engaged, he was surprisingly kind and easygoing. He could navigate a ballroom with elegance, converse with elders with respect, and joke with peers without losing an ounce of dignity. Even among the glittering aristocratic heirs of Shanghai, Guangzhou, and Shenzhen, no one could match him—his very presence had the power to command a room and soften it all at once.
Fang Meiling had been in a daze from the very moment Rong Minghao stepped into the hall. It had been a month since she last laid eyes on him, and as always, the sight of him stirred an ache she could never quite suppress. She remembered—too well—the nights she longed for him, the countless times she replayed their encounters in her mind.
Yet, just like every other time, he didn't spare her so much as a glance. Her fingers curled tightly into her palm, nails pressing into her skin as a wave of frustration threatened to spill over.
But the moment Qiao Yuhua mentioned Rong Yichen, Meiling seized the opportunity. Her expression softened—just enough—and she stepped forward, her gaze still fixed on Rong Minghao as though tethered to him by an invisible thread.
Stopping before Rong Yichen, she crouched slightly to meet his eyes and said gently, "You look thinner. I know you're studying under your father, learning to run the company, but health matters just as much."
Then, with deliberate timing, she turned toward Rong Minghao, letting out a soft, almost weary sigh. "I told you to call me to look after A Chen. And look at you now—both of you so worn out." Her tone carried the warmth of a devoted wife and mother.
Rong Yichen's lips curved into a polite smile, his voice calm yet distant. "Mom, don't worry. I'm fine. And even if you had come to take care of us, it wouldn't have made much difference. Dad and I are rarely in the same place for long. You should focus on your own health."
With that, he gave a respectful nod toward Rong Lihong and walked away without looking back.
From across the room, Rong Minghao watched his son leave. His gaze shifted toward Qiao Yuhua. "Mom, I'll get some rest as well. You should rest too. Dad will be back the day after tomorrow, so I'll be here for the next few days."
Then, as if only just remembering, he turned to Fang Meiling. His voice was even, carrying no trace of emotion. "Come with me. I need to discuss something with you." Without waiting for her reply, he turned and headed toward the corridor.
Fang Meiling's heart leapt. The cloud of disappointment that had hung over her since his arrival instantly dissipated, replaced by a rush of giddy anticipation. She cast Qiao Yuhua a fleeting, almost triumphant glance before quickly following in Rong Minghao's wake, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor.
By the sofa, Rong Lihong watched her elder brother and Fang Meiling disappear down the hallway. She exhaled slowly, shaking her head in quiet exasperation.
---
When Fang Meiling stepped into their bedroom, she found Rong Minghao seated on the couch, his posture composed, his gaze fixed on something unseen.
The soft echo of her heels across the polished floor made him glance up. Their eyes met.
calm, unreadable, the kind of look that had always made her heart falter.
Her pulse quickened. She smoothed the front of her dress and forced a smile, her cheeks warming. "Husband… I—"
But before she could finish, his voice cut through, low and clipped. "It took a great deal of effort to convince Shen Waiyuan to lift the ban on the Rong family concerning Cuiwei Xiangyin. It wasn't easy."
Her smile faltered. "W… what do you mean?"
He sighed, pressing his fingers to his temple as though the conversation itself was another burden. "Meiling, I'm not blaming you. I understand you're concerned for your goddaughter, that you want to secure her future. But the Shen family is not the place for Rong Ruxue. Their status is far above ours."
With that, he rose from the couch. His movements were unhurried but final. Fang Meiling stood rooted to the spot, his words ringing in her ears. A dull ache swelled in her chest, rising like a tide. How many times had she watched him leave? How many times had she swallowed the words she wanted to say?
Her throat tightened. No… not this time.
"Wait," she whispered, but her voice was too soft to reach him.
She took a step forward, then another. As the space between them closed, she reached out her slender hand brushing against his sleeve before clutching his wrist. He stopped, glancing down at her hand.
Before he could speak, she moved. Her arms slid around his waist, pressing herself to his back in a sudden, desperate embrace. She could feel the warmth of his body through the fine fabric of his suit, could smell the faint, clean scent that had haunted her dreams for fourteen long years.
Rong Minghao stiffened instantly. "Meiling, what are you doing? Let go of me." His voice carried an edge, cool and restrained, but not yet harsh.
She only tightened her hold. "No," she murmured, her cheek resting lightly against his shoulder blade.
His hands came up, intent on prying her arms away, irritation sharpening his tone. "Meiling—"
Her voice trembled, breaking through his resistance. "Minghao… why do you hate me so much?"
He froze. For a moment, the words seemed foreign to him. In fourteen years of marriage, she had never asked him that. She had always been composed, always careful — talking of business, of stocks, of matters that might hold his attention for a few fleeting minutes. Never this. Never raw emotion.
Do I hate her? he wondered. He tested the thought in his mind, searching for anger, for disgust — but found neither. Instead, there was something heavier, more elusive. Guilt.
He almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Guilt? For her? He was no saint. He was a victim too. If he should feel guilt for her, then who would feel guilt for him? Pushing the thought aside, he drew in a slow breath and said, more softly, "Meiling, I don't hate you."
"Then why?" Her voice rose suddenly, breaking with years of frustration. "Why do you still avoid me? Rong Minghao, I am your legal wife — not some stranger brought in to look after your children. Fourteen years of marriage — have you ever fulfilled even one duty as a husband? Have you ever come home to talk to me, to share anything of your life? Have you ever shared my bed?"
Her last words struck him like a whip, his jaw tightening. He pulled himself free from her arms with more force than intended. "Fang Meiling, do you even hear yourself? Why bring this up now? Aren't you already Mrs. Rong? Your position is secure — wasn't that the whole point?"
She stared at him, wide-eyed, stunned by his words. "What do you mean by that? Do you see me as nothing more than a name on your household register? You insult me, Minghao. I've cared for your children, for your family. I've endured your sister's endless barbs. I've slept in this cold, empty room for fourteen years, waiting for a husband who leaves without a word and doesn't return for weeks, sometimes months. Do you have any idea what that feels like? How can you be so selfish?"
He said nothing at first, simply watching her — tears streaking her cheeks, her shoulders trembling. After a long silence, he spoke, his voice low but firm. "And what about my feelings? You call me selfish, but wasn't I clear from the start? I never stopped you from living your life. You could have walked away, found someone who truly loved you. But you stayed in this room, waiting. Don't pretend you didn't know my circumstances — you knew, and still, you insisted on marrying me. You got what you wanted. But life is not a fairy tale, Meiling. We are all responsible for the choices we make."
He took a step toward the door, pausing only once before finishing, his tone like ice. "I will say it again, as I did fourteen years ago. I am a man of my word. I will not betray you. I will remain loyal in name, and I will fulfill every responsibility as your husband… except for intimacy and love."
Without another glance, he walked out. Walking few steps away from the bedroom, Rong Minghao took few deep breaths and suddenly heard a voice behind him, "I got a lead on Li Jianfang"