Song Meiqi leaned back in her seat, the city lights of H.City shrinking beneath her as the plane climbed into the sky. Her eyes stared blankly into the distance.
Hours earlier, just after she pressed the final flap of the box closed, her phone cut through the silence. She picked it up and saw her uncle Han Yichen's manager calling.
For a moment, she hesitated, unease stirring in her chest—but she swiped to answer.
"Hello, Oscar."
"Hello, Ms. Song—" His voice was tight, strained, as if he were holding something back.
A chill ran down her spine.
"Is something wrong?" Meiqi asked, her fingers tightening around the phone.
There was a pause. A heavy, deliberate one. Then, in a low, careful tone, he said,
"It's Teacher Han… is he with you, by any chance?"
Her eyes trembled slightly, worry pressing deeper into her chest as she held the phone closer.
"No… why?" Her heartbeat quickened.
"I was supposed to meet him yesterday for his exhibit, but the studio's been closed. Linlong's gone too—I thought he might be with you."
The words crashed over her like icy water—could he really be missing? The thought made her freeze, the world tilting around her, edges blurring into a soft haze.
Panic surged—he never went anywhere without a word. Hands trembling, she opened the app and quickly booked the earliest flight to Province A.
Hours later, Meiqi fidgeted with the hem of her creamy sweater, trying to calm herself in her seat. The flight to Province A, where her uncle lived, was only about forty-five minutes to an hour—but to her, it felt endless.
…
Meanwhile, in the suburbs, not far from the central district of H.City, Wang Zi Rui's black BMW rolled to a stop before the gates of the Wang Mansion. Moments later, he stepped out, dressed in a crisp white long-sleeved shirt and black trousers that emphasized his long legs.
Old Qiu, the head butler, already waiting at the front door, inclined his head respectfully and led him inside toward the dining area.
The chandelier bathed the whole room in a soft, golden glow, casting shadows across the polished floors. Plates of carefully prepared dishes were spread across the table; however, the four people sitting around it remained motionless, the air thick with anticipation, as if waiting for someone.
"The young master has arrived," Old Qiu announced.
Zi Rui walked forward, his steps calm and measured. A subtle smile touched Wang Yixiao's lips at the sight of her brother after yesterday's concert.
Mrs. Wang rose from her seat, warmth lighting her expression as her grandson approached. Zi Rui returned her smile with a brief hug before taking his seat, his presence settling quietly over the room.
Wang Cheng Shou remained seated, his expression stoic, though a faint softness flickered in his eyes. At his right sat Wang Jing Feng—Zi Rui's father and the current president of GL Holdings—who spared him only a brief glance before lowering his gaze to the dishes.
Mrs. Wang's eyes swept the table, her smile still warm, though she couldn't miss the faint awkwardness among them.
"It's rare to have everyone gathered at the table. Let's eat." She said, her voice was gentle, carrying quiet joy, as forks and knives began to clink and the rich aroma of the meal filled the room.
…
An hour after the plane landed in Province A, Meiqi sat in a taxi, her face hidden beneath a mask and cap, repeatedly trying to call her uncle. Worry pressed heavier with each passing second—she had never failed to reach him before.
The taxi glided into a quiet neighbourhood, lamplights flickering in the darkness. It rolled to a stop in front of a gated house—the Han Residence. Meiqi stepped out.
The bite of the night brushed against the curls of her hair as she pressed the doorbell—once, twice, again and again—but there was no answer.
Just then, a beam of light cut through the darkness. Meiqi turned her head, narrowing her eyes to spot a familiar car—a Mercedes-Benz—rolling in her direction.
A man stepped out from the back seat. "Little Qi!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with disbelief as he took in her face.
Relief washed over Meiqi. Her hand dropped to her side, the weight lifting from her chest. Her uncle was fine.
…
Back at the Wang Mansion, as the meal neared its end, Wang Jing Feng set down his cutlery and leaned back, taking in the table with a calm, measured gaze. He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, each motion deliberate, as though every gesture had been rehearsed.
"Zi Rui," he began, voice steady and calm, "I hear Mother has been setting you up on blind dates. Has anyone caught your interest?"
Zi Rui paused mid-bite, his grip tightening around his fork. A flicker of something crossed his eyes before he set it down, shifting his gaze to his father—the man he hadn't seen since the Gala Night.
Beside him, Mrs. Wang leaned forward, eyes fixed on him, anticipating his answer.
"No," he finally replied, his voice raspy and cold.
"I see. That's understandable," Wang Jing Feng said, gaze locked on Zi Rui. "Still, the family's wishes must be considered. There's a young lady from the Lin Family—you met her as a child. Why don't you see her again?"
Zi Rui lifted his glass, drank slowly, and set it down. "Okay," he said, calm and controlled, his gaze settling back on his father.