Volume One, Chapter 55: First Encounter with the Qi Family

Metaverse Art Pavilion.

Yu Mo and Douzi stepped out of the car.

Only after entering the outer hall did they realize—they didn’t have tickets.

They couldn’t get in.

Just then, Douzi received a message from Hu Gua.

He glanced at it, and his eyes lit up immediately. “Senior Sister, hurry! We can go in now.”

Indeed, after giving their names to the staff, the two of them were allowed inside without even having to show proof of funds.

Once they were seated, Yu Mo lowered her voice and asked, “What happened?”

Douzi waved his phone at her with a smug look. “Hu Gua handled it—special access for the two of us.”

Yu Mo glanced at the phone. There were their names, right among the list of invitees to this exclusive venue.

She felt a little uneasy. “Let’s move quickly, before anyone finds out and throws us out.”

“That won’t happen,” Douzi replied, already scanning the room.

Yu Mo soon spotted the people they were looking for. Diagonally to their left sat Mr. Qi Weicheng of the Qi family, and beside him, a young man—his son, Qi Yancheng.

Yu Mo compared the information Hu Gua had sent on Qi Yancheng with the man before her. Although only twenty-one, and still youthful in his features, every glance and gesture radiated maturity and grace. There was a flush at the corners of his eyes, and if not for the sharp, upright brows that lent him an air of integrity, he could have stepped straight from the pages of a novel as a dangerously charming antihero.

According to the notes, Qi Yancheng was the late-born son of Qi Weicheng. His first wife had borne him a daughter before passing away when the girl was eight. Four years later, at forty-eight, Qi Weicheng remarried Meng Pei, who brought a son with her.

That son was Qi Yancheng.

Qi Weicheng had never treated him coldly because he was not his own blood; if anything, he doted on him.

On stage, a master’s landscape painting was being auctioned. The starting bid was twenty thousand; many vied for it and soon the price reached two hundred thousand.

Qi Yancheng raised his paddle, his voice ringing out, “Five hundred thousand.”

His tone was mesmerizing—languid, yet deep and melodious like a cello. It was the kind of voice that, heard once, would be etched into memory.

No one else bid. All eyes turned toward this luminous young man.

The auctioneer brought down the gavel. “Five hundred thousand, sold.”

A staff member approached to process his payment and hand over the painting.

Yu Mo’s gaze lingered on Qi Yancheng the entire time.

There was something oddly familiar about him, a sensation she couldn’t place but which lingered insistently at the edge of her mind.

“Oh ho! Senior Sister, have you taken a liking to the Qi heir?” Douzi teased, unable to help himself. His senior sister’s taste had always been questionable; now, at last, she seemed to be developing an eye for quality.

“Enough nonsense. Focus,” Yu Mo replied, pulling her gaze away, her mind already turning over how to approach the Qi father and son once the auction ended.

Douzi stopped joking and pondered aloud, stroking his chin. “How about you say you’re taken with that painting he bought, and see if he’ll give it to you?”

Yu Mo rapped him on the head. “Do you know how many pots of braised pork that painting could buy you?”

Douzi pouted and fell silent.

Yu Mo considered her options. Better to be straightforward and state her intentions directly to the Qis. That way, she wouldn’t seem suspicious, and perhaps the reputation of Zhuang Zhizhi, president of the Chamber of Commerce, might carry some weight here in the capital.

The auction was drawing to a close. The host came on stage to express thanks. “All proceeds from today’s auction will be donated, under the names of the successful bidders, to more than a dozen orphanages. Thank you all for coming.”

Many buyers went up to the stage, posing for photos with the press.

The Qi father and son stood to leave, uninterested in publicity.

Yu Mo quickly walked over and addressed Qi Weicheng respectfully. “Mr. Qi, hello, my name is Yu Mo.”

Qi Weicheng, now sixty-eight, deserved the honorific. His temples were flecked with white, and a few silver strands marked the passage of time atop his head, but his face radiated kindness.

He glanced at Yu Mo and smiled, assuming she was a journalist. “Sorry, young lady, I don’t like being photographed. I’ll have to decline.”

Yu Mo shook her head. “Mr. Qi, I’m not a reporter. But I do have something important to discuss with you, if you have time.”

Qi Weicheng’s intuition told him the young woman before him was sincere. Since he had no pressing matters at home, he agreed. “Let’s find somewhere to talk.”

Yu Mo nodded, surprised by how readily he agreed.

Qi Weicheng looked to his son. Knowing Yancheng disliked crowds and talking to strangers, he said, “Yan, head home first and show your sister the painting—she’ll love it.”

Yancheng’s beauty was almost androgynous, the air of danger in his features held in check by the dignity of his brows. Strangely, he did not find Yu Mo bothersome.

He lifted his lashes and gave Yu Mo a cool glance before turning to his father. “Dad, I’ll come with you.”

Ink Fragrance Teahouse.

Yu Mo touched the steaming cup before her and spoke. “Mr. Qi, I’m from Shanghai, and I’ve come for a hundred-year-old wild Zilingzhi mushroom. I heard you acquired one at auction last year. Would you consider parting with it? Name your price—I’m willing to buy.”

Qi Weicheng had paid three million for that rare herb, and Yu Mo had already decided she’d go as high as five million if necessary.

Qi Weicheng was taken aback. The mushroom was indeed a rare treasure, something he’d bought for his own interest. Yet here was someone who had come all the way from Shanghai, eager to buy it at any cost.

“May I ask, young lady, why do you want the mushroom? Is it just for your collection, or...?”

“To save lives,” Yu Mo replied firmly. “Mr. Qi, my master and a friend both suffer from a rare type of muscle atrophy. I found a reference in an ancient text suggesting this mushroom might cure them. For their sake, I can’t let any chance slip by.”

Qi Weicheng was moved by her sincerity. He’d given much to charity over the years, and if giving up something he liked could help someone escape the torment of illness, he would gladly do so.

“My dear, your heart is in the right place. I’m willing—”

“Wait.”

Qi Weicheng’s words were cut off by Qi Yancheng.