Volume One, Chapter 69: My Mother Is Not a Mistress!

Yu Mo turned to Qi Yancheng and asked, “When are we going back?”

She was truly exhausted.

Qi Yancheng raised his eyebrows. “So, the talk fell through, then.”

Indeed, the moment Mu Shaozhou lied to Yu Mo, he should have foreseen this day.

No matter what his sister chose, he would always support her.

With a smile in his peach blossom eyes, he said to Yu Mo, “Let’s stay a little longer.”

Tang Xinyan, unable to follow their conversation, asked, “What are you talking about? What talk fell through?”

Qi Yancheng curled his lips. “Nothing, little sister. Hurry up and take your fiancé along—there are still people waiting for their toast over there.”

As expected, Tang Xinyan grew anxious. She quickly took Mu Shaozhou’s arm. “Mu, let’s go.”

Mu Shaozhou cast a deep look at Yu Mo and instructed Qi Yancheng, “Don’t let her drink too much.”

The meaning was clear—take care of Yu Mo, don’t let her drink too much.

With that, Mu Shaozhou and Tang Xinyan moved to another table.

Yu Mo glanced at their entwined arms, finding the sight unbearable. She looked away and started pouring herself glasses of red wine.

A few glasses in, her heart didn’t ache as much, and her mind grew hazy—she only wanted to sleep.

Qi Yancheng snatched the wineglass from her hand. “Yu Mo, what did Mu Shaozhou say to explain himself?”

“There was no explanation. I didn’t want to hear it. We broke up, just like that.” Yu Mo rested her head on the table, her headache worsening.

The moment she learned Mu Shaozhou already had a fiancée, she no longer wanted to hear any explanations from him.

Any explanation would ring hollow.

The banquet proceeded to its main segment, and no one had been entering from the main doors for a while.

At that moment, two people stepped through the doors.

One was a tall man, his features marked with defiance, a wicked aura radiating from his eyes and brows. He wore a simple black suit, even his shirt was black.

In front of him was a wheelchair, and in it sat a woman over fifty. She, too, was dressed entirely in black, a dark gray blanket over her legs.

Resting on her lap was a black-and-white photo frame containing the portrait of a young woman, her features delicate, a pure smile lighting her face.

Their sudden arrival instantly drew the attention of everyone present.

Clearly, these two had not come with goodwill.

The once lively banquet fell into silence as all eyes turned toward the unexpected guests.

Mu Qiming, who had been chatting with others, also noticed them. He raised a hand in apology and walked over to the woman in the wheelchair. It was evident he knew her.

“Hanyue, what are you doing here today?” Mu Qiming’s tone was unreadable, as though he hadn’t noticed what they wore.

Hanyue glanced around the room, lifted her chin slightly, and met Mu Qiming’s gaze, searching for a trace of guilt in his eyes—but found none.

The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes twitched. Her tone was harsh. “Mu Qiming, you ask why I’m here? Do you think I haven’t sought you out enough times over all these years? Everything I’ve done is for my friend! Do you even know when Yang Duo died?”

Mu Qiming faltered. He recognized the woman in the black-and-white photo—Yang Duo.

“When did Yang Duo die? What happened?”

Hanyue let out a cold laugh. “So, you do remember Yang Duo. I thought you’d forgotten. You toyed with her feelings and then heartlessly abandoned her. Yes, you’re the esteemed Master Mu—who could possibly move you? Poor Yang Duo, even on her deathbed she begged me to have her ashes buried in the capital, so she could be a little closer to you. Mu Qiming, how are you worthy? How could you deserve her? You’re nothing but a despicable devil—you’re the one who killed Yang Duo!”

She raised a trembling hand, pointing it accusingly at the man before her.

“Today is your birthday. Do you know what my greatest wish has been all these years? That you would die as soon as possible!”

Mu Shaozhou’s brows knitted tightly. He bent to speak quietly to the person beside him. “Find someone to bring those two out.”

His gaze swept to his uncle, Mu Boyu, who stood not far away, also staring intently at the two intruders.

Suddenly, Mu Boyu’s wineglass crashed to the carpet at his feet.

He seemed not to notice, his eyes fixed on the black-and-white photograph in Hanyue’s hands.

A waiter hurried to pick up the glass, but Mu Boyu remained oblivious, his gaze locked on the woman in the wheelchair.

Mu Shaozhou glanced at his uncle a few more times.

His uncle had always been interested only in beautiful women, causing no end of trouble outside. For him to react this way, perhaps these two had come for his uncle.

But why would they slander his father?

His father had always been upright, his affection for his wife well known. After his mother died seventeen years ago, he lost interest in running the company and immersed himself in activities to ease his heart.

“Uncle,” Mu Shaozhou said, moving to Mu Boyu’s side. “Do you know them?”

Mu Boyu sensed his nephew’s probing gaze, a flicker of panic crossing his eyes before he regained composure. “I don’t. But surely your father does. Since they’re here to ruin his birthday banquet, we should get them out quickly.”

He turned his gaze back to Hanyue, unwilling to miss a single word.

“I’ve already given the order,” Mu Shaozhou replied.

Just then, several tall security guards approached, intent on escorting the woman in the wheelchair and the man behind her away.

Mu Qiming raised his hand. “Wait. Step back for now—I have more to say to her.”

The guards withdrew a few steps, remaining vigilant in case the pair tried to harm Mu Qiming.

He turned to Hanyue. “You haven’t told me—how did Yang Duo die? When was it?”

“When?” The man behind Hanyue, Lin Xing, let out a cold laugh. “Twenty-eight years ago. You promised to marry my mother. She believed you. She was already pregnant with me then. She followed you without hesitation. And what did she get in return? Betrayal!”

A look of pain crossed Lin Xing’s rebellious features.

It was a wound he’d carried for years—his mother’s lifelong love for a cold, unfeeling man, love that ultimately drove her to an early grave. Even in her final moments, she could not let go.

Everyone in the room was shocked.

An illegitimate child.

This man was Mu Qiming’s illegitimate son. If what he said was true, would Mu Shaozhou’s status as the future heir be shaken?

A tear slipped from the corner of Mu Boyu’s eye, which he quickly wiped away.

He said to Mu Shaozhou, “Shaozhou, I’m not feeling well. I’ll leave first.”

Without waiting for a reply, he left swiftly.

Mu Shaozhou’s expression grew grave as he looked back at his father.

Mu Qiming, too, was taken aback—he hadn’t expected Yang Duo to have borne a child, much less a son.

After a moment, he steadied himself and spoke calmly. “Child, some things are not as you imagine. I will make proper arrangements for you and Hanyue. I’ll have someone take you back.”

He signaled to the guards.

A guard approached Lin Xing. “Please come with us.”

Lin Xing scoffed, his voice low but resonant, carrying clearly through the room. “I haven’t come to fight for the Mu family’s fortune. I just want to give my mother an answer, to let people see Mu Qiming’s ugly face. You are a heartless man, through and through.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

“Could she be the mistress Mu kept outside? How could she have the nerve to come here? Isn’t she just a homewrecker?”

Lin Xing turned a piercing gaze in the direction of the voice. “My mother was not a mistress. She never knew Mu Qiming had a family—not until her death. Had she known, she would never have waited seventeen years, until the day she died.”