Chapter Sixteen He Zheyu After Jealousy

Though Mo Qinghan’s tone remained utterly calm, as if nothing could stir a ripple between them, every sharp word she uttered pierced Zhao Qingwu’s ears with ruthless clarity—each syllable a vicious spike, stabbing straight into his heart, leaving him not even the right to cry out in pain.

Behind her ear, Mo Qinghan could sense Zhao Qingwu’s breath growing quicker—a sign she recognized as the prelude to his anger. Yet as people walked by, and cars came and went in endless waves, Zhao Qingwu slowly loosened his hold on Mo Qinghan. His voice was cold as frost as he spoke: “So in your eyes, my love for you is nothing but worthless, a cheap coin.” A trace of sorrow flickered across his indifferent face before he turned and left, not toward the hotel, but retracing his steps back the way they’d come. Mo Qinghan did not look back; she could only hear the heavy, desolate, and helpless sound of his footsteps dragging across the ground.

She stood rooted to the spot for some time, not moving until that sorrowful tread had faded away. Tears welled in her eyes, but this time, unlike before, they did not spill over. Obediently, they retreated, flowing quietly into her heart.

What Mo Qinghan did not know was that everything between her and Zhao Qingwu had been witnessed by He Zheyu, sitting in a black Bentley not far away. The air inside the car seemed to have dropped below freezing, making Han Mo shiver uncontrollably—the chilling atmosphere emanating entirely from He Zheyu, seated in the back.

Han Mo spoke with great caution, “Boss, should I invite Miss Mo to get in the car?”

“Wait for her at the apartment.” The five words were as cold as a gust of snow-laden wind brushing past Han Mo’s eardrums.

Mo Qinghan herself had no intention of going into the hotel. She didn’t want to explain to He Yurou why, after He Yurou got drunk, Zhao Qingwu hadn’t taken her home, or why he’d chosen instead to call Mo Qinghan—a friend, not family or her uncle. Any sensitive girl would find such details troubling.

Arriving at the apartment entrance, she was momentarily blinded by flickering headlights. Lifting her pale hand before her eyes, she peered through her fingers and recognized Han Mo in the driver’s seat. Surprised, she walked over and gestured for Han Mo to lower the window. “Why are you here?” she asked. Glancing at the back seat and not seeing He Zheyu, she continued, “He didn’t come?”

Han Mo’s expression twisted oddly. “He’s waiting for you inside the apartment.”

Perhaps because Han Mo stood with his back to the streetlamp, his face was shadowed and Mo Qinghan didn’t notice anything amiss. Her tone was casual. “Then I’ll head up first,” she said, hurrying inside.

Han Mo had intended to warn her that He Zheyu had seen everything just moments ago, but before he could speak, Mo Qinghan had already disappeared. Placing his hands over his heart, he muttered, “Miss Mo, you’ll have to fend for yourself now.”

As Mo Qinghan opened the apartment door, a thick smell of smoke hit her. She waved her hand before her face, trying to keep the scent from her nose. Kicking off her shoes, she noticed only two dim wall lamps were lit. Though the lighting was faint, it was enough to see He Zheyu’s cold expression as he sat on the sofa.

She assumed he was upset from waiting so long. Drawing a little closer to him, she put on a placating smile, “Have you been waiting long? I just had something to take care of outside.”