Liu Yizhou didn’t acknowledge Zhao Yijun at all. His eyes remained locked on the screen—more precisely, on Ye Shaohua’s face.
“Given your short-term investment strategies, Ms. Ye, you clearly understand stocks,” the host observed. “Why did you avoid trading before?”
Ye Shaohua smiled faintly. “My mother believed stocks were gambling. I never touched them… until I had no other choice. When desperation hits, you’ll try anything. Turns out, I had a knack for it.”
The self-deprecating twist in her final words made Liu Yizhou’s hands tremble.
He’d researched “Y” extensively. Her stock activities began a month ago—right after he’d lent Ye Shaohua 200,000 yuan and hurled those cruel words at her.
“No other choice.”
Her lowest moment—and he’d salted the wound.
No wonder she’d repaid the money so swiftly. No wonder she’d remained unshaken when facing Zhao Yijun. By the time he’d spoken those words, her heart had already turned to stone.
When the livestream ended, Liu Yizhou sped away in his car, ignoring Zhao Yijun’s pleas to stay.
After his departure, Yi Xian blinked in confusion. “Yijun, who is this ‘Y’? Why’s everyone losing their minds?”
Zhao Yijun’s lips twitched, but no smile came. “Sorry, Yi Xian. I need to go home.”
Still reeling, Yi Xian didn’t stop her, instead heading to Yu Zhehan’s place with a troubled heart.
Liu Yizhou parked outside S University’s gates, engine idling. He wanted to find Ye Shaohua but only knew she studied there—nothing more.
His assistant called repeatedly about urgent matters. He ignored every one.
At 7:00 PM, Ye Shaohua finally appeared—but not alone.
A tall man in black stood beside her. Both wore crisp white shirts, standing out like winter plum blossoms amidst the crowd. She, cool as jade; he, elegant as an ink painting.
Liu Yizhou’s cigarette nearly slipped from his fingers.
He recognized the man. Or more accurately, had glimpsed him once from afar.
Ji Yunchen—the untouchable “King of the Northern Circle.” His reputation was legend: ruthless in business, yet temperamentally serene. Countless socialites had pursued him. All failed.
At banquets, people often joked: What kind of person could ever catch Ji Yunchen’s eye?
Never had Liu Yizhou imagined this scene—Ji Yunchen walking beside Ye Shaohua with effortless familiarity. Though they exchanged few words, their tacit understanding was palpable, leaving no room for outsiders.
So Fenghua Group’s endorsement wasn’t a coincidence.
Liu Yizhou stared until the cigarette burned his fingers. By the time he snapped back to reality, they’d vanished. He didn’t follow.
Before Ye Shaohua could reach her dorm, the hospital called.
“Ms. Ye? You’re Ye Dongxiang’s family member, correct?”
“Yes. What’s wrong?” She froze mid-step.
“Your mother insists on discharging herself. Her wounds haven’t fully healed, and she needs further treatment. Traveling now is unwise.”
“Understood. Thank you—I’ll come immediately.”
The hospital corridor lay quiet at night, dotted only with family members fetching water or meals.
When Ye Shaohua entered the room, she found her mother packing by the window, nurses pleading around her.
“Mom? What’s happening?” Ye Shaohua noted the half-filled suitcase.
Ye Dongxiang whirled around, eyes wide with panic. “Shaohua! Pack quickly—we must leave Beijing tonight!”
“Tonight? Why?”
“We can’t fight them… we can’t…” Her mother shook her head wildly. “Just listen to me! If we don’t go now, it’ll be too late!”
Terror laced her voice—the kind bred from witnessing irreversible cruelty. Just like Zhao Yan back then, she thought. Dead before the ambulance arrived.
She wouldn’t let Shaohua suffer the same fate.
“Fight who? Mom, have you seen the news?” Ye Shaohua steadied her with a hand on specific pressure points.
Remarkably, Ye Dongxiang’s breathing slowed.
The head doctor observed this, startled. Those were precise calming acupoints. Coincidence?
After apologizing to the staff, Ye Shaohua ushered them out. It was time for truths.
“Now,” she said softly, “tell me what’s really going on.”
Her mother’s gaze flickered to Ji Yunchen, still lingering by the door.
Ye Shaohua didn’t glance back. “Ignore him. Speak.”
Ye Dongxiang clenched her bag. “We must go—to Nanjing, Maoming, even our hometown. Anywhere but Beijing. Otherwise… the Zhao family will destroy us!”
“The Zhaos?” Ye Shaohua’s eyebrow arched.
“Yes. The Beijing Zhaos.” Her mother’s aged eyes hardened. “I’ll explain everything later, but trust me—they could crush us like ants. Shaohua, we have to leave now!“
