Black Qingli

Lu Chenyuan's gaze fell upon the canvas.

It was already adorned with numerous inscriptions—some delicate, some flamboyant, others steady and composed.

Without hesitation, he accepted the specialized marker handed to him by an attendant. After a brief moment of contemplation, he wrote eight characters in a corner of the canvas:

"Happy birthday, may all go well."

His handwriting was firm, the strokes restrained yet exuding an effortless grace, identical to the script on that note—though with subtle adjustments in key flourishes.

Once finished, Lu Chenyuan returned the marker to the attendant and strode calmly into the venue.

In a dimly lit corner not far away, Mo Qingli observed the scene through the golden shimmer of her champagne glass, a fleeting glint passing through her eyes.

Tonight, she wore a custom haute couture gown, the epitome of elegance and nobility.

Seeing the birthday wishes Lu Chenyuan had penned, she found the answer she sought.

Though he had deliberately altered certain stroke habits, the essence ingrained in his calligraphy—the very spirit of it—was impossible to replicate.

Having confirmed her suspicions, Mo Qingli felt no urgency to approach him.

Instead, she glided through the crowd, champagne in hand, effortlessly navigating the waves of congratulations and veiled probes, embodying the poise and competence of a perfect hostess.

Meanwhile, Lu Chenyuan settled into a quieter spot, exchanging brief pleasantries with a few familiar business associates before retreating into silence, his sharp eyes surveying the room.

Then, a shrill voice sliced through the refined ambiance of the gala.

"Oh, dear sister, what a grand spectacle you've made of this birthday party—it might as well be a board meeting! What’s next? Closing a few deals here to curry favor with the directors?"

All eyes turned toward the source: a young woman in a frilly pink princess dress, her face heavily made-up but flushed with intoxication, staggering toward Mo Qingli with undisguised mockery dripping from her words.

It was Mo Siyu, a cousin from a lesser branch of the Mo family, who had always resented Mo Qingli for overshadowing her.

Mo Qingli's expression remained unreadable, not even the faintest curve of her lips betraying emotion. Only a trace of icy derision flickered in her cool, composed eyes.

"Siyu, you're drunk," she said, her tone detached, as if stating an irrelevant fact.

"Drunk? I’m perfectly sober!" Mo Siyu’s temper flared at her cousin’s indifference, her voice rising.

"I just feel sorry for you! Look at yourself—fighting tooth and nail in the business world like a man. What’s the point? In the end, you’re still just an unwanted career woman. A woman’s greatest happiness lies in marrying well and raising children. No matter how powerful or wealthy you become, if no one wants you, you’ll still end up as a pawn in some business alliance!"

The venom in her words froze the air.

Guests shifted uncomfortably, yet their ears perked up, anticipating a high-society drama.

In the corner, Lu Chenyuan’s indifferent gaze turned glacial.

Yet, defying all expectations, Mo Qingli didn’t react with anger. Instead, she let out a soft laugh—light as a feather but sharp as an ice pick, piercing straight through Mo Siyu’s fragile pride.

"Siyu, which ancient scroll did you dig up that philosophy from?"

Mo Qingli stepped forward, champagne glass in hand, her gaze laced with pity as she looked down at her cousin.

"Living off the family’s wealth, wearing clothes bought by the family, residing in a family-owned house—your only value in life truly is as a commodity waiting for the highest bidder. After all, aside from your ‘marriageable’ function, what else do you contribute to this family?"

Mo Siyu’s face drained of color. "Y-You’re lying!"

"My life is crafted by my own hands. Its worth isn’t defined by anyone else."

Mo Qingli’s voice was calm, yet every syllable cut like a blade.

"Yours, however, has been priced from the very beginning, waiting for someone to pick you off the shelf. So don’t measure my world with your parasitic mindset."

"We are not the same."

Her words, elegant yet brutal, stripped Mo Siyu’s gaudy princess facade bare, leaving only a hollow shell behind.

"Ah—!"

Humiliated beyond reason, Mo Siyu screamed, her self-control snapping. She snatched a glass of red wine from a nearby waiter’s tray and hurled it toward Mo Qingli’s face!

But in the blink of an eye, a shadow darted between them.

Splash—

The crimson liquid splashed across the immaculate lines of a tailored dark suit, staining the fabric as it dripped to the floor in shocking streaks.

It was Lu Chenyuan.

He didn’t even glance at his ruined suit, his frigid stare fixed solely on Mo Siyu.

Mo Qingli reacted faster.

The instant Lu Chenyuan shielded her, she didn’t hesitate—her hand swung out in a swift, resounding slap across Mo Siyu’s cheek!

Crack!

The ballroom fell deathly silent.

"That slap is to teach you that actions have consequences," Mo Qingli said, her voice colder than winter frost.

"Waaah! How dare you hit me!" Mo Siyu clutched her rapidly swelling face, wailing.

Just then, an enraged male voice roared from the crowd:

"Who dares touch my sister?!"

A tall, arrogant-looking young man shoved through the spectators, rushing to Mo Siyu’s side before glaring furiously at Mo Qingli and Lu Chenyuan.

It was Mo Zixuan, Mo Siyu’s elder brother.

"Unbelievable, Mo Qingli! Colluding with an outsider to bully my sister at your own birthday party? Have you no shame?"

Without waiting for an explanation, he jabbed a finger at Lu Chenyuan’s face. "And who the hell are you, meddling in Mo family affairs?"

With that, his meaty fist swung toward Lu Chenyuan’s jaw!

Gasps erupted around them.

Lu Chenyuan didn’t even blink, as if swatting away an irritating fly.

The moment Mo Zixuan’s punch neared his face, he moved.

His right leg lashed out like a whip—faster than sight, sharper than wind—landing with brutal precision against Mo Zixuan’s abdomen.

Thud!

A dull impact echoed as Mo Zixuan’s body folded like a boneless shrimp, howling as he was sent flying backward. He crashed to the floor, writhing in pain, unable to get up.

Before transmigrating into this world, Lu Chenyuan had trained extensively.

Especially in a village where transportation was scarce, survival had depended on his own two legs.

So his kicks were far from decorative.

And in this life, his physical prowess lived up to the standard of a domineering CEO.

The room was frozen in stunned silence.

Every pair of eyes was locked onto Lu Chenyuan.

From his sudden appearance to his merciless strike, his expression never wavered—his ruthless efficiency sending a chill down every spine in attendance.

Lu Chenyuan didn’t even glance at Mo Zixuan lying on the floor. He took out a pristine white handkerchief from his suit pocket, meticulously wiped the back of his hand where the spilled alcohol had splashed, then tossed the handkerchief aside as if discarding trash.

The banquet hall had already devolved into a chaotic farce.

He turned and faced Mo Qingli, her expression icy behind him.

Lu Chenyuan had no intention of provoking Mo Qingli—but he couldn’t stand to see her humiliated either.

After a brief hesitation, he spoke:

"The night view from Xishan in Jingzhou is quite something."

"President Mo, care to change venues and celebrate your birthday there instead?"