Western Hill Moon, Heart Scar

Lu Chenyuan's voice wasn't loud, yet it was like a pebble dropped into a still lake, sending ripples through the hearts of everyone present.

He said, "President Mo, would you be interested in celebrating your birthday somewhere else?"

This wasn’t a question—it was more like an indisputable declaration.

Mo Qingli's cool gaze met Lu Chenyuan's deep eyes. Beneath that seemingly calm surface, she detected amusement, admiration, and something far more profound—an understanding reserved only for those of the same kind.

Without the slightest hesitation, the corner of her lips curled into an almost imperceptible smile as she gave a slight nod.

"Alright."

A single word—crisp, decisive, just like her.

This simple exchange left all the guests present utterly petrified, as if struck by a spell.

What… what kind of twist was this?

One moment, it was a scandalous drama of wealthy families, with fists flying, and the next, the male and female leads were brushing aside the chaos to leave together?

And this was Lu Chenyuan!

The notoriously ruthless and indifferent CEO of the Lu Family, who was said to have no interest in women!

He had actually stepped in for Mo Qingli and publicly invited her to leave her own birthday banquet?

All eyes burned like spotlights on the two of them, filled with shock, confusion, envy, and speculation.

Yet the two in question paid no attention to any of it.

Lu Chenyuan didn’t spare another glance at Mo Zixuan on the ground, as if he were nothing more than an inconvenient pebble on the roadside.

Calmly, he took out his phone and dialed a number.

The call was answered instantly.

Lu Chenyuan spoke only a few words before hanging up, his tone carrying an undeniable air of command and efficiency that sent a chill down the spines of those who heard it.

Having done this, he turned slightly toward Mo Qingli and gestured with an elegant "after you," as if inviting a queen into her palace.

Mo Qingli accepted his invitation without hesitation and stepped forward.

Side by side, they walked, the crowd parting like the Red Sea before them, unconsciously making way.

Their presence was overwhelming—one cold as ice, the other steady as an abyss—their combined aura forming an invisible barrier that shut out all noise and gossip.

No one dared to approach them. No one even dared to breathe too loudly.

They could only watch as the striking pair strode through the dazzling banquet hall, heading straight for the exit, leaving behind what should have been Mo Qingli’s night of humiliation.

Only after their figures disappeared beyond the doors did the frozen air begin to stir again. The banquet hall erupted into chaos—whispers, gasps, and exclamations rising in waves.

Meanwhile, Mo Zixuan, still sprawled on the floor, and Mo Siyu, weeping pitifully, now looked like nothing more than forgotten clowns.

Outside Yunxi Manor, the cool evening breeze carried the scent of grass and trees, washing away the mingled perfumes and the lingering tension from the banquet.

Lu Chenyuan and Mo Qingli stood side by side in silence.

A sleek black Bentley Mulsanne glided to a stop before them like a graceful panther, its headlights illuminating softly at the last moment, gentle enough not to sting the eyes.

The door opened, and Lin Yuan, clad in a crisp suit, stepped out swiftly to open the rear door.

"President Lu," he said quietly, his gaze pausing briefly on the wine-stained front of Lu Chenyuan’s suit, though his expression remained neutral, devoid of any unnecessary questions.

But Lu Chenyuan shook his head and said to Mo Qingli, "Take the front seat."

With that, he circled the car and took the driver’s seat himself.

Mo Qingli glanced at Lu Chenyuan behind the wheel, then at the composed Lin Yuan, before elegantly settling into the passenger seat without protest.

Lin Yuan silently closed the door and stood watching as the Bentley merged smoothly into the night traffic, disappearing into the distance, before turning to handle the aftermath at the manor.

Old Lu… was acting very differently tonight.

Lin Yuan mused to himself.

Inside the car, the refined sound system played soothing classical music, sealing them off from the outside world in a private, tranquil space.

Mo Qingli gazed out the window at the blur of neon lights, the city’s glow dissolving into fragmented colors in her cool eyes.

After a long while, she finally turned her attention to the man beside her, focused on driving.

His profile was sharp, his jawline defined and severe, his fingers steady and strong around the wheel.

The expensive suit, now stained, didn’t make him look disheveled—instead, it lent him an air of untamed wildness.

"Why?" she suddenly asked, her voice clear in the quiet cabin.

"Hm?" Lu Chenyuan kept his eyes on the road, responding with a questioning hum.

"Why did you help me? And why take me away?" Mo Qingli was direct.

She didn’t believe in love at first sight, nor in kindness without reason.

In her world, every action had its logic and motive.

Lu Chenyuan turned the wheel, guiding the car smoothly onto the winding mountain road leading to the Western Hills.

After a brief silence, he answered plainly, "Your birthday shouldn’t have been ruined like that."

It was a gentlemanly response, yet one that skirted the heart of the matter.

Mo Qingli arched a delicate brow, clearly unsatisfied.

Sensing her scrutiny, Lu Chenyuan added,

"Besides, that suit was custom-made—a nightmare to clean. Rather than staying to listen to those two wail, I figured it was better to leave early."

This reason carried more practicality, more honesty.

Mo Qingli’s lips curved slightly at his deadpan pragmatism, the coldness in her expression softening with genuine amusement.

"Well… thank you, President Lu, for sacrificing your suit to shield me from disaster," she teased lightly.

"You’re welcome," Lu Chenyuan replied, his tone still even.

"Consider it an advance gesture of goodwill. I’ll likely be working with you in the future—this is just laying the groundwork for a good professional relationship."

He deliberately steered the conversation toward business, as if trying to rationalize the night’s events as strategic cooperation—or perhaps reminding himself not to stray from the intended course.

Mo Qingli, sharp as ever, caught the forced note in his words.

She didn’t press further, simply turning her gaze back to the window.

The car had now entered the mountain roads, leaving the city’s clamor far behind, replaced by the serenity of the forest and the brilliance of the starry sky.

The atmosphere settled into quiet once more.

But this time, the silence wasn’t one of distance or wariness—it carried a subtle, unspoken understanding.

The car came to a stop at the Western Hills’ summit lookout.

From this vantage point, the highest in Jingzhou, the entire city’s nightscape stretched out below them.

Yet, what captured the most attention tonight was not the dazzling river of stars formed by countless lights in the city below, but a colossal steel giant standing right before our eyes.

The Eye of Jingzhou.

A towering Ferris wheel, reaching a hundred meters into the sky.

At this moment, though it should have ceased operation for the night, it glowed with soft, dreamlike lights. Perched atop the tranquil mountain, it resembled a massive, diamond-studded ring, quietly awaiting its rightful owner.