Time flew by at the Chu residence. Before anyone knew it, Chu Wenting and Shen Qing were home from their honeymoon. They hadn’t planned to stay away long. Chu Wenting had work to get back to, and Shen Qing couldn’t stop worrying about their not-quite-three-year-old son. At this rate, Kun Kun would give all his affection to his eldest uncle and Wang Cheng. If he stopped recognizing his own mother, who was she supposed to complain to?
On the sixth day of their honeymoon, the couple had been having such a wonderful time in Hawaii that they had nearly forgotten about their son. When Shen Qing finally remembered him and arranged a video call, she found him running after Wang Cheng, paying his mother no attention whatsoever. Third Aunt later informed her that Kun Kun had become Wang Cheng’s little shadow. Wherever he went, the boy followed.
Well, that simply wouldn’t do!
Shen Qing knew her son. Once someone won his trust, he wanted to cling to them every moment of the day. He’d behaved the same way when he was obsessed with his eldest uncle, all but forgetting he had a mother.
Over the next few days, Shen Qing called repeatedly, only to have Kun Kun ignore her or run off after saying a few words. Thoroughly heartsick, she decided to come home a day early.
Wang Cheng had been staying with the Chus for nearly half a month. After Shen Qing’s return, he and Chu Yifeng decided to go back to their apartment. Wang Cheng wanted to say goodbye to Kun Kun, but the little fellow was nowhere to be found. His mother had taken him out early, someone explained. She was worried he might forget who his mother was and intended to spend some time alone with him.
Wang Cheng was speechless. Was she really guarding against him that seriously? Kun Kun’s mother had far too little faith in herself. In the end, the couple left without getting to say goodbye.
“Have you really made up your mind?” Chu Yifeng asked as he drove.
“What else can I do? I’ve already agreed,” Wang Cheng said, holding his head in his hands.
The past few days at the Chu residence had given him a great deal to think about.
Since coming to the capital, he had rarely enjoyed the warmth of being surrounded by family. There was always some problem demanding his attention. At the Chu residence, though, he hadn’t needed to worry about his companies or deal with people harboring their own schemes. It had been almost as peaceful as his days on the mountain.
“If you don’t want to, don’t let anyone pressure you. Your grandfather may be influential, but he can’t do anything to us. His threats are mostly bluster.” Chu Yifeng didn’t want Wang Cheng forcing himself into something he disliked. He sometimes joked about having Wang Cheng bear him a child, but he’d never meant to make it a demand.
“I know.” Wang Cheng broke into a smile. “But I’ve been thinking about it myself. After spending time with Kun Kun, I’ve realized children can be pretty adorable. Remember what Doctor Eric said? If he’s right, what do you suppose our child would be like? Do you think they’d be like Kun Kun?”
Chu Yifeng smiled too. “They’d be even better than Kun Kun.”
“I think so too.” Wang Cheng grinned smugly. The more he pictured a baby carrying both their genes, the more he looked forward to meeting that child. His earlier misgivings had begun to fade.
Even so, they weren’t planning to proceed with IVF just yet. The trouble involving both the Zhou and Gu families was still unresolved. With so much happening, Wang Cheng worried that something unexpected might leave him unable to attend to matters.
The following morning, Chu Yifeng went to oversee Aimer’s local branch, while Wang Cheng received a call from Pan Zhihai and prepared to visit Yazhi. Before he left, Chu Yifeng told him to put on a baseball cap and sunglasses. Wang Cheng had become recognizable enough that reporters would jump at the chance to photograph him.
He Zihuan was now Yazhi’s undisputed top star and had broken into the ranks of first-tier celebrities. Advertising offers and film and television scripts were arriving faster than he could consider them. Wang Cheng no longer needed to finance productions himself. Even after He Zihuan chose what interested him, the company’s other artists had plenty of worthwhile opportunities.
He Zihuan’s friend Tang Sai was less famous, but he was hardly idle. Through his own efforts and a little help from He Zihuan, he’d secured his place among second-tier stars. Whether he climbed any higher would depend on what he did next.
Wang Cheng parked and headed toward the company’s building just as a group came out through its revolving glass doors. He Zihuan was at the center, flanked by three assistants and two bodyguards Pan Zhihai had hired specially for his protection. None of them recognized Wang Cheng.
Reporters who had been lying in wait rushed forward as soon as He Zihuan appeared. Cameras and microphones crowded around him. Questions flew from every direction. Was he really dating the actress linked to him in the gossip columns, or was it all publicity for their film? Had he been throwing his weight around on set? The bodyguards stepped between him and the reporters, while the assistants insisted they were running late.
Wang Cheng found himself pushed to the edge of the crowd. As he stood there, he noticed someone approaching. Normally he wouldn’t have looked twice; people were coming and going all the time. But on such a hot day, this person was wrapped up from head to toe. Wang Cheng watched more closely, and a sudden flash caught his eye.
Before he could get a proper look, the stranger drew a small knife from his jacket and charged at He Zihuan, yelling, “He Zihuan, die!”
The bodyguards were busy clearing a path through the reporters on either side. He Zihuan happened to be at the very front.
By the time the crowd recovered from its shock, the knife-wielding attacker had already been kicked away.
Someone had darted out from the side and sent the attacker flying before he could reach He Zihuan. The reporters, sensing a sensational scoop, snapped out of their stupor and began taking pictures as fast as they could. An attempted attack in broad daylight, and the target was one of the country’s hottest stars. This was news they could dine out on for weeks.
Then someone screamed.
The assailant had scrambled to his feet and was charging again, slashing wildly with the knife. Even the most scoop-hungry reporters weren’t about to gamble with their lives. They took a few hurried shots and scattered. The two bodyguards moved to protect He Zihuan, but neither got a chance to act. Wang Cheng, closest to the attacker, moved first and pinned him with one hand. The knife clattered to the ground, and Wang Cheng kicked it out of reach.
He pulled off the man’s hat and sunglasses to reveal a familiar face. The last time he’d seen him had been in a newspaper article about his departure from Yazhi. The accompanying photo had shown him beaming triumphantly. Now he looked haggard. Still young, he seemed to have aged four or five years, with dark circles under his eyes.
“Cen Xi?”
He Zihuan recognized him and cried out in surprise. It really was Cen Xi, who had jumped ship to Tianhuang Entertainment. But the move had done nothing to improve his fortunes. If anything, his life had only gotten worse.
Pan Zhihai had wanted to settle accounts with Cen Xi for some time. Once Wang Cheng gave him a free hand, he’d gone after the former artist mercilessly, exposing everything Cen Xi had done. Within two weeks, Cen Xi’s reputation had collapsed. People were demanding that he leave the entertainment industry. Tianhuang Entertainment, which had hoped to make a profit from him, finally abandoned him. But it refused to swallow the money it had spent. Citing damage to his public image and a supposed breach of contract, the company demanded compensation.
Cen Xi didn’t dare fight Tianhuang Entertainment. The company was far less respectable than it appeared, with rumored ties to organized crime. He paid until he had nothing left, only to be buried by the agency and denied any chance of a comeback. His life had become miserable.
Unable to break Wang Cheng’s grip, Cen Xi could only glare at He Zihuan, his eyes bloodshot and his features twisted with hatred. “Die, He Zihuan! I’ll kill you!”
He Zihuan frowned. It was no surprise that Cen Xi hated him. The man who had once looked down on him now occupied the opposite end of the ladder. Of course he was jealous. He turned toward the stranger holding Cen Xi and suddenly thought he looked familiar.
“Sir, thank you so much for helping me.”
“You two, come here,” Wang Cheng told the bodyguards.
“Young Master Zhou?” He Zihuan recognized the voice at last, his expression turning astonished. Wang Cheng had been bent over with his head down, so He Zihuan hadn’t recognized him even when he’d come close.
The bodyguards finally came to their senses.
Hearing the name, Cen Xi stared wide-eyed at Wang Cheng. The hatred in his gaze grew fiercer than anything he’d directed at He Zihuan. Wang Cheng was the real reason for his downfall, but he’d been almost impossible to find. Driven to desperation, Cen Xi had seen He Zihuan’s posters and news reports and conceived the deranged idea of killing him instead.
“Let’s go upstairs before we talk.”
Wang Cheng looked around. The reporters had already closed in again. News that the man who’d subdued the attacker was Yazhi’s young chairman, while the attacker was disgraced former artist Cen Xi, had sent them into a frenzy. Questions poured out. Did the two men have a personal grudge? Was Cen Xi taking revenge on He Zihuan because Yazhi had terminated his contract? And on and on.