An embrace on the eve of Frost's Descent
As the year draws to a close, the air in Beijing is damp and chilly, even the glass curtain walls of high-rise buildings are covered with a layer of frost. The small humidifier on the windowsill emits wisps of mist, like gentle smoke.
Hu Li washed her paintbrush and stood it upside down on the rim of a cup to drain. She wore a loose white knitted dress, her hair still smelling of shampoo, and she walked barefoot on the carpet like a small animal that had quietly landed.
Mu Tianlang moved with practiced ease in the kitchen. Hot water poured over the ground powder, causing condensation to rise from the cup, but he added no sugar as usual. When he placed it in front of her, Hu Li looked up, her eyes crinkling into crescent moons: "Mr. Wolf, are we going into abstinence mode again today?"
He glanced at her, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly: "Stop provoking me."
She smiled, her eyes bright and clear, and tapped her fingers twice on the rim of her glass: "Then lend me twenty minutes before you leave work."
"It's settled."
She tiptoed and, as if stealing a kiss, touched his lips: "Thumbs up."
His eyes darkened slightly, but he suppressed the urge to hug her tightly and instead took her fingertips into his palm: "Pinky promise."
The glass-enclosed conference room at Moody's headquarters was almost eerily silent. The CFO pushed the latest report over: "Year-end revenue fell more than expected. Credit rating agencies have issued warnings. Without capital injection or announcements of major collaborations, the share price may fall further."
A senior director coughed lightly: "Tianlang, the Jiang family has submitted a revised proposal. It covers funding, distribution channels, and joint ventures."
Another person chimed in: "If the marriage can be pursued simultaneously, the market signal will be more stable."
Mu Tianlang's fingertips landed on the table, steady and light: "I can handle public opinion, and I can handle cooperation. But not through marriage."
—The second-floor reception room of a private art gallery owned by the Chiang family.
The winter sun slanted in, casting long, dappled shadows through the heavy velvet curtains. Jiang Rouyin flipped through the latest issue of an art magazine, her movements unhurried.
"You arrived sooner than I expected." She looked at him with a polite smile.
Mu Tianlang, without taking off his coat, clearly didn't intend to stay long: "I've come to ask you—what exactly is your attitude?"
Jiang Rouyin folded up the magazine, her gaze returning to him, her voice steady: "I didn't force you. Nor do I need you."
Her tone softened slightly, as if she were gently uncovering a hidden past: "I once loved an architect's assistant... In the end, I realized that feelings cannot overcome all realities."
"Don't block my way." He stood up.
In the afternoon, in the study of Crescent Moon Cottage, Hu Li placed the newly completed sketch on the coffee table, lightly pushing the edge of the paper with his fingertip: "The first step is evidence, the second is legal counsel. The third step, I'll take care of."
"Go ahead."
"Compare the tone of those anonymous accounts from the Xu family, find three of the most obvious flaws, and let them contradict themselves." Her eyes shone brightly. "The fox doesn't dig a pit, he just scatters the seeds."
He leaned down to look at her paper: "What do you want?"
"It'll take your time," she smiled sweetly. "Twenty minutes will be enough."
He reached out and cupped the back of her head, pressing her forehead against his chin: "Here you go."
In the evening, the security system's internal line vibrated. A security alert popped up on the lobby video intercom: "Two visitors outside the access control, claiming to be media and partners, are not on the list. Should we transfer them?"
Mu Tianlang switched to walkie-talkie. The man in the trench coat smiled politely at the camera: "Mr. Mu, I'd like to discuss a 'win-win' cooperation."
He didn't open the door, and said calmly, "In my world, there's only one way to win—me and her." He then instructed the security guards to file a report about persuading him to leave and to retrieve the records.
As night fell, the neon lights of Beijing sliced the shadows into fragments. The media outlets backed by the Xu family launched their second round of manipulating the narrative, with anonymous accounts releasing so-called "solid evidence."
Special assistant Xiao Zhou reported: "The other party attempted to purchase behind-the-scenes footage from an overseas photographer, and the law firm has intervened."
She looked up at him and said, "I'm going to find Emma to get the original materials and match the guest list with the dates."
He nodded: "I'll contact the platform. Don't go out alone tonight."
She blinked: "Lock the door. If the wolf is at home, the fox won't run around."
After 8 p.m., the living room lights were soft. Hu Li was organizing the list Emma had sent when his phone vibrated—the caller ID showed "Hu's Mother".
She answered, her tone restrained: "Mom."
There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone. Then, Hu's mother's voice seemed to come from a great distance, calm yet carrying an unusual gentleness: "Have you been very busy lately? Don't be so busy that you forget important dates."
"What important day is it?"
"Mu Tinglang," Hu's mother paused, as if carefully choosing each word, "you were there that year too. Have you really forgotten?"
—Mu Tinglang, Mu Tianlang's older brother, whose accident many years ago is now an old case.
Hu Li's fingers tightened, and the pencil drew a very faint gray line on the paper: "What do you mean?"
"That means," Mrs. Hu chuckled, but her smile was cold, "Don't think that just because you're on the Mu family's side, this matter can be wiped clean. Whether it was an accident or intentional—someone should remember."
Who are you referring to?
Only breathing came from the other end of the phone: "Think for yourself. What you did that night, whose painting you took, which road you took home—I know better than you do."
"Mom," Hu Li said, lowering his voice and even his breathing, "if you really have something to say, say it completely."
"When the time is right," Mother Hu said, her tone shifting between cold and warm. "I will help you. I will also help you repay what you owe."
The call ended. The screen went dark, like someone pulling a light out of a room.
Hu Li stared at the call log, a sudden surge of emotion washing over her—not rain, but the sea. A salty wind, distant white waves, the edges of a canvas swirling with moisture. A damp image from her childhood surfaced: the petals of a purple vitex clinging to someone's damp sleeve, slowly sliding down their arm. A boy's back stood before her, thin, yet blocking the wind. Someone called a name, the sound carried away by the sea breeze, only the last syllable swirling on the surface. She tried to grasp that syllable, but all light and shadow were scattered by the wind. She blinked hard, closed her notebook, and got up to pour herself a glass of water.
Mu Tianlang came out of the study and noticed that something was wrong with her: "What's wrong?"
"My mom called." She held the water glass in her palm, speaking slowly, "It's the same old story."
He glanced at her, but didn't press the matter. He simply stepped forward and steadied the cup in her hand, saying, "Don't think too much about it."
She nodded, but said nothing more. Her mind was a jumbled mess; the vague fragments her mother had mentioned seemed real one moment and unreal the next amidst the sound of the rain. She needed to confirm things further; she couldn't put any more pressure on him for the time being.
He responded and pulled her close, his voice soft: "Rest if you're tired."
After a light meal, he washed the dishes at the sink, and she watched him from behind the kitchen island. The sound of water stopped abruptly, and she suddenly went over to him, hugged him from behind, and pressed her face against his back: "You were very good today."
He chuckled softly, his voice muffled in his chest: "Try to provoke me again."
She raised her hand, her fingertips tracing the fabric of his shirt upwards, stopping at the top button. "I want my wages."
State your conditions.
"First, finish your breakfast before you leave tomorrow before the shareholders' meeting."
"OK."
"Secondly, the timer for those twenty minutes tonight will begin now."
"……OK."
He turned, cupped the back of her head in his palm, and leaned down to kiss her. The kiss wasn't hurried, like a long-awaited rain, restrained yet persistent. Although she was still affected by her mother's phone call and those blurry images, her mind in turmoil, she wanted to cherish this moment alone with him, dedicating it to just the two of them. He pressed her between himself and his shoulder, her breathing erratic, and she gently bit his collarbone.
After 11 a.m., documents were sent out one by one—platform compliance processing, law firm notification letters, and draft overseas public relations statements. Hu Li packaged the original materials sent by Emma according to the timeline and added keyframe annotations.
After reading it, he closed his laptop and said, "Well done."
She leaned against his lap: "Praise me."
"Smart, brave, beautiful, and she bites."
Late at night, Mu's father called, his tone flat: "Tomorrow at the meeting, someone will nominate a 'representative of the Jiang family for core management.' You decide what to do. Don't let outsiders play their part in the family game."
"Know."
"Don't hold back when it comes to the Xu family. If you're going to slap them in the face, slap them until they remember it."
As he reeled in the line and returned to the living room, Hu Li added lines to the parchment—a crescent-shaped bridge between the wolf and the fox.
Around midnight, my assistant, Xiao Zhou, called: "I just received an anonymous email alleging that you had a secret deal with an investor. The attachment is an edited audio file of unknown origin."
Mu Tianlang: "First verify the authenticity and trace the source of the document; restore it if possible, and release the original document if necessary."
He put away his phone and exchanged a glance with her. She sat up straight, her eyes lighting up: "Should I go first?"
He shook his head: "I'll do it."
She smiled and said, "Then I'll be right here. You come, and I'll cooperate."
The wind outside the window rustled through the treetops. Only a small lamp was on in the living room, casting a warm yellow glow on the floor, like a quiet island.
He suddenly spoke, his voice very low: "Hu Li, I'm sorry."
She looked up: "What's wrong?"
He looked at her fingertips and slowly said, "If you hadn't been with me, you wouldn't have encountered so many troubles. Public opinion, pressure, people secretly taking pictures of you, and having to come out and clarify things again and again... You could have painted peacefully, gone wherever you wanted, and been carefree."
She paused for two seconds, then placed her hand in his: "I hear you feel apologetic. But don't take all the blame. Even without you, the world wouldn't be any quieter."
He still frowned: "But I made you suffer what you shouldn't have had to suffer."
She gently shook the hand he was holding: "I'm not fragile. I can paint, and I can face the storms. Being talked about, photographed, misunderstood—it's annoying, but I'm not afraid. I just want you here, with me."
He stared into her eyes, his voice lower: "If one day you get tired of it and want to go back to just painting, I'll let you go."
She smiled, but her eyes were serious: "Don't say things like that. I chose this path myself, why would I blame you? I want you, not just an art studio."
He exhaled and pulled her closer to him: "I'll make adjustments. After the meeting, I'll have the legal and public relations teams block the way. I'll also upgrade the community's whitelist and visitor procedures to keep people away."
She nodded: "Okay, but don't hide me. Let's go together."
He hummed in agreement and pressed his forehead against hers, saying, "Thank you for your hard work."
"Don't mention it," she smiled. "I prefer working with you to being alone in peace."
He hugged her, his grip light but steady. She buried her face in his shoulder, and the turmoil in her heart slowly dissipated, leaving only a clear line—forward.
Just one step away from the Frost's Descent, the night was cold and gleaming. The two shadows leaned together, like a silent flag.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
