Beijing's trending topics and showdown
The morning mist in Beijing had not yet dissipated, and the light of the clouds slowly rose along the glass curtain wall of the Financial Street, making the spacious conference building look like an island sealed by the cold air.
Mu Tianlang pushed open the door and entered. The light in the conference room was like a knife, falling on every composed face. Several directors and elders sat on one side of the long table, while an empty seat remained at the other end, as if reserved for someone who could not attend.
The air conditioner hummed softly, and the projection screen silently lit up with a red line trending towards a cold white.
"You and that painter, have you publicly acknowledged it?" The older director's voice was like metal striking metal, hitting straight to the bone.
"Yes," the man's voice was steady, like a still, deep pool, "we are dating."
Someone scoffed, the paper making a harsh rustling sound as it was turned: "She's neither from a prestigious family nor has any connections. Now the internet is full of criticism, and her stock price dropped three points in early trading. What bargain are you going to get?"
Mu Tianlang's fingers tightened slightly, then relaxed. He didn't lower his head, his eyes calm: "Rely on management, on products and decision-making, not on marriage alliances."
The brief silence was like a nail driven into the table. Father Mu's gaze was deep, like the sea on a winter night: "You are the heir to the Mu family; your personal feelings are not just personal feelings. The Jiang family has already reassessed the cooperation."
"I'll handle it." He didn't back down.
As the meeting adjourned, several pairs of eyes, like hidden reefs, seemed to try and wound him. Mu Tianlang walked out of the conference room, loosened his tie slightly, and turned to instruct: "Xiao Zhou, investigate the source of all the images that were circulated last night. First, arrest the first batch of marketing accounts that stirred up trouble, find the list of those who bought trending topics, and the payment methods. I'll give you half a day; get all the information."
The assistant responded, "Yes."
In the elevator mirror, his expression was as cold as a lone wolf walking across a snowfield. His fingertips brushed across his cuff, lingering on the barely perceptible hand-drawn mark—the little fox she had once sketched on the inside of his white shirt sleeve, so faint it was like a touch of warmth. He stared at it for two seconds, as if recalling a certain breath. The next second, the elevator reached the lobby, and he stepped out, his steps steady and unwavering.
“
At the same time, inside the Crescent Moon Cottage's art studio, a corner of the window curtain was lifted by the morning breeze, and cold light fell on the edge of the canvas. Hu Li sat on a high stool, his fingers holding a paintbrush, but he hesitated to put it down.
The phone screen lit up one after another, with new notifications flooding in like a tide: "#Young Master and the Vixen of the Painting World#", "#Xu Family Daughter Suspected of Being Abandoned#", "#Mysterious Woman in the Banquet#".
She didn't attend the senior citizens' birthday banquet, yet she was "attended" on the trending topics. Silhouettes, misalignments, back views, and even someone photoshopped a candid shot of her visiting an art gallery onto the carpet at last night's event, with the shadows and lighting not even matching the direction.
The phone rang. It was a PR person from a partner brand, speaking in a polite yet distant tone: "Mr. Hu, the online atmosphere has been quite sensitive lately. We've discussed it, and the exhibition dates may need to be postponed..."
She held her phone, her knuckles turning white: "I understand."
He hung up. Another call came in, from the gallery: requesting a postponement of public promotion. Then another call, from his mother. Hu Li put his brush down beside the palette, took a breath, and then answered.
The words that came out were like knives: "I told you to take the initiative to meet Mu Tianlang's mother, to learn how to behave, to lower your posture, to please her, to first secure a place in the Mu family, to gain a foothold! And now, the news comes out saying you're a mistress, a vixen, how am I supposed to face anyone?!"
“Mom, trying to please her won’t work. I just want to do my job well.” She tried to keep her voice steady.
"Work? Who cares about your work now! You don't listen to your elders, what makes you think you deserve to be in their house!" A slam on the phone sounded like a cup falling to the table, followed by the mother's angry outburst, "Are you trying to drive me crazy?!"
She remained silent, repeating only a phrase as if speaking to the wind: "I won't do that."
The call was abruptly ended. Silence slumped back into the studio; the smell of paint mingled with the cold air, like a colorless pressure. She reached for the window, but her hand lingered on the handle for a long, drawn-out moment. Her phone vibrated again; it was a message from her mother, a single line of text as sharp as an ice blade:
This is the price you pay for inaction.
She stared at those words, her chest feeling as if it were being squeezed tightly. Her fingertips paused on the screen, but she didn't reply. She flipped her phone over, screen down, took a deep breath, and looked at the unfinished patch of moonlight in the center of the canvas.
She had promised herself, "Painting should have warmth," but at this moment, that warmth felt like it was burning her.
My phone vibrated; it was a call from the property manager of Crescent Moon Residence: "Hello Ms. Hu, I'd like to inform you of the current situation: there are several media reporters outside the main gate of the community who are gathering information and taking photos."
We have temporarily upgraded our access control level and increased security patrols at all entrances and exits. Unauthorized personnel will not be permitted entry. If needed, we can arrange for staff to escort you up and down stairs and collect your packages.
Please try to minimize going out alone these next couple of days and pay attention to your personal safety.
She thanked the person, asking for their help, and after hanging up, checked the door lock one last time. Her throat felt tight, but she also felt a little calmer. She leaned against the door, her palms still slightly warm.
Before long, heavy, familiar footsteps echoed down the hallway, their rhythm steady, as if each step was aimed at a specific goal. Before she could react, she heard a soft voice from outside the door: "Fox, open the door."
She seemed to awaken from ice, clicking open the door. The man stood at the boundary between shadow and light, his suit jacket draped over his arm, his Adam's apple bobbing, the cold line at the corner of his eye deeper than usual, as if he had just emerged from the eye of a storm.
He didn't offer any words of comfort, but simply reached out and pulled her into his arms. Her chin rested against his collarbone, and she could hear the heavy thumping of his heart in his chest.
The pounding in her heart wasn't panic, but a powerful surge after restraint. She wanted to say, "I'm fine," but the words caught in her throat.
"I thought you wouldn't come back today." Her fingertips clung to the hem of his shirt, like a little animal afraid of the cold.
"I shouldn't have come back," he whispered, "but since someone dared to stand at the entrance of the community and write and take pictures indiscriminately, I came back."
"Are you angry?" She looked up, her eyes still slightly red, but mimicking her foxy manner, she subtly curved her lips into a smile as if challenging his bottom line.
“Very.” He raised his hand, his fingertips lingering for a moment along the red at the corner of her eye, as if smoothing the fire away from her eyes. His gaze darkened inch by inch, his Adam's apple bobbed, and his voice was low and hoarse. “I’m angry with them—the people who used you as a weapon, and I’m also angry with myself.”
"Why did you give birth to yourself?"
He didn't answer, the grip on his arm tightened. After a long silence, he finally uttered, "I thought I could hold them off."
She chuckled, a sound tinged with grime: "Wolves can feel remorse?"
“Wolves will bite.” He lowered his head and gently pecked her on the back of the shoulder, as if it were a warning, or as a reassurance.
She trembled slightly at the teasing, but then suddenly remembered the message, and her heart tightened. She took a half step back from his embrace, looked up into the deepest part of his eyes, and said in an unusually serious tone, "Mu Tianlang, I need to talk to you about something."
The man's back tensed instantly, like a fully drawn bow. He didn't urge her, but simply put his hands in his pockets, letting the cold air pass between them, as if leaving her a path to move freely in and out.
"When I first approached you," she said, her voice soft, yet like rubbing glass on knuckles, "it wasn't entirely without purpose."
His eyelashes fluttered slightly, but he didn't interrupt her.
"The initial 'purpose' wasn't the capriciousness I'm talking about now," she stared at him, her tone slowing down inch by inch, "it was—my mother instructed me to find an opportunity to get close to you."
She swallowed hard, finally untangling the knot she hadn't dared to touch for years: "My father and your mother were lovers during my student days. Later, your mother married your father, and my father also married my mother."
But he married her not out of love—he did it for her, because his family needed a stable marriage. The mother collapsed; her emotions spiraled out of control.
Then her father cheated on her again, and she blamed everything on your mother's "betrayal," believing that it was because your mother turned away first that your father treated her this way and forced her into this situation.
She lowered her eyes, her fingertips unconsciously clenching the hem of her clothes: "So, she wanted me to make up for what she had lost—to go see your mother, to humble myself, to ingratiate myself, and ideally, to secure a position in the Mu family. She said that was our family's way out. At the time... I really did as she said."
She looked up, her gaze clear yet sharp: "But after getting closer to you, I realized that the script couldn't capture me. You said that space only needs order, not emotion—I disagree. I want to fill your world with 'warmth,' and I also want to push those voices of hatred back in."
She handed him a key as if it were a key: "I carried my mother's instructions, as well as my own curiosity and wildness, like a fox trying to sneak into a wolf's den."
You can be angry, you can feel used. I should have said so sooner, but back then I couldn't distinguish myself, what was 'purpose' and what was 'liking'.
Silence fell, like snow. She took a deep breath: "Now I can see clearly. I stayed not to prove I was right, but because... I can't live without you."
After she finished speaking, she seemed to have all her strength drained away, staring at him without blinking, awaiting the verdict.
Mu Tianlang didn't back down. He stepped forward, standing very close, close enough for her to see the slight contraction in his pupils. After a long silence, he whispered, "So you knocked on the door, and I opened it. You came with a purpose, and I'll let you know—wolves aren't heartless."
He lowered his eyes, pressed his forehead against hers, and lowered his voice even more than usual: "But I have a bottom line, Fox. If you tell the truth, I will protect you to the end; if one day you choose to let go, I will let you leave with dignity. As for what's going on outside—leave it to me."
She paused for two seconds, then suddenly laughed: "Are you negotiating, General Manager?"
"I'm delivering my verdict," he said, cupping the back of her head, each word distinct, "I sentence you to be cared for by me for the rest of your life."
Her eyelashes fluttered slightly: "Will it be very strict?"
“Very much.” He leaned closer, his tone cold but his words burning, “But you can appeal, with a kiss.”
She tiptoed and touched the water gently, like testing the temperature with a feather. The man didn't rush. He slowly leaned down like a mountain, his hand tightening around her lower back, shielding her between the wall and his chest.
The kiss went from restraint to chaos, from a light touch to a full embrace. Her palm trembled slightly, her fingertips unconsciously gripping the back of his shirt as if grasping a shore. She breathed heavily on his lips and laughed, "Mr. Wolf, you're easily swayed."
"You don't follow the rules either." He chuckled softly, his lips parted around hers, his voice hoarse as if it had been ground against a stone.
As their breaths mingled, hurried footsteps and whispers suddenly came from outside the door, "On this floor—" "Keep your voice down!" The two stopped simultaneously. Mu Tianlang pulled her behind him, his gaze instantly turning cold.
He didn't open the door, but took out his phone and pressed a few keys: "Xiao Zhou, there are unidentified people in the stairwell on the tenth floor of Building B. Have the property management come upstairs within ten seconds."
He put his phone away, glanced back at her, and his eyes silently said—don't be afraid. She was held protectively in his arms, and suddenly felt that the oppressive feeling that should have been suffocating become breathable in the scent of his chest.
The hallway quickly fell silent. The sounds of the property management and security personnel negotiating drifted in and out of sight. He didn't release her immediately, but instead lowered his head and gently bit her collarbone, leaving a light, barely audible tooth mark. She hissed in surprise and playfully punched him: "Revenge?"
“Mark them,” he said softly, his eyelashes casting a shadow. “Let them know there are wolves here.”
She blushed, but also smiled, drawing a small circle on his shirt with her fingertip: "What about me? I want to mark it too."
She leaned forward and bit his shoulder, a light touch, but enough to leave a mark. The man's breath hitched, a suppressed groan escaping his throat. He raised his hand to hold her waist, as if rewarding her for restraining herself to the limit: "Fox, stop fooling around."
“I’m marking this very seriously.” She looked up, her eyes shining like a pool of spring water.
A sweet feeling filled the room, but it didn't completely dispel the shadow in her heart. She remembered the message and still spoke up: "It was sent by my mother from a different number."
Her voice tightened, and she added in a low voice, "I don't want to be threatened like this, and I won't do what she says, but she is, after all, my mother... I will find a suitable time to talk to her properly and put her mind at ease."
After listening, Mu Tianlang's eyes grew colder and colder. He pushed the phone back into her palm and covered her hand with the back of his fingers: "I understand. She shouldn't have used this method to pressure you. I've already arranged to increase security here. Don't call her alone for now. If you need anything, let me come."
She was somewhat surprised: "You're not going to ask for details?"
"Whether you ask or not is not important," he said, looking at her. "The important thing is not to scare you a second time."
Her heart ached, and she reached out to hug him: "What if one day you really have to choose between the company and me?" Her words seemed to have been dug out of the night, carrying the salty taste of the wind.
The man's hand paused behind her hair. He didn't answer immediately, his gaze passing over her shoulder and landing on the unfinished painting by the window. The colors on the painting were calm and stubborn, like her. After a long while, he turned back to look into her eyes, his tone like a flag held high in the wind: "I will give you and the company an answer that doesn't require conflict."
"Really?" she pressed.
"I will make it." He stopped making empty promises.
She nodded and didn't press him further. She knew that when this man said "do it," he was taking the consequences upon himself.
She recalled the unwarranted insults from last night and suddenly had an almost impulsive thought: "How about... we publish a normal group photo? No need for explanations or rebuttals, just standing together."
He looked at her for two seconds, then his lips twitched slightly: "Aren't you afraid?"
"I'm afraid," she laughed, but her eyes shone, "but more than being afraid, I want them to shut up."
His gaze deepened, like a wolf spotting a flame in the night. He raised his hand and took hers, their fingers intertwined: "I'll cooperate. But I'll set the pace." He lowered his head and planted a short kiss on her lips. "Don't release anything tonight, let me clean up the mess."
She nodded. Just as she was about to let go, her assistant called. The man answered, and after listening for less than ten seconds, his eyes grew even colder: "Hold those numbers locked for now, send out the legal letters, and show me the financial flow details. Also—record the information the Xu family is releasing." He silenced his phone and told her, "Don't look at the internet for now."
"Okay." She nodded obediently, then suddenly mimicked her foxy manner and reached for her phone: "Give me yours too."
"do what?"
“Mark it.” She changed the wallpaper on his phone to a little fox she had drawn herself, and thoughtfully added a note at the top of the notes app: Remember to come home for dinner tonight. She looked up, her smile bright, “Let every screen of yours remind you—home is here.”
The man stared at the words, silent for a moment, something flickering in his eyes. Suddenly, he reached out and scooped her up in his arms. She gasped, her arms automatically wrapping around his neck: "What are you doing—"
“Feed the wolves.” His voice was cold and low. “The appeal from earlier hasn’t been decided yet.”
She blushed, but laughed wildly: "The verdict is?"
“Let’s review it again.” He placed her by the dining table, his knuckles around her waist, keeping her within his sight, like putting something lost and found back in its place.
He didn't rush to kiss her. Instead, he turned on the light, heated the milk, and carefully cleaned up the traces of her harassment outside her door that morning, his movements deliberate, as if gathering all the chaos. Finally, he held the back of her head and gently kissed her forehead: "I'm going to make a phone call, ten minutes." His words were like a promise: I will be back.
She sat under the lamp, listening to him speak softly on the balcony, like a string held steady to prevent it from snapping. Steam rose from the warm milk, and as she held the cup by the rim, she suddenly felt the ice in her heart slowly melting.
As the night deepened, the two drew the curtains together. She turned the easel around and switched to a smoother brush: "I want to paint what I just saw."
"What should I draw?"
"The darkness outside the window, the light inside the room, and—" she turned to look at him, her eyes crinkling, "the wolf and the fox each took a bite, and the teeth marks will remain until tomorrow."
He chuckled, looking down at the mark on her collarbone, his fingertip pausing there for a moment: "It can be left until the day after tomorrow."
She raised her hand and gently pressed it against the spot on his shoulder where she had bitten him: "What about here?"
He held her hand, his fingers clasped tightly: "We'll save it for a long, long time from now."
She suddenly fell silent, leaning on his shoulder and gazing at the unpainted, moon-white canvas. The world remained noisy; car horns occasionally honked downstairs, and laughter and cursing echoed in the distance. But inside, the air was still, and the light was warm.
None of them were sure what tomorrow would bring, yet at this moment they marked and claimed each other in the most primitive way—as if to say: We will weather the wind together until it stops.
As the night drew to a close, his phone vibrated. It was a report from his assistant on the investigation's progress: the first batch of accounts that had been spreading misinformation were linked to two marketing companies, and there were duplicate payment records. Mu Tianlang replied with only one word: "Receive." Then he turned the phone face down, looked up at her, and said, "Go to sleep."
She nodded, but suddenly grabbed his fingertips, like a small animal clutching a precious bone: "Mu Tianlang."
"Um?"
"Thank you for coming back," she said. "I thought you would choose not to come back today."
He stared at her for two seconds, his voice so low it was almost as dark as the night: "There are many times I could have not come back, but I don't want to miss any chance to hold you in my arms."
She smiled, her eyes crinkling slightly: "The way you put it makes it hard for people to let go."
He pulled her into his arms: "Then don't let go."
——
The next morning, he got up earlier than her. A sliver of white light seeped through the curtains, and the sound of water dripping onto the pot could be heard from the kitchen.
Hu Li stood barefoot on the wooden floor, leaning against the doorframe watching him fry eggs. He wasn't wearing a coat; the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to mid-arms, revealing a faint mark on his shoulder where she had lightly bitten him, like a personal seal. He heard her footsteps and turned his head: "Awake?"
"Hmm." She pulled up the apron strap on his back, deliberately making it tight, "to prevent him from doing anything reckless."
"I'm frying eggs." He looked down and flipped them over, his tone indifferent, but the tips of his ears turned red.
She moved closer to him from the side, her cheek against his upper arm, her nose brushing against the small teeth mark, and said softly, "I'm hungry."
"Wait two more minutes." He handed her the plate and casually tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, his movements as natural as if many mornings had already passed.
She took a couple of bites, then suddenly remembered something and picked up her phone from the table: "I want to take a picture of your back."
"Sure." He stood by the window, letting her take his picture. His back was straight, his shoulders broad and his waist narrow, like a quiet line. She pressed the shutter, and couldn't help but take a few more pictures. Finally, she chose one to put into a newly created folder in her photo album and named it: Home.
After finishing breakfast, he received a call from Xiao Zhou, and his expression immediately turned cold. She wisely cleared the dishes, not wanting to disturb him. Only after he ended the call did she look up at him: "Is the situation bad?"
"No," he said calmly, "it's just more urgent than I expected."
She understood: someone was increasing the stakes.
"Don't go out today," he said. "I've asked the property management to replace the access cards and adjust the camera angles. Someone will come to install them this afternoon."
"Okay," she quickly agreed, then suddenly looked up, "What if I want to go out and buy paint today?"
He looked at her for two seconds, then his lips twitched slightly: "Report."
She smiled and raised her hand in a salute: "Yes, General Manager."
He reached out and cupped the back of her neck, touching her forehead: "I'll be back this afternoon."
She nodded and watched him leave. The moment the door closed, it felt as if some of the warmth had been drained from the room. She stood there, suddenly realizing that she had truly placed the word "home" into the world of this cold, aloof man.
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