Chapter 115: Have You Forgotten Me?

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Huang Pu, filled with affection, took the young lady to the Blue Marquis Manor.

What frustrated him was that they were not alone.

Ye Xin was always required to stay by the young lady’s side, so she drove her car following closely behind Huang Pu’s Rolls-Royce.

Mo Yi was to accompany Huang Pu abroad, so he also drove behind them. Huang Pu had originally planned to have a private lunch with the young lady, but since there was an airport near the manor, Mo Yi prepared his materials and came along.

Mo Jiu and Mo Shi were assigned to protect Shangguan Ranyan during this time, so they too followed by car.

In addition, there were a hundred bodyguards, covert operatives sent by Ye Zuo, reinforcements from headquarters dispatched by Mo Yi, and Huang Pu’s personal security team—altogether over a hundred luxury vehicles.

Leading the convoy was a stretched Hummer driven by the private bodyguards, followed by Huang Pu’s Rolls-Royce, Ye Xin’s Porsche, Mo Yi’s Chevrolet Orlando, Mo Jiu’s Bugatti Veyron, and countless Lamborghinis, Aston Martins, Bentleys, Paganis, Audis, and Koenigseggs. The procession was vast and winding, like a mighty dragon stretching from City A all the way to Shangguan Ranyan’s Blue Marquis Manor.

The sudden appearance of over a hundred luxury cars drew the attention of everyone around.

People watched in bewilderment as one car after another passed by, until they caught sight of the striking license plate: Z8888. Then, the crowd finally understood.

The manor’s steward received the notice immediately and ordered all the staff to prepare themselves—appearance tidied, posture straightened, standing on both sides to welcome the young lady. The women clasped their thumbs in front of their waists, dressed uniformly in white tops, golden badges, black fitted skirts, and black high heels. The men wore dark suits with black bow ties, white badges, and black leather shoes. All wore earpieces, and their hair was neatly trimmed above the eyebrows.

Not only were they skilled in cultivating flowers and plants, but also in nurturing tea leaves, managing the manor’s interior, coordinating plant arrangements, and handling external affairs—these were the standards Shangguan Ranyan required when recruiting them.

All the luxury cars aligned in a straight row, their doors opening simultaneously.

Huang Pu, ever the gentleman, placed his hand gently atop the young lady’s head and then helped her step out of the car.

The group arrived at the manor’s entrance, where the steward led everyone in a respectful bow.

“Miss.”

“Miss Shangguan.”

“Miss Shangguan.”

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“Miss Shangguan.”

The crowd bowed with proper etiquette, eyes cast down, neither looking around nor speaking unnecessarily.

“Uncle Ji, I will be dining here at noon. Please prepare a meal for each of them,” Shangguan Ranyan said.

“Certainly, it’s my honor! I will arrange it at once,” the steward replied.

Following Shangguan Ranyan’s lead, the group entered the manor.

Everywhere they looked, vibrant greenery flourished—lush bushes, flower buds on the verge of blooming, and competing blossoms of hibiscus, roses, clivia, weeping begonia. Surrounding these were trellises and fences. Inside, they could see rockeries with flowing water, delicate fountains, and in the summer, the turquoise lotus and pale pink water lilies bloomed in the West Lake within the grounds.

It truly lived up to the saying: “The land is vast and flat, the houses orderly, with fertile fields, beautiful ponds, mulberry trees, and bamboo groves.”

The architecture was low and understated, unlike the towering skyscrapers of City A. The edges of the buildings stood firm with a subtle sense of intrigue—blue bricks and white tiles, wooden garden gates, cobblestone paths that tickled the feet.

Blue Marquis Manor covered 35 acres, making it the largest estate in City A. When it was first auctioned, the starting price was an astonishing 950 million yuan, attracting fierce competition from businessmen and political figures alike.

Mo Yi and Mo Jiu, displaying their discretion, did not walk with the main group. Instead, they took Ye Xin and the rest of the bodyguards to casually explore the manor.

Shangguan Ranyan led Huang Pu to her room, which exuded an antique elegance. The door was carved with openwork diamond patterns, simple yet graceful in line. Inside stood a grand round bed of dark red sandalwood, sheer drapes hanging low with swaying tassels, intricate carvings, swirling paintings, rosewood tables and chairs, a redwood chaise lounge covered with a white fur blanket, and an artistically arranged white carved screen. A camphorwood cabinet and a low table adorned with Longquan celadon tea ware completed the refined and classical atmosphere.

“Mr. Huang Pu, what do you think of my room?” she asked.

Huang Pu surveyed it and was somewhat surprised. “I expected a purely European style.”

Shangguan Ranyan smiled. “Surprised? I don’t know why either. I just fell in love with it at first sight, and then my father gave it to me.”

“Do you like this kind of design, Ranyan?”

“Maybe, or maybe I would have preferred European style instead.”

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Huang Pu gently brushed her delicate nose and smiled indulgently. “You’re quite mischievous.”

“All right, let me show you my gallery and music room,” she said.

At the corner of Shangguan Ranyan’s room was her gallery, filled with her sketches, easels, and framed paintings displayed in glass cabinets. Looking down through the glass, these were her personal works, not for sale. All were created alone within the manor, where the tranquil environment inspired her deeply.

If Bell knew she had such a beautiful painting space and these exquisite works, he would surely leap up and shout with excitement.

A short walk away was her music room, containing nearly all the instruments she could play, though the styles were simple compared to the lavish collection Huang Pu had prepared for her.

The manor had over 300 rooms. Shangguan Ranyan’s section was the main courtyard, a circular corridor interlaced with green pathways, comprising 25 rooms—her private sanctuary where servants never ventured except for weekly cleaning.

Huang Pu opened a glass cabinet and took out a framed painting. It depicted a boy of about fifteen in profile, his pale face marked by a resolute, unyielding gaze. Dim light fell across his features as he leaned against a smooth wall, one hand resting on a bent knee, the other covering his abdomen. The expression of pain and suffering was vividly captured.

Huang Pu’s knuckles whitened as his fingers curled tightly, veins bulging on the back of his hand. With great effort, he restrained himself from smashing the painting.

Shangguan Ranyan had not yet noticed his distress. Leaning closer, she explained, “This was a boy I met when I was ten. After learning he was part of the Nightshade organization, I gave him some ointment to stop the bleeding. Unfortunately, I never knew how his injury fared afterward, so I painted this that very night. Though I don’t know what became of him, at least I—”

“Bang!” The frame crashed to the floor, glass shattering instantly as the canvas floated free.

Before she could finish, the man threw down the painting, his eyes stormy and unsettled. He looked up, locking eyes with the young lady.

“Now you know what happened to him, because he is Ye Zuo.”

Shangguan Ranyan’s eyes widened, her hands hanging helplessly at her sides. Her voice faltered, silenced by shock. She did not understand what had come over him, but hearing his words, her pupils dilated in astonishment.

His words cut like ice, chilling the room to near freezing. Stepping forward, he gripped her arm tightly and questioned with a tone laced with sorrow, injustice, and pain, “Why do you remember him? Shangguan Ranyan, tell me—why do you remember him but forget me?”