Chapter 107: A Bastion

As her footsteps faded into the distance, Mo Zhicheng slowly opened his eyes. Nearby, the gentle sound of flowing water reached his ears. Rising, he grabbed a towel to cover himself and peered through the narrow bathroom door gap, watching her silhouette as she hand-washed his clothes.

A satisfied smile curved his lips before he gently closed the door.

Linglan’s hands soaked in the warm water, creating delicate bubbles as she carefully rubbed his pristine white shirt. His shirts were always this immaculate because she washed them by hand. Only when it came to heavier items like wool coats and trench coats did she take them to a specialized dry cleaner.

Because of this routine, on their way back from work, they would detour into the city to pick up his clothes. Even their driver, Master Chen, was surprised—Mo Zhicheng rarely went to such places, and trivial matters like collecting laundry never required his interference.

Yet lately, even an outsider could sense subtle changes, and everyone understood the underlying reason.

“From now on, I’ll entrust you with washing all my clothes.”

“Why?”

Linglan felt her gaze drift away, a thoughtful smile playing on her lips.

The sunlight on the terrace was abundant, and his clothes fluttered gently in the morning breeze, like white sails catching the wind.

Once everything was tidied, Linglan returned to the master bedroom, about to call Mo Zhicheng awake. As she pushed the door open, she saw the man half-naked, leaning silently against the bedhead, smoking.

A white duvet lightly draped around his waist, the grayish smoke hazing his handsome features, making him even more mesmerizing in his drowsy allure.

He exhaled smoke softly at the corner of his thin lips, his eyes gently holding hers, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his mouth. Linglan felt a flush of embarrassment under his unabashed gaze and quickly averted her eyes, asking, “Aren’t you getting up? It’s almost eight-thirty, and you still need to be at the company by nine.”

Mo Zhicheng smiled faintly, clearly in a good mood, and pursed his lips, raising his brow as he replied, “Wait until you pick my clothes.”

“When did I take on that job?” She glanced at him, feigning helplessness. “Mo, when are you going to give me a raise? Your current salary isn’t even enough to cover my dry cleaning for you.” She shook her head, a teasing note in her voice like the fresh morning air.

The man’s faint smile deepened at the corners of his eyes. He turned his head and extinguished his cigarette with a smile, saying, “I’m entirely yours. What else could you want? Tell me, let me hear it.”

Her eyes momentarily faltered at his words, watching his smiling profile—the coldness and aloofness had completely faded away, leaving only the image of a man at home, not the merciless Mo Zhicheng who wielded power like the changing clouds in the business world.

Yet when he said he was wholly hers, that sense of complete possession surged into her heart.

She had never truly owned anything before—was he really hers? She laughed softly, feeling as if a bottle of mixed emotions had overturned inside her: sweet, sour, bitter, and salty all at once, leaving her helpless.

“Why are you silent again?” Mo Zhicheng scrutinized her subtle expression and noticed a trace of a bitter smile at her lips. “Why won’t you tell me? What do you really want?”

Linglan averted her gaze, then looked up steadily at him: I want the Ye Corporation. Will you give it to me? The thought lingered silently within her, unspoken, as she turned toward the wardrobe. “Are you attending the event today?”

Mo Zhicheng got out of bed and approached her, wrapping his arm around her in the walk-in closet. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “If you don’t want to answer, just keep changing the subject.” He bit her earlobe playfully, as if punishing her deliberately.

But he quickly grew addicted to it, not satisfied with just that, he even blew on her ear and teased the curve of her ear.

Linglan felt his embrace tighten. A flicker of worry crossed her mind. She hurriedly pulled out a pale blue twill shirt from the closet and pressed it against his chest. “You’re teasing me again.” She hastily tucked her hair back, partly covering the reddened, almost bleeding earlobe. “Then give me a raise. It would ease the monthly mortgage pressure.”

She tossed out the remark casually and added in time, “This twill shirt goes perfectly with your black suit.”

Mo Zhicheng no longer resisted, nodding lightly. “Alright—!” His elongated tone sounded almost like a mock agreement.

Linglan saw and felt the faint happiness on his face. Today, he seemed refreshed and clear-headed. She sighed softly, took her clothes, and went next door to change.

The man’s voice came from behind her: “Linglan…”

“Hmm?” She turned, puzzled. “What is it?”

“I get a bespoke suit made in England every year.”

“Don’t you often go to that old tailor’s shop in Nanjiang?” she asked curiously.

Mo Zhicheng patiently explained, “It’s my habit. Every year I go to Savile Row. The custom-made suits there take longer—about six months to a year—but the quality and traditional craftsmanship can’t be matched anywhere else. So even though the process is lengthy, I enjoy it immensely.”

Seeing the slight surprise in her eyes, he smiled. “Is that strange? I’ve always been very particular about what I like. This year, you should come with me, okay?” His invitation was sincere, not a joke, his gaze serious as he looked at her.

She looked back at him, gripping the door handle tightly, hesitation flickering at her lips, but she answered simply, “Okay!”

The Bentley cruised steadily along the road.

Mo Zhicheng was engrossed in his phone and laptop. Linglan looked away, only catching his focused expression. She leaned closer to glance at his screen—nothing unusual. He was analyzing recent stock trends. Watching his hands rest on the keyboard—long, clean fingers with prominent knuckles, strong and vigorous palms—it seemed as if they controlled a third of Nanjiang’s economic lifeblood.

Noticing her dazed look, Mo Zhicheng raised an eyebrow. “What are you thinking about?”

His question startled her back to the moment. She whispered, “The 80/20 rule.”

Mo Zhicheng smiled—a woman’s mind often leapt unpredictably. He gave her a knowing look, inviting her to continue. “Why think of that?”

“It’s funny—eighty percent of the world’s wealth is held by twenty percent of the people.” She lifted her eyes and looked at him quietly.

Mo Zhicheng nodded in agreement. She was clever; conversations with her sometimes felt like a sparring match between rivals.

The Pareto Principle, discovered by Italian economist Vilfredo Pareto, states that in any given domain, a small portion plays a decisive role.

Mo Zhicheng said, “Because eighty percent give up halfway, while only twenty percent persevere and succeed.”

Linglan nodded. He put down his computer and looked at her with interest. “If we apply the 80/20 rule to the marketing of Tiancheng, what do you think?”

Bringing up this topic was Linglan’s subtle way to steer their future conversations toward work.

She cautiously considered her words, then said, “In Tiancheng’s business dealings, twenty percent of the customers generate eighty percent of the profit. So the focus should be on nurturing that twenty percent to expand their cooperation with Tiancheng. It’s not only easier than spreading attention evenly but far more worthwhile.”

Mo Zhicheng nodded approvingly, his eyes showing admiration.

Linglan thought of the land parcel owned by the Urban Investment Group and smoothly added, “And eighty percent of Tiancheng’s funds come from twenty percent of the projects. That’s why you’ve been eager to secure that land—you know the project you’re planning there will bring greater, perhaps unexpected, capital.”

She finished in one breath. Seeing his serious expression, she apologized, “Sorry for showing off my limited skills in front of you.”

Hearing this, Mo Zhicheng’s lips curled into a faint, charming smile. His deep eyes studied her with intrigue. “Linglan, if you were my opponent, you would be my greatest rival.”

He smiled again, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and couldn’t resist kissing her hair. “You know, even though I spend only twenty percent of my time with you, you give me eighty percent of my happiness.” She was stunned. He closed his eyes, smiling softly. That simple phrase silenced the tentative topic she had almost broached.

After some time, Mo Zhicheng gently stroked her dark hair and asked, “Linglan…”

“Hmm?”

“Where is the place you most want to visit?”

The place she most wanted to go? She didn’t know. Without a home, everywhere felt like a place of wandering. Linglan was silent. Sensing her hesitation, he waited patiently. She finally said, “France. Paris!” Perhaps brimming with romance, but no matter how beautiful the scenery, it only mattered if shared with the one you love.

After hearing her answer, Mo Zhicheng replied softly, “Good!” as if in silent agreement.

Linglan looked up from his embrace. “By the way, you mentioned the Urban Investment land parcel earlier—is it still unresolved?”

“Hmm, no hurry.” Mo Zhicheng gently pushed her away. “I have time to negotiate with them.”

Linglan became more certain of her earlier suspicions: the Yu family and Secretary Qin were colluding to suppress Mo Zhicheng’s unstoppable momentum. But she worried, “The longer that land sits idle, the worse it is for Tiancheng’s funds. And you’ve already planned seventy or eighty percent of the project for that land, haven’t you?”

“Yes!” He smiled, a hint of meaning in his tone. “You’ll see when the time comes.”

Linglan nodded. It was rare for Mo Zhicheng to discuss work matters with her, even if only briefly. It was no small thing. She tried to probe gently, but the conversation was enough to make her heart race—like a mental duel.

“By the way,” Mo Zhicheng suddenly recalled, “there’s a banquet in a few days. You’ll come with me.”

“What banquet?” she asked curiously.

“About the Urban Investment land parcel. The heads of Yu’s faction and Great World will both be there.”

“An invitation from Secretary Qin?” Linglan immediately recognized it. Only Qin could gather the three major forces of Nanjiang’s gambling industry to one event. She sensed it wouldn’t just be an overt contest but a banquet fraught with hidden dangers.