Chapter 28 Gradually Drawing Near

As her words faded, the lingering resonance of her voice hung in the air. He offered no response. Ye Linglan knew Mo Zhicheng had once more retreated into his habitual silence. Through their few encounters, she had gradually learned his nature: emotions never showed on his face. Just as now, he exhaled the last wisp of smoke, snuffed out the cigarette, and with a faint, elusive smirk at his lips, spoke unhurriedly, "Do you realize... when you lie, you can't bear to look me in the eye?"

She was startled, if only slightly.

"Of everything you just said, only once did your eyes waver and refuse to meet mine." Mo Zhicheng’s gaze caught the subtle shift in her expression. "You know which sentence I mean, don’t you?"

Of course she knew. It was when she’d said that highest virtue is like water—a phrase she’d used to describe him. Linglan’s lips curled slightly; for a moment, she found no reply.

"Do you know what I’m thinking now?" he pressed.

"Your thoughts are beyond my grasp, Mr. Mo," she replied quietly.

Mo Zhicheng stepped closer, pausing beside her. She felt his presence block the sunlight, casting a dark shadow. Her eyes fell on the subtle movement of his Adam’s apple as his deep voice rose from above, "I’m wondering what else you’re hiding in that clever mind of yours."

He regarded this seemingly fragile woman, reaching out to gently tap her forehead with a clean forefinger. "At first, it sounds like praise; in truth, it's a subtle irony, every word impeccably placed. That’s quite the skill." His recent words seemed still to echo—each one like water patiently wearing away stone, striking at the heart. "That flowery rebuttal was delivered with such flair, barbed with sarcasm yet without a single vulgar word."

Linglan neither looked up nor spoke. She simply felt the force of his presence enveloping her, but today he seemed in a rare, talkative mood, his tone edged with a hint of amused laughter. "Afraid to look at me?"

After a long pause, Ye Linglan slowly raised her head, just as he asked, "Doesn’t it feel good?"

She smiled awkwardly. "What?"

"Doesn’t it feel good to insult me?"

Of course it did.

Yet this inscrutable man had seen right through her.

"It was you who asked me first, Mr. Mo. The rest was just digression—and a few of my own thoughts. I came to return your coat." She held the overcoat out before him. "I pressed it again before bringing it back."

Mo Zhicheng glanced over it as Linglan surveyed the office. "Mr. Mo, is there a cloakroom here? I can hang it up for you."

But he took it from her himself, his hand brushing hers. Her fingertips were icy, as if she carried some innate chill. Mo Zhicheng studied her intently. She lowered her gaze, golden sunlight falling across her lashes, casting a faint halo. "I’ll do it," he murmured.

She looked up, unwittingly meeting his scrutinizing gaze. "Mr. Mo," she whispered, but still he watched her, silent for a long moment, the air tinged with a gentle warmth. "Then I’ll take my leave," she said quietly.

Ye Linglan turned to go. Mo Zhicheng gripped the wool coat, watching her departing figure. Reaching into the pocket, his fingers brushed against a smooth piece of silk. He drew it out—a finely crafted bowtie, exquisite in design, his favorite style from a cherished brand. His lips curved in amusement as he toyed with it, then glanced up, catching sight of the woman talking and laughing with Tang Pei. He couldn’t hear their words, only vaguely saw her smile.

Mo Zhicheng’s gaze narrowed. In the next moment, he dialed the phone. "Come in," he ordered.

"Yes, Mr. Mo."

Outside, a man hurried through the corridor; an instant later, the door sounded with three sharp knocks.

"Enter."