Chapter 69: Will You Let Me Win, Please?

—Why is it so lively here?

“Mr. Mo,” a wave of surprise swept through the room.

Ye Linglan turned around and saw the man approaching, a faint smile lingering at his lips.

“Mr. Mo, what brings you here?” Jiang Min could barely contain her excitement at the sight of Mo Zhicheng, already plotting how to curry favor, for Mo Zhicheng rarely appeared at such gatherings—an opportunity not to be missed.

The man’s gaze drifted past Ye Linglan. “Such a complete turnout. Is there some event going on?” Though he addressed Jiang Min, his eyes remained fixed on Linglan. “Is something special happening?”

“Would you care to join us, Mr. Mo?” Jiang Min extended the invitation, moving closer to Mo Zhicheng with a touch of pretense. “We’re playing baccarat,” she quickly added, “but don’t worry, no money is being wagered.”

“Then what’s at stake?” Mo Zhicheng glanced sideways at Jiang Min.

“It’s just a bit of fun—the loser buys everyone coffee.”

“Is that so?” Mo Zhicheng chuckled softly. “How about this then: no money, but tonight, if anyone can beat me, I’ll personally drive her home.”

As soon as those words were spoken, the group exchanged glances. Everyone knew that defeating Mo Zhicheng was no simple feat; moreover, who would dare to win against him? On the other hand, victory would be a rare chance to get close—a golden opportunity none wished to miss.

Ye Linglan gazed at him in a daze. Baccarat, a card game originating from France, is one of the most popular casino games worldwide. Its rules are simple: banker and player, two cards each, whoever’s total is closest to nine wins. In essence, it’s a straightforward game of chance. Linglan had never expected to win; after all, her companions were well-versed in the intricacies of casino games.

Mo Zhicheng chose the seat beside Ye Linglan, not looking at her, yet quietly asking, “Do you often play with them?”

At the sound of his low voice, Ye Linglan glanced sideways at him. To outsiders, it seemed he wasn’t speaking to her at all. Linglan murmured, “I always lose. Haven’t won a single round.”

“Is that so?” Mo Zhicheng fixed her with a penetrating gaze. “Would you like to win against me?” His voice was husky and low. She caught the gentle look in his eyes and was momentarily stunned.

Linglan looked away, glancing at the group seated opposite—they all seemed poised, each wearing a different expression. That was to be expected; Mo Zhicheng’s mere presence brought a pressure as heavy as a mountain. He was simply too formidable. Sitting beside him, the invisible weight pressed down like a leaden cloud, making it hard to breathe.

After a while, she replied softly, “Mr. Mo, you do enjoy teasing me.”

Mo Zhicheng’s expression remained unchanged, his focus on the cards in the dealer’s hands. Through his actions, he made it clear—he was not joking. Mo Zhicheng bet on the player’s hand; Ye Linglan chose the banker. She stared at the screen, watching as the banker won. Linglan was stunned—he had beaten everyone else, yet lost to her.

———

Night had fallen in Nanjiang, and once more, snowflakes danced through the air.

She had won, so he insisted on driving her home. Mo Zhicheng opened the passenger door. “Get in.” She climbed in carefully, only then noticing that he had not arranged for a driver tonight. Not far off, Jiang Min watched Mo Zhicheng leave with Ye Linglan, her brows furrowing. Xiao Zhou clapped her on the back, urging her with a laugh. “Stop staring. Mr. Mo is clearly interested in her.”

“What do you mean by that?” Jiang Min brushed his hand from her shoulder and shot him a disdainful look.

“Back in Bali, Mr. Mo took great care of her. Why do you think plans changed at the last minute? Besides, anyone with eyes can see he lost on purpose tonight. But you failed to catch his meaning and just focused on winning.” Xiao Zhou grinned. “And don’t keep picking on her. You’ve done enough this month. Don’t let things get out of hand, or you’ll be the one who suffers in the end.”

Jiang Min snorted coldly. “Thanks for the advice. We’ll see how long that woman’s luck lasts.”

Inside the Bentley,

Ye Linglan lowered her gaze, fastening her seatbelt with care, only to find the man leaning in close. He bent over, taking the seatbelt from her hands and fastening it himself with focused attention. He was so near, his figure cast a shadow over her, blocking her view. As she took in his profile, the scent of musk from his body filled her senses. She averted her eyes, feeling the space between them shrink, his breath brushing her jaw.

Once he had secured the belt, Mo Zhicheng leaned back, started the engine, and expertly gripped the wheel. “Where do you live?”

“Xiangjiang Road,” she replied.

Silence descended again.

Propping her chin with one hand, Ye Linglan gazed at the night outside the window. All was a blur of white, the city dressed in silver, as if transformed into a snowy kingdom. The roads were slick, and the Bentley moved slowly.

“Did you just get back tonight, Mr. Mo?” Ye Linglan broke the quiet, prompting him to keep his eyes on the road. After a pause, she added, “I just noticed you hadn’t been in Tiancheng these past few days.”

“Did you miss me?” His voice was gentle.

Ye Linglan was taken aback, glancing at his handsome face in the dim light. Out of the corner of his eye, Mo Zhicheng shot her a glance. “Just got off a plane back to Tiancheng and saw you seemed to be in some trouble. You’re so sharp—why do you always lose at gambling?”

Linglan smiled faintly. “I know, right?” She sighed softly. “Always losing—except against you.”

Mo Zhicheng’s lips curved into a smile. “As long as you can beat me, that’s enough.” His laughter was light and easy.

The drive seemed to stretch on endlessly. Silence filled the car, charged with a subtle intimacy that spread in the warm air. Linglan turned away, letting her focus drift back to the window. Without realizing it, her hand was gently taken in his. She turned to him in surprise, but since he was driving, she could not pull away—she only made a small effort, when suddenly his voice broke the quiet. “Why are your hands still so cold?”

She murmured, “I don’t like winter—it’s too cold, and I can never seem to get warm.”

“I noticed your fingers were frostbitten at the casino,” he said.

Linglan was surprised. He always seemed indifferent, yet he had noticed such a detail. Linglan replied in a daze, “Yes, it’s an old injury. It’ll heal when spring comes.” Gradually, her freezing palm grew warm, a trace of nervous sweat beading within. Only then did Mo Zhicheng let go, and Linglan released a long breath. When he had held her hand, her heart had pounded like a drum.

Mo Zhicheng gave a soft cough, curling his hand and pressing it to his nose. Only then did Ye Linglan notice his voice was deeper than usual. He wore only a gray wool overcoat over a black V-neck cashmere sweater. She asked, “Are you coming down with something?”

He murmured, “Yes. I’ve been flying back and forth to several places lately—the temperature differences are hard to adjust to.”

Linglan nodded. “Mr. Mo, you work so hard, but no matter how busy you are, don’t forget to rest. If your health suffers, no amount of money can make up for it. It would be a true loss.”

Mo Zhicheng glanced over with a smile. “Are you worried about me? Somehow, coming from you, it sounds a bit like gentle mockery.”

“Honest advice is often hard to take,” she replied, lowering her head, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Will you be annoyed to hear it, Mr. Mo? But every word is true.”

She heard his clear, bright laughter as he reached out and flicked her lightly on the temple. “Silly girl!”

Silly girl? She looked at him, the words echoing in her ears. He rarely called her by name—this was the first time anyone had addressed her so. She smiled shyly and said no more.

At some point, the Bentley glided through the bustling city, farther and farther, until at last it stopped in front of her building.

Under the headlights, the snow fell thick as goose feathers, the white aglow with a faint halo, whirling and dancing joyfully in the silken night.

“I’m home,” Ye Linglan said politely. “Thank you, Mr. Mo.”

“Thank your own luck for beating me.”

Linglan smiled gently and was about to open the door and leave, but then she looked at Mo Zhicheng. Over these days of acquaintance, she realized she needed to seize the chance to earn his trust; she did not want to let time slip away. Linglan made up her mind on the spot. “Since you’re here, would you like to come up for a while, Mr. Mo?” She summoned her courage to invite him.

In the darkness, the man turned, his expression growing serious, his deep eyes lingering on her with a profound meaning. Linglan could not guess his thoughts. He was silent for a moment, and just as she was about to give up and reach for her seatbelt, he replied, “All right.”

It was his first time in her home—a two-bedroom apartment, smaller than he had imagined, yet arranged with warmth and care in a country style, the wallpaper adorned with fresh, delicate flowers. As soon as they entered, Linglan turned on the heat.

“This complex is fairly new—did you buy the place yourself?” Mo Zhicheng looked around. From every detail of the decor, one could sense a woman’s approach to life. The apartment was spotless and orderly, just like its owner.

Ye Linglan handed him a cup of hot water while answering, “Yes. I saved up a little after graduating and starting work—used it for the down payment. The rest I’m paying off in installments; ten years and it’ll be done. The place may be small, but it’s my own home, and that makes it comfortable, no matter what.”

She had made all arrangements herself.

Mo Zhicheng settled on the sofa, his gaze drawn to the wind chimes hanging by the window—varied in style, strung together into a beautiful scene. He rose, walked over, and reached out to gently set them in motion.

Ting—ting—ting—

A clear, melodious sound, as fluid as a trickling stream, filled the air. Carrying a cup of water into the living room, Ye Linglan caught sight of the scene and paused. She was not fond of anyone touching her wind chimes, but this was Mo Zhicheng—how could she object? Linglan quickly spoke up, “Mr. Mo—”

Mo Zhicheng’s fingers froze mid-air. After a moment, he turned and picked up where she had left off. “It’s rare for someone your age to plan so far ahead. Buying a home in Nanjiang at twenty-five is no small feat!” He used the words “no small feat”—there was indeed a kind of admirable stubbornness about her. “Is it hard, living like this as a woman?” he asked.

Ye Linglan shook her head. “When you treat life as a pleasure, how could it feel hard? I simply dislike wasting time—an inch of time is worth an inch of gold. Time is too precious to me. I want to do everything I dream of while I’m young. That way, when I die, I’ll have no regrets.”

The man was taken aback. “You’re too young to talk about dying.”

Linglan smiled in silence and handed him the cup. “Mr. Mo, let me get you some cold medicine.”