After steadying herself, Gu Ran finally realized she had stumbled right in front of Ji Shiyu. One of his hands rested on her waist while hers still clutched his clothes.
Everyone stared at the scene, the atmosphere momentarily frozen in silence.
Gu Ran quickly jumped back from Ji Shiyu, muttering a quick "Thank you," before retreating to the spot where the vice president of Cat Paw had previously pointed.
Ji Shiyu’s gaze sharpened as he glanced at the Cat Paw vice president. "Be more careful."
"Yes, yes, of course," the vice president stammered, visibly flustered, clearly surprised by Ji Shiyu’s unexpected protectiveness toward a woman.
With the group photo taken, the acquisition ceremony officially concluded. Gu Ran exchanged a few words with the staff before preparing to leave.
Several Cat Paw employees watched as Gu Ran practically bolted the moment the event ended, their expressions a mix of bewilderment and amusement.
After all, a post-ceremony banquet had been arranged—an opportunity many young women would claw their way into. Yet here was someone fleeing faster than a startled rabbit.
Since Ding Ze still had work to do, Gu Ran hailed a cab home alone. She stepped into the elevator, and just as the doors were about to close, someone stopped them.
Gu Ran looked up to see Assistant Xu smiling at her. Behind him stood Ji Shiyu.
The two entered the elevator, and Assistant Xu pressed the button for the underground parking level.
Gu Ran stayed silent, shifting further inside. It wasn’t her elevator, after all—she had no right to deny anyone entry.
As the elevator descended, the slight weightlessness settled in.
Ji Shiyu suddenly spoke, his eyes fixed on her. "Did you twist your ankle? Does it hurt?"
Gu Ran turned at the sound of his voice, meeting his gaze. The memory of Ji Shiyu swiftly catching her flashed through her mind.
"No," she answered stiffly.
Noticing she had pressed the button for the first floor, Ji Shiyu added, "Let me drive you home."
"Not necessary." Gu Ran stared at the descending floor numbers. The moment the doors opened on the first floor, she dashed out, her heels clicking sharply against the marble.
Assistant Xu, who had been quietly observing the exchange from the corner, inwardly cringed at his boss’s repeated rejections. He shrank further into the shadows, wishing he could vanish on the spot.
---
Gu Ran took a taxi home, where she found two messages from Ding Ze waiting on her phone.
Ding Ze: [Holy crap, I heard from someone at the company that Manager Chen pulled you and you almost fell—but then the CEO of Xinbo caught you?!]
[Let’s indulge in some wild imagination. What if he’s already noticed you, secretly watching your streams late at night, then bought our company just to see you today?]
[Talk about a cliché idol drama plot.]
Gu Ran: […]
She hadn’t expected the incident to spread so quickly.
[The film industry is truly missing out by not hiring you as a screenwriter.]
[I’ll gladly hand over the role of the female lead in this drama to you.]
[Bye.]
Setting her phone down, Gu Ran exhaled, recalling Ding Ze’s words—"secretly watching your streams late at night"—and shuddered at the thought.
But Ji Shiyu probably wasn’t that idle. Or that bored.
Since she wasn’t streaming tonight, Gu Ran lounged on the sofa, scrolling through her phone until she came across Cat Paw’s official post featuring her photos from the event.
"Cat Paw’s Most Beautiful Host" represented the platform at today’s acquisition ceremony with Xinbo Group. The post included a solo shot of her posing with the Cat Paw logo at headquarters.
Glancing at the comments, most were along the lines of "Our Ran Ran has really made it!" and "Well-deserved!" But there were also plenty of disgruntled fans of Meng Miaomiao, whose popularity had plummeted after a recent scandal. Still, her loyal followers remained, complaining that Meng Miaomiao had dedicated two years to Cat Paw—why should a newcomer steal the spotlight?
Gu Ran ignored the sour remarks and posted two selfies on her Cat Paw feed with the caption: "Today’s happiness~"
She made it a habit to share updates when she wasn’t live—fan service, in simpler terms.
---
The Maybach glided smoothly along the road when a notification chimed from the backseat—a special alert for a particular follow.
Ji Shiyu opened his phone to see Gu Ran’s latest post.
He studied the two selfies for a moment before saving them.
Scrolling through his sparse photo gallery—mostly screenshots of documents—his gaze eventually landed on one image and lingered.
It was Gu Ran’s graduation photo from Yingde.
Dressed in the school uniform, she held her diploma with a shy smile, her cheeks still softly rounded with youth.
Ji Shiyu closed his eyes, remembering that night when she had sobbed against his shoulder, her tears soaking through his shirt, the warmth of them searing into his skin.
She had insisted she wasn’t drunk, called herself a liar. But he knew—she had been utterly wasted.
The car pulled up to the entrance of Bolitianhua.
A valet opened the door with practiced deference.
Ji Shiyu stepped out, slipping his phone into his pocket as a server guided him to a private room.
The exclusive club exuded quiet luxury. Though his expression remained neutral, Ji Shiyu’s presence alone was enough to unnerve Qin Li, who had prepared extensively yet now stumbled over his words.
The Qin family had spent years tearing itself apart in internal power struggles, each faction vying for control until the entire conglomerate lay fractured. Now, with the eldest Qin brother bedridden by a stroke, this was their chance to turn the tide.
Qin Li, however, was confident about securing Xinbo’s cooperation—for one reason: Qin Wenyi was here.
Everyone knew Qin Wenyi had been Ji Shiyu’s first love. The sudden loss of a lover in their youth, only for her to reappear now—what better way to stir a man’s buried tenderness?
"As you can see, the projected visitor numbers for the North City development range between thirty to fifty thousand daily. With Xinbo’s involvement, the high-end experience offerings would elevate the entire project."
Qin Li finished, watching Ji Shiyu nervously.
Ji Shiyu said nothing. Instead, Xu Hui frowned deeply.
The Qin family had clearly declined over the generations. This so-called joint venture was a facade—once Xinbo lent its name, they’d use it to attract other investors. A classic bait-and-switch.
And they’d even brought Qin Wenyi along.
When Ji Shiyu remained silent, Qin Li grew uneasy. He nudged Qin Wenyi beside him. "Wenyi, go over the financial report again for CEO Ji."
Qin Wenyi opened the file, but before she could speak, Ji Shiyu cut in. "No need."
He stood, offering no feedback on the proposal, his gaze briefly skimming the documents on the table. "We’re done here."
With that, he left with his team.
Qin Li never expected Ji Shiyu to simply walk out with his team without even offering a single comment on the proposal. Watching the man’s retreating figure, he anxiously nudged Qin Wenyi beside him. "Go after him."
In the hallway, Qin Wenyi chased after Ji Shiyu and called out to his back, "A-Yu."
Ji Shiyu stopped.
Qin Wenyi approached, her expression tinged with embarrassment. "I’m really sorry."
Even she could tell how absurd Qin Li’s proposal was. The fact that Ji Shiyu had sat through it all tonight was already giving them face.
Ji Shiyu turned to glance at her.
Qin Wenyi lifted her head and forced a smile. This was the first time they’d met alone since her return.
"Long time no see," she said.
"If you don’t mind, could I invite you for a drink somewhere? I’d like to apologize on Qin Li’s behalf."
"And to apologize to you as well. What happened back then wasn’t my intention. I never wanted to fake my death, but my uncles pressured me relentlessly. You know how it is—I was just an adopted daughter."
Ji Shiyu listened, recalling how Qin Li had specifically brought Qin Wenyi along tonight to secure that deal.
Seeing her lowered head, he frowned and spoke coldly. "You never told anyone we’d already broken up, did you?"
Qin Wenyi looked up abruptly, a flicker of panic in her eyes. "Ah."
Ji Shiyu’s gaze was icy. "We broke up before you faked your death. Isn’t that right?"
She bit her lower lip. "After all these years, does it even matter anymore?"
In the end, Ji Shiyu no longer belonged to her.
Or perhaps he never had. Their relationship had ended without resolution. She’d never felt him truly close, only finding solace when others looked at her with envy.
Ji Shiyu’s voice was sharp. "The difference is that there’s no reason for us to meet again, let alone share a drink."
"And you shouldn’t call me ‘A-Yu,’ Miss Qin."
"Take care."
With that, he left.
Qin Wenyi stood frozen in place. As Assistant Xu hurried past, their shoulders brushed accidentally.
"My apologies, Miss Qin," Xu Hui said with a slight nod.
She clenched her jaw, nails digging into her palms.
...
The next day, news spread that Xinbo had rejected Qin Corporation’s collaboration proposal.
Meanwhile, Xinbo’s latest move was acquiring Cat’s Paw.
Everyone knew Gu Ran was now a streamer at Cat’s Paw. Ji Shiyu’s decision to acquire the platform while turning down Qin Corporation’s proposal left people baffled.
Standing outside the CEO’s office, Xu Hui idly scrolled through his friends’ circle, skimming past the daily barrage of nine-grid posts from his superficial socialite acquaintances.
Today’s trending topic was "the white moonlight."
Xu Hui smirked.
Last time, he’d accidentally liked a post captioned "Best wishes~" and thought he was doomed. Yet, to his surprise, Ji Shiyu hadn’t reprimanded him or docked his bonus—a miracle.
Now was the time to repay his boss’s mercy. Some battles were beneath the CEO, so the assistant had to step in.
Xu Hui typed furiously, crafting a scathing comment before hitting send.
As Ji Shiyu’s chief assistant, his words were often seen as a reflection of the man himself.
So today, everyone witnessed Xu Hui—who usually only shared Xinbo’s impressive financial reports—suddenly unleash a razor-sharp rant, every punctuation mark dripping with disdain:
"Not every dead person deserves to be called a ‘white moonlight.’ Those who were already exes before they died should just be labeled ‘dead exes.’"
"May all ‘dead exes’ wake up and remember their irrelevance instead of milking their demise for sympathy."
Attached was a screenshot of a disastrous proposal from a certain company begging for cooperation.
Just as everyone was stunned, questioning the authenticity of the post, a notification popped up beneath it.
Liked by: Ji Shiyu.
