Han Jingyi looked up at Song Xinya, setting down his chopsticks. The fragrant, plump shrimp dumplings sat on the plate, untouched.
“Xinxin, since I promised to help your husband find a way to treat his burn scars, I will follow through.”
“Given Qin Yuhe’s family background, the doctors who treated his burns were definitely top-tier domestically. If a solution could be found in China, I doubt you’d need me.”
“So I turned my focus abroad, leveraging my medical background and connections in the medical field. Lately, I’ve been reaching out to leading international experts in burn research.”
Song Xinya looked at him sincerely. “Brother Jingyi, thank you so much.”
Han Jingyi’s face showed a trace of apology. “Don’t thank me just yet. Let me finish.”
Song Xinya listened attentively, her expression serious, hands clasped together, back straight, poised in earnest anticipation.
Han Jingyi continued, “Through my doctoral advisor, I contacted what could be called the world’s top burn specialist—a Chinese-American—but I only managed to reach him. He hasn’t agreed to return to China to treat Mr. Qin.”
A flicker of dimness passed through Song Xinya’s eyes, vanishing in an instant, quickly suppressed as her pupils reignited with brightness and optimism.
She disliked spending too much time and energy on negative emotions.
She preferred facing problems head-on, actively seeking solutions.
“Brother Jingyi, can you tell me the name of that top burn specialist?”
Han Jingyi replied, “You wouldn’t be able to reach him. He’s in the United States and won’t see a stranger.”
Song Xinya believed more in human effort, silently thinking two words: Not necessarily.
“Tell me the name, Brother Jingyi.”
Han Jingyi said, “His name is Sheng Changpu.”
Hearing the surname “Sheng” in “Sheng Changpu,” Song Xinya’s eyebrow subtly lifted.
She had seen that name before, in a client’s file.
Han Jingyi noticed her expression shift. “Have you met Sheng Changpu?”
Song Xinya replied, “Not yet.”
Han Jingyi said, “He’s currently in the U.S. I once thought of going there to have a meal with him, but he declined, citing that he doesn’t attend private dinner engagements.”
Song Xinya caught on: Sheng Changpu was a very difficult person to deal with.
Han Jingyi continued, “I have my ways, though. In a while, the Han Medical Group will host the Global Medical Exchange Summit in Jingbei. Attendees will be internationally renowned experts. I’ll send an invitation to Sheng Changpu.”
Song Xinya asked, “Will he come?”
Han Jingyi replied, “This summit is a hall for medical exchange. Every doctor aspires to attend such a conference. I think he will.”
Song Xinya’s expression lit up with excitement. “That’s wonderful!”
The Global Medical Exchange Summit…
Organizing such a grand event—planning, booking hotels, inviting participants, covering their flights and accommodations—would surely require immense effort, time, and money.
Song Xinya said, “Brother Jingyi, putting together a conference like this must be really challenging, right?”
Indeed, it was challenging.
Because the Han Medical Group had never hosted an international medical exchange summit before. To help Song Xinya, Han Jingyi spent a billion yuan to buy the rights to host this year’s summit.
His father didn’t understand his decision, nor did his grandfather or the rest of the Han family.
“Why spend so much money to hold this summit?”
“It’s bound to be a losing venture.”
“Every guest is a top medical expert. Not only do we have to cover their food, lodging, and travel, but we also need to hire top-tier security to ensure their safety.”
“If anything goes wrong, the Han Group faces not just financial losses but likely a ruined reputation.”
“In our business—running hospitals and selling medical equipment—the last thing we want is to be associated with loss of life. Reputation is everything.”
Father, grandfather, and the family elders were all right.
But Han Jingyi still pushed through all the pressure, insisting on holding the summit.
For no other reason than to help her.
That was his simple, sincere intention.
With warm, genuine eyes, Han Jingyi looked at Song Xinya and said lightly, “Xinxin, you don’t have to be so polite or feel awkward. The Han family holds this kind of medical summit every year. Sending an invitation to Sheng Changpu is just a small favor for me. I haven’t gone out of my way to do anything special.”
He made his gaze gentle and relaxed, not burdening her with any pressure. He succeeded in making her believe it truly was just a simple matter.
Han Jingyi glanced at the barely touched food on the table. “Do you have an appetite now?”
Song Xinya picked up her chopsticks and smiled. “I do!”
Han Jingyi used the serving chopsticks to place a piece of crispy chili fish on her plate. “Eat up.”
Song Xinya lowered her head, focusing intently on the meal, eating with gusto.
Han Jingyi, on the other hand, had lost his appetite.
As soon as she heard that Qin Yuhe’s hands could be saved, joy overflowed from every corner of her eyes and brows.
He could tell she loved Qin Yuhe deeply.
Having known her since childhood and accompanied her through adolescence, Han Jingyi had always loved to see Song Xinya smile—it lifted his mood.
But seeing her smile this time felt like a thousand needles piercing his heart.
He ultimately couldn’t remain indifferent, watching the woman he loved rejoice over another man.
“Xinxin…”
Do you love Qin Yuhe that much?
Song Xinya looked up. “What’s wrong?”
Han Jingyi didn’t ask the question, because it would reveal the feelings buried deep in his heart.
He found an excuse instead. “There’s something on your lip.”
Song Xinya said, “Ah—must have gotten it from eating the French toast earlier.”
Han Jingyi nodded. “Mm.”
She wiped it with her hand, but it didn’t come off.
He picked up a napkin, half-stood, reached across the table, and pressed the tissue against the corner of her mouth, wiping it away.
Across from them, Zhao Yinian raised her phone and captured the moment.
She posed a peace sign at the camera, as if taking a selfie, with the scene of Han Jingyi wiping Song Xinya’s mouth in the background.
Zhao Yinian stared at the photo, a cold, smug smile curling at her lips.
If President Qin saw this photo, what would he think?
And what might happen to Song Xinya?
Zhao Yinian didn’t send the photo directly to Qin Yuhe. Instead, she employed a more cunning method of sowing discord—
She posted it on her Moments, framing it as a share of her life.
Caption: “Ate some really tasty shrimp dumplings today. So happy [covering mouth] [cute smile]”
She only posted that single image of Han Jingyi wiping Song Xinya’s mouth.
Just that one conspicuous photo, impossible to miss.
She set it to block Song Xinya.
After posting it, Zhao Yinian hid behind the bamboo plant, quietly observing Song Xinya’s reactions.
She waited and waited.
Song Xinya finished her meal and left the tea restaurant without any sign of disturbance.
Zhao Yinian thought to herself, could President Qin be too busy with work to have seen the photo?
At that moment, in Modu (Shanghai).
In a private club’s private room, Qin Yuhe was attending a gathering.
On the sofa sat men, each with a woman in a cheongsama nestled in their arms.
Slender waists, perky curves, full breasts, long legs—their smiles brimmed with endless charm.
Qin Yuhe sat alone on a single-seat sofa.
The business world was a vast arena of fame and fortune; in his circle, every day involved deals worth hundreds of millions.
Money was the ultimate aphrodisiac for men, drawing in countless enchanting beauties.
In any large gathering, you get all kinds—so many people, so many flavors.
An adult wouldn’t delude himself into imposing his own moral standards on others, because that was a pipe dream, utterly unattainable.
For an adult, self-discipline mattered more than judging others.
In this immense arena of status and wealth, Qin Yuhe remained pure and self-restrained.
The other men present had their minds entirely on the women in their arms.
Some men slipped their hands through the high slits of the cheongsam skirts, pushing aside the edge of undershorts and venturing deeper.
The women parted their red lips, breathing with practiced, exquisite skill—their sighs and moans syrupy and bewitchingly seductive.
Such a performance of feigned passion made the men feel exceptionally skilled, briefly boosting their pride.
And so, the men toyed and groped with even greater zest.
The women, in turn, performed all the more fervently.
All sorts of sounds drifted into Qin Yuhe’s ears, only making him feel it was tedious, utterly pointless.
As boredom weighed on him, Qin Yuhe pulled out his phone, opened WeChat, and first checked the step-ranking leaderboard.
In half an hour, her step count had updated again, proving she was still out.
What was she up to?
Having dinner with Tiantianquan?
Qin Yuhe tapped into his feeds and scrolled idly, when suddenly, his finger froze mid-swipe.
