Chapter 41: The Gathering

The confrontation in the mountain villa’s corridor that late night was ultimately suppressed by Zhao Chen with a forcefulness that bordered on tender.

He offered no explanation regarding Gu Qianqian, the Gu Corporation, or that mysterious phone call. He simply locked his deep, amber eyes—so profound they felt as if they could drown a person—onto Yu Ling’s terrified, furious face. In a voice that was low, exhausted, yet possessed an unquestionable weight, he said:

"Lingling, trust me. No matter who Gu Qianqian is, or what happened in the past, it has nothing to do with you and will never harm you in the slightest. Give me some time. When we return, when the moment is truly right, I will tell you everything. But for now, here, you only need to know that I am here."

His gaze was too complex—carrying residual hostility, heavy concern, and profound weariness. Yet, in its depths lay an almost fragile plea that made Yu Ling’s heart ache.

The mountain night wind chilled Yu Ling to the bone. Under the scrutiny of Zhao Chen’s eyes, her fear and anger punctured like a balloon, leaving behind only a blank, freezing helplessness and a sense of deep powerlessness.

To demand answers? To press him further? In that secluded mountain night, faced with a man who was clearly shouldering a massive secret and appeared uncharacteristically fragile, she found she had lost the strength to keep tearing at the truth.

In the end, she was brought back to the room, half-held in Zhao Chen’s arms. Su Qing was fast asleep, oblivious to the storm that had raged that night. Yu Ling curled up on the tatami mat, back turned to Zhao Chen, and did not sleep a wink.

Her phone stubbornly displayed "No Service," like a cold mockery. Zhao Chen slept not far behind her, his breathing steady, yet he made no attempt to draw near as he usually did.

The bus ride back was unusually silent. Yu Ling leaned against the window, watching the scenery blur past, her heart feeling like a barren wasteland.

The name "Gu Qianqian," the status of being the daughter of the Gu Corporation, and the cold pronouncement on Zhao Chen’s phone were like heavy boulders, making it hard for her to breathe. Zhao Chen’s promise—"I'll tell you when we get back"—was like a straw hanging above her head; it offered a glimmer of hope while simultaneously plunging her into deeper anxiety: what kind of tumultuous waves would the truth bring?

Back in the familiar city, back in the 1601 apartment, that solidified silence did not dissipate. Instead, it hung between them like an invisible layer of ice.

Zhao Chen remained considerate—preparing warm meals, drawing bathwater, and even silently handing her a glass of warm milk while she read. But his eyes now held a touch of cautious probing and an unconcealable fatigue, and his movements were marked by a deliberate distance; he was no longer as "clingy" as before. He was giving her space, but he was also hiding.

Yu Ling’s heart felt as if it were submerged in ice water. She enjoyed the care that still existed, yet she could not ignore the vast void and the biting chill deep within her.

She wanted to ask. Countless times, the words reached the tip of her tongue, only to be swallowed back down when she saw the heavy shadows in Zhao Chen’s eyes and the calm he was forcing himself to maintain. When exactly was that "right moment"? She did not know. All she knew was that the husband who wore a little whale apron and smiled with gentle harmlessness seemed to be becoming more of a stranger and more distant with every passing moment.

After this suffocating standoff had lasted for several days, on a Friday evening, while Zhao Chen was preparing dinner in the kitchen, his phone rang.

It was not that international number. It was a local, unfamiliar one.

Zhao Chen dried his hands and glanced at the phone. His brows furrowed almost imperceptibly before he answered, his voice returning to its usual steady, gentle tone:

"Hello? ...Yes, it’s me... Tonight? ...Lingling is home... Wouldn't that be inconvenient?"

As he spoke, he instinctively glanced at Yu Ling, who was sitting on the living room sofa. She was holding a book, but she couldn't take in a single word, her ears keenly capturing his conversation.

The person on the other end seemed to say a few more words. Zhao Chen was silent for a few seconds, a look of helpless amusement flickering across his face. His tone carried a hint of compromise: "...Alright then. But don't pick somewhere too noisy; Lingling likes it quiet... Yes, okay, understood. See you later."

He hung up, placed the phone on the counter, and resumed chopping vegetables. But Yu Ling could feel that he seemed somewhat distracted.

"A friend organized a get-together tonight," Zhao Chen said, his back to her as he chopped vibrant green broccoli, his voice carrying a hint of practiced lightness. "Just some old friends I haven't seen in a while. They insisted I go; I couldn't turn them down."

He paused, his chopping slowing down as if he were coming to a decision. He turned around to look at Yu Ling, his eyes filled with a probing, faint, and almost imperceptible anticipation. "Lingling... would you... like to come with me? Just to get out and clear your head?"

Yu Ling’s heart gave a sudden leap.

Friends? A gathering?

This was the first time he had taken the initiative to bring her into his social circle! Those "old friends"? Would there be people among them who knew "Gu Qianqian," who knew the "Gu Corporation," and who knew his true identity?

An immense curiosity and an urge to peek into his hidden world instantly overwhelmed the doubts and uneasiness in her heart. She almost immediately put down her book, sat up straight, and looked at Zhao Chen, her eyes filled with an eagerness and inquisitiveness she hadn't even realized she possessed: "...Okay. I'll go."

Zhao Chen was slightly stunned by the sudden light in her eyes, but then the corners of his mouth curved into a genuine, relieved smile. "Good. Then... shall we go after we eat?"

The car drove away from the bustling city center and turned onto a quiet road shaded by dense plane trees. The dim streetlights cast flickering shadows onto the smooth pavement. At the end of the road, a pair of heavy, antique-style black iron gates—simple yet radiating low-key luxury—slowly slid open.

As the car drove through the gates, the view opened up. There were no dazzling neon signs, no clamor of crowds. What met the eye was a vast, meticulously manicured lawn and a well-arranged garden, the outlines of which were still visible in the night.

In the distance, a building that blended modern minimalism with classic charm stood quietly in the night. Its floor-to-ceiling glass walls reflected the warm interior light and the shimmering water of a pool, resembling a pearl on a tranquil lake. Only on an inconspicuous block of black marble at the entrance were two fine, golden, cursive English letters: "V.M."

*Valhalla Manor?* Yu Ling whispered to herself, shaken by the silent power behind the name.

The car stopped at the entrance, guided by an attendant in a crisp uniform and white gloves. An attendant immediately stepped forward to respectfully open the door.

"Mr. Zha—" The attendant’s greeting froze the moment he met Zhao Chen’s gaze. His face instantly shifted into an impeccable, respectful smile reserved for honored guests. "Sir, Madam, good evening. Please, follow me."

Yu Ling took Zhao Chen’s arm and stepped out. Underfoot was a path paved with smooth natural stone, and the air was filled with a faint, fresh scent of grass and the cool, sophisticated aroma of high-end incense.

There was no gilded lobby at the entrance, only a minimalist foyer flanked by massive abstract paintings. The lighting was perfectly designed, creating an atmosphere that was both understated and refined.

The attendant led them through a quiet corridor with thick carpets and dark wood paneling. Occasionally, there were heavy, solid wood doors along the walls; they bore no markings, appearing mysterious and private.

Pushing open a set of double doors at the end of the corridor—dark wood carved with intricate vine patterns—an extremely spacious, highly designed private hall was revealed.

The hall had exceptionally high ceilings, and beyond the massive, curved floor-to-ceiling windows lay a meticulously designed courtyard water feature, the sound of trickling water faintly audible.

The indoor lighting was soft and warm. A massive set of leather sofas was arranged casually and comfortably around a central fireplace (though it remained unlit), and the floor was covered with a thick, hand-woven wool rug that muffled every footstep.

On one side was a floor-to-ceiling wine cabinet, displaying a dazzling array of bottles that refracted alluring glints under the lights. On the other side was a small bar where a professional bartender was serving a few guests.