Chapter Forty-Two: No One Visits the Temple Without a Reason

Beishan Club.

“He snuck away from France to Switzerland,” Lin Yu said, eyes fixed on the map on his phone, where a red dot blinked incessantly.

Fu Chen sat on the sofa, legs crossed, his deep eyes gazing ahead, his face cold as ice.

“It seems he’s sensed we’re monitoring him. But what difference does it make, even if he’s in Switzerland?” A cold light flashed in Fu Chen's eyes, and the smile tugging at his lips was chilling.

“How can a cripple compete with me?”

Lin Yu set his phone down, worry etched on his face. “What about your father? Can you handle him?” Lin Yu’s hands were entwined, rubbing nervously.

Fu Chen drummed his fingers against his thigh, lips pressed into a thin line. “Do you think Fu Henian is sentimental? He’ll support whichever son benefits him more. The problem is Ke Jing. She’s the difficult one to deal with.”

Lin Yu pondered a moment, then a sly smile crept over his face as he joked, “Ke Jing is just a woman. All we need is someone to distract her, to divert her attention elsewhere.”

“You mean you want me to talk to Shen Huaiqing?”

Fu Chen immediately saw through Lin Yu’s intentions. He had thought of this himself, but now he was unsure how to face Shen Huaiqing.

Lin Yu snapped his fingers, grinning broadly. “Bingo! Besides, don’t we have the person Shen Huaiqing cares about most in our hands?”

Fu Chen’s expression darkened at the mention of Mu Jinghuai and Shen Huaiqing’s relationship. He frowned and looked away.

“It’s an option. I’ll talk to her when I get home today.”

“Mu Jinghuai is of no use to us anyway.”

Fu Chen stood up to leave.

“Hey!” Lin Yu stepped in front of him, scratching his head. “Let Yi Qing know, don’t leave her waiting for nothing.”

Fu Chen lowered his gaze, his long dark lashes veiling his eyes. He replied with a muted, “Hmm.”

Sitting in the car, Fu Chen opened his WeChat conversation with Lin Yiqing, typing and deleting, deleting and typing, never finding the right words.

In the end, he said nothing at all, tossing his phone carelessly onto the seat.

Fu Chen’s return was sudden. Shen Huaiqing was in the living room, working out.

Her waist-length hair was tied back in a sleek ponytail, swinging behind her. She wore a sports bra, her fair chest beaded with sweat, and tight athletic pants that outlined her perfect legs.

From exercise, her cheeks glowed with a flush as vivid as clouds at dusk.

She glanced at Fu Chen with utter indifference and resumed her routine. Inwardly, she mused that nothing good ever came from him returning home out of the blue—why else would he leave Lin Yiqing for her?

The thought made her roll her eyes.

Aunt Feng, on the other hand, was delighted to see Fu Chen, hustling from the kitchen to the door with his coat and shoes.

Shen Huaiqing didn’t spare him a look, mocking, “Aunt Feng, why are you fussing over him? He’s never cared about this family. Why bother showing warmth to someone who’s cold to us?”

She snorted in disdain. She hadn’t planned to say anything, but the words pressed up in her throat, impossible to hold back.

Aunt Feng hurried to defend him. “Young Master doesn’t—he…” but Fu Chen’s glance silenced her instantly.

He walked straight to Shen Huaiqing, positioning himself between her and the television, his tall frame blocking the screen completely.

Shen Huaiqing was balanced in a one-legged yoga pose, the instructor’s voice still coming from the TV: “Deep breath—good—hold it—”

Unable to move, she said irritably, “Are you blind? You’re blocking the TV.”

Fu Chen looked at her, lips curling into a slight smile, then reached for the remote and switched the television off. He stepped aside, no longer blocking her.

Shen Huaiqing drew a deep breath. If she hadn’t been mid-exercise, she would have strangled him.

“What is wrong with you? Turn my TV back on!” Her jaw clenched, and she forced each word through gritted teeth.

Fu Chen simply seated himself on the coffee table, raising an eyebrow, eyes glinting with an unbidden amusement.

“I need to talk to you. You can finish after.”

She knew it! If Fu Chen was home, it was never for anything good. No one ever pays a call at the ancestral hall without a reason.

From his tone and bearing, he clearly needed something from her. She would not let slip this chance to torment him.

Her face was icy, her gaze on the floor. “What do you want?”

“I need you to keep my mother occupied. There are things I need to take care of,” Fu Chen said bluntly, not bothering with pretense.

Shen Huaiqing, who had studied dance as a child, was extremely flexible. She lifted her right leg level with her head, eyes closed, lips curled with scorn.

“Why should I help you?”

“I know where Mu Jinghuai is. I can help you get him out,” Fu Chen replied, his eyes glinting with a smile.

Shameless! She spat inwardly. Shen Huaiqing couldn’t fathom how Fu Chen could lie so brazenly, playing the thief while shouting “stop thief.”

She opened her eyes, black as ink, her whole being unnaturally calm.

“Fu Chen, you truly have my admiration.”

“You’ve raised shamelessness to an art form.” She spared him no mercy, though she had once imagined putting on a show of marital harmony with him.

Now, all she wanted was to make Fu Chen suffer in as many ways as possible.

Fu Chen’s dark gaze rested quietly on her, appearing weak and harmless.

“Is this deal good enough?” He didn’t want to confront her head-on.

“You still haven’t told me—what are you up to? Why can’t your mother know?” Shen Huaiqing’s mind was clear; she wasn’t about to be used as a stepping stone without knowing the purpose.

She might not love Fu Chen, but she had no intention of relinquishing her place as Mrs. Fu.

“A struggle for power,” Fu Chen replied, his eyes turning cold, a hint of anger beneath.

“Fifty million.”

A smile played at her lips. If not money, then power—she would have at least one.

“Deal.”

“Please transfer it to my personal account. Thank you.” Shen Huaiqing winked slyly, a mischievous smile on her lips.

“Aren’t you the heiress of the Shen family? The Shen Group will be yours one day. Why are you so concerned with these things?” Fu Chen’s smile faded, his gaze darkening.

She hadn’t expected him to ask so bluntly. For a moment, she didn’t know how to respond.

Flustered, her balance wavered. Sweat made her foot slip on the yoga mat.

She toppled forward, closing her eyes, sure she was about to crash onto the cold, hard floor, perhaps to split her head open.

But the pain never came. Instead, she fell, in true melodramatic fashion, into a warm embrace.

A faint scent of mint—Fu Chen.