Chapter 8: Which Part Offended You?

After Du Zhuojun's outburst, Qin Yan's newspaper raised salaries and steadied morale.

But Du Zhuojun was no pushover. *The Nancheng Daily* went head-to-head with Qin Yan's paper.

The gap in talent between the two lead writers was vast. Qin Yan's side won decisively, driving sales up again until her paper became the second best-selling publication in Nancheng.

"At this rate, our *Vernacular Times* really will become an authority," Ling Manyun said, delighted.

Qin Yan said, "I'm planning a morning edition to lock in our sales."

*The Vernacular Times* was currently an evening paper.

"Fine by me," Ling Manyun said. "When do we start?"

"It'll take some preparation. We can launch by year-end."

"We'll need to hire more people," Ling Manyun said.

She and Qin Yan were both the act-now type—if it failed, they'd just start over.

Qin Yan wanted to expand the paper not only to stabilize sales, but to squeeze *The Nancheng Daily* out of the market entirely.

The monthly salary and manuscript fees for famous lead writers ran fifty or sixty silver dollars—already an astronomical sum, when even a bank's general manager only made thirty a month.

With the hundred thousand silver dollars Cheng Tianxun had given her, Qin Yan could squander most of it for the rest of her life, even if the expansion never turned a profit.

She had the upper hand—why not use it?

Why let her life's work be snatched away?

If Du Zhuojun hadn't made such a scene, Qin Yan might not have gone this far. Now she meant to drive *The Nancheng Daily* into shutting down.

Qin Yan never said a word of this aloud. Ling Manyun worked it out on her own.

Qin Yan did things steadily, applying her ruthlessness in the shadows. She wasn't one to boast.

Amid the bustle, the Mid-Autumn Festival arrived.

That morning, Qin Yan went to the Warlord's Mansion to deliver holiday gifts to her parents-in-law.

"Warlord, Mother, since the Young Marshal won't be home for the holiday, I won't come by either," Qin Yan said.

The Warlord was cold as ever.

The Warlord's wife didn't care. She might not even bother celebrating herself.

The Warlord had four concubines and more than a dozen children, all living in the old residence—a traditional garden estate of over a thousand acres, though a bit out of the way, near the city wall.

Qin Yan's "filial piety" toward her parents-in-law was like burning incense at a temple—pure sincerity, blessings optional.

Her "worship" done, Qin Yan went to the newspaper office.

The office was closed for the holiday.

She worked overtime, and so did Ling Manyun. The two of them were the only people in the whole building.

They discussed the expansion plans.

The early preparations would be busy.

By the time they finished, dusk had passed. A full moon hung above the treetops, and the night sky was cloudless.

Qin Yan called the restaurant downstairs and ordered a full spread. She and Ling Manyun would celebrate together.

"If you'd married Qin Yao, the holidays would be lively," Qin Yan said.

Ling Manyun said, "I don't want that kind of lively. You're the one who got married—and aren't you spending the holiday with me?"

She added, "I dread holidays most. My family always schemes through every festival. The Warlord's Mansion is the same. Lucky I got out."

Qin Yan said, "I dread them too. Every year, Madam Ye finds some way to bring Lan Muhe back. When that happens, I get locked in my room with a bowl of egg-and-noodle soup."

Ling Manyun looked at her in surprise. "They treated you that harshly?"

Then understanding dawned. "No wonder you hate egg-and-noodle soup."

She asked, "Didn't the Lan family ever come for you?"

Qin Yan said, "Never. At my wedding, Madam Lan and Chief of Staff Lan did attend. Madam Lan sat there like any ordinary guest, not a flicker of extra emotion."

Even without guilt, there should have been some awkwardness, shouldn't there?

There wasn't.

Madam Lan was perfectly composed. Chief of Staff Lan, oddly enough, was the nervous one.

Qin Yan envied that composure.

Even abandoning a cat or a dog wouldn't come with such coldness, would it?

She'd been three when they threw her away. She could barely talk—how could she have been so unwanted?

"Utterly heartless," Ling Manyun said, furious.

Qin Yan said, "At least I grew up."

No longer helpless.

Ling Manyun changed the subject.

After dinner, they sorted the documents, and Qin Yan drove Ling Manyun back to her apartment, then headed back to the villa.

Halfway there, a car began tailing her.

Qin Yan checked the rearview mirror twice, confirmed it, and sped up. One hand held the wheel steady; the other pulled out a small pistol.

She chambered a round and pressed harder on the gas.

The car behind sped up too, clinging to her tail.

She knew this road well. As she gauged where to turn and find a chance to fire, the car behind suddenly lunged forward.

The whole vehicle slammed into a large tree by the roadside.

Qin Yan eased off the gas. There was another car behind her.

Black body, no plates.

She recognized it—Cheng Tianxun's usual car.

She slowly reversed. Pedestrians on the street had already scattered in fright.

Qin Yan spotted Cheng Tianxun.

He wore a somewhat dirty uniform, and he put several clean shots into the driver's and passenger's seats of the front car.

The gunfire sent the would-be onlookers running.

Then he dragged a young boy out of the back seat.

Very young. His forehead had been cut by the window glass, blood plastering his eyes shut.

"Who are you?" Cheng Tianxun hauled him upright.

"You—you can't kill me! My father is Du Rongfei!" The boy tried to sound tough, but he was shaking all over.

Cheng Tianxun threw him hard to the ground.

"Take him back to the prison. We'll interrogate him later," he told his adjutant.

The adjutant acknowledged the order.

Qin Yan walked over.

"Young Marshal, what brings you back to the city?" she spoke first.

Cheng Tianxun had said last time that he'd be gone a month or two.

It hadn't even been half a month.

"Finished up early. Su City isn't far, so I came back," Cheng Tianxun said.

Then, "Are you hurt?"

"No," Qin Yan said.

Cheng Tianxun said, "Let's go back."

Qin Yan agreed.

Back at the villa, Cheng Tianxun went into a meeting first, as usual.

His trusted men arrived one after another.

Qin Yan told the maids to change the sheets and duvet covers, laid out his pajamas, and had the small kitchen cook the late-night snacks he liked.

She showered first, then sat under the lamp, slowly drying her hair.

"That person tailing me must be Du Zhuojun's younger brother," Qin Yan thought.

A very young boy, fifteen or sixteen at most.

The Du family's business never ended.

It was nearly midnight when Cheng Tianxun finished. He came into the master bedroom and saw Qin Yan reading under the lamp.

Her back was to him.

Cheng Tianxun wanted to call her name, but for a moment he couldn't remember it.

The harder he tried, the further the name drifted.

He knew he remembered it.

It was right there on the tip of his tongue, right before his eyes, and yet he couldn't catch hold of it.

"...Write your name down for the adjutant later, have him remind me," Cheng Tianxun said to her. "Sometimes it just slips away from me."

"My name is Qin Yan," she said.

He nodded. "I'll wash up first."

He came out of the bathroom with only a towel around his waist, hair still wet. He gave it a rough wipe and leaned in to kiss Qin Yan.

Qin Yan turned her face away.