The Yang family’s influence on Chen Mo was already minimal. Once they were gone, he quickly forgot about them.
Because he hadn’t slept all night, Chen Mo followed Xi Siyan’s strict request and took a nap while the nurse replaced his IV.
He slept deeply. When he woke up, the curtains in the hospital room had been drawn, the IV needle in his hand had been removed, and there was a cool cloth on his forehead. His body finally felt light again, and the heaviness and fatigue caused by the high fever had mostly dissipated.
It seemed the doctor’s change in medication had taken effect.
The ward was empty. Chen Mo sat up and glanced at the time—it was already one in the afternoon.
Beneath his phone, a handwritten note had been left in Xi Siyan’s familiar script.
It said he had to step out to take care of something.
Chen Mo looked at the clean, straightforward handwriting and called Xi Siyan’s mobile.
There was no answer—just a busy tone.
He didn’t call again.
Chen Mo wasn’t the type to keep pushing when someone didn’t answer, especially when he understood just how much Xi Siyan had on his plate. What did worry him, however, was that Siyan had not rested for over 24 hours. That thought made the chaos of the previous night feel even more loathsome.
Frowning, Chen Mo picked up his phone. There were still many messages waiting to be dealt with.
Among them was one from Lao Gou—sent several hours earlier.
“I came by after you fell asleep. Just wanted to say hi when you wake up.”
Chen Mo knew he was in this hospital too and likely knew far more about what had happened than the public. He replied simply:
“Just woke up.”
The reply came almost instantly:
“Wait for me.”
Ten minutes later, Lao Gou entered, carrying a thermal food container.
“You’re not working today?” Chen Mo asked, sitting upright against the headboard.
Lao Gou shot him an irritated look. “You almost lost your damn life. If I went straight back to work like nothing happened, what kind of person would that make me?”
Chen Mo smiled. “You’re lucky. Didn’t die.”
“Shut up.” Lao Gou walked over and started opening the thermal container, one dish after another. “This is what the squad leader asked the nutritionist to prepare for you. I’m just the delivery guy.”
Chen Mo leaned back, a faint smile playing on his lips.
“You’re probably the only one who still calls him ‘squad leader.’”
Lao Gou paused, then shrugged. “I don’t care how the world sees him. No matter what kind of background or achievements he has now, to me, he’ll always be the class monitor who sat in the last row of our high school classroom.”
Chen Mo took the chopsticks handed to him. “That’s probably why he still lets you in.”
As they chatted, Lao Gou dragged a stool over and sat beside him.
“Honestly, I’m not surprised you two got back together, but I never realized how much the squad leader loves you.”
Chen Mo raised an eyebrow, silently prompting him to continue.
Lao Gou gestured toward the door. “Did you see the four bodyguards out there? They scared the nurses so bad, word spread all over the hospital about who might be staying in this room. Xi Siyan said not to let anyone disturb you. And that’s not all—do you know what kind of storm is brewing outside?”
“What do you mean?” Chen Mo genuinely didn’t know.
It had barely been 24 hours since last night’s fire and hospital incident. The outside world should have no idea about the real story yet.
But Lao Gou had something else in mind.
He propped his elbows on the bed and held up his phone to show Chen Mo the news:
“Lunard captured in cross-border joint operation—UA officially declares bankruptcy!”
The investigation into money laundering was still ongoing, but UA had already issued a formal statement: the company was insolvent and completely bankrupt.
Chen Mo took the phone and scrolled.
[UA’s sudden collapse was largely thanks to CM.]
[Those following online activity may have noticed that around midnight last night, CM launched a surprise attack on UA in the stock market. UA was already hollowed out and insolvent—it was only a matter of time before it fell.]
[It’s hard to believe such a giant collapsed in mere days.]
[CM’s move came as a shock to many.]
[Honestly, this seems personal. CM went in hard and fast—like it was about revenge. Almost like they wanted the world to know.]
[What’s so strange about that? If someone tried to kill me, I’d make sure to bury them too.]
[No chance for a comeback now. UA is toast.]
[Did you see the moment Lunard was actually arrested? There were earlier rumors he’d been caught, but that was just questioning. This time it’s for real. Someone caught it on video.]
Chen Mo quickly found the clip that had gone viral.
The footage was shaky—taken from a bystander’s phone—at the airport.
Lunard was trying to flee the country.
The arresting officers were in plain clothes. As they tackled him to the ground, his face turned dark purple with fury. He kicked and struggled, yelling something in a specific direction.
Security quickly clamped down. The video ended abruptly as the person filming was told to stop.
But in the final shot, the camera just so happened to capture the person Lunard had been shouting at—a man in a tailored suit, bodyguards behind him, face cold and unreadable.
Someone took a blurry screenshot.
[??? Who’s this?]
[Isn’t this CM’s CEO? The one who rarely shows his face? Unless he has a twin, that’s definitely him.]
[Whoever took this video, I suggest deleting it. He does not look like he wanted to be filmed.]
[Am I the only one curious what Lunard was yelling at him?]
[Tried audio analysis. One repeated phrase was “Chen Mo.”]
[Wait. Chen Mo?? Like… Chen Mo?!]
Internet sleuths wasted no time.
From a few distorted audio clues and one blurry image, the discussion had somehow returned—
—to Chen Mo.
[Who is Chen Mo?]
[You must’ve forgotten—Lunard’s total defeat at the Yang Group negotiation table was entirely because of this man.]
[So why did Lunard mention Chen Mo to CM’s boss?]
[Let me add this—my buddy works at the tech park in eastern Suicheng. His colleagues are all losing it today. Mr. Chen from Xinrui—the same Chen Mo everyone’s talking about—his house caught fire last night. Considering the grudge between him and Lunard, this really isn’t some coincidence.]
Lao Gou reached out and took back his phone.
He said, “People online are damn brilliant. If they keep digging like this, they might start claiming that Xinrui and CM are secretly collaborating—or that you and CM’s boss are in some kind of shady alliance.”
Chen Mo took another two bites of food.
To him, as long as online chatter didn’t interfere with his life, it was nothing but background noise—not worth reacting to. Besides, the real event here was UA’s collapse. Whether it was CM or Chen Mo, they were just side characters in the public’s eyes.
He said calmly, “Didn’t you say last year you were looking to buy a house? Still house-hunting? Help me keep an eye out if anything good comes up.”
Lao Gou froze. “What about your place in Rhine Ark?”
Chen Mo replied, “I still want it. But realistically, I can’t move back in for now. I need something temporary.”
Lao Gou fell silent for a moment.
Then he suddenly asked, “Wait, didn’t you two already…?”
“Hm?” Chen Mo raised an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with house hunting?”
“I mean,” Lao Gou asked bluntly, “you two didn’t sleep together?”
Chen Mo stared at him, exasperated. “What does that have to do with me asking you to find a house?”
“Everything,” Lao Gou answered with conviction. “If you two already did the deed, why not just move in together? What, you think the class monitor is short on houses?” He leaned in and grinned. “I remember in high school, you were the one always talking big. Don’t tell me you guys were—”
“Shut up,” Chen Mo pushed his face away, “Get out of here.”
Lao Gou left only after Chen Mo finished eating.
Chen Mo also got out of bed.
When he opened the door, one of the bodyguards standing guard outside turned to him respectfully. “Mr. Chen, is there anything you need?”
“Has Yang Shule been caught?” Chen Mo asked.
The bodyguards exchanged glances.
Then the man closest to him nodded. “President Xi has him, but hasn’t handed him over to the police yet.”
“Bring him to me,” Chen Mo said.
The bodyguards hesitated. But before they could respond, Chen Mo added, “I’m not going to do anything to him. I just want to talk. Bring him here.”
Half an hour later.
At the entrance of the VIP Intensive Care Unit.
The entire floor was empty. Chen Mo stood leaning against the corridor wall, wearing a black coat over his hospital gown.
A bodyguard brought Yang Shule forward, gripping his arm and walking him step by step down the corridor.
Yang Shule, at this moment, was like a complete wreck.
Gone was the dazzling confidence and youthful pride he once wore when returning to China. His hair was unkempt, the shadows under his eyes deep and sunken. He looked like some wild thing that had been living in a sewer—hollow, feral, and afraid of light.
Chen Mo looked at him.
For the first time, he truly saw the shadow of Chen Jianli—his birth father—in Yang Shule.
“Mr. Chen,” the bodyguard said quietly, “He’s here.”
Yang Shule raised his head and sneered, “Chen Mo, feeling good about yourself now, huh? Xi Siyan crushed Lunard to avenge you, burned every bridge I had, ruined any chance I had left.”
Chen Mo stared at him. “You know, sometimes I wonder—did you actually like him? Or did you just hate that someone took away what you thought was yours?”
Yang Shule barked out a laugh, hollow and bitter. “So this is your little speech now that you’ve won, huh? All that I had, now it’s yours. So you get to look down on me, mock me?”
Chen Mo had no interest in going in circles.
He said coolly, “Apologize.”
“Apologize?” Yang Shule’s smile twisted into a grimace. “Why the hell should I apologize to you? Over my dead body!”
Chen Mo pushed off the wall, grabbed Yang Shule by the hair, and slammed his face against the heavy ICU door.
His voice dropped, ice-cold: “Take a good look. See who’s lying inside.”
Yang Shule’s eyes snapped open in alarm. Chen Mo kicked his knee, forcing him to the ground.
“You surprised?” Chen Mo’s voice was hoarse. “Grandpa’s still alive. So now—apologize. Even if you didn’t push that wheelchair, you still owe a debt for your arrogance. You think I won’t make you feel what it’s like to lie in a bed with tubes jammed into your body? You think the police will get here fast enough?”
Yang Shule collapsed to his knees, unmoving.
Maybe it finally hit him—how truly screwed he was.
He trembled. Whether it was out of regret or just fear, his lips moved slowly: “…I’m sorry.”
Then came wild laughter—unhinged and bitter.
It turned into sobbing. And then—
He suddenly sprang up, eyes bloodshot. “You think this is over? Chen Mo, you think you’ve won? You’re no better than me! One day, you’ll get yours!”
The bodyguard immediately restrained him. He never got within an inch of Chen Mo.
Chen Mo stared back at him, expressionless. “Maybe. But your ending is certain. I hope you live a long life… long enough to feel it fully.”
The bodyguards dragged him away, his shrieking curses fading down the corridor.
Chen Mo remained at the ICU door.
He knew that “apology” was meaningless. There weren’t many people he truly cared about in this life, and this was the only token gesture he could offer before the unyielding laws of life and death.
He leaned against the wall.
He didn’t know how long he stood there like that.
Until his phone vibrated in his pocket.
Xi Siyan’s voice came through, tight with concern:
“You are—”
“Xi Siyan,” Chen Mo interrupted softly, tilting his head slightly.
“When are you coming back?”
