Chapter 60: Soaring Over His Lofty Mountains

Zhong Yu Bai didn’t exactly understand what Zhong Yu wanted. So he asked him directly, hoping for a straightforward answer. He didn’t have the energy to circle around with someone who only harbored ambition—it was a waste of time.

When leaving, Zhong Yu Bai gave it some thought.

Perhaps Zhong Yu sought revenge but lacked the capability. Or maybe he wanted to reclaim the shares his father originally owned, which were later seized. If he were a bit greedier, he might want an additional 20% in shares.

Then again, he himself might not even know exactly what he wanted.

Zhong Yu, with his literary background, wore glasses, looking cultured and frail, without the air of someone fighting for power. He seemed to have inherited the gentleness and scholarly demeanor of their granduncle, Zhong Bingwen. People like him often quote poetry, value spiritual pursuits, but lack the mindset and tactics needed in corporate battles.

Frankly, he wasn’t suited for managing a company. If he were to be given control, he’d only lose more disastrously than his father did.

Then, there’s another possibility: he might simply want Zhong Yu Bai dead, to see him fall, to witness him shattered.

—That’s probably the true answer.

In summary, his desires were abstract.

After wiping his hands twice with a tissue, Zhong Yu Bai still felt discomfort in his palm. Having done something unpleasant, it seemed better to wash up. After washing his hands, he put the matter out of his mind.

He had work to attend to.

As his car arrived in front of the Boyang Building, Ding Jialing parked, and Zhong Yu Bai got out, striding forward. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed an unusual car parked conspicuously in front of the entrance, where there were no designated spaces.

He glanced at the Audi but paid it no mind until, just as he passed the rear of the car to head up the steps, someone got out in a hurry.

Seeing Ji Huan, Zhong Yu Bai’s steps faltered slightly.

“Mr. Ji.”

“President Zhong,” Ji Huan took a few quick steps toward him, blocking his path, and gave a slight smile. “Could we talk for a few minutes?”

Zhong Yu Bai checked the time. “I have an unavoidable meeting. Give me half an hour.”

Ji Huan was momentarily stunned, then nodded and agreed.

Zhong Yu Bai looked around, signaling a security guard to help park Ji Huan’s car as it was inconvenient to leave it by the entrance.

As Ji Huan’s car was driven aside, he stood in the sunlight, watching the taller man stride into the glass skyscraper. He looked up at the impressive, seemingly endless building until the sun’s glare stung his eyes, causing him to close them, his eyes feeling swollen.

For Ji Huan, Zhong Yu Bai made an exception, adjusting his original schedule.

They met at a coffee shop, and as soon as Zhong Yu Bai sat down, he heard Ji Huan bluntly say—

“Let’s cut to the chase. Zhong Yu Bai, please leave my daughter alone.”

The coffee hadn’t even been served yet, and already the conversation was on the verge of breaking down. Zhong Yu Bai remained calm, as if this abrupt request wasn’t surprising at all, and gently rubbed his hands that were clasped over his knee.

Without answering, he eventually changed the topic, saying, “The teahouse you opened on Jingzhe Mountain lost some money. That mountain isn’t suitable for development. Didn’t you do a risk assessment?”

Ji Huan’s gaze sharpened immediately. “Are you saying…?”

Zhong Yu Bai replied, “If you’re imitating someone, you still need some original ideas. You can’t just pay for someone else’s lack of foresight. If you really don’t understand, you could’ve asked me.”

His words carried a faint smile, but his gaze remained calm, devoid of mockery, simply embodying a courteous conversational style.

But bringing this up, his intent was clearly unfriendly.

Seeing Ji Huan’s expression start to falter, Zhong Yu Bai added, “No need to wonder how I know; the bank has records.”

The coffee arrived, and Ji Huan hastily took a couple of sips.

He knew about Zhong Yu Bai’s help with Ji Zhen Tang’s teahouse venture. Despite his daughter being undervalued in the family, she now stood higher than he did, inevitably stirring some resentment in his heart.

Why should he compete with his own daughter? Yet, human psychology is complex. His desire to separate her from Zhong Yu Bai stemmed, at least in part, from an unwillingness to see her gain power and yet show him no respect.

So, he tried to emulate their business model, investing in a teahouse of his own, but the business didn’t go well. Luckily, the investment wasn’t too large, and the losses were manageable.

“Are you investigating me?” Ji Huan asked him.

Zhong Yu Bai replied, “That’s an exaggeration. I happen to have friends who also run teahouses, and when someone tries to slice into the same market, they’re bound to be on high alert and look into things.”

Ji Huan fell silent.

After a while, realizing his posture was submissive, he quickly pulled the conversation back, visibly displeased. “This isn’t what I came here to discuss…”

Before he could finish, Zhong Yu Bai slid a bank card across the table, using his fingertip to push it to the center.

The small action cut him off mid-sentence. Ji Huan looked up, his guard fully raised.

Zhong Yu Bai spoke calmly, “Since she said she doesn’t want to see you again, a clean break isn’t that hard to achieve.”

“Are you joking?” Ji Huan sneered coldly, “Xiao Tang is my daughter. I’m her father, and I’ll watch over her for life!”

Zhong Yu Bai smiled faintly, his emotions unreadable.

Clearly, Ji Huan’s anger did not surprise him.

“A child is carried and brought into the world by the mother; the father’s role, at most, is one of companionship,” Zhong Yu Bai said. “And if even that role can’t be fulfilled properly, then life can be just as bright—perhaps brighter—without a father, don’t you think?”

He met Ji Huan’s complicated gaze, pointed to the card, and finally said, “This money, take it and pay off your debt. It should be enough to buy out your parental rights.”

Ji Huan could likely pay off the bank on his own. But Zhong Yu Bai saw through his character—shrewd, petty, hypocritical, greedy. People like that would never turn down an unexpected windfall.

As the saying goes, any problem solvable with money isn’t really a problem.

Negotiating with someone like this is the easiest. No need for tears, drama, or pointless theatrics. Zhong Yu Bai had no mind-reading abilities—he just understood human nature all too well.

Those flaws, darkness, desires, and shortcomings, like hidden algae underwater, might seem concealed from view, but they only clouded the water further, darkening it.

These things can never truly be hidden.

They are dangers; they are terminal illnesses.

Ji Huan, staring at the card, hesitated just as expected.

Then Zhong Yu Bai added, “But she’s already an adult and doesn’t need a guardian. With or without you or me, she’ll make her way.”

Ji Huan might have been weighing his options, but Zhong Yu Bai was done waiting. He spoke his last words, “There’s no such thing as watching over her for life. Your useless control can end here.”

Without waiting for a reply, he stood up and left.

…

To meet Ji Huan, Zhong Yu Bai had rescheduled some of his work. On his way back, he needed to realign his plans. Yet, seated in the back of the car and looking at the sunlight filtering through the window, he found himself unable to focus, unable to immerse himself in those tedious tasks.

So he stared into the daylight, momentarily lost.

Zhong Yu Bai had watched her grow up; it was hard to describe that magical feeling of seeing a child being born, celebrating her first month, learning to speak, taking her first steps.

It was like witnessing a flawless, crystalline seed slowly thrive.

Raised in a warm environment, she had grown freely, and he had watched her transform into a verdant young sapling. Back then, he wanted to gift her everything pure in the world.

She deserved it all.

But one day, they were unexpectedly separated.

Years later, upon reuniting, he painfully realized that the little sapling he had once nurtured had withered. She was burdened by so much weight, bent over and drained, no longer able to be happy, with no one to protect her.

And not only that—passersby would even trample on her.

The little girl, once his bundle of joy, had lost her happiness.

People can’t revert to their pure state. Once pain marks you, it becomes part of you.

But what could be changed was her future.

He needed to overcome some difficulties, clear away certain obstacles, and create a stable, independent space for her—a small universe, a beautiful dream she’d never wake from, where she could rest. From then on, everyone she encountered would be kind, and every dream she dreamed would be a good one.

The day he took her to her dorm, she asked about the women who married into the Zhong family. He paused in silence for a moment.

With a sense of relief, Zhong Yu Bai wondered if, had they met earlier—when he was less established—whether he could have had the confidence to promise he’d protect her.

Looking back, he realized how perfectly timed their meeting was.

She was twenty, and he was thirty.

The fortune-teller was right: at thirty, he would face a romantic challenge.

But perhaps he’d misunderstood.

It wasn’t a “romantic disaster” but rather a “romantic destiny.”

After his mother passed away, Zhong Yu Bai’s world was only filled with storms and snow.

Until this fated person appeared, right on time. She brought back his gentle memories of the past, embedding herself deep within him, gently awakening his long-numbed senses and stirring his emotions.

The unspoken words and softness buried deep in his heart found their place with her, effortlessly. She was a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, soaring over his mountainous barriers, clearing the path from storms and frost, and bringing boundless beauty, returning spring to his life.

Zhong Yu Bai closed his eyes, and at that moment, as emotions surged over him, he finally allowed himself to dream of his mother once more.

—

Ji Zhen Tang had once given Zhong Yu Bai a heads-up, saying she might leave after graduation.

Qin Meilan’s recent phone call had indeed unsettled her thoughts.

So she wanted to test his reaction.

Zhong Yu Bai had taught her a valuable lesson: love oneself above all.

Because of this, he would certainly never become an obstacle to her.

Soon after the start of her senior year, she met with Huang Xingui, who gave her an opportunity to attend a charity auction banquet. Seated at the main table that evening, Ji Zhen Tang huddled slightly, and Huang Xingui glanced at her strapless dress, smiling, “Not used to formal wear yet?”

The dress she wore was the same one from her first event—a custom gown designed around the Cinderella theme that Zhong Yu Bai had gotten for her to attend a jewelry exhibition.

Ji Zhen Tang didn’t have many nice clothes, and if she mentioned it to Zhong Yu Bai, he’d probably buy her ten or so outfits, which would make her heart ache for the expense.

So she hadn’t said anything, feeling that this one ensemble was enough to get her through her adventures.

She chuckled and said, “Lucky I’m not a celebrity; walking the red carpet in winter would probably be the end of me.”

Just as she mentioned female celebrities, one appeared right after she spoke.

A young actress from a popular TV series sat beside her, glancing at Ji Zhen Tang’s dress, then at her face, not bothering to ask who she was before giving a mocking smile: “Is that dress real? Even my team couldn’t get one like that.”

Though it was from last season, the quality of the dress was enough to make quite a few people feel intimidated.

Huang Xingui stepped in to back her up, smiling, “Zhong’s people—do you think it’s real or not?”

The actress’s face immediately changed. No one was stopping her, so she could’ve just left, but she grudgingly forced out an apology, “Sorry, goodbye,” and left with her dress trailing as she stomped away.

It seemed that the name “Zhong” was enough to inspire a level of dread within the industry, if not outright fear.

Ji Zhen Tang smiled helplessly, letting it go without holding any grudge.

Huang Xingui, who was deeply invested in her career path, chatted a bit about the progress of her brand and asked about her plans after graduation. Ji Zhen Tang mentioned that her mother had told her about the thriving overseas jewelry market, which had indeed piqued her interest.

Huang Xingui suddenly remembered something. “Speaking of Singapore, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but a big-name designer is recruiting partners and setting up a training camp there. Interested in giving it a shot?”

Ji Zhen Tang’s eyes lit up as she asked if it was true.

Huang Xingui confirmed, “A top-notch designer. Entry requirements are high, but I can help you connect. Even if it doesn’t lead to a collaboration, it’s a valuable learning opportunity. You’d be working with a professional team and learning hands-on in a way you wouldn’t get at school.”

The prospect of working alongside a seasoned master was incredibly tempting.

Ji Zhen Tang felt every word from Huang Xingui was bait, but she didn’t agree immediately. “Thank you, Director Huang. It’s an amazing opportunity, and I’ll consider it carefully.”

The banquet eventually ended.

With her shawl draped over her shoulders, she stepped out into the chilly October breeze.

She looked up and saw a Rolls Royce parked across the road from the hotel, and even without heavy security, the car itself radiated a cold, unapproachable aura. Its polished exterior gleamed under the night sky, exuding an air of aristocratic prestige that drew all eyes.

Of course, she was different; she had a “pass.” She was Zhong’s person!

Ji Zhen Tang hadn’t expected Zhong Yu Bai to come to pick her up. Overjoyed, she leaped into the back seat, her shawl slipping off as his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

She kissed him on the cheek, and he smiled.

Her shoulders were a bit cold, making his warm hand feel even hotter.

Zhong Yu Bai draped his suit jacket over her shoulders, then leaned close, his nose nearly touching hers, and asked in a low voice, “Been busy lately? How long are you planning to leave me hanging?”

Ji Zhen Tang stretched her neck, peeking forward.

He knew what she was looking for. “I sent Jialing away,” he said.

She broke into a grin and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “I’ve been thinking about my graduation project—it’s been hectic. Plus, there are all these annoying little issues at school, and you have no idea how irritating it is. And recently, there’s been something going on in the dorm, so the dorm manager has been doing strict inspections. It’s so annoy—”

Before she could finish, he covered her mouth.

A long kiss, tasting the sweetness of her lips.

When he finally let her breathe, Zhong Yu Bai held her by the waist, gazing down at her glistening lips, and gently wiped them with his thumb, smiling faintly, “You don’t talk properly, always trying to tease.”

His mischievous eyes seemed to say: “Now you’ve seen the consequence of teasing.”

She wasn’t the least bit scared and kept kissing his face, still smiling. But suddenly, a thought tightened her expression, softening her smile.

Ji Zhen Tang told him about the training camp that Huang Xingui had mentioned.

Zhong Yu Bai thought for a moment and asked, “Do you want to go?”

She replied, “I still need to find out more about it. I don’t even know how long it would be, or what the chances are of staying on.”

Zhong Yu Bai looked at her quietly for a long time, then gave a faint nod.

He reached over to the front console drawer and pulled out something, saying, “Perfect timing. A few days ago, I asked for blessings of safety and success for you and brought back a charm.”

Ji Zhen Tang took the peach-pink charm bag he handed her.

Turning it over, she saw with surprise that a line of poetry was stitched onto it: “The vast sea allows fish to leap, the high sky lets birds soar.”

The lines were sewn in indigo thread, the stitching slightly rough, lacking any real precision. But the charm was so small that even managing to stitch legible characters was no easy feat.

Realizing something, Ji Zhen Tang looked at him thoughtfully.

In the dimness of the car, Zhong Yu Bai’s eyes took on a shadowy depth. She tried to capture his gaze, and amid the cold, subdued atmosphere, she saw a gentle clarity emerging in his eyes.

“It’s my work,” he said. “Not much of a skill, I know—nothing like your aunt’s.”

She looked at him in surprise, then laughed, “You? Know sewing?”

“Not at all,” Zhong Yu Bai chuckled, “So, I sacrificed a few lunch breaks in the office, slowly figuring out how to put this together.”

Ji Zhen Tang ran her fingers over the stitched words, examining them closely.

He said, “A good memory’s not as strong as a written reminder—it’s kind of like that. Keeping some words in your heart doesn’t mean as much as carrying them on you.”

Together, they looked at the charm. His finger lightly traced over the stitched lines. “It’s not much, but if you don’t mind, you can take it with you, wherever you go.”

Ji Zhen Tang’s lips quivered, her eyes trembling slightly. “What am I supposed to do? I feel like I’m going to cry.”

Zhong Yu Bai smiled warmly, smoothing her hair from the back of her head. “No tears.”

But his gentle comfort wasn’t enough to stop her tears.

As he pressed her damp cheek against his shoulder, he softly reassured her, “Don’t cry, love.”

Zhong Yu Bai had never considered himself a particularly good person, but he had undoubtedly given her all his patience and warmth.

The first silk pouch she discovered from him bore a floaty inscription: “Events are like spring dreams, leaving no trace.”

That day, she stood within their shallow intersection, feeling as if they might part at any moment. In her innocence, she read the fragility of illusions, and the fleeting nature of the world.

The second time, the silk pouch he gave her bore the words “The sky is vast; let birds fly.” In the marks she saw, his steadfastness was all she could sense.

This time, the traces lingered. She felt his strength as a mountain she could rely on.

In a calm, guiding tone, Zhong Yu Bai spoke to her earnestly: “For you, breaking through is your growth. Watching you heal, becoming braver each day, makes me happy. For me, going from reluctance to let go, to letting go despite the reluctance—that’s my growth. We’re both progressing, both refining ourselves.”

She noticed his shirt was damp in a large patch.

Zhong Yu Bai looked down, saw her damp lashes, and smiled gently: “A girl grows up, and she won’t stay—guess I need to get used to it, right?”

After crying for a bit, Ji Zhen Tang looked up at him with wet eyes and asked, “And what about you?”

Zhong Yu Bai replied, “What about me?”

“Do you still have dreams?” she asked, then quickly added, “What dream do you carry with you at all times?”

The car fell silent for a few seconds as he pondered.

“At this moment,” Zhong Yu Bai said, “it’s to protect your dream.”

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