The name—Ye Tingjue—reverberated in Lin Wanwan's mind like a struck gong, each echo stripping away another layer of her fragile composure. It wasn't just a name; it was a brand, a legend, a whispered synonym for unimaginable power and chilling ruthlessness. The man she had spent the night with, the man whose "generosity" had saved her brother, was not some obscure, kind-hearted eccentric. He was the Ye Tingjue. The realization was a physical shock, colder and more terrifying than the morning's dawn.
She stumbled back into the hospital, the small envelope clutched in her hand like a damning piece of evidence. The familiar sterile scent of the corridors now felt suffocating, the hushed sounds of medical routine a prelude to a more personal, more insidious threat. How could she have been so blind, so foolish? Meili's vague description—tall, imposing, dark suits—could have applied to countless wealthy men. But the aura of command, the unnerving stillness, the predatory gleam in his eyes… in retrospect, it all screamed of someone far beyond an ordinary millionaire.
The note, "A small gesture, deeply appreciated. Consider it an investment in future returns. - Y.T.J.," felt like a silken noose tightening around her neck. He was toying with her, making it clear that her pathetic attempt at "repayment" was noted, perhaps even found amusing. And the phrase "future returns" hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. This wasn't over. Far from it.
Xiaoyu was awake when she returned to his room, a fragile smile on his face. "Jie, you look pale. Are you okay?"
Wanwan forced a smile that felt like cracking porcelain. "Just a bit tired, Xiaoyu. Long night." Understatement of the century. She quickly tucked the envelope into her bag, her hands trembling.
"Dr. Chen said they're starting some new medicines today," Xiaoyu said, his voice hopeful. "He said someone made a really big donation. Was that… Was that you, Jie? Did you win the lottery"?
Wanwan's heart clenched. "Something like that, Xiaoyu," she said, ruffling his hair. "Just focus on getting better, okay? That's all that matters."
The rest of the day passed in a blur of anxiety. Every phone call, every unexpected footstep in the corridor, sent her heart leaping into her throat. She kept replaying the previous night in her mind, searching for clues she had missed, for any sign that she could have avoided this catastrophic misidentification. But it was useless. She had walked into his trap willingly, driven by desperation. The "错撩" was complete, and she was now firmly ensnared in the emperor's web.
That evening, as she was preparing to leave the hospital, her phone buzzed. An unknown number. Her hand shook as she answered.
"Miss Lin Wanwan?" The voice was male, polite, and vaguely familiar. It took her a moment to place it—Kai, Ye Tingjue's assistant.
"Yes?" she managed, her voice barely a whisper.
"Mr. Ye Tingjue requests your presence for dinner this evening. A car will be waiting for you at the main entrance of the hospital in thirty minutes." It wasn't a request; it was a summons.
Panic seized her. "I… I can't. I need to be here with my brother."
"Mr. Ye is aware of your brother's situation," Kai replied, his tone unchanging. "He assures you that Lin Xiaoyu is receiving the best possible care. Your presence for a few hours this evening will not compromise that. In fact," Kai paused, a subtle emphasis in his voice, "refusal might be… counterproductive to everyone's best interests."
The veiled threat was unmistakable. Her brother's continued care, his very life, was still dependent on Ye Tingjue's goodwill. She was a pawn, and he was making sure she understood her place.
"I… I understand," she choked out. "Thirty minutes."
She hung up, her body trembling. Dinner. With Ye Tingjue. The thought filled her with a mixture of dread and a strange, morbid curiosity. What did he want? To gloat? To lay down more terms? To further humiliate her?
There was no time to go home and change, not that she had anything suitable for dinner with a billionaire tycoon. Her simple black dress, now creased and bearing the invisible scars of the previous night, would have to do. She splashed water on her face in the hospital restroom, trying to erase the exhaustion and fear from her features, but it was a futile effort. The mirror reflected a haunted, pale young woman, her eyes wide with trepidation.
The sleek black limousine was waiting, exactly as Kai had promised. This time, Wanwan didn't hesitate. She got in, her resignation a cold, heavy cloak around her.
The destination was not his penthouse but an incredibly exclusive, discreet restaurant tucked away in a historic part of the city. The kind of place that didn't have a sign, where reservations were made months, if not years, in advance and only for the city's absolute elite. They were ushered into a private dining room, opulent yet intimate, with a single table set for two, overlooking a tranquil, lamp-lit garden.
Ye Tingjue was already there, standing by the window, gazing out at the garden. He turned as she entered, and her breath caught in her throat. Dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit, he looked every inch the powerful, enigmatic emperor she now knew him to be. His eyes, those intense, obsidian pools, met hers, and a shiver traced its way down her spine. There was no warmth in his gaze, only a cool, assessing scrutiny.
"Miss Lin," he said, his voice the same low, resonant timbre that had haunted her dreams. "Please, sit."
She sat, her movements stiff, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. A waiter materialized silently, pouring them both water, then retreated. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken tension.
"I trust your brother is responding well to the new treatment regimen?" Ye Tingjue began, his tone conversational, as if they were merely casual acquaintances.
"Yes," Wanwan replied, her voice small. "Thank you. The hospital staff… they are very optimistic."
"Good." He picked up his wine glass, swirling the deep red liquid within. "Mingde Hospital has some of the finest specialists in the country. I ensured they assigned their best to his case."
The casual way he said it, "I ensured," sent another chill through her. The extent of his influence was terrifying.
"Why did you… why did you help me?" Wanwan finally blurted out the question that had been burning in her mind. "You're Ye Tingjue. You could have… anyone. Anything."
A faint, enigmatic smile touched his lips. He took a sip of his wine before answering. "Perhaps I was intrigued, Miss Lin. Desperation can be… compelling. And your particular brand of it, combined with a certain… audacious naivety, was… memorable."
Audacious naivety. He was essentially calling her a brave fool. Shame burned her cheeks. "I didn't know who you were," she whispered. "I thought you were… someone else. The man Meili described…"
"Ah, yes. The mythical benefactor of Booth 8," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "A charming urban legend, it seems. One that, fortuitously, led you to me." He leaned forward slightly, his gaze pinning hers. "Or perhaps, Miss Lin, it wasn't entirely fortuitous. Perhaps some paths are… guided."
Her heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"
He didn't answer directly. Instead, he changed the subject. "The money you left this morning. A… touching gesture. Though hardly necessary, or indeed, adequate." His eyes gleamed. "Consider it already reinvested, as my note suggested."
The food arrived, course after exquisite course, each dish a work of art. Wanwan barely tasted it. Her appetite was nonexistent, her stomach a tight knot of anxiety. Ye Tingjue, however, ate with unhurried appreciation, his manners impeccable, his conversation, when he chose to make it, intelligent and surprisingly cultured. He spoke of art, of global economics, and of literature, revealing a depth and breadth of knowledge that was both impressive and intimidating.
He asked her about her studies, her abandoned dreams of teaching. He listened intently, his dark eyes never leaving her face, making her feel as if she were under a microscope. It was unnerving, this sudden interest in her life, her thoughts. It felt like he was gathering information, cataloging her, for some unknown purpose.
"You know, Miss Lin," he said as the dessert plates were cleared, "your surname. Lin. It's not an uncommon name, of course. But it reminds me of someone I knew a long time ago. A family of my own had… dealings with. The Lins of Suzhou. They were involved in traditional silk embroidery, artisans of great skill".
Wanwan frowned. "My family… my father was from a small village near Suzhou. He… he never spoke much about his family before he moved to the city." Her parents had died when she was young, and her knowledge of their extended family was fragmented, lost to time and distance.
Ye Tingjue's expression remained unreadable, but there was a new intensity in his gaze. "Indeed. A tragic loss for the craft, when that particular lineage faded." He paused, then added, almost casually, "Your features, Miss Lin. There's a certain… resemblance."
A strange unease settled over Wanwan. Was this just polite conversation? Or was there something more, something hidden beneath his words? This powerful, enigmatic man, who seemed to have the world at his feet, why was he suddenly talking about obscure silk artisans from Suzhou?
"I wouldn't know, sir," she said quietly. "I don't remember much about my father's side of the family."
"A pity," he murmured, his eyes still fixed on her. "History has a way of repeating itself. And sometimes, old debts… they find new ways to be settled."
The words hung in the air, cryptic and vaguely ominous. Old debts? What did he mean? Was her family somehow connected to his past, to these "dealings" he mentioned? A shiver of apprehension traced its way down her spine. This was more than just a powerful man toying with a desperate girl. There were layers here, depths she couldn't begin to fathom.
The dinner concluded. As they rose to leave, Ye Tingjue placed a light hand on the small of her back, a possessive, proprietary gesture that sent a jolt through her.
"I trust this evening was… more agreeable than our previous encounter, Miss Lin?" he asked, his voice a low murmur near her ear.
Wanwan could only nod, her throat tight. Agreeable was not the word she would have chosen. Terrifying, unnerving, confusing—those were more accurate.
As the limousine glided through the night, returning her to the hospital, Wanwan's mind reeled. Ye Tingjue's words about her family, about Suzhou, about "old debts," echoed relentlessly. Could this entire situation – her disastrously misaimed attempt at seduction, his sudden, overwhelming presence in her life – be something other than the cruel twist of fate she had believed it to be? Was his meticulously orchestrated entrapment rooted in something far deeper, a history she knew nothing about, a past that was now reaching out to claim her?
The emperor's shadow had fallen over her life, and she was beginning to suspect it had been cast long before she ever stumbled into The Crimson Pavilion. The game was far more complex, and its stakes far higher, than she could ever have imagined.