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墨書 Inktalez
Was the gray market deal he smoothed over for the company considered dirty?
Weren't the unspeakable dealings of those wealthy families equally filthy?
In this jungle of steel and concrete, whose hands haven't been stained by the scent of profit?
The executives viewed their subordinates as mere pawns, yet only Jiang Qing would send concerned texts late at night, inviting him to the rooftop for some fresh air.
Jiang Qing loved beauty, was talkative, and often wore custom designer haute couture, paired with limited edition luxury items that turned heads whenever she appeared.
"Mr. Song, how do you like my look today?"
"Mr. Song, which bag do you think suits me better?"
He had no clue about these things; to him, those priceless luxuries all looked quite similar.
"The one on the right."
"Why?"
"Low-key, less likely to attract media attention."
He casually deflected, but Jiang Qing persisted, "Your taste is so straightforward. I want to choose the flashiest one."
She picked the latest limited edition handbag and meticulously styled her makeup and hair, radiating brilliance and inadvertently tugging at his heartstrings.
Jiang Qing often crumbled alone in the midnight hours, biting her lip to hold back tears, believing no one noticed.
In truth, he saw through it all; he just didn't understand why she wouldn't let herself cry freely.
Sometimes, he stood in his office, watching her silhouette, feeling a sharp pang in his heart.
Don't cry.
I'm right here.
Song Moting knew all too well that this relationship would eventually come to an end; she was merely a pawn in his business game. Yet he never expected that day to arrive so abruptly.
He fell into a trap set by his rivals, and by the time he rushed back to the company, she was already lying in a pool of blood.
The top Emergency Response Team was on standby, urging the driver to accelerate, racing against time.
Her blood was initially boiling hot, but gradually became thick and sluggish, the life force within her slowly draining away. Amidst the roaring of the vehicle, he could feel Jiang Qing's body temperature dropping. When he looked up again, he saw several figures in suits approaching.
They stood in the shadows, like messengers from hell. Song Moting was astonished at how vivid his imagination had become. Those figures seemed to have truly heard his thoughts, speaking in shock, "Mr. Song, can you see us?"
He didn't want to engage with these hallucinations and coldly pulled out his phone, saying, "Don't move her."
"But the company regulations state that Jiang Qing has crossed the line. Mr. Song, we are just following the rules," they replied.
"Is there another option?" he asked, his gaze piercing. The figures trembled, hesitating before saying, "There is one, but..."
"Speak."
"If Mr. Song insists on protecting her, not only will you face immense risks, but your future in business may also be irreparably damaged."
So the cost was merely the destruction of his future; he had thought he would have to pay a much heavier price.
Thus, he exchanged everything for her safety. As dark currents swirled around him, he had once imagined facing storms together with her. But seeing Jiang Qing suffer made him feel a surge of regret.
She was just an ordinary girl; how could she endure such perilous circumstances? He was destined for a bleak future—why drag her down with him?
A group of suited men surrounded him completely. He was forcibly taken away, enduring inhumane torment that left him physically and mentally exhausted, wishing for death as his mind wandered aimlessly. For reasons unknown, after days of torture, they suddenly decided to let him go.
But considering they called him Mr. Song, it seemed they would inevitably cross paths again in the business world.
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