Chapter 024: Are You Hitting on Me?

Chapter 024: Are You Hitting on Me?

The interplay of black and white keys gave rise to notes of quiet beauty, a melody like sunlight at two thirty in the afternoon—languid and leisurely, flowing slowly along its ancient, elegant curve.

The sound bloomed brighter by degrees, spreading outward like a rising tide, filling every corner of the world around them.

His fingers danced lightly across the keys, sliding from low notes to high, opening onto some rose-tinted vista with every pass, then drifting back down again like scattered pearls—fine, fragmented, gleaming faintly with light.

Wu Chen’s fingers kept moving.

His body swayed almost imperceptibly with the rhythm, eyes half-lowered, neither fully open nor closed, as though he’d sunk entirely into the melody unspooling beneath his own hands.

Li Ruobing crossed the room without a sound, a champagne flute in each hand, and leaned lightly against the piano, setting the glass from her left hand on the lid, within his reach.

She took a small sip from her own glass, propped her chin against the back of her hand, and tilted her head to watch him lost in the music.

The clear, bright notes flowed on like running water.

Watching him, a distinct light kindled slowly in her eyes. She had to admit—Wu Chen never failed to surprise her.

In twenty-seven years, she’d crossed paths with plenty of unusual men. He was, without question, the most unusual of them all.

She no longer dared assume there was anything he couldn’t do.

He rarely showed his full hand, and yet every time, in exactly the right moment, exactly the right setting, he managed something that left her stunned.

The piece he was playing happened to be famous—extraordinarily so, familiar to nearly everyone.

It had been used for years as background music across countless variety shows, news broadcasts, and television programs.

Few people knew its actual title, but almost anyone would recognize it the instant they heard it.

Too familiar, really.

And overfamiliarity carried its own quiet cost—the way even a favorite song, set as a ringtone or alarm, wore thin within a year until you couldn’t stand to hear it again.

Heard too often, anything started to feel worn. Common.

But a living performance carried a weight no recording could match.

Wu Chen wasn’t a professional pianist. He carried no such title.

But Li Ruobing, who’d studied piano herself, could tell his skill ran high—far beyond her own, at the very least.

She reached up absently and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear—long, straight, and black, the kind that fell forward and hid her face whenever she tilted her head.

Wu Chen never looked over.

His focus while playing had reached the point where the world around him simply ceased to register—even a devastating beauty like Li Ruobing, who could still reach a nine under exacting standards, sweeping her hair back in front of him, went entirely unnoticed.

She took another sip of champagne, breathing out slowly, and closed her eyes, as if finally listening with something deeper than her ears.

It had been a long time since she’d let herself relax like this.

No scheming, no corporate maneuvering.

No pressure bearing down from the family.

No work. No worries.

Only music, and the quiet pull of it.

Some unknown stretch of time later, the piano fell suddenly silent.

Li Ruobing opened her eyes as though waking from a dream and looked at him. “You really are full of surprises. Richard Clayderman’s Ballade pour Adeline. Not bad at all. Why’d you stop?”

He hadn’t finished the piece—there should have been a short passage left.

Clang, clang, clang.

Wu Chen pressed a quick string of keys and said, “This piano needs tuning. You should be able to hear it.”

“Mm…” she murmured. In truth, she hadn’t caught which note was off.

Wu Chen had underestimated himself, and overestimated her.

She’d studied piano as a teenager, passed her exams back then—but it had been years since she’d touched a keyboard. As for Wu Chen, there was no telling how far his skill actually ran. He didn’t know himself, for lack of anything to measure it against.

Li Ruobing rarely felt this particular flavor of awkwardness, and didn’t much care to dwell on it. She lifted a hand instead. “Your champagne.”

Wu Chen rose, picked up the glass, and swirled it gently.

“Cheers?”

“Cheers.”

Clink.

They touched glasses and each took a sip.

“Are you hitting on me?” Li Ruobing asked, watching him again, a smile playing at the edge of something less than a smile.

Blunt. No hedging at all.

“What makes you say that?” Wu Chen asked, smiling back.

“You call yourself an information broker—your words. I’m almost starting to believe it, because you know entirely too much. Which means I believe you understand me too. So… you picked my favorite champagne. You knew I’d studied piano, so you played piano.”

“There might be some misunderstanding here.” Wu Chen smiled. “Boss Li, please don’t flatter yourself too much. We’re business partners, aren’t we? You gave me twenty million—that’s the only reason I’m here today. I take my clients seriously, always have. If you want to read that as me hitting on you, that’s your call.”

“So you’re treating me as a client. All of this, just to keep the client comfortable?”

“Is there a problem with that? Would you rather I kept a stone face with a business partner? You’re happy, I’m happy, everyone wins—and that way, I make more money. Isn’t that the point?”

The money-loving persona could not collapse.

“Fair enough.” Li Ruobing seemed to genuinely believe Wu Chen’s nonsense, and even smiled and nodded.

Knock, knock.

A bodyguard at the door, delivering fresh clothes. With bloodstains on Wu Chen’s suit, Li Ruobing had already sent someone out to buy replacements back at the club.

Two full sets, probably costing over a hundred thousand yuan.

The bodyguard carried one in each hand. Li Ruobing let Wu Chen choose, and he settled on the silver-gray set.

He went into the bedroom to change. By the time he emerged, Li Ruotai had already arrived—Shen Guangjun’s matter apparently handled.

“It’s noon. Let’s eat first.” Li Ruobing came forward, straightening his collar as she spoke.

Crown Entertainment had its own restaurant, but none of them wanted to eat there—nothing worth the trouble, no matter how refined the club’s kitchen tried to be. It couldn’t compare to a proper restaurant.

In the end, the three of them went to Fashi Western Restaurant in the Central District.

Li Ruobing held a membership there, so a table was always waiting.

Tucked into a second-floor private room, they ordered a few dishes at random, and only started talking in earnest while waiting for the food.

“Brother-in-law, what do you think would be the best way to deal with Shen Guangjun?” Li Ruotai asked quietly. The title rolled off his tongue easily now.

Wu Chen had only told him not to touch the man inside the club—so he’d let him go. But he knew this couldn’t simply end there.

Not touching Shen Guangjun on the premises had only been about avoiding trouble.

Not Wu Chen’s trouble.

His own.

He already had more than enough on his plate. Restraint was the only sensible path.

“He’s lost so much money that his company’s operations are already in trouble. Drive him to his death,” Wu Chen said, arranging the cutlery without looking up.

Was Shen Guangjun innocent in all this?

Not remotely. He had ties to the Wei family—their third-ranking figure had once been his father-in-law’s old superior.

The Li and Wei families were locked in a feud to the death, and since Wu Chen had chosen Li Ruobing as his first connection, he naturally stood on the Li family’s side.

“Understood.” Li Ruotai nodded.

No need to press for detail. He had more than enough methods for handling someone as small as Shen Guangjun—he’d simply been unsure which approach fit best, wary of botching things during such a delicate stretch.

“And the club—closing it down?” Li Ruotai asked again.

“If you’re willing to sacrifice it, set fire to Crown Entertainment,” Wu Chen said, lifting his head.

Both siblings startled, staring at him.

Burn it?

The renovations alone had cost five hundred million yuan.

“Only part of it. Ideally, it makes the news—that way, you’ve got a legitimate reason to suspend operations for repairs and rectification. No one will think twice,” Wu Chen said.

He laid out the specifics for Li Ruotai after that—the timing above all. When to lift the evidence. When to kill Xie Hu. When to set fire to the club. The order could not be wrong.

“I’ll step out to the restroom.” Wu Chen checked his watch and rose.

“Do you know the way? Should I—” Li Ruobing asked, genuine concern in her voice.

“I’ve got it. Rest.” He gave her shoulder a light press.

Once he’d left the room, Li Ruotai turned to watch the closed door, listening to the footsteps fade outside. Only once he was certain Wu Chen had truly gone did he swing back around, voice dropping low.

“Sis. Who exactly is this guy? Where did you even find him?”

Although he called him “brother-in-law,” Li Ruotai still held enormous suspicion toward Wu Chen.