After Reuniting, My Beautiful Ex-Lover Fishes for Me Every Day - Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Throwing a Peach

Since the two of them parted on bad terms at Ke Hui last time, Yan Xu seemed to have suddenly learned the meaning of the word “decorum” and never looked for Wei Changli again.

It was exactly the same as in the past: a grand intrusion followed by a reasonless disappearance. Fortunately, Wei Changli had no mental energy to spare for such thoughts. For an entire month, he scoured every corner of Ningcheng’s new and old districts, desperate to find even a trace of Michu.

At first, Wei Changli thought Michu was just lost. Later, considering the chaotic mix of people in the area, he feared cat and dog traffickers; perhaps Michu had been kidnapped. Consequently, his solitary searching evolved into asking around everywhere. He even staked out delivery trucks at agricultural markets, which unexpectedly led to him helping the local police bust an illegal dog meat workshop, rescuing dozens of canines awaiting slaughter.

But he still hadn’t found Michu.

The neighbors were willing to help at first. Auntie Liu from Changping Road, Uncle Guo from Heping Street, and even the food delivery guys who frequented the area had approached him with blurry photos. But after a few days, they grew weary. The way they looked at Wei Changli became increasingly strange—their gazes felt like needles, as if they believed he had gone insane over a cat.

Wei Changli didn’t force them. Coming from a merchant family, he naturally understood that “money makes the mare go.” Since no one understood him, he simply paid people to keep an eye out.

A month is neither long nor short, but it was enough for Ningcheng to turn from summer to autumn. The city was so vast its borders were invisible; everyone was rushing through the golden fallen leaves. Finding a kitten was no different from finding a needle in the ocean, yet money flowed out like water.

The Wei empire had collapsed, and all their assets were frozen. Wei Changli hadn’t been well-off to begin with, and in his quest to find Michu, his wallet emptied rapidly. However, in his desperation to find the cat, he had been selectively ignoring his financial ruin.

It wasn’t until one day, when Wei Changli realized he didn’t even have the means for tomorrow’s meal, that his twenty-year-long dream of nobility finally shattered. He realized he could no longer live in such a daze; a man must eventually find a way out for himself.

Wei Changli had called Tao You several times, but she seemed buried in work training newcomers. Every time she answered, she would hang up hurriedly after a few words, and the matter of arranging work for him fell through.

Fortunately, he still had the recording of Shen Shuqiang’s atrocities from the hospital. It was of some use.

Wei Changli didn’t hand it over to the police or post it online. Instead, after processing it, he sent a snippet to an entertainment company called “Zhuohua.”

Zhuohua Entertainment was the commercial rival frequently suppressed by Shen Shuqiang’s “Starlight Global Entertainment.”

This company was still in its startup phase; it wasn’t the largest in the industry, nor was its growth particularly explosive. However, perhaps due to the instincts he developed growing up in the Wei family, Wei Changli inexplicably sensed the aura of a wealthy financial syndicate behind it.

In the territory of Ningcheng, a newly established company that could go toe-to-toe with a “local snake” like Shen Shuqiang and hold its own was certainly no ordinary player.

The recording of Shen Shuqiang’s malice was merely an audio clip of unknown origin—perhaps not even legal—in Wei Changli’s own hands. But if handed to a rival who was like fire and water with “Global Entertainment,” the storm it could stir would be beyond imagination.

To an extent, this recording was a useful “letter of introduction.”

Wei Changli sent the half-edited clip and his contact information to the company’s email. Shen Shuqiang was indeed entangled as he had predicted and stopped bothering him, but unexpectedly, the recording seemed to sink into the ocean without a trace; there was no response.

Wei Changli submitted several more self-recommendation emails to “Zhuohua,” but there was still no reply. After much thought, he decided to visit the company in person to talk.

“Zhuohua” was not located in the steel jungle of Ningcheng’s city center. It was situated further in the suburbs, surrounded by lush greenery. Below the company building was an ancient-style fountain, with ginkgo leaves covering the ground like gold. Not far away, it connected to a small park with swings and slides, looking exceptionally suitable for a quiet life.

Wei Changli arrived early in the morning. After explaining his intent, the front desk staff didn’t make things difficult; they only said the CEO didn’t come to the office often and asked him to leave his number.

Wei Changli did as told. Having nowhere else to go, he waited outside the company. He watched cars drive into the underground garage from time to time, but his phone remained silent.

At noon, he ate a bowl of noodles at a nearby shop. Unwilling to give up, he asked the front desk again, but still received no clear answer.

Wei Changli walked into the park alone, sitting on a swing to clear his mind, his toes occasionally brushing the ground. He gazed at the vivid autumn colors, wondering what he would do if this path failed.

After an unknown amount of time, the quiet park suddenly became noisy. The young man looked up to see a group of young children who had finished school early, running into the park screaming and playing. Behind them followed parents in twos and threes, chatting about their children’s lives.

Wei Changli sat on the swing, his hands propped up, feeling completely out of step with the vibrant atmosphere.

Not far away, a little boy carrying a drawing board approached. He quietly set up his small stool, arranged his art supplies one by one, and began to paint as if no one else were there.

Wei Changli found it quite interesting. He held onto the swing and watched for a while, noticing that although the child looked only five or six years old, he was unexpectedly patient—a serious and quiet boy.

Before long, several rowdy children came pushing and shoving, disrupting the peace of that small space. A little boy with a “Teddy-style” curly perm was the rowdiest. Suddenly, with a “thud,” he leaned against the drawing board, knocking over the paints in front of the quiet boy. Watercolors of various hues splashed all over the boy’s white sweater.

The group of children froze. Realizing their companion had caused trouble, they scattered like birds. Only the little curly-haired boy stood there, staring blankly at the painter.

Then, the curly-haired boy narrowed his small beady eyes and peeked around surreptitiously. Seeing no adult watching over the quiet boy, he grew bold. He stuck out his tongue with a “bleh” and made a face at the child.

Wei Changli sat nearby watching it all, a brow slightly arched.

The quiet boy’s emotions remained stable. He first uprighted the overturned paints and looked down at the colorful mess on the ground, seemingly evaluating if he could clean it up himself. Then, he pulled a tissue provided by his parents from his pocket, wiped his hands, and prepared to use his phone-watch to contact his family.

The curly-haired boy who knocked over the paints wasn’t having it. Seeing no one nearby, he suddenly reached out and shoved the little boy.

“Ah!” The painter was pushed off balance and tumbled to the ground.

The thick layer of ginkgo leaves on the park floor cushioned the fall, so it wasn’t heavy, but he was covered in even more paint, looking increasingly wretched.

Witnessing the whole thing, Wei Changli let out a “tsk.” He stood up from the swing and walked toward the two children, grabbing the bully from behind. His tone was stern: “What is wrong with you? Who gave you permission to bully your classmate? Apologize to him.”

The curly-haired boy shivered as he was lifted. He was already feeling guilty; turning around to see a strange young man over six feet tall, he was terrified. Suddenly, his mouth puckered and he wailed: “Ah—Mama! Save me, waah!”

Not far away, a parent who had been chatting happily heard the crying and finally remembered she had a son running around. She rushed over in a panic, opening her mouth to accuse indiscriminately: “Hey, what’s wrong with you? Let go of my child!”

Wei Changli: “Your son bullied another child. I’m telling him to apologize.”

The woman pursed her bright red lips, her eyes sweeping over the child on the ground. “Why are you picking on a child? Besides, didn’t he fall without getting hurt? If his parents don’t watch him, how can you blame my baby? Let go of my child! Right now!”

Wei Changli stared at her expressionlessly for two seconds. Then, without a word, he picked up a nearby piece of palette paper and pressed the wet paint onto the brat’s curly hair.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” “Ahhh, Mama!”

The woman with red lips and the curly-haired boy screamed simultaneously. The woman, infuriated, stomped over in her high heels to snatch the child. Wei Changli lifted the curly-haired boy even higher with one hand. The child cried even louder, and with the colorful paint drippings on his head, he looked utterly ridiculous.

The woman’s lips trembled, her voice becoming even shriller: “Call the police! I’m calling the police! There’s a human trafficker kidnapping a child! Help! Kidnapping! Everyone look, someone is kidnapping a child!”

Hearing the commotion, the people nearby gathered in a circle to watch. Feeling empowered by the crowd, the woman grew even more arrogant, shouting preemptively: “So young, yet you learn to steal children instead of something good!”

The little boy who had been pushed down stood up on his own. He reached out and tugged at the corner of Wei Changli’s coat: “Brother, let him down.”

Wei Changli looked down at him for two seconds and then set the wailing curly-haired boy on the ground.

The little boy faced the circle of adults and said, “This brother is not a trafficker. That boy knocked over my paints and then pushed me down. This brother came to help me.”

“Nonsense! You couldn’t sit still on your stool, don’t blame my son!” the woman shrieked, her lip gloss shimmering as her mouth opened and closed.

“I’ve already contacted my family,” the little boy said, unfazed by her, lightly tapping his watch. “If you don’t believe it, we can pull the nearby security footage in a moment.”

“Pull footage?” The woman gave a contemptuous laugh. “Do you think your family owns the police station? Can you just pull surveillance whenever you want?”

Wei Changli frowned: “I say, you—”

“Min Hua!” An anxious shout from a distance suddenly interrupted the dispute. A man approached the little boy like the wind, kicking up a flurry of ginkgo leaves in his wake.

Wei Changli turned his head slightly. After seeing that quite beautiful face clearly, he was momentarily stunned, feeling a strange sense of familiarity.

“Just in time, the parent is here, right? Look at this, my son’s hair has been smeared like this… M-M-Mr. Min?” The woman, who had been screaming relentlessly, had a reaction more exaggerated than anyone else’s once she saw who had arrived. Her previously overbearing arrogance vanished instantly.

She was stunned for a full half-minute before her face turned pale. “Mr. Min, how… how do you have time to come to the company today?!”