Limited-Time Attachment - Chapter 48

The high-performance Pagani merged into the city lanes. The congested traffic hemmed in all vehicles, even a top-tier supercar could only sink into the flow, unable to unleash its speed.

Ahead, a red light flickered on. The black sports car, radiating an air of arrogance and a hint of danger, slowly rolled to a stop at the edge of the line.

Song Ming held the steering wheel with both hands, quietly watching the signal. Her long, powerful fingers tapped lightly against the leather grip, inadvertently revealing a trace of agitation.

A Bluetooth headset hung in her ear, emitting a mechanical busy tone.

Zhou Jibai didn’t answer the phone.

Song Ming’s fingers paused, then she slowly gripped the wheel as her expression settled into a calm resolve.

Is her phone on silent because she’s at the Zhong residence, or… is it something else?

The traffic light flickered twice and jumped to green.

Song Ming glanced up, drove decisively through the intersection, and pulled over at a nearby plaza.

Her phone displayed a contact number sent by a subordinate. Song Ming stared at the string of digits for a moment, then dialed it without a hint of hesitation.

“Hello?” A somewhat gruff male voice came through the phone.

“It’s me,” Song Ming spoke coldly.

Chen Shengrong froze for a moment. Dropping his rough tone, he replied with some surprise, “President Song, what’s going on today? You’re calling me personally?”

“Cut the small talk.” Song Ming held the phone with one hand, her gaze sweeping over the passing pedestrians. She shot a cold glare at a passerby trying to take a photo with their phone. “Where are you right now?”

Chen Shengrong let out a laugh and answered readily, “Litian Shuiyuan.”

Song Ming frowned. That area was filled with old-school clubs and nightclubs. Since he was there, it meant he had no intention of playing clean.

“Is Zhong Hexuan still with you?”

“He’s here, but Zhou Jibai isn’t,” Chen Shengrong said bluntly, followed by a mocking sneer. “That kid really knows how to play around.”

“I have no interest in Zhong Hexuan’s character,” Song Ming said, her voice cold as her eyes scanned the shifting advertisements on the mall’s giant screen. “I’m asking you one more time, have you seen Zhou Jibai lately?”

“Haven’t seen her,” Chen Shengrong brushed off any involvement. “I haven’t seen her in nearly a month. I haven’t had the chance to give her a hard time. I don’t know what kind of fit the Zhong family is throwing either, suddenly running over to give me a reassurance at such a strange time.”

Song Ming: “…”

Song Ming had nothing to say. Frowning, she gave her phone a slight twirl and hung up.

She wasn’t with Chen Shengrong either.

Where on earth did she go?

Not at Jiaxin, not seen by Chen Shengrong, and even Zhou Jibai’s assistant didn’t know her itinerary or how to contact her.

Song Ming instinctively lit up her screen again. The date and time appeared at the top; she stared at the date for a moment and leaned back with a frustrated sigh.

We shouldn’t have had that argument these past few days.

If they hadn’t fought, Zhou Jibai should have been able to spend today in peace.

Song Ming put down her phone and sat quietly in the driver’s seat, waiting for one last call.

When she had asked Jing Lie to investigate Zhou Jibai before, Jing Lie had asked why she didn’t use her own trusted people. Song Ming, wary of Song Zhongtian, only told Jing Lie it wasn’t convenient to use familiar faces.

But today, she didn’t care about that anymore.

If she didn’t get feedback within half an hour, she was going to “visit” the Zhong family ancestral home directly.

Two cigarettes burned away, and Song Ming’s patience was reaching its limit.

She pushed up her sleeve to check her watch; only about ten minutes had passed.

“Tch.” Song Ming frowned slightly, suddenly unwilling to wait any longer.

She tossed the cigarette butt away, her slender hand reaching for the gear shift. In the next second, the violent roar of the Pagani’s engine erupted.

Almost the exact moment the car began to move, her notification ringtone sounded.

“President Song, President Zhou left the Zhong residence some time ago. It’s been about two hours. Her specific destination hasn’t been determined yet.”

…She’s already left.

Song Ming’s movements stalled.

If she’s nowhere else, where could she be?

After considering in silence for a moment, Song Ming suddenly thought of a place.

“Dammit,” Song Ming cursed under her breath, turning the car around and heading for the nearest property she owned.

She needed to switch cars.

Yonggui Cemetery was located on a hill on the outskirts of A City, a remote and quiet place, yet exquisitely built.

The autumn weather in A City was always unpredictable. It was still somewhat clear when Song Ming left the racetrack, but by the time she returned to the city, dark clouds had gathered overhead.

By the time Song Ming parked in Yonggui Cemetery, cold, fine droplets of rain were already falling from the sky.

The low-profile SUV drove into the cemetery. Song Ming pushed open the car door and unfurled a large, solid black umbrella.

The flower shrouded steps before her were familiar, looking exactly as they did when she first came here years ago, no different from the images in her memory.

The rain seemed to be getting heavier, the sound of droplets hitting the umbrella surface becoming noisy. The leaves of the carefully planted trees and flowers swayed under the rain, with small streams of water trickling down the edges of the steps.

Holding the umbrella in one hand, Song Ming lightly rubbed the handle.

Besides this place, she couldn’t think of anywhere else.

Zhou Jibai’s mother should be buried behind two low hills, in the most expensive plot.

She stepped onto the stone-paved stairs, her short boots splashing a small flower of water.

Holding her umbrella, Song Ming slowly bypassed the lush, silent flower bushes. The black umbrella surface slowly emerged past the greenery. Song Ming appeared beside a magnolia tree, her vision finally unobstructed.

Sure enough, she saw a slender figure standing quietly before a tombstone not far away.

An identical pure black umbrella hid the person’s face, making it impossible to see her expression. A bouquet of pure white flowers lay before the headstone, their centers already holding a shallow pool of rainwater.

The sound of rain hitting the umbrella filled her ears, drowning out most of the ambient noise, a silence that allowed one to settle down and face their own thoughts.

Zhou Jibai gazed at the photo on the tombstone.

This gentle, beautiful woman, who possessed a similar streak of stubbornness, was her mother.

The “rightful” wife of the Zhong family, forgotten by everyone.

Her presence was too faint, she maintained dignity and elegance in a lonely position, waiting from birth until death.

From early on, Zhong Zhengcheng refused to return to the home where she and Zhou Ying lived. Zhou Ying understood nothing of business, nor could she calculate how much money the family actually had, but she never bowed her head to Zhong Zhengcheng.

Every time Zhong Zhengcheng returned, Zhou Ying held her head high, always maintaining an “I don’t care if you come or not” attitude.

But in reality, every time he left, Zhou Ying would fall into a slump for a while.

Zhong Zhengcheng was Zhou Ying’s own choice.

It was said that the Zhong family was originally in the manufacturing business with a very substantial background. They sent their only son abroad to study, and everything was supposed to go smoothly. But the year a young Zhong Zhengcheng returned, a policy reform was implemented from the top down. The Zhong family’s vast assets were suddenly locked up, and they desperately needed a surge of capital to avoid bankruptcy.

A similarly young Zhou Ying took a fancy to Zhong Zhengcheng.

It wasn’t so much that the Zhou family saved the Zhong family, but rather that the two families merged into one. The Zhou family poured in more than half their assets to help the Zhong family catch their breath, and Zhong Zhengcheng took over all of the Zhou family’s business. Zhou Ying was also an only child.

Zhong Zhengcheng had climbed to where he was today by stepping on the assets of both families.

Yet the heartless man didn’t even remember the anniversary of his ex-wife’s death. He used the money generated from his ex-wife’s assets to support his mistress and illegitimate son, then, on the very day of his ex-wife’s death anniversary, he pressured her daughter into a strategic marriage for the sake of profit.

He hadn’t even mentioned a single word about Zhou Jibai’s mother.

Zhong Zhengcheng used the Zhong Corporation, Jiaxin, and Zhou Jibai’s own hard work to pressure her, even going so far as to bring up her long-deceased maternal grandparents to sway her.

But he never mentioned a single syllable regarding the “death anniversary.”

…How did he not realize that the same drama wouldn’t work twice? Or rather, was it even those things that worked and made her yield in the first place?

Zhou Jibai didn’t want to think about it anymore. Looking at the photo on the tombstone, she crouched down and gently traced the features of her mother’s brows and eyes.

Because Zhong Zhengcheng didn’t like coming home, her impression of a “father” wasn’t deep; all her understanding of him came from that bit of disappointment in Zhou Ying.

Zhou Jibai used to think that a person who was missed and remembered couldn’t be too bad.

Now that she thought about it… did Zhou Ying ever regret diving headfirst into a hopeless marriage, into unchangeably loving someone who would never respond?

Zhou Jibai’s fingertip slid across the smooth surface of the stone, resting on the corner of the eyes that were so similar to her own, slightly tilted upward.

Loving the wrong person is just very painful.

Waiting for them to turn around is just a waste of time.

The sound of water being stepped on suddenly reached her ears. Zhou Jibai froze, turned her head slightly, and caught sight of a pair of short boots with a minimalist logo.

It was Song Ming.

“Why are you here?” Zhou Jibai lowered her eyes and stood up.

Song Ming frowned slightly, not speaking.

Zhou Jibai was still looking at the funeral photo of her mother on the tombstone. Her eyelashes drooped slightly, the sorrow in her expression was like a faint, reflective thread, hardly visible, yet the pain it caused when it cut was incredibly real.

Perhaps for the sake of the memorial, or perhaps simply because she wasn’t in the mood, Zhou Jibai’s makeup was very light.

She still possessed that alluring charm, but it was tinged with a fragile sense of being on the brink of breaking.

Song Ming’s other hand, tucked into her trench coat pocket, clenched silently.

“I… heard Zhong Zhengcheng looked for you.” After a long silence, Song Ming raised her hand. Originally, she wanted to touch Zhou Jibai’s cheek, but she withdrew it a moment before she could feel her warmth.

“You’re keeping a very close eye on me.” Zhou Jibai turned her head indifferently, her light brown eyes looking at Song Ming, devoid of any extra emotion.

These words weren’t much warmer than the cold rain falling between them. The sporadic, inexplicable tenderness that had led Song Ming here was scattered by the wind, and her icy logic returned.

Unwilling to clash with Zhou Jibai at a time like this, Song Ming proactively averted her gaze. “It’s merely to prevent the situation from spiraling out of control. Fortunately, nothing went wrong today.”

“You’re worried about me?”

Zhou Jibai stared at Song Ming for a while, then let out a soft laugh.