Chapter 28

Chapter 28: 028 – Jin Ying Gala?

Outside the Capital’s Jin Ying banquet venue, media reporters had been camping out since the afternoon. Heavy cameras rested on their shoulders, their eyes sharp and hungry, terrified of missing the next headline.

As dusk bled into night, luxury cars began rolling into the hotel grounds one after another.

The moment a door opened, the flashbulbs exploded.

Men and women stepped out polished to perfection, smiles already pasted on, and the media pounced without mercy.

Inside the banquet hall, the lights were brilliant. Glasses clinked. Slow, soothing music drifted over conversation like a veil.

Dressed-up guests held their wine and gathered in small groups, laughter rising and falling, the air thick with perfume and the faint heat of bodies too close.

The scent of alcohol spilled from clinking glasses, and no one knew whose eyes it blurred—or whose heart it intoxicated.

“This Elder Ji really is something,” a middle-aged man muttered near the wine table, his voice low but smug. “He harmed his only disciple, and I heard the two of them even fell out because of it. Yet yesterday he still insisted on supporting that celebrity.”

“Who knows what he’s thinking,” someone else said, shaking his head. “At this age, he’s about to lose his late reputation.”

“Shh.” Another man glanced around, wary. “Keep it down. His connections in the circle aren’t something you can afford to offend. Be careful he’ll come after you.”

“I’m not afraid,” the first man scoffed. “I heard he’s retiring this year. He won’t be able to control us anymore.”

He took a sip and smirked. “Finally, we won’t have him staring at us as the discipline commissioner. We can breathe again.”

A fourth man looked startled. “He’s retiring? Who told you that? Doesn’t he still have a script he’s polishing?”

It was said to be his closed-door masterpiece. How could he suddenly retire?

“I heard it from him and the chairperson in person,” the potbellied man said, confidence oily. “It can’t be fake. I guess the script in his hands is going to be dropped too.”

“Damn,” someone hissed. “No way. I heard he’s been polishing that script for eight or nine years. How can he bear to drop it?”

The potbellied man snorted. “Who knows. Maybe he wants to save what’s left of his reputation.”

He tilted his glass. “After all, he even fell out with his successor over some washed-up minor celebrity.”

Their gossip carried… and landed.

Behind a Roman column nearby, a breathtaking beauty leaned in the shadow, listening.

She wore a silver evening gown with a high side slit. The hem brushed her ankles, and her 10-centimeter stilettos glittered with a broken-diamond shine each time she shifted her weight.

A glass of blood-red wine rested in her hand. She leaned slightly against the column, one foot subtly hooked, eyes lowered, the light catching along her lashes like a promise.

She looked like a siren stepped out of an artbook—one smile away from ruin.

“Xiao Qiao Yan, why are you here alone?”

The men at the wine table froze mid-conversation, all turning toward the familiar voice.

A matron over fifty approached in a qipao with a shawl draped neatly over her shoulders.

Old Madam Qian.

Under the stunned gaze of the gossiping group, the woman behind the Roman column stepped out.

Qiao Qing Yan swayed forward with effortless grace, every step measured, every movement dangerous in its calm.

“I went upstairs just now,” she said, voice light. “You were busy, so I came down.”

Old Madam Qian’s expression paused, and understanding flickered in her eyes. Earlier, Old Ji had indeed had something to deal with. His disciple had gone up to find him.

“It was Old Ji’s disciple,” Old Madam Qian said smoothly. “He’s already left. Come on—let’s go up.”

The second floor held private rooms. The organizers had prepared several elegant lounges meant for important guests.