Chapter Four: Desperate Family Background
1730 Words
The screen didn’t freeze.
Li Mo thought it would end when he reached the sofa, but the screen only went black for a second before lighting up again.
It was still Liu Ruyan’s home.
The living room lights were off; only the wall lamp at the end of the hallway was on, casting a dim, yellow glow on the wall.
He saw himself in the footage, lying on the sofa with one arm draped across his forehead and the other hand hanging down, his fingers still touching an overturned wine glass.
Liu Ruyan was sitting in the armchair beside him.
She shifted her position, crossing her legs, holding a glass of water in her hand, and simply stared at him.
She stared for a long time.
A voiceover appeared.
[No physical intimacy occurred that night. After the effects of the alcohol wore off, Li Mo regained partial consciousness and refused further contact, citing, “Ms. Liu, I can’t.”]
Li Mo froze for a moment.
In the footage, he struggled to sit up halfway on the sofa, his eyes bloodshot, his speech still slurred.
“Sister Liu… I’m not that kind of person… You’re my boss, I can’t…”
Liu Ruyan didn’t say anything.
She looked at him, her expression calm.
Li Mo in the footage spoke again.
“You were drunk… If I’d done anything, what would make me any different from an animal?”
Liu Ruyan’s hand holding the glass paused.
Then she smiled.
A faint smile—the corners of her mouth twitched ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly.
“All right.” She stood up and set the glass on the coffee table. “The guest room is the second door on the left down the hall. I’ve had the housekeeper make up the bed.”
On screen, he stared blankly at her retreating figure.
Liu Ruyan paused for a second as she reached the end of the hallway.
She didn’t turn back.
“Li Mo, you’re a good person.”
With that, she walked away.
The scene cut.
The next morning. Liu Ruyan sat at the dining table eating breakfast.
Fully made up, her hair neatly pinned up, and wearing a dark blue blazer, she looked nothing like the woman who had pinned him down on the sofa the night before.
On screen, he emerged from the guest room, his hair a messy, bird’s nest.
The two exchanged a brief glance.
Liu Ruyan lowered her head to take a sip of porridge, her tone as matter-of-fact as if she were discussing the weather.
“Sit down. Have breakfast.”
On screen, he stood frozen in place, his lips moving slightly.
“Last night...”
“Eat.” Liu Ruyan cut him off without even lifting her eyes.
He sat down.
He buried his head in his bowl, not daring to say a single word.
Voiceover.
[Over the next three days, Liu Ruyan’s attitude toward Li Mo at work remained exactly the same as before. She made no mention of the events of that night.]
The footage begins to speed up.
Scenes flash by one after another, like a documentary on fast-forward.
Li Mo realized he was starting to change.
It wasn’t his personality that had changed; it was the way he did things.
In the footage, he is seen following Liu Ruyan around, carrying a black briefcase.
Liu Ruyan’s meeting runs until 2:00 p.m. He waits outside the conference room, holding a cup of lukewarm water.
Not hot water, not cold water—lukewarm water. Liu Ruyan takes it, takes a sip, and says nothing.
The scene cuts.
Liu Ruyan is having dinner with a client. The person across from her keeps urging her to drink, glass after glass.
In the scene, he stands half a step behind Liu Ruyan. When she reaches her third glass, he leans in close to her ear and whispers something.
Liu Ruyan glances at him and sets down her glass.
“Sorry, my stomach isn’t feeling well. I’ll have tea instead of wine.”
Voiceover.
[Li Mo starts carrying stomach medicine with him.]
The scene cuts again.
Backstage at a signing ceremony.
Liu Ruyan has just stepped off the stage, a forced smile still on her face.
He hands her a wet wipe.
Liu Ruyan takes it, wipes her hands, and tosses it into the trash can.
Then he offers her a piece of candy.
Liu Ruyan glances down at it—a mint.
She doesn’t take it, looking at him: “Since when did you know I have low blood sugar?”
His expression remains unchanged: “Last time, your hands were shaking when you came out of a three-hour board meeting.”
Liu Ruyan stares at him for two seconds.
She took the candy.
She didn’t say thank you.
The footage continued to fast-forward.
Fragmented scenes flashed by one after another.
He placed a blanket in Liu Ruyan’s car.
He put a box of sanitary pads in a drawer in Liu Ruyan’s office.
He memorized Liu Ruyan’s coffee preferences: American-style, no sugar, no milk, and the temperature must not exceed sixty degrees.
He memorized the specific days of each month when Liu Ruyan’s temper would be particularly short.
He would automatically postpone all non-urgent reports, submitting only documents requiring her signature—without a single extra word.
Voiceover.
[In his seventh month as the chairman’s assistant, Li Mo had fully mastered Liu Ruyan’s daily habits and menstrual cycle. The level of detail in his service surpassed that of any previous assistant in Liu Ruyan’s entourage.]
Li Mo sat on the bed watching these scenes, and a word popped into his mind.
Suck-up.
No.
More meticulous than a sycophant—a sycophant seeks to curry favor.
The version of himself in the footage didn’t seem to be currying favor; it was more as if he’d turned another person’s life into his own work manual, noting down each item one by one and executing them one by one.
No superfluous expressions, no superfluous words.
Once the task was done, he’d step aside and stand there quietly.
The scene cuts again.
This time, it’s not a work setting.
A private estate.
It’s absurdly large; just driving through the gardens takes two minutes.
A row of cars is parked at the entrance to the main building, the least impressive of which is a Mercedes-Benz S-Class.
In the scene, he’s wearing a black suit, following Liu Ruyan as they walk through the gates.
Today, Liu Ruyan wore a burgundy cheongsam, her hair pinned up, with a pair of jade earrings dangling from her earlobes.
It was the first time he’d seen her in a cheongsam.
To be honest, he couldn’t help but stare at her for a few extra seconds on screen.
There weren’t many people in the lobby, but every single one of them exuded an overwhelming aura.
Some were in military uniforms.
There was an elderly man with completely white hair, but his back was straight as a board.
A few middle-aged men stood together talking; their voices weren’t loud, but the waitstaff nearby even held their breath.
Liu Ruyan walked over to greet an elderly man seated at the head of the table.
“Grandfather.”
In the video, Li Mo stood three paces away, his back as stiff as a board.
The old man glanced at Liu Ruyan, then looked at him standing behind her.
“Is this your assistant?”
“Yes,” Liu Ruyan said with a smile.
The old man nodded and said nothing more.
A middle-aged man in a Zhongshan suit walked over and clinked glasses with Liu Ruyan.
“Ruyan, your father just told me you’ll be attending next month’s meeting on his behalf.”
“Okay, Uncle Er.”
In the scene, Li Mo stood nearby, his eyes fixed straight ahead, but his ears pricked up.
He caught a few words.
“Leadership transition.”
“The old man’s wishes.”
Each word felt like a stone crashing into his ears. A voiceover emerged.
[Liu Ruyan’s grandfather, former Vice Minister Liu Zhengguo. His family wields deep influence in both political and business circles. The gathering was held to celebrate Liu Zhengguo’s 90th birthday, with attendees including three current provincial and ministerial-level officials and two retired generals.】
Li Mo felt his blood vessels constrict.
Former deputy?
Provincial and ministerial-level.
Retired generals.
He didn’t even dare to breathe loudly.
The scene continued.
Halfway through the banquet, Liu Ruyan walked over to him, holding a wine glass.
“What’s wrong? You’re so pale.”
“N-nothing… I’m fine.”
“Nervous?” Liu Ruyan tilted her head and chuckled. “It’s not like you’re going up on stage to give a speech.”
On screen, he twisted the corners of his mouth into a smile that looked more like a grimace than a smile.
Liu Ruyan turned her head, looked at the people in the hall, and suddenly said,
Her tone was casual, as if she were joking.
“Li Mo, tell me, if one day you’re not by my side anymore, how am I supposed to go on living?”
He froze on screen. Liu Ruyan wasn’t looking at him; she held her wine glass, took a sip, and kept her eyes fixed ahead.
But her peripheral vision remained fixed on his face.
The camera cut to a close-up of Li Mo.
His expression shifted several times in a fraction of a second.
First, he flinched.
Then his lips twitched, as if he wanted to say something.
Then he saw the people in the hall.
Some in military uniforms, some in Zhongshan suits, and some with gray hair.
His expression quickly vanished.
“Ms. Liu is joking,” he said, lowering his eyes as his voice returned to the standard, proper tone of a subordinate. “I’m just an assistant. With so many talented people in the company, it wouldn’t make a difference who came.”
Liu Ruyan’s hand holding the wine glass paused for a second.
A very brief second.
Then she smiled.
“You’re right.”
She turned and walked away.
Narration.
[Liu Ruyan’s attempt to probe him did not yield the expected response. Upon realizing the true background of the Liu family, Li Mo chose to retreat completely, strictly limiting his self-image to that of a “subordinate.”]
- Writer
