Chapter Eleven: Dinner with Gu jue
1219 Words
The restaurant was called “Yue Xuan”. It sat on the 88th floor of a tower that didn’t appear on public maps. No sign. No reservations online. Only Gu family members and those they summoned ate here.
Xinyi arrived at 7:58 PM. Not 8:00. Not 7:55. Two minutes early was her rule.
She wore black jeans, a plain black shirt, and flat shoes. Her hair was tied back. No makeup. No jewelry except a thin silver chain at her wrist. Across the street, waiters in gold-trimmed uniforms froze when they saw her. A girl in school clothes walking into Yue Xuan was like a stray cat entering a lion’s den.
Gu Jue was already seated.
He wore a charcoal suit. No tie. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone. On the table: two glasses, one bottle of water, and nothing else. No flowers. No menu. He didn’t believe in pretense.
“You came,” he said as she sat across from him. His voice was flat. No relief. No accusation.
“You sent the time,” Xinyi replied. She placed her hands on her lap. Calm. “I keep appointments.”
A waiter moved to pour water. Gu Jue lifted one finger. The waiter stopped and left. Silence stretched between them. Yue Xuan had no music. Only the sound of the city 88 floors below.
“Why medicine?” Gu Jue asked finally. His eyes didn’t blink. “Not piano. Not business. Not law. Medicine.”
Xinyi tilted her head. “Because I can.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
Gu Jue studied her. Most people under his gaze shifted, stammered, or lied. Xinyi didn’t. She reached for the glass of water, took one sip, and set it down precisely where it had been.
“You deleted my message,” he said. Not a question.
“You sent it,” she replied.
For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Not anger. Not amusement. Something closer to respect. He leaned back.
“The Lin family won’t bother you again. Old Man Liu signed a non-disclosure agreement. He’ll lose his company if he speaks your name.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“I know.” Gu Jue’s fingers tapped the table once. “You handled it yourself. One call. No tears. No negotiation.”
Xinyi said nothing. She was cataloging the room. Two exits. No cameras visible, but the reflection on the glass wall told her there were at least three. Gu Jue’s assistant stood by the elevator, back turned. Privacy, but not trust.
“Then why dinner?” she asked. “If the problem is solved.”
“Curiosity.” Gu Jue’s answer came without hesitation. “You saved my grandfather with three herbs. You fixed a bodyguard’s nerve damage with one needle. You activated a betrothal clause you’d never seen before. I don’t like variables I can’t calculate.”
“So you’re studying me.”
“I’m observing.” He corrected her. “There’s a difference.”
The doors opened. Not a waiter. Three men in black. Cameras flashed from the hallway before security shut them out. Paparazzi. Someone had leaked that Gu Jue was dining at Yue Xuan.
Gu Jue didn’t stand. He didn’t curse. He simply rose, walked around the table, and stopped in front of Xinyi. His shadow fell over her.
“Stay seated,” he said quietly. Not a command. A warning.
He pulled out his phone and typed one message. Within 10 seconds, the lights in the restaurant dimmed. A hidden panel in the wall slid open, revealing a private service elevator.
Gu Jue’s hand hovered near her back but didn’t touch her. “Side door. Now.”
Xinyi stood. She didn’t ask questions. She followed. The elevator was small, metal, no mirrors. As the doors closed, she heard Gu Jue’s assistant on the phone: “Clear all exits. No photos leave this building.”
The elevator descended in silence. When the doors opened, they were in an underground garage. A black car waited, engine running.
“Get in,” Gu Jue said. He opened the passenger door himself. No driver. He slid into the driver’s seat.
Xinyi buckled her seatbelt. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did.” Gu Jue pulled out onto the empty road. His driving was precise. No wasted movement. “If your face appears in tabloids tomorrow, the Lin family will use it. They’ll claim you’re chasing Gu family attention. Your reputation will become their weapon.”
Xinyi looked at him. “You protect your property.”
Gu Jue’s hands tightened on the wheel. “The betrothal contract protects you. I protect the contract.”
She didn’t argue. The car moved through City A’s night streets. Neon lights slid across the windows. Neither spoke for five minutes.
“You’re not like the other girls my family introduces me to,” Gu Jue said finally. His voice was lower now.
Xinyi: “I’m not a girl. I’m eighteen.”
“Eighteen with the hands of a surgeon and the patience of a sniper.” He stopped at a red light. Turned to her. “Who taught you?”
Xinyi met his gaze. “No one.”
The light turned green. Gu Jue drove on. He didn’t press. He filed the lie away for later.
At her apartment building, he stopped the car but didn’t kill the engine. The building was old. Paint peeling. A far cry from Gu Estate.
Xinyi unbuckled her seatbelt. “Thank you for dinner. We didn’t eat, but thank you.”
Gu Jue’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Almost. “You’re welcome for the exit.”
She opened the door. Paused. “Mr Gu. Next time you want information, ask directly. Games waste time.”
Then she closed the door and walked into the building without looking back.
Gu Jue watched her disappear into the stairwell. He didn’t leave until the light on the third floor turned on. Only then did he drive away.
Miles away, in the Gu Empire tower, his assistant waited with a folder.
“Sir, Miss Lin’s medical file. From the city hospital.” The assistant placed it on the desk. “There’s a three-year gap. Ages 12 to 15. All records redacted. Official reason: ‘patient privacy request by guardian’.”
Gu Jue opened the folder. One page. Her name. Birth date. Then black ink. Three years erased.
His fingers tapped the desk once. Twice. “Who was her guardian at 12?”
“Records say… no one listed. She was admitted alone. Treated for severe malnutrition and a knife wound on her left shoulder. Then discharged. No follow-up.”
Gu Jue closed the folder slowly. He didn’t speak for a long time.
“Find what they erased,” he said at last. His voice was soft, but it carried weight. “Not her records. Who redacted them. Who had the power to make a child disappear for three years.”
The assistant nodded and left.
Gu Jue turned to the window. City A stretched below him, millions of lights, millions of secrets. But only one held his attention now.
He didn’t want answers. He wanted her.
- Writer
