Chapter 12: All Hit

Inside the car, Mo Ran leaned back against the seat, silent for a long time, his mind swirling with countless thoughts.

"Thank you." After a considerable pause, taking advantage of the red light, Mo Ran suddenly spoke.

"Thank you?" Xiao Xiao was taken aback, turning to look at him, clearly waiting for an explanation.

"You know, Xiao Xiao, this is the first time I've seen an orphanage since I became the live-in son-in-law of the Su family," Mo Ran said slowly.

"They live such hard lives," Xiao Xiao replied, shaking her head, her tone heavy. If she hadn't seen it with her own eyes, she would never have known such suffering existed in the world.

Growing up, the only glimpses of hardship she'd had were through TV and her father's laments about the struggles of ordinary people. But none of that compared to what she witnessed today.

In a tiny room stood six bunk beds, arranged like a makeshift dormitory, leaving only a narrow aisle in the middle. In the corner, a rack held twelve washbasins in neat order. Oh, and above the corridor hung two old-fashioned fluorescent tubes and two whirring ceiling fans.

"Did you live in a place like that when you were little?" Seeing that Mo Ran didn't answer, Xiao Xiao pressed on.

"No, no, mine was much worse. At least now they have fans and beds. Back then, in summer, all I had was a pillow, a thin blanket, and a bamboo mat rolled out on the floor to sleep on. In winter, I just threw a thick quilt on top," Mo Ran recalled with a faint smile.

"The summers here are so hot, and the winters so cold. I didn't see any air conditioning, not even heating. How do they sleep?" Xiao Xiao asked in disbelief. In her world, air conditioning and heating—or at least air conditioners with heating—were standard.

"Xiao Xiao, do you know why I put up with being looked down on by the Su family?" Mo Ran smiled, abruptly switching the subject to his life with them.

"Hmm?" Xiao Xiao was puzzled by the sudden change in topic.

"Because Su Qingcheng gives me ten thousand yuan a month. I never have to worry about food or bills, and she even pays for the best social insurance package. So I hardly spend any money each month. Aside from essentials—clothes, phone bills—I send the rest to Mama Mo through my phone. But even then, it's barely enough to keep the orphanage running. Do you really think they can afford air conditioning?"

At his words, realization dawned on Xiao Xiao, and a new idea began to form in her mind.

More than half an hour later, at the entrance of Su Group, Mo Ran looked up at the towering building, opened the car door, and got out.

"Remember what I told you—don't let anything slip," Xiao Xiao reminded him anxiously before he left.

"President Su, Mo Ran has returned." The security guard, already instructed by Su Qingcheng, immediately reported the news to her, along with a photo.

"As expected, he's gotten close to the little princess of the Xiao family," Su Qingcheng thought. The photo, though grainy from the distance and angle, couldn't fool her intuition. Standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, she watched as Mo Ran slowly approached the building.

Soon, Mo Ran took Su Qingcheng's private elevator to the penultimate floor. Not long after, the secretary notified Su Qingcheng. She had waited all afternoon for this moment and wouldn't let it slip through her fingers, so she immediately summoned Mo Ran inside.

"Mo Ran, you're back. Did you have a good meal?" Su Qingcheng greeted him with a bright smile, making no mention of the port matter.

"It was fine. We talked about the port, so it took a bit longer," Mo Ran explained proactively.

"The port?" At this sensitive word, Su Qingcheng's eyes lit up, though she feigned confusion on her face.

"Yes, I tried to subtly ask about it," Mo Ran said, following Xiao Xiao's instructions and carefully observing Su Qingcheng's reaction.

"Why would you ask about that?" Su Qingcheng's expression changed at once, her voice taking on a tone of reproach—just as Xiao Xiao had predicted, though she didn't notice the sudden shift in Mo Ran's eyes.

"Could Xiao Xiao have been right?" he thought, his reaction matching exactly what Xiao Xiao had anticipated. Mo Ran was gripped by a mix of anxiety and a small, bitter sense of disappointment.

"Mo Ran, what's wrong?" Su Qingcheng asked, noticing his sudden silence.

"Oh, it's nothing. Maybe all the talking at lunch wore me out. I have a bit of a headache—you know, I haven't worked in three years," Mo Ran replied, lowering his head to avoid her gaze.

"Well, she didn't say anything else, did she?" Su Qingcheng pressed, almost inadvertently letting her true motives slip.

"No. She said she'd go back and take another look—she's not involved in government, after all, just used to hearing Secretary Xiao mention these things," Mo Ran replied, shaking his head.

"Just remember—never, ever ask about sensitive matters, like the government's base price or which company Secretary Xiao favors. At this critical stage, I don't want you getting into trouble. We just need to follow the process, no need for complications," Su Qingcheng warned, feigning concern, but inwardly pleased that things were going as she hoped.

Unbeknownst to her, everything she did was within Xiao Xiao’s expectations. The more she spoke, the heavier Mo Ran’s heart grew.

"I understand. Call me when you’re done for the day—I’ll rest in the conference room for a while," Mo Ran nodded, then left her office.

"Mo Ran, after three years of freeloading in my house, don’t you dare disappoint me," Su Qingcheng muttered darkly as the office door closed, her expression instantly turning cold. Even the smallest pretense with Mo Ran filled her with disgust.

Meanwhile, after leaving Su Qingcheng’s office, Mo Ran walked grimly toward the conference room—the only place he could go, since she hadn't given him an office.

Reaching the stairwell where he had overheard Su Qingcheng and Wang Bo's conversation that morning, he paused, stretched as if absentmindedly, and glanced up. Sure enough, a surveillance camera—one that could be controlled by a phone—was mounted on the ceiling, its lens aimed directly at the fire door.

Indeed, where there’s supposed to be trust, there’s at least twice as much distrust...