Chapter 8: Madam, Our Ancestor Is Not Right

Upon hearing, Manager Xu's eyebrows lifted in a smile; compensation ten parts, wife and daughter three parts each, son one part—just right.

As he walked, he thought, I must definitely make the little ancestor fall.

Zhou Yinhe sat on the floor leaning against the bed, head tilted back, gazing blankly at the ceiling.

Jiang Jibai quickly returned the call.

"Wen Ling lives in Lang Po Wan, bought two adjacent buildings, she lives in one, next door live her personal maids, housekeepers, and private doctors."

Zhou Yinhe blinked his dry, tired eyes from staying up late, gave a faint hum, and hung up.

He slowly rose, slipped on his slippers, lazily went downstairs, threw his phone to Manager Xu, his whole person appearing dark and decadent.

"I'm sleeping; don't call me for anything."

Manager Xu caught the phone, saw him turn and head straight upstairs, stepped forward and said anxiously, "Ancestor, why not have some breakfast before sleeping?"

"No."

Manager Xu could only stand there, watching him go upstairs, then turned and called Zhou Yinhe's mother, the famous noblewoman Mrs. Zhou of Sijiucheng, Ning Qing.

"Madam, our ancestor is acting strange."

Ning Qing was having breakfast in the Zhou family garden, wearing a light-colored cheongsam, her hair neatly styled, sitting at a Western-style table, her whole bearing exuding dignified elegance.

Of her five children, only the youngest, Zhou Yinhe, resembled her, so she doted on him extra; hearing Manager Xu's words, her dignified elegance vanished, and she anxiously asked, "What happened? What happened?"

Manager Xu told Ning Qing that Zhou Yinhe had stayed up all night, smashed his phone, and called Jiang Jibai to inquire about someone's illness.

Ning Qing breathed a sigh of relief, sat back steadily, her dignified elegance returning, and softly said, "It's probably just a quarrel with a girl he likes; he should also think about his lifelong matter—what's that girl's name? Did you hear it?"

Manager Xu thought carefully: "Sounds like something… ling? Wen Ling?"

"Who are you talking about?!"

Upon hearing, Ning Qing shot up, knowing full well the effect that name Wen Ling had on her little son; now her dignified elegance was completely gone.

"You said Yinhe asked where Wen Ling lives, whether she's sick, whether she saw a doctor?!"

Manager Xu: "Hmm… probably?"

Ning Qing began pacing in place, her voice low, saying, "It's over, it's over."

Manager Xu was somewhat puzzled, and Ning Qing didn't explain to him; that matter had long been suppressed by the family, known only to Zhou Yinhe's friends, the head steward who witnessed it, and a few loyal servants—basically no outsiders knew, and since Manager Xu had been on a six-month leave back then, he too was unaware.

Ning Qing instructed him: "Take good care of him, be sure to watch for anything else unusual, and tell me immediately if there is." She thought, then added: "I've already arranged for your daughter to enroll in school; she can start next semester."

Manager Xu gratefully thanked her and promised he would certainly watch over the little ancestor well.

After hanging up, Ning Qing called her second son, Zhou Congyu, who had just arrived at the company and was walking to the meeting room door, preparing to hold a meeting with the company's executives.

He gestured for the executives to go in and wait, then he walked to the corridor's observation window and answered the call.

Zhou Congyu greeted warmly with a smile, "Mom, have you had breakfast?"

In Sijiucheng, the Zhou family's three sons and two daughters are all other people's pride: the eldest son, Zhou Yanqiu, has naturally taken over the conglomerate; the eldest daughter, Zhou Qiyue, manages real estate and property development; the second son and eldest daughter are fraternal twins, now managing her maternal family, the Ning household; the youngest daughter now carries her violin, performing in theaters around the country.

As for the youngest son, Zhou Yinhe, he now runs his own financial investment holding company and, relying on his own ability, has taken it public.

"Still having breakfast!" Ning Qing said anxiously, "Go check quickly—has Wen Ling come to Sijiucheng? Has she seen your brother?"

Zhou Congyu stared for a moment, then gave a helpless smile: "Mom, even if Wen Ling came to Sijiucheng and saw Xiao Wu, that's Xiao Wu's affair; if I investigate and let Xiao Wu know we're meddling, he'll surely lose his temper again."

Ning Qing sighed, "I don't want to check either, but look at your brother's state three years ago—just thinking about it frightens me."

Zhou Congyu could only comfort his mother, but she was lost in her memories, unhappy, so he had to investigate for her.

"Mom, I'll have someone look into it and tell you if we find anything; don't rush, Xiao Wu isn't like before anymore—nothing like three years ago will happen again."

Only then did Ning Qing relax a little.

When Wen Ling woke again, her whole body felt stuffy, her pajamas soaked with sweat, as if she were in a steamer.

She got up, feeling her head less heavy than before, and went to the bathroom for a hot bath.

When she returned to the bedroom, she pulled the incessantly ringing phone from under the blankets and answered.

"Why did you take so long to answer? Have you got Zhou Yinhe under control?" a man's languid voice came through.

"No." Wen Ling recalled that call, feeling a bit down: "I had a fever, just woke up."

"What's wrong?" the man's voice sounded flustered; Wen Ling didn't notice and directly recounted yesterday's events in full.

The man gritted his teeth: "You want to scheme against Ruan MiaoMiao by playing with your own body?"

"Only this way will they doubt Ruan MiaoMiao's hypocrisy, paving the way for my later moves—and I'm not unscathed, am I?" Wen Ling pouted, unfazed.

The man grew angrier: "Don't you know your own condition? A serious illness takes half your life, yet you dare to act like this?"

Wen Ling also felt strange: "This time nothing happened—I just had a fever and got better as soon as I woke up."

The man said nothing more, fell silent for a moment, then hung up directly.

Wen Ling didn't understand what was wrong with him, blinked, puzzledly scratched her nose, and the room door knocked—Aunt Zhou's voice came: "Ah Ling, are you awake?"

Wen Ling stood, walked over, opened the door, and smiled softly: "Aunt Zhou, I'm awake."

Aunt Zhou touched her forehead—indeed not hot—and sighed in relief: "Good, the fever's gone."

Wen Ling smiled, eyes crinkling: "Mm-hmm, I don't know why, but this time I recovered especially fast."

Aunt Zhou glared at her: "Is getting better quickly a bad thing?"

"Sure." Wen Ling linked arms with Aunt Zhou, and they went downstairs together; Aunt Zhou suddenly patted her head, saying, "I forgot—I wanted to ask what you'd like for lunch."

Wen Ling thought, then said, "I want noodles, clear broth noodles, the kind you make for me."

I don't know why, but ever since I had Aunt Zhou's noodle soup, it's stuck in my mind, and I occasionally crave it.

Aunt Zhou affectionately patted her hand, smiling: "All right, I'll go make it for you."

After Aunt Zhou left, Wen Ling picked up her phone again and glanced down at the call log displayed.