Transmigrated into a female-oriented novel, and put an end to the domineering CEOs all over the city

A black sedan slowly drove into the manor.

The car door opened, and Mo Yan calmly stepped out of the car.

He stood in front of the imposing main building, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses, and tilted his head slightly to look at the building before him.

The assistant quickly stepped forward, head bowed, and said respectfully, "Mr. Mo, the manor is now completely under our control."

"Um."

Mo Yan nodded slightly, took a deep breath, and tried to calm the barely suppressed turmoil in his heart.

But the corners of his mouth still turned up uncontrollably, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it.

"Where's the meow?"

The assistant's face stiffened. He opened his mouth, then finally managed to say with difficulty, "Ms. Miao... is not at the manor."

The slight smile on Mo Yan's lips vanished instantly.

He turned his head, his gaze falling on his assistant, his eyes icy: "Searched everywhere? Like the basement?"

The assistant swallowed hard, lowering his head even further: "Yes, there's no trace of Ms. Miao, and... Bo Liang and his assistant aren't at the manor either."

The air suddenly became quiet.

The assistant didn't dare to look up.

"So," Mo Yan's voice seemed to be squeezed out bit by bit from between his teeth, "I went through so much trouble, and the plan was executed so smoothly."

"You're telling me I'm just a clown controlling a useless manor?"

The assistant dared not speak.

Mo Yan took another deep breath.

He made such thorough preparations for tonight.

He had even rehearsed his expressions countless times, deciding from what angle to walk into the room and in what tone to call her name.

When she lunges at me with red eyes, which hand should I use to catch her, and which hand should I use to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear?

He likes two things the most.

One is to dismantle your plans bit by bit in front of the enemy, watching them go from being arrogant to ashen-faced, and finally to not even having the strength to beg for mercy.

The other thing was to show this game he had set up in front of the person he cared about most.

The former is a knife, the latter is sugar.

The stage is set up, the play is over, but there's not a single person in the audience.

He really wanted to strangle this stupid assistant, but he held back.

Although this assistant is not very bright, he is quite organized and methodical when carrying out tasks, and he has not made any mistakes in the arrangements made during this period.

He slowly exhaled and asked, "Does the inside man also know where Bo Liang went?"

The assistant quickly replied, "They don't know. Only Assistant Li and the head of the bodyguards know Bo Liang's whereabouts."

"Don't they even know if any cars left the manor during the day?" Mo Yan was practically gritting his teeth.

The assistant had clearly asked this question before and quickly explained:

"According to them, only Assistant Li went out with a group of people in the morning. Assistant Li usually goes out on business in the morning, so this is a normal thing and no one thought it was wrong."

"Where's the cold, indifferent car?"

"The cold-looking car is still in the manor."

Mo Yan's eyes narrowed slightly.

He stood there for a moment, pondered, and then he understood.

Bo Liang also has plans for today.

So he didn't take his own car in the morning because it would be too conspicuous and attract attention.

So he got into Assistant Li's car.

The fact that he went out so discreetly suggests that he needed to avoid being seen by others, especially to prevent being tracked.

However, the Bo Group is practically equivalent to the government in Xunhui City, so what he needs to hide from is definitely not the eyes of the local people in Xunhui City.

And then, considering that Miao Miaomiao isn't at the manor either...

"Have you found Miao Miao's room?" He suddenly looked at his assistant.

"Found it."

"How long has it been since anyone lived here?"

The assistant thought for a moment, then hesitated, "It feels...like it'll take quite a while..."

Mo Yan: "..."

What do you mean by "feels like it's been a long time"? Is that even an answer?

If I ask you how far it is, you say it feels quite far; if I ask you how high it is, you say it feels quite high; if I ask you how many people are there, you say there seem to be quite a lot of people…

He closed his eyes, then opened them again, and sighed silently in his heart.

Forget it.

He really can't expect too much from these people's intelligence.

"Take me there," he said calmly.

"Yes."

Miao Miaomiao's room is on the second floor, with oil paintings hanging on both sides of the corridor and soft lighting.

Mo Yan had one hand in his pocket and the other hanging at his side, his expression calm.

The assistant led the way, stopping in front of the innermost door. He turned sideways and gently pushed the door open with both hands: "Mr. Mo, this is the room."

Mo Yan observed for a moment before slowly stepping inside.

The room was large and bright.

The off-white curtains were drawn with a thin inner layer, allowing afternoon sunlight to filter through and fall on the light-colored wooden floor. A faint scent of fragrance filled the air.

Mo Yan went inside and looked out the window first.

There was a light layer of dust around the edge of the windowsill, but the small area around the window lock was very clean, as if it had been touched repeatedly.

There was a small steel lock hanging on the latch, locked, but there were small, shallow, and old pry marks on the edge.

He looked at it for a few seconds, then looked away and slowly walked to the bedside.

The bed was large and neatly made.

Mo Yan stood by the bed, suddenly pulled back the covers, bent down, and walked from the head of the bed to the foot of the bed, his eyes slowly scanning every inch of the fabric.

I noticed a spot along the edge of the middle section of the sheet where there were several tiny, inconspicuous lint balls.

If it weren't for his meticulous nature, taking half a day to observe even the slightest movement of an ant, someone else squatting down wouldn't have noticed anything at all.

This indicates that someone repeatedly touched this spot to leave the trace.

Mo Yan slowly straightened up and looked at the bedside table again.

There was nothing superfluous on it except for a lamp and a photo album.

Mo Yan picked up the photo album and opened it.

There was only one faded family photo inside, showing a kind-looking couple with a little girl, about seven or eight years old, standing in the middle with her eyes crinkled in a smile.

Turning the page further, all the pages are blank.

Mo Yan looked at her for a few seconds, and realized that this little girl... was the one he remembered.

He slowly closed the photo album and handed it to his assistant, who quickly took it with both hands and held it in his arms.

Mo Yan didn't stop. He noticed that on the carpet at the foot of the bed, there was a spot where the plush was noticeably flatter than the surrounding area.

He crouched down and observed carefully.

The pile of that small patch of carpet had indeed flattened, lower than the surrounding area, and lighter in color, as if a heavy object had been pressing down on it for years.

He was very close to the edge of the bed. He glanced at the room, then at the carpet, and slowly looked away without saying anything.

There were no chairs in the room, not even a small stool.

In other words, when the cat eats, it curls up on this carpet day after day, and does this for every meal.

She herself had already gotten used to shrinking into this place.

Like a pet cat.