The Heiress's Game

Gu Zhenxing even went to see Julie in person.

He changed into casual clothes—a dark gray cashmere cardigan and navy blue trousers, the same outfit Julie had casually complimented on during their last phone call.

He even tidied his hair in front of the mirror, combing the white hair at his temples back with his fingers a couple of times. He couldn't hide it, but he didn't care.

When they passed a flower shop, he asked Lao Zhou to stop the car and went in to pick out a bunch of white tulips.

The shop owner asked him if he wanted a card, and after thinking for a moment, he said no, paid the money, and put the flowers on the passenger seat.

On the last day of the exhibition, there were not many people left in the art museum.

Julie stood beneath the painting inspired by him, wearing a beige linen shirt with the cuffs loosely rolled up to her forearms, her hands still stained with a small patch of indelible cobalt blue paint.

She turned around from in front of the easel and saw him standing in the doorway, holding a large bouquet of white tulips. She paused for a moment, then smiled.

"Mr. Gu, what brings you here?"

"It's the last day of the exhibition, if you don't come now you won't be able to see it."

He handed her the flowers, his gaze lingering on her face for two seconds—she wasn't as tired or downcast as he had imagined; she was clean and tidy, and still had that glass of warm water.

Julie took the flowers, lowered her head to smell them, and when she looked up again, her eyes held a hint of embarrassment, like a little girl caught stealing candy by her elders.

She handed the flowers to her assistant to put away and asked Gu Zhenxing to sit down by the window, where the afternoon sunlight was a pale golden hue and a few straight metasequoia trees were visible.

"I was painting this picture when you called last time."

She pointed to the largest piece behind her, "I was halfway through painting it when the paint wasn't dry, so I couldn't free my hands. I didn't have time to reply to you later—I've been working on this all week, staying up several nights in a row."

When she said she had stayed up all night for several nights, her tone was light as if she were saying the weather was nice today, but the faint bluish tinge under her eyes couldn't lie.

Gu Zhenxing frowned slightly, then relaxed, following her gaze to the painting.

For the first time, he understood from the completed canvas how "the Jingnan Campaign" that Julie had talked about had become something else in her colors—she had combined that conversation with the sea, flames, and golden clouds.

It is not a historical painting; there are no swords, spears, or soldiers. There is only chaotic light and light breaking through the chaos.

"This painting is called 'Cassia Seed'," Julie said softly, standing beside him.

"When you talked to me about the decision to move the capital, and how Emperor Yongle made the decision when everyone was against it, I saw the same thing in you—you made many decisions that others couldn't make in your life."

After our conversation that day, I didn't sleep a wink all night and finished all the sketches. I especially want to thank you; without you, I wouldn't have been able to create this painting.

As Gu Zhenxing listened to her, he leaned back slightly, his eyes growing warmer with each passing moment.

He has been flattered by too many people in his life.

The executives on the board praised his brilliant decision-making, his business friends at the dinner praised his foresight, and even Ning Limei always nodded with a smile and said that Lao Gu was right. That was gentleness, consideration, and agreeing with what he said.

But no one ever told him to go back and paint all night after he finished talking about a piece of history, and he actually painted a work called "Jue Ming" all night.

"Me, an old man half-buried in the ground, and you think I'm your inspiration?"

"Why not?" she retorted almost instinctively, earnestly and frankly.

"Our relationship is a rare and precious friendship that transcends age. You are not only my inspiration, but also my muse."

She pronounced the word "muse" very softly, but her eyes were shining. Her clean and open demeanor touched a deep-seated chord in Gu Zhenxing's heart.

At sixty-seven, he thought his strings had long since rusted.

He lowered his head, took a sip of tea, and his knuckles turned slightly white when he put the teacup down.

He didn't speak. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth, he would feel a tightness in his throat and Julie would notice.

"About that day—" he said after a pause, his voice lowering.

"I've already had my secretary investigate. I want to see who it is. You're my guest, Gu Zhenxing; anyone who touches you is touching me."

Julie gently shook her head. "Mr. Gu, there's really no need to investigate. That's all they can say about us."

I know that you and I are completely innocent, and that's enough.

Over the years, when I held art exhibitions, no one thought it was abnormal for men to buy my paintings. However, when it came to elders who were my close friends despite the age gap, strange rumors immediately started circulating about them—yet my paintings still sold well.

No one can starve a person who lives off their paintbrush.

When she said the words "pure and innocent," her gaze lingered cleanly on his face for a moment before shifting away. She looked down at the small patch of paint on her palm that she couldn't wash off, rubbed it with another finger, but it didn't come off.

Those four words, along with that fleeting glance away, made Gu Zhenxing swallow back the rest of his sentence, "I'll take care of those media outlets for you."

She didn't dodge, didn't cry, and didn't lean on his shoulder to complain.

She simply said "completely innocent" and then lowered her head to rub the paint.

That composure brought a belated, dull pain to Gu Zhenxing's heart—she should have been a porcelain doll, but she had long since worn herself down into unbreakable iron.

This girl suffered such a great injustice, yet he couldn't give her a legitimate reason to protect her.

Even now, sitting here with a reporter squatting outside the window with a camera, he doesn't dare to openly hold her hand, yet his eyes well up with tears because of her "pure and innocent" reputation.

"Fine. You won't let me investigate, but I'll investigate anyway."

He said this at the end, his tone tinged with a stubborn willfulness and an indescribable tenderness.

"I'm not trying to scare anyone, but I want them all to know that if anyone dares to touch you again, they'll be punched in the face."

You absolutely must leave this matter to me. I won't be able to live with myself if you don't agree.

He spoke in a very low voice, as if afraid of startling her.

Julie didn't refuse again. She squinted slightly in the sunlight, gathered the tulips in her arms, and whispered:

"Alright. Then I'll let you worry about this for me this once. But only this once, and never again."

She reached out and touched the edge of a white petal with her finger. "I'll put this bouquet you sent in my studio."