Chapter 812: Chapter 812: Return to the South Sea

At dawn, at five o’clock, the cabin door opened.

With early winter upon them, the biting cold wind hit their faces, making South Sea’s winter seem particularly bleak compared to British Imperial’s.

Shang Yu, holding Li Qiao, was the first to step out of the cabin door, followed closely by He Chen and Xi Luo.

The group said their farewells at the airport, with Xi Luo taking her suitcase from Luoyu and yawning her way towards the parking lot.

The one picking her up was still the handsome puppy-like young man from last time.

After putting her luggage in the trunk, he got into the car and asked with a cheerful grin, “Miss, you’ve been away for so long, did you bring me any gifts?”

Xi Luo glanced at him, switched her phone out of airplane mode, and answered nonchalantly, “I did, are two British Imperial banknotes enough?”

The puppy-like young man muttered something, but Xi Luo didn’t listen carefully.

Her gaze fixed on the screen, the page displayed a WeChat chat window, lying dormant with three screenshots.

They were sent to her by Princess Margaret eight hours ago.

After viewing the screenshots, Xi Luo was a picture of confusion.

What had happened in British Imperial?

Who is Paul Taglor Cherman?

Why is the entirety of British Imperial looking for him?

…

At ten in the morning, Li Qiao awoke languidly in the master bedroom of South Sea Mansion.

She rubbed her temples, her head feeling somewhat groggy.

The trip to British Imperial had been uneventful until she returned home, only to be overwhelmed by fatigue.

Li Qiao frowned, propped herself up for two seconds, then slumped back down again.

She felt heavy-headed and light-footed.

Thus, when Shang Yu entered the master bedroom for the third time, he saw Li Qiao wriggling slowly under the covers.

A slight smile appeared on his lips as he walked over and pulled at the corner of the blanket, only to see Li Qiao with furrowed brows and an uncomfortable expression.

The man’s face grew somber as he sat down at the bedside, his voice much deeper, “What’s wrong?”

Li Qiao kept her eyes closed and didn’t speak, her fingers poking out from the blanket to grasp hold of him, the overly warm palm of her hand causing Shang Yu’s jawline to tighten.

She had a fever.

Shang Yu bent down to scoop her up from the bed, his hand touching her slightly cool cheek, his expression growing increasingly grim.

Li Qiao, buried in his embrace, asked in a muffled voice, “Do we have any fever reducers at home?”

No sooner had she finished speaking than she seemed to remember something and sighed on her own, “Oh, can’t take them.”

Li Qiao was quite helpless; she probably caught a chill blowing wind when they got off the plane in the morning.

“Does it feel very bad?” Shang Yu checked her temperature, the emotion at the bottom of his eyes like a spilled jar of ink, thick and unable to dissipate.

Li Qiao pulled back from his hug and lay down again, her voice weak, “Not really, I’m going to sleep a little longer.”

The man sat by the bed, tucking in the blankets for her, his palm softly caressing her forehead.

After a while, seeing that Li Qiao’s breathing was even and she appeared to be asleep, Shang Yu narrowed his eyes and strode out of the master bedroom with a sharp pace.

Back in the living room, Wang Yue happened to come over, “Boss, is Zhui Feng…” going to have his annual leave approved?

“Get Cheng Mo to come here.”

Wang Yue felt a cold breeze sweep past, and when he looked again, his boss had already entered the elevator.

What’s this about?

Wang Yue stood still for two seconds before hurriedly picking up the phone to summon Cheng Mo.

Then he returned a call to Zhui Feng, basically saying the boss was too busy to approve his annual leave.

Zhui Feng, having been left in charge for half a month, nearly flipped the table.

He’s not even allowed a holiday?

Whose good fortune had all that hefty praying gone to?!

…

Cheng Mo arrived swiftly, stepping into the Mansion in less than twenty minutes.

In the dining room, Shang Yu’s tall and slender figure stood in front of the Glazed Pavilion, where ginger soup simmered in a clay pot. He had one hand in his pocket and the other holding a spoon, occasionally stirring.

Behind him, Cheng Mo adjusted his glasses, a look of mild surprise on his face, “Boss, launching a cross-border attack on the firewall is likely to draw the attention of other hackers, perhaps we should…”

The man, with his back to him, spoke in a tone very cold, “Do it.”