Before Jiang Cheng could answer, his gaze was drawn to the first-class door sliding slowly open.
Out came several middle-aged men in crisp business coats, filing one after another.
They were usually the sort who made ruthless, decisive moves in the boardroom.
Yet now they had lost every trace of their usual composure.
Just like the economy passengers, they jostled and shoved in their haste to get out.
Though they forced calm onto their faces, fear and exhaustion still clung like a dark haze.
Their eyes brimmed with the lingering dread of having just escaped death.
As they descended the stairs their legs seemed no longer their own, trembling uncontrollably.
Jiang Cheng's heart clenched; he swept his anxious gaze across the group—Zhou Ying was nowhere in sight.
Seeing this, he started up the stairs to look for her.
The moment he stepped back into the cabin, he saw Zhou Ying wheeling a small suitcase toward the door, her face bloodless.
All colour had drained from her; her skin was paper-white, lips quivering as if silently spelling out the terror inside.
Her legs were weak, every step costing all her strength, barely able to stand—like a fragile blossom battered by a storm.
At the sight of her frail figure, Jiang Cheng rushed forward and folded her tightly in his arms.
He held her as though to merge her into himself, lending her every ounce of warmth and safety he possessed.
Zhou Ying's nerves, stretched to breaking, snapped in that sudden embrace.
The tears she had fought so long surged out like a bursting dam, racing down her cheeks.
She choked, voice cracking with sobs, trembling and helpless: "I thought... I thought I'd never see you again..."
Jiang Cheng only held her closer, resting his chin gently on her head. "It's over, it's all over..."
"Wuu... my mind went blank; I couldn't even think of last words. The plane kept shaking—I was so scared..."
By now ground staff were entering to inspect the aftermath of the incident.
Meanwhile, Zhao Qiming, about to follow Jiang Cheng, received a call from Aviation Authority superiors.
The very first thing the voice on the line asked was whether Jiang Cheng was safe.
Zhao Qiming's hand tightened on the phone; the shock in his heart crashed like a boulder hurled into a lake.
Just who exactly is Jiang Cheng?
For the Aviation Authority leadership to care so much about his safety—this assignment was clearly no simple welcome job.
Their airline, after all, was not a privately owned giant.
Now he wondered why he had been ordered, without warning, to receive Jiang Cheng.
The reason could hardly be as simple as Jiang Cheng's earlier suppression of the "rat-line."
Beneath the layers of fog, deeper and darker currents seemed to swirl.
Zhao Qiming bowed and scraped, obsequious, as though the caller on the line were the King of Hell who held his fate.
When the call finally ended, his forehead was dotted with fine beads of sweat.
At the same time, emergency crews and firefighters were rushing toward the aircraft.
The scene bustled with noise and urgency.
Even airport security appeared, professional cameras in hand, recording the situation.
Noticing Jiang Cheng and Zhou Ying blocking the doorway, locked in their embrace, Zhao Qiming's heart lurched.
He knew Jiang Cheng's status was extraordinary; if he disturbed them now, retribution would be swift.
He hastily waved at the anxious rescuers and staff about to board, gesturing wildly for them to wait.
Then, crouching low, he inched toward Jiang Cheng, each step light and careful, afraid to make a sound.
When he was close enough he lifted his head just enough to glance at Zhou Ying.
One look and his gaze stuck as if magnetised.
His heart seemed to skip a beat, struck by an electric jolt.
Zhou Ying's beauty and fragility slammed into him like a hammer, leaving him dazed.
Zhao Qiming secretly clicked his tongue, envy impossible to hide.
As a senior airline employee he had seen hundreds—if not thousands—of Flight Attendants pass through this airport.
Using his position he had played with quite a few.
In his mind those stewardesses had been the pinnacle of feminine allure.
Yet now, Zhou Ying eclipsed every so-called beauty he had known.
Leaving aside her inborn, otherworldly grace that seemed to carry its own halo,
her figure alone—curved yet elegant, every line perfectly placed—
and that delicately flawless face,
eyes like painted scenes, skin fairer than snow, features carved like fine art,
made every stewardess he'd sampled feel instantly second-rate.
Especially now, with Zhou Ying's eyes faintly red as she nestled in Jiang Cheng's arms—
the sight clawed at his heart and set his thoughts racing.
No wonder Jiang Cheng had looked as though the world could crumble so long as she was safe.
Were it him, he'd gladly rip out his own heart and lay it at her feet; he even mused, "For a little sprite like this, I'd give my life."
Behind Zhao Qiming stood Wang Qing, seeing things quite differently.
The instant Wang Qing spotted Zhou Ying her expression froze, a flicker of covert surprise crossing her face.
Only last week she had personally escorted Jiang Cheng and Wang Yuyan when they flew.
Back then the pair had eyes only for each other,
parting with fingers entwined, reluctant to let go.
After Wang Yuyan's plane took off, Jiang Cheng had stood rooted on the tarmac,
gazing after the aircraft until it vanished, a full half-hour before he finally turned away.
Wang Qing had been quietly moved, thinking,
Who says the rich know nothing of love?
Who else would stand there missing someone for thirty minutes after the plane has gone?
Wasn't that the very picture of love?
So today, hearing Jiang Cheng had come to meet a flight, she had assumed it would be Wang Yuyan.
Yet seeing him cradle another woman with such tenderness, Wang Qing felt no contempt, no urge to judge.
Instead her mind felt like a tangled skein—confused, chaotic.
As a woman she sensed the subtleties of affection far more keenly than any man.
She had watched Jiang Cheng dash about in frantic worry for Zhou Ying's safety,
his urgent steps and desperate manner suggesting Zhou Ying was the one and only love of his life.
In such danger most tycoons would have retreated to a safe distance.
In wealthy clans kinship is scarce, rarer still is love,
and affection can always be bought for the right price.
But Jiang Cheng hadn't thought of his own safety first;
he had even risked liability to direct the aircraft's movements himself.
The contradiction left Huang Qing utterly unable to read the situation.
How could she not feel completely disoriented?