The music pounded so loud it felt like it could split the walls apart.
The woman beside Bo Wang mistook his casual words as interest and immediately leaned in, assuming she’d caught his attention. Her voice softened, laced with the sweetness of someone used to flirting.
“I heard your mother passed away when you were young,” she said tenderly, “and you only returned to the Bo family five years ago. It must’ve been hard to adjust, right? Growing up without a mother must’ve been lonely. If you ever need someone to talk to, I can listen.”
…Sister, do you have a death wish mentioning Brother Wang’s mother?
Li Minghuai didn’t even think of stopping her this time. He merely crossed his arms and thought darkly—well, she’s asking for it.
Bo Wang’s expression didn’t change, but he suddenly rose to his feet, his voice cold and detached.
“Hide and seek is boring,” he said. “How about we play whack-a-mole?”
“Whack-a-mole?” The woman blinked in confusion, her tone light and playful. “Sure, but… I don’t see any whack-a-mole machine here.”
She looked around uncertainly. How could they play without the arcade game?
“Come.”
Bo Wang reached out and seized her wrist. His grip was strong, unyielding. Before she could react, he pulled her toward the pool.
The moment he approached, the entire atmosphere shifted.
The people in the water froze mid-laughter, their eyes darting to each other in unease. The air felt suddenly thin.
Why had this man—this Mr. Bo—come over?
The woman, oblivious to everyone’s reactions, only saw Bo Wang’s face under the colorful lights. His features were too striking, too perfect, the kind of beauty that could make even a bold woman’s heart falter. She had met countless handsome men, yet when she looked at him now, her breath caught.
“Mr. Bo—ah!”
Her sentence ended in a shriek. Bo Wang had kicked her—cleanly, decisively—into the pool.
He stood by the poolside, tall and motionless, his shadow stretching long against the shimmering surface.
The woman surfaced, sputtering in disbelief, her makeup running down her face. Just as she opened her mouth to question him, her eyes widened—Bo Wang was holding a long, black whip in his hand.
He wasn’t saying anything. Just looking down at her.
A terrifying realization dawned in her eyes. Whack-a-mole.
She tried to swim away in panic, but before she could move far—
Crack!
A sharp lash struck the water beside her, and she screamed.
“Ah—!”
Her cry tore through the air. The whip came down again, striking the water again and again, spraying droplets under the neon lights.
The woman flailed helplessly, her voice hoarse with terror. Each time she tried to escape, the whip followed, slicing the water with merciless rhythm.
The music cut off abruptly. The entire hall went silent—dead silent. No one dared move, no one dared speak.
Bo Wang’s whip struck down one last time, splitting the water with a sharp, wet crack. The woman’s sobs broke into choked gasps, but Bo Wang laughed.
He laughed until his shoulders shook, until his breath trembled—until, in the corner of his eye, a tear slid down the edge of his cheekbone.
“…”
Li Minghuai watched, his scalp prickling, his spine cold.
No—Bo Wang wasn’t like a pervert. He was one.
And yet, seeing that tear fall from his eyes while he laughed like a madman, Li Minghuai couldn’t tell if it came from pain, rage, or something darker.
He sighed inwardly. I wonder if that sister-in-law of mine… could ever survive a man like him.
In another corner of the night, Lu Zhiling woke up.
Sleep refused to return.
By the time a knock sounded on the door, she had already risen, washed up, and changed into a lotus-colored ankle-length dress (a soft shade of pink often used in traditional Chinese attire to symbolize purity and quiet grace). Sitting by the bed, she watched the morning news on TV with calm eyes.
When she heard the knock, she quietly turned off the television.
“Madam, you’re already dressed?”
The maid, Jiang Fusheng, entered and froze in surprise. Her wide round eyes blinked in disbelief.
Lu Zhiling sat gracefully on the edge of the bed, her long skirt draping perfectly, her posture straight, serene, and composed. Her beauty was quiet—gentle, refined—like an ink painting come to life.
Lu Zhiling smiled faintly. “I’m blind, not incapable of taking care of myself.”
She lifted her hand slightly, revealing faint red marks across her fingers—carefully made bruises that looked like the result of clumsy movements.
They were deliberate.
She didn’t want anyone to know that her sight had returned. Seeing was a weapon—one she could only wield from the shadows. But she also refused to have eyes watching her every move, even when dressing or washing.
“Madam, are you hurt?” Jiang Fusheng panicked. “You shouldn’t move around—you’re pregnant!”
“It’s just a small scrape,” Lu Zhiling replied softly. “Find me a cane later. That way, I won’t bump into things.”
Jiang Fusheng hesitated, then nodded helplessly. “Alright…”
She helped Lu Zhiling to her feet, guiding her toward the dining room.
The Bo family’s residence was enormous—luxurious to the point of absurdity. The corridors seemed endless, lined with expensive vases and polished marble, the kind of wealth that made the air feel cold.
Servants passed by one after another, their eyes discreetly—yet unmistakably—lingering on Lu Zhiling.
A blind woman. Poor background. Pregnant. Married into the Bo family overnight.
Their gazes carried it all—curiosity, mockery, disdain, and faint, fleeting pity.
Lu Zhiling, holding her composure like a veil, merely smiled.
If anyone looked closely, they might have noticed—her eyes, beneath their softness, held a quiet gleam.