“These useless idiots didn’t hide half as well as you did.”
Bo Wang looked at him with a half-smile—lazy, faintly amused, yet edged with something cold underneath.
He hadn’t shown himself earlier.
But now, he had.
“Forgive me, forgive me,” Ji Jing laughed dryly.
If Li Shan hadn’t jumped and barely managed to calm Bo Wang down, would he really have dared to show his face? Did he think his life was already long enough?
Bo Wang didn’t bother arguing. He took the glass of wine, lifted it to his lips, and took a slow sip. Then he leaned back against the sofa, posture relaxed, as though he had all the time in the world, quietly waiting for the result.
Judging by his mood, if they didn’t catch that person tonight, he wasn’t planning on sleeping at all.
Time dragged on.
The wine in the glass gradually emptied. Bo Wang narrowed his eyes, staring ahead in silence.
Then—suddenly—he straightened.
His gaze darkened as it fixed on one of the screens not far away.
“Who is that?”
Ji Jing followed his line of sight.
“Oh, that’s Xiao Fusheng. Your little maid,” he said casually. “She came to bring you tea today. I have to say, your tea is excellent—and your tea master is even better. If my old man saw her, he’d definitely try to poach her.”
“Tea master?”
Bo Wang repeated softly.
“My family’s?”
His voice dropped slightly as his eyes settled on the slender figure frozen on the surveillance screen.
Her red ponytail was tied high, exposing a long, pale neck—clean, sharp, almost fragile. She wore a simple, light-colored gauze dress (a soft, flowing fabric often used to give an understated, gentle appearance), which emphasized her quiet elegance. The contrast between the bright hair and muted clothing felt strangely mismatched. A mask covered most of her face, and the footage itself was grainy, unclear. Her eyes were lowered, lashes casting faint shadows.
And yet—
She looked familiar.
The corner of Bo Wang’s lips curved into a faint smile.
But it froze almost instantly.
The velvet flower in his hand was clenched tightly, crushed into a small, misshapen ball.
At the Bo family residence in Shenshan, servants moved briskly through the corridor, carrying paintings in and out with careful hands.
Lu Zhiling was escorted back to her room by Jiang Fusheng.
Than she brought over a plate of fruit, her face bright with excitement.
“This should really boost Guiqi Tower’s business, right? I saw those young masters today—they were all very interested in our tea.”
“Business will come eventually,” Lu Zhiling replied calmly. “But if we want repeat customers, we’ll need something more.”
In truth, her tea itself wasn’t particularly rare—nothing beyond what wealthy families could easily obtain. What made it special was her tea-brewing technique, a skill she had practiced since childhood. It enhanced the aroma and depth of the tea, making it unforgettable.
But teaching that technique to teahouse staff would be difficult. Jiang Fusheng’s slow progress over the past few days was proof enough.
And besides—she couldn’t very well brew tea every single day while bearing the title of the Bo family’s young mistress.
“You definitely have a solution,” Jiang Fusheng said confidently, no longer worried about Lu Zhiling’s ability to earn money.
Lu Zhiling smiled faintly. She picked up a piece of apple from the skewer and placed it into her mouth, chewing slowly as she relaxed.
“Oh, right,” she said casually. “What were those paintings earlier? I saw servants carrying them in and out.”
“Some of them were taken for preservation,” Jiang Fusheng replied.
“Paintings?” Lu Zhiling paused. “But they weren’t all famous works.”
Outside the window, the night had grown deep. Cool mountain air drifted in through the slightly open window, carrying a quiet, distant stillness.
“How could the Bo family collect paintings by unknown artists?” Jiang Fusheng said without thinking. Then she suddenly remembered something. “Ah—you mean the paintings the eldest young master painted when he was a child?”
“……”
Bo Wang’s paintings?
“I heard the eldest young master studied under Mr. Chang when he was young,” Jiang Fusheng continued. “He started painting at three, and by four he was already winning awards. His works were exhibited everywhere.”
She sighed softly.
“But after the eldest young master came back… he couldn’t paint a single piece anymore. The old madam was heartbroken seeing this .”
So that’s how it was.
Lu Zhiling didn’t ask further.
Jiang Fusheng was about to say something else when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen—Ji Jing, the fourth young master of the Ji family.
Flirting again.
She didn’t want to answer, but worried he might be calling about the tea or the teahouse. After hesitating, she picked up.
The moment she heard what was said on the other end, her eyes widened in shock.
The purple grape in her mouth slipped free and fell straight onto the floor.
“I—I—”
Lu Zhiling looked over at her.
Jiang Fusheng hurriedly hung up the call, scooted closer, and leaned across the table, eyes gleaming with excitement.
“Breaking news!” she whispered dramatically. “Fourth Young Master Ji just said the Eldest Young Master went on a killing spree at the Black Spade Club!”