Lu Zhiling considered finding a graceful excuse to retreat, but a sudden, serrated chuckle stopped her cold. It was a sarcastic sound, devoid of warmth.
Bo Wang was watching a news segment on his phone.
“The Bo Group has officially announced the acquisition of the prime land plot on Nanyang Road in the Fenglin District. The long-standing dispute, which had previously entangled various city councilors, has reached a definitive conclusion. The Group claims it will establish a new economic zone, fundamentally shifting the power structure of the district…”
Nanyang Road. Lu Zhiling’s mind flashed back to the clandestine phone call she had overheard—someone demanding he “resolve” the matter.
The Bo family was already the undisputed titan of K Country, yet the Fenglin District had always been a fortress controlled by rival conglomerates. For years, the Bo family had been unable to penetrate its borders. Then, Bo Wang returns home on his birthday, battered and bloodied, and suddenly the “unbreakable” power structure of Fenglin collapses.
The wars between these high-society clans weren’t always fought with stocks and bonds; sometimes, they were fought in the shadows with teeth and claws.
Lu Zhiling looked at Bo Wang in stunned realization. Was he the one? Was he the monster the Bo family kept in a cage to do the work they couldn’t put their names to?
It made a terrifying kind of sense. Despite being the eldest grandson, Bo Wang was a pariah—a man with a documented history of “mental instability” and a reputation for being a ruthless lunatic. He could never be the official heir. Normally, a family would hide such a son away or wash their hands of him. Instead, they surrounded him with elite lawyers and treated his outbursts with a terrifying level of indulgence.
They didn’t just tolerate his madness; they used it.
The city feared him like a ghost because he was the Bo family’s hatchet man. He did the “dirty work” [Huo—unsavory or illegal tasks] that allowed the rest of the family to sit in their ivory towers with clean hands. Ding Yujun’s guilt suddenly took on a darker hue. She loved him, but she was part of the machine that pushed him into the fire. If things ever went wrong, the Bo family would remain untarnished—Bo Wang would be the only one sacrificed.
The more Lu Zhiling thought, the colder she felt. She had been raised in the Lu family, where harmony was a living thing. To imagine a family pushing their own flesh and blood into purgatory just to maintain their “extravagance” was beyond her comprehension.
Thump.
Bo Wang tossed his phone onto the marble counter and continued to eat, his movements mechanical. He even consumed the carrot garnish—a small, decorative thing—as if he were merely fueling a machine.
“The family dinner tomorrow night,” Lu Zhiling’s voice echoed in the cavernous room. “If you don’t want to go, then don’t. I’ll talk to Grandma.”
Bo Wang’s back stiffened. He turned to her, his gaze sharp and dangerously gloomy. “What do you know?”
His reaction confirmed everything.
“What do I know?” she feigned ignorance, keeping her tone light. “Only that you’re still recovering. A family banquet is a den of wolves and social obligations. It’s too taxing to play the part of the dutiful grandson when your wounds are still fresh.”
Bo Wang stared at her, his eyes narrowed, searching for a hidden agenda. He was a man who lived in a world of mirrors; trust was a foreign language to him.
After a long silence, he kicked out a chair for her. Then, he reached out, cupping her face in his large, warm hands. His thumbs traced the delicate line of her jaw with a tenderness that felt like a threat.
“So concerned about me?” he whispered, his voice tinged with a dark, melodic pleasure. “Then why don’t you die with me?”
Lu Zhiling’s breath hitched. She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, his fingertips pressing into her skin until it hurt. “What? You don’t want to?”
“No. I want to live,” she said, her voice trembling but firm.
“Heh.” Bo Wang looked at her like she was a clever fox. “And here I thought you said you liked me.”
“Isn’t being alive a good thing?” she asked softly.
Bo Wang pulled her chair so close their knees touched. “What’s so good about it? Tell me.”
“The sunrises, the mountains… the way things grow,” she managed.
Bo Wang laughed again, a jagged, hollow sound. “And there are your blind eyes. Your dead family. The way your classmates trample you like dirt. The child you were forced to keep. Lu Zhiling, for the past five years, have you even known the difference between this world and hell?”
His voice was a razor, slicing through her defenses. He began to stroke her neck, his thumb resting over her pulse. “Dying isn’t hard, you know. It’s much easier than being half-dead. Charcoal, a high bridge… or I could just open a vein right here.” He tapped the artery in her neck. “It would be over before you even felt the chill.”
He looked so earnest, so genuinely expectant, that Lu Zhiling felt the air leave her lungs.
“How about it? I’m afraid of the dark, and I don’t want to travel alone. Will you keep me company?” His fingers tightened around her throat.
A chill raced through her, but she didn’t close her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “Whether it’s this world or hell, I want my place in it.”
“Why?”
“Because,” she grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away from her throat and holding it gently between hers, “I stayed alive for five years, and because of that, I met you. For that alone, I think being alive is worth it.”
The answer stunned him. The predatory gleam in his eyes flickered, replaced by a momentary, childlike blankness. Meeting him was a reason to live?
“You’re dreaming of a future with me?” he sneered, though the heat had left his voice. “Do you even have the right?”
“I know I’m not worthy to walk to the end with you,” she coaxed him, her voice a soft balm. “I just hope you can wait. Wait for the person who makes life feel like more than a sentence. Someone who will walk with you happily. Be patient, Bo Wang. That person will come.”
Bo Wang looked at her for a long time, his expression unreadable. Finally, he pulled his hand back and stood up. “I’m tired. Go to sleep.”
He was a man who viewed the “future” as a cruel joke. He didn’t believe in the person she described.
“Then rest well. I’ll leave first.” Lu Zhiling smiled, waiting until he disappeared into the shadows of the hallway before she practically collapsed against the elevator wall. She touched her neck, her heart thundering. Bo Wang was a live wire—capricious, ruthless, and broken. One wrong word and she wouldn’t just be an “ex-wife”; she’d be a corpse.
The next day, the morning sickness was a violent reminder of her reality. She spent the day in her room at the Bo estate, resting and coordinating teahouse business via phone.
As dusk fell, the lights of the Bo mansion ignited like a fallen galaxy. A convoy of luxury cars pulled into the drive. Butler Wen and a small army of servants rushed to meet them.
“The Master is back!” Jiang Fusheng whispered from the window.
Lu Zhiling joined her. Leading the procession was Bo Zhengrong. At fifty, he was a silver fox—impeccably preserved, radiating the cold, heavy authority of a man who moved mountains for a living. Beside him, Yu Yunfei and Xia Meiqing hovered like competing queens, their laughter harmonious and hollow.
“Zhi Ling, aren’t you going down?” Fusheng asked.
“If I go, I’ll only be an eyesore,” Zhiling replied. No one truly saw her as the Young Madam. To them, she was a placeholder, a temporary vessel.
But a knock at the door ruined her plan to hide. “Young Madam, the Old Madam requests your presence.”
Lu Zhiling sighed. She dressed in a nude-toned silk floor-length gown—elegant, understated, and designed to blend into the woodwork. She wore no jewelry but her wedding ring. Tonight, she wanted to be a ghost. If no one remembered her, her child could grow up without the stigma of this charade.
As she entered the Chun Chu Hall [Spring and Autumn Hall—a grand ceremonial space], the air was thick with the scent of expensive tobacco and high-stakes gossip. Behind a magnificent jade screen, the Bo clan was in high spirits.
“Did you see the Fenglin acquisition? The old foxes didn’t even dare to fight back!” “That’s because our eldest brother finally took the gloves off.” “And what about Bo Tang? He’s twenty now. Time to bring him into the conglomerate. A prince consort in the making!”
They laughed—a chorus of the elite, the untouchables. They controlled the lifeblood of the country. And yet, Lu Zhiling could only think of Bo Wang, stumbling into the house on his birthday, covered in blood while they toasted to their victories. What was he to them? A weapon? A sacrifice?
“Zhiling is here?” Ding Yujun’s voice broke through the chatter. She beckoned to her from the head table, where she sat beside Bo Zhengrong. “Come, child. Serve tea to your father.”
The room went deathly silent. Every eye—calculating, judgmental, and curious—turned toward the “blind” girl.
Lu Zhiling felt like a puppet on a string. Under that crushing collective gaze, she walked forward. Bo Zhengrong sat like a king on a throne, his smile replaced by a hard, searching stare.
Butler Wen presented the tea.
“Zhiling, the tea is to your right. Your father is directly in front,” Ding Yujun said, her voice dripping with a kindness that felt like a trap.
Yu Yunfei and Xia Meiqing exchanged bewildered glances. Why was the old lady giving this girl so much “face” [Mianzi—social standing/honor] in front of the entire clan?
Lu Zhiling picked up the cup with both hands, offering it toward the cold, imposing figure of Bo Zhengrong. “Father… please have some tea.”
Bo Zhengrong’s face darkened. He didn’t take the cup immediately. The tension in the hall was a physical weight. Finally, he gave a curt nod, his voice like grinding stones. “The dishes are served. Let us eat first.”