Xia Meiqing pressed a trembling hand to her chest, her body swaying as she leaned heavily into Bo Zhengrong’s arms. Her shoulders shook violently, each breath torn out of her as if her lungs were full of knives. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse, soaked through with terror and lingering hysteria.
“There were no knives,” she sobbed, shaking her head again and again, as if the memory itself were clawing at her skull. “But those men… they were worse than beasts. Like demons crawling out of hell. They threw us into a Snake Forest [a colloquial term for a wilderness deliberately infested with venomous snakes], Zhengrong—snakes everywhere. You could hear them sliding through the grass, hissing in the dark. And the dogs… the sound of hounds baying all around us…”
Her fingers dug into his clothes, clutching desperately. “You know that’s my greatest fear. If I hadn’t kept thinking of you—of you and Xiaozhen—I wouldn’t have survived.”
“I know,” Bo Zhengrong murmured, his voice low and practiced, one hand rising to pat her shoulder in slow, soothing motions. “I won’t let you suffer like this anymore.”
From the side, Yu Yunfei watched the scene unfold. A sharp stab of jealousy pierced her chest, quick and ugly, but she smoothed her expression almost instantly, schooling her face into calm dignity. When she spoke, her tone was steady, analytical—rational to the bone.
“Zhengrong,” she said, “the kidnappers wore heavy hoodies and white masks. Their faces were completely hidden. But their movements—too coordinated, too disciplined. It was terrifying.”
“Hoodies and white masks?”
The Second Uncle’s face contorted as recognition struck. He slammed his cane hard against the floor, the sound cracking through the room like a gunshot. “The Living Dead! [An underground mercenary organization infamous for masked operations.] I knew it! This has Bo Wang written all over it! He’s gone completely lawless!”
The room erupted instantly.
“Who else would dare target Yunfei and Meiqing at the same time?”
“He’s trying to tear the Bo family apart!”
“You must avenge me, Zhengrong!” Xia Meiqing wailed, her tears falling just right, glistening under the lights—fragile, pitiful, irresistible. She knew exactly how to cry in a way that made people bleed for her.
Bo Zhengrong’s face darkened, his temper boiling toward eruption—when a panicked shout ripped through the chaos.
“Something terrible has happened! The Young Master—he’s injured!”
Every voice died mid-breath.
Jiang Fusheng came rushing in, face pale, eyes wide with shock. A heartbeat later, Lu Zhiling appeared at the doorway, half-supporting Bo Wang as they stepped inside, their figures cut sharply against the blazing sunlight behind them.
The sight was brutal.
Bo Wang’s hair was tangled and matted with sweat and grime. His handsome face was battered beyond recognition, streaked with blood and swelling bruises. His shirt hung in shredded strips, the fabric so soaked in red that it was impossible to tell where cloth ended and flesh began.
Bo Zhengrong froze.
The mistresses froze.
The entire clan stood rooted in stunned, hollow silence.
How could the supposed kidnapper look more broken than the hostages?
Lu Zhiling’s brows were tightly knit as she carefully eased Bo Wang down onto a single sofa. Her movements were gentle, controlled, every touch deliberate. Then she turned to the two mistresses, a bitter, exhausted smile curving her lips.
“It’s a relief to see Aunt Yu and Aunt Xia unharmed,” she said softly. “At least it means Bo Wang didn’t nearly lose half his life for nothing.”
The room remained deathly still.
Bo Wang, however, had no interest in the family’s shock. He leaned back into the cushions lazily, eyes half-lidded and dark, watching Lu Zhiling with a flicker of genuine amusement. She was wearing a tea-blue gown, its hem and sleeves soaked through with his blood. Her hands were stained a vivid scarlet—so vivid it made people avert their gaze.
“Bo Wang!” Ding Yujun [the grandmother] rushed forward with Bo Qinglin close behind. Tears welled up instantly in the old woman’s eyes as she reached for his face. “How did this happen? Even if it was to save family, you can’t throw your life away like this! If something happens to you, how are we supposed to live?”
In her agitation, her fingers brushed against a deep bruise on his cheek. A smear of dark purple pigment—suspiciously similar to stage makeup—transferred to her palm.
Bo Wang’s eyes lifted, cold and indifferent. “I’m not dead,” he said flatly. “Let go.”
Ding Yujun didn’t falter for even a second. A veteran of this family’s invisible wars, she leaned in closer, subtly pressing her thumb back against his skin—reapplying the bruise—while wailing louder. “Oh, my brave, pitiful grandson!”
Someone finally spoke, voice uncertain. “Mother… what do you mean by ‘saving’ them?”
Ding Yujun turned, dabbing at her eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? Yunfei and Meiqing are standing here because Bo Wang went into that Snake Forest alone. He fought those masked monsters and brought his father’s women home!”
Yu Yunfei went completely still.
Xia Meiqing’s sobbing cut off mid-breath.
They exchanged a stunned glance. They had been blindfolded, dumped like trash. They hadn’t seen a single rescuer. When, exactly, had Bo Wang become a hero?
“But Yunfei said it was the Living Dead,” Bo Zhengrong said sharply.
“So what?” Ding Yujun snapped. “Anyone can buy a hoodie and a mask! Does Bo Wang own white masks? Did he trademark the Living Dead? You’re all so quick to accuse him—yet he’s the one bleeding for this family!”
Bo Zhengrong ignored her and stared straight at his son. “You risked your life for them?”
Bo Wang didn’t even look up. He pulled out his phone and began tapping lazily, arrogance dripping from every movement.
Lu Zhiling stepped forward, positioning herself subtly between father and son. “Father,” she said calmly, “Bo Wang didn’t do this only to save them. He did it to prove his innocence. The moment they disappeared, everyone blamed him. I truly don’t understand that logic.”
“Logic?” the Second Uncle sneered. “You nearly drowned, and then they vanished. It’s textbook revenge.”
Lu Zhiling’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then by that logic,” she replied evenly, “everyone here is admitting that Aunt Yu and Aunt Xia were the ones who tried to drown me.”
Silence fell like a blade.
“Don’t spout nonsense!” Xia Meiqing shrieked. “Why would I do that? My son isn’t even the heir! I gain nothing!”
Yu Yunfei sighed gently, adopting her familiar role of benevolent elder. “Zhiling, do you really think I’m capable of something so cruel?” Her maid jumped in instantly, voice eager. “Madam Yu sends tonics to the Young Mistress all the time! She treats her like a daughter!”
“Bo Wang and I want to believe you,” Lu Zhiling said softly, her voice carrying clearly through the room. “But it seems the rest of the family does not.”
Unease rippled through the crowd.
She turned to Bo Zhengrong. “Father, the family already condemns Bo Wang. He can endure their hatred—but your suspicion is a wound that will never heal, no matter how much blood he sheds.”
Bo Wang’s thumb paused for half a second on his screen. That line was so deliberately moving it almost made his skin crawl.
At the signal, Jiang Fusheng kicked a silk cushion neatly into place before Bo Zhengrong. With controlled elegance, Lu Zhiling lowered herself to her knees.
“What is this?” Bo Zhengrong demanded.
“Bo Wang has borne too much blame,” she said quietly. “Today, before the entire clan, I ask you—remove his and his mother’s names from the family genealogy. Let only the legal bond of father and son remain. If he is no longer the ‘Eldest Son’ in name, perhaps everyone can finally sleep peacefully, knowing he has no throne to fight for.”
Bo Zhengrong’s face drained of color.
“But if he stays,” Lu Zhiling pressed on, “every disaster will be blamed on him.” She turned her gaze to the Second Uncle. “Tell me—if Bo Wang were removed, wouldn’t that put your heart at ease?”
The Second Uncle froze, caught in a lethal pit [Chinese slang for a trap designed to leave no safe answer]. Agreeing meant forcing a father to erase his son—an unforgivable taboo. Refusing meant admitting Bo Wang belonged.
“I—I never said he should be removed!” he stammered. “He just needs better ‘education’ to shoulder the responsibilities of the heir!”
The wind shifted.
“Exactly,” Ding Yujun seized the opening. “It’s time he gains experience in the conglomerate [the family’s vast corporate empire].”
Xia Meiqing bit down hard on her lip. This whole bloody spectacle—it was all to push Bo Wang into the business. “Even a fortune of billions can’t survive another disaster,” she muttered pointedly.
Bo Wang’s gaze snapped to her.
Sharp. Predatory. Murderous.
She gasped and shrank back instinctively.
Yu Yunfei forced a thin smile. “That’s a fine idea. My hotel and entertainment sectors are doing well. Perhaps Bo Wang could assist me with the entertainment branch.”
An insult wrapped in silk.
Bo Zhengrong studied his son, then Lu Zhiling still kneeling on the floor. “The entertainment company,” he said finally. “You take full control for two months. Turn a profit, and the shares are yours.”
Yu Yunfei’s heart plunged.
“That’s wonderful,” she said stiffly. “With Bo Wang’s help, I’ll have time to travel abroad—to see Bo Tang and Bo Yuan.”
Leaving?
Lu Zhiling’s eyes sharpened.
“Smart!” Xia Meiqing snapped. “Run away and avoid responsibility! If things collapse, you’ll be safely overseas!”
Lu Zhiling turned to her gently. “Aunt Xia, please. I’m sure Aunt Yu wouldn’t do such a thing.”
“Lu Zhiling, are you blind?” Meiqing lashed out. “Who else wants the head of the family position? Who else wants you gone?”
“Do you know something for certain?” Lu Zhiling asked softly.
The air froze.
The two mistresses, long-time allies in hating Bo Wang, turned on each other like exposed beasts.
“You hide behind arrogance to look stupid,” Yu Yunfei spat. “But ‘killing two birds with one stone’ is your specialty!”
“How dare you!”
Their screams collided.
“HAVE YOU FINISHED?” Bo Zhengrong roared.
Silence crashed down.
Only then did they realize it.
Lu Zhiling had never moved.
She had lit the fire—and watched calmly as it consumed them.
A master of Sowing Discord [one of the 36 Stratagems of ancient Chinese warfare].
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
Slow applause echoed.
Bo Wang leaned back, blood-smeared hands coming together lazily, a lethal grin cutting across his bruised face.
“Brilliant,” he laughed softly.
“Absolutely brilliant.”