“Pfft—”
The sound was wet and violent. A spray of crimson bloomed across the floor as Gu Na uncontrollably spat out a mouthful of blood before collapsing like a marionette with its strings cut.
“Director Gu!” Lu Zhiling lunged forward, catching the woman’s limp body before it hit the hard ground. “Uncle Feng! Fusheng! Help me! Get a car—now! We’re going to the hospital!”
Feng Zhen and Jiang Fusheng scrambled over, their faces pale with shock. Above them, the midday sun beat down with a dizzying, merciless heat.
In the sterile quiet of the hospital ward, Lu Zhiling sat by the bed. She took the blood-stained note—the one she had tried to hide—unfolded it with trembling fingers, and smoothed out the creases. She laid it gently on the bedside table, a silent testament to a truth long buried.
Gu Na lay beneath the thin sheets, an IV drip [intravenous infusion] ticking away beside her. Her eyes, rimmed with raw redness, stared vacantly at the ceiling. Her face was ashen, the color of old parchment. The doctor’s diagnosis was grim but clear: a Xin-jiao-tong [angina/heart attack] brought on by an overwhelming surge of emotional trauma.
“Why did you try to hide it?” Gu Na’s voice was a hoarse whisper, hollow and soul-shorn.
Lu Zhiling looked at her with a steady, compassionate gaze. “This was my brother’s secret. He went to such lengths to keep it hidden; I wanted to honor his choice.”
The moment she had read those words at the teahouse, she understood the tragedy. Her brother hadn’t simply stopped loving Gu Na; he had engineered a nightmare to save her from his own. He wanted her to hate him, because hate is a cleaner burn than grief.
Gu Na let out a fractured laugh, tears carving tracks through the pallor of her cheeks. “You’re exactly like him. Smart, gentle, always trying to be the Nuannü [the ‘warm girl’—someone who provides emotional warmth and comfort to others]. Always trying to keep everyone around you from freezing.”
“I’m not that good,” Lu Zhiling murmured. What was the use of warming others if she couldn’t keep them from leaving?
“I once told him I envied you,” Gu Na said, her eyes lost in the past. “I envied how much you were loved, how everyone cherished you. He told me… he told me he would help me have that too.”
Lu Zhiling remained silent, listening to the echoes of a dead man’s love.
“When he left me, I was a wreck. I had just graduated, I had no job, and my heart was in pieces. But then, as if by miracle, the right people appeared. Friends, mentors, elders who guided me, pushed me, and opened doors I didn’t even know existed. I got my chance to study abroad. I built a life that was meant to be a slap in his face—a ‘look at how well I’m doing without you’ [the concept of huo de piaoliang, living beautifully as the best revenge].”
Gu Na’s numbness shattered. She propped herself up, ignoring the needle in her vein. “My phone. Give me my phone.”
Lu Zhiling handed it over. Gu Na dialed Ji Manshi immediately. “Manshi, tell me the truth. We were in school together for four years. Why did we only become friends in the very last one?”
On the other end, the bride’s voice was hesitant. “Nana, it’s been so long… it was just fate, I suppose…”
“Was someone paying you?” Gu Na’s voice was sharp, enunciating every syllable. “Was it all a script? All the people who helped me, all the ‘lucky’ breaks—it was all him, wasn’t it?”
“You know?” Ji Manshi sighed, the facade crumbling. “Nana, at first… yes. I did it because someone asked. But later, I truly loved you. You are my best friend.”
“Was it Lu Jingcheng?” Just speaking the name seemed to cause Gu Na physical agony.
“It was Lu Jingcheng,” Ji Manshi confirmed. “I don’t know why he did it. I only remember that back then… he begged. He begged so many people, Nana.”
The word “begged” was the final blow. The phone slipped from Gu Na’s hand. She curled into a fetal position, whimpering as if she wanted to disappear into a cocoon and never wake up.
“Director Gu!” Lu Zhiling moved to call the doctor, but Gu Na caught her wrist.
“Why? Why did he build a world for me and then throw me out of it? Why did he make me hate him while he was saving me?”
The needle had slipped, and blood began to bloom around the puncture in Gu Na’s hand. Lu Zhiling shook her head, her own eyes misting. “Maybe the family was already falling apart. He didn’t want to drag you into the ruins of the Lu family. He traded his own peace for your future.”
It was late when Lu Zhiling finally returned to the teahouse. The night was deep, and the stars hung over the city like cold chess pieces. She stepped out of the taxi, her bones aching with exhaustion.
Inside, the warm glow of the lights didn’t feel like home. Bo Wang was there.
He sat in an old rattan chair, his posture arrogant and sharp. He was twirling a Zisha [purple clay] teacup, the light catching the aggressive line of his jaw. Feng Zhen and Jiang Fusheng were huddled in a corner, looking like nervous schoolboys.
Lu Zhiling forced her weary muscles into a smile. “Bo Wang? What are you doing here? Have you eaten?”
Bo Wang downed his tea in one swallow. “I had a feeling you were busy dying somewhere,” he said lazily, his voice a low vibration in the quiet room. “I came to check if I needed to order a coffin.”
Lu Zhiling walked over and took the empty cup from him. “I’m sorry for making you worry. Again.”
“Indeed,” Bo Wang drawled, his dark eyes tracking her every move. “How about I kill you myself? It would save us both the suspense.”
Feng Zhen turned translucent with fear, but Lu Zhiling only smiled. She knew Bo Wang’s language by now. “I was at the hospital. Director Gu had a collapse. I couldn’t leave her alone.”
Bo Wang didn’t comment on Gu Na. Instead, he looked at the gray-blue motorcycle parked nearby. “And what’s that piece of junk?”
Lu Zhiling explained the motorcycle’s history—how it was the one thing her brother had cherished, the link between him and the woman now lying in a hospital bed.
Bo Wang propped his head on his hand, looking bored. “So, Lu Zhiling… are you planning to buy back every ‘token of love’ your family ever owned and present them to me?”
“Hmm?” She was taken aback. She remembered what Fusheng had told Li Minghuai—that she was working to buy gifts for her “husband.” Bo Wang clearly took that rumor to heart.
“It’s an antique,” Bo Wang scoffed. “You can’t even ride it on a modern road. Do you really think I’d want it?”
“Oh,” Lu Zhiling said, feigning disappointment. “I see.”
“Refund it,” Bo Wang ordered. “Buy me something else.”
“No way!” she blurted out.
Bo Wang’s eyes narrowed, the temperature in the room dropping. Lu Zhiling quickly improvised. “Director Gu… now that the misunderstanding is cleared, she might want it as a keepsake. I thought I might give it to her.”
Bo Wang stood up, a dangerous, sexy grace in his movements. “So, you’re using your money to buy gifts for other people now?”
The jealousy was palpable. Lu Zhiling stepped in front of the bike, her head tilted. “No, no. I’ll pick out something much better for you. This is just… legacy.”
“Fine,” Bo Wang growled, his hand drifting to the Buddhist prayer beads on his wrist. “Give it to her. We’ll see if she survives long enough to enjoy it.”
The threat was subtle, but Lu Zhiling knew his mood was souring. She stubbornly refused to return the bike, and eventually, Bo Wang relented with a huff.
“Since you almost died for it, keep the damn thing,” he muttered. “The garage is big enough.”
An hour later, Lu Zhiling sat on the plush carpet of the Dijiangting penthouse. She looked at the motorcycle, now parked in the middle of the luxury lobby like a museum exhibit, and sighed. Her life with Bo Wang was becoming a knot she couldn’t untie.
“I’ve already let you keep it. Why the long face?”
Bo Wang’s shadow fell over her. He sat down beside her, his presence overwhelming.
“I brought pastries,” she said, opening a box of traditional treats—Guihua-gao [osmanthus cake] and Haitang-gao [begonia pastry]. “Want some?”
She picked up a begonia pastry and held it to his lips. Bo Wang didn’t use his hands; he simply leaned forward and took a bite, his eyes never leaving hers. “Not bad,” he murmured, the sweetness of the bean paste on his tongue.
“I knew you’d like them. You’re getting so much better at your character recognition, too,” she teased gently, feeding him another piece. “You’re much smarter than you let on.”
“Why do you spend all day flattering me?” Bo Wang asked, though he didn’t pull away.
“It’s the truth,” she smiled, leaning closer to feed him the last bite. This time, Bo Wang didn’t just take the pastry; he caught her slender fingertip in his mouth, his dark eyes burning with a sudden, predatory heat.
Lu Zhiling’s heart skipped.
He moved with sudden, fluid strength, pinning her to the soft carpet. She lay beneath him, her hair fanning out, the scent of begonia and his sandalwood cologne mingling in the air. He lowered his head, his kiss forceful and possessive, tasting of sugar and hunger.
Every time they returned from a high-stress event, he seemed to crave this—the physical proof that she belonged to him. His tongue traced the line of her lips, then moved to the sensitive skin of her neck, his breath hot and ragged.
“Bo Wang…” she gasped, her body tensing.
He chuckled, a dark, vibrating sound against her skin. “What? Are you going to faint again? Or should I expect another ‘accident’?”
“No…”
“Move into my room,” he commanded, his voice muffled against her throat.
“No,” she whispered, her resolve holding even as her body betrayed her. “Living like this is enough. If I get too close… if I move into your bed… I’ll lose myself. I’ll become one of those women who clings to you, and when you finally discard me, I won’t have any dignity left.”
Bo Wang pulled back, his face somber. “You think you can’t handle me? Or are you afraid of falling?”
“I’m clear-headed now,” she said, her voice trembling. “But if I start fantasizing about a future… about a ‘lifetime’ with you… I won’t be able to leave when the time comes.”
“A lifetime?” Bo Wang paused. The concept was foreign to him. He lived in the blood and the now; he didn’t know if he’d even see next year.
“You haven’t thought about it, have you?” Lu Zhiling smiled sadly, reading the hesitation in his eyes. “So, please… let me keep my distance. Let me leave with my pride intact when the day arrives.”
Bo Wang’s eyes narrowed, a flash of genuine annoyance—and something deeper—flickering in his gaze. The more she talked about leaving, the more he wanted to break her.