“No need, you’ve done so well already. Grandma deserves to buy you a house.”
Ding Yujun looked at her with eyes brimming with affection. “Once Bo Wang is officially named the heir, Grandma will give you the funds to buy whatever your heart desires.” She had already mentally solidified Lu Zhiling’s place as her eldest granddaughter-in-law; in her mind, no amount of wealth was too much for her.
Lu Zhiling felt a sharp sting in her eyes, her throat tightening with emotion. “Thank you… Grandma.”
“It is I who should thank you. I know it’s because of you that Bo Wang’s fierceness [refers to his Liqi (戾气), a traditional concept of a hostile, restless energy or ‘bloodthirst’] has faded so much.” Ding Yujun patted her arm gently. “It’s late. Go get some rest.”
“Okay.”
Lu Zhiling walked back to her room, her fingers tracing the edges of the old photograph she held. Five years. She finally knew what her home looked like now. On her way, she caught sight of Wen Da leading a group of men, ransacking the estate in a chaotic, noisy frenzy. She paid them no mind and headed upstairs.
She pushed open the door to their new room. Bo Wang was half-asleep, leaning against the headboard. He was still fully dressed, his sharp brows slightly furrowed even in slumber. One hand rested against his chest, clutching a string of sandalwood prayer beads [Buddhist Nianzhu, often worn for protection or to calm the mind]. His thumb was pressed firmly against the visible teeth marks etched into the wood.
Lu Zhiling stood in the doorway, watching the soft amber light play across his features. Did she hate him?
No.
He was the reason she had her first customers at the teahouse. When she was drowning, he had risked his own life to pull her from the depths. She had only helped SG Entertainment make a profit, yet the Lu family mansion—a dream she hadn’t dared to whisper for five years—was now within her grasp.
She had received so much from him. Beyond the gratitude, she found herself drawn to his sharp aesthetics, the strength of his frame, the lean muscle of his waist. She didn’t recoil from his touch; she only trembled because of the intensity he provoked.
Their relationship can’t stay lukewarm forever, she thought. What’s the harm in giving a little more? He had said he’d only discuss their future after they had truly been together. The more she resisted, the more it felt like she was playing a game of “cat and mouse” [similar to the concept of Yuying Huanqin (欲擒故纵), or ‘playing hard to get’ to tighten one’s grip].
She knew she would leave eventually. But since they had to live together for a year, perhaps a different approach was needed. Having had something is better than longing for it forever… it makes it easier to let go.
She tucked the photo into her drawer and went to the bathroom.
After a long shower, Lu Zhiling emerged wearing the red satin nightgown from their wedding night. The silk clung to her curves like a second skin. She walked barefoot to the bed, sliding beneath the heavy covers.
Bo Wang remained still. She reached out, pulling the duvet higher over his shoulders, and turned off the lamp. The room plunged into darkness, filled only with the faint, cool, woody scent [likely Tanxiang or Sandalwood, associated with luxury and calm] emanating from him. Surprisingly, her nerves settled, and she drifted into a light sleep.
But a rustle of fabric woke her.
In the pitch-black room, she felt a sudden chill on her skin. Her nightgown had been tugged down, pooling around her elbows. Before she could speak, a searing, heavy kiss landed on the curve of her spine, trailing slowly, possessively downward.
Her breath hitched. She rolled over, meeting his gaze—dark, predatory, and burning with a terrifying interest. He looked like a hunter watching a “little white rabbit” [a common trope for a pure or innocent character] that had wandered back into the trap willingly.
“Lu Zhiling,” he rasped, his voice thick with suppressed hunger. “Aren’t you afraid of spilling your guts all over this bed?”
She didn’t shrink away. Instead, she raised a hand, her slender finger hooking into his collar to pull him closer. “Bo Wang,” she whispered, her voice trembling but soft.
“Hmm?” His nose brushed hers, their breaths mingling.
“I’m pregnant… please, no matter what, don’t go all the way, okay?”
Bo Wang’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His fingers, calloused and hot, gripped her fair arms. He lowered his head, capturing her lips in a fierce, demanding kiss that tasted of pure desire.
“Zhizhi,” he groaned against her mouth.
The nickname—a doting, intimate shortening of her name—made her heart skip. “What did you call me?”
“Has no one ever called you that?”
“No.”
His eyes darkened further at her confession. He moved to her ear, his lips grazing the lobe, licking and nipping with an agonizing, teasing slowness. Lu Zhiling’s shoulders hunched as a wave of heat rolled through her.
“Zhizhi,” he whispered again, his voice a deep, magnetic vibration. “I’ll sleep with you properly sooner or later.”
He tightened his hold on her silk robe. She tilted her head back, exposing her throat, her body instinctively arching toward his. His lips landed on her neck, marking her skin with invasive, burning intent as his hands wandered, claiming every inch of her. Outside, the shadows of the trees swayed violently in the wind, mirroring the storm within the room.
The next day as morning light flooded the room. Lu Zhiling stood before the mirror, checking the vivid red marks scattered across her back. Her breathing was still a bit heavy. She had crossed a line, but strangely, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. Their relationship had accelerated more in four months than most “truly in love” couples did in years.
She heard him stir. She quickly dressed and fastened her belt. “Awake?”
Bo Wang sat up, his hair a mess of dark silk, looking effortlessly lethal and sexy. A wicked smirk played on his lips. “Come here.”
She obeyed. He pulled her into his lap from behind, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He inhaled deeply, his eyes locking onto the twin marks he’d left on her throat. “Want me to give you a band-aid for those, too?”
“No need,” she smiled, leaning back against him. “I’ll just say the mosquitoes are aggressive this season.”
Bo Wang’s expression turned sinisterly playful. “Is that so? Then those mosquitoes must have been starving for the blood on your waist.” His hand slid down, gripping her hip firmly.
Lu Zhiling quickly shifted the conversation to the celebration party for their hit drama, The Rich and Powerful. She convinced Bo Wang to attend, playing on his ego by suggesting he hand out red envelopes [ Hongbao, traditional monetary gifts given during celebrations to show generosity and ensure good luck].
“I’m giving you Yu Yunfei’s share,” Bo Wang said, his tone casual, as if he were offering her a piece of candy rather than a stake in SG Entertainment.
Lu Zhiling was momentarily breathless. Shares in SG? That was a heavy burden to carry. If she accepted, untangling those assets later would be a nightmare. She didn’t want a seat at the boardroom table; she just wanted to spend the little time she have with the man standing in front of her.
She turned and melted into his arms, her hands sliding up the broad expanse of his back, her touch light yet possessive. “No,” she murmured, her voice like silk against his skin. “I’m happy just being by your side. Taking those shares means meetings, paperwork, and endless ‘things’ to deal with. I wouldn’t have any time left to spend with you.”
A single sentence—that was all it took to dismantle his defenses.
“You want to spend time with me, so I just have to let you?” he asked. His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against him. His tone was draped in his usual disdain, but his eyes were dark with undeniable pleasure.
“If you don’t want me near, I won’t bother you,” she said, her voice dripping with sweet, faux-obedience. “But I’ll still be watching you from afar. And even that… takes time.”
Bo Wang let out a low, rough chuckle. He leaned down, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that tasted of possession. “I’ll come to you later tonight.”
That was his surrender.
“Okay,” Lu Zhiling smiled, her eyes reflecting only him. “I’ll be waiting.”
The celebration for The Rich and Powerful was held at the most decadent hotel in Jiangbei. From the A-list stars to the lowliest paolongtao [slang for “extras” or bit-part players who ‘run sets’], everyone was there. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the bubbles of champagne.
Lu Zhiling stood in a corner, her loose-fitting gown flowing around her like water, as she spoke privately with Jiang Fusheng.
“Did Xia Meiqing cause you any trouble?” Lu Zhiling asked, her eyes sharp with concern.
During the brutal internal war for SG, Xia Meiqing had tried every dirty trick to turn Jiang Fusheng—bribery, coercion, threats. To counter her, Lu Zhiling had played a dangerous game. She had instructed Jiang Fusheng to act as a double agent: feeding Xia Meiqing false reports, “stealing” fake scripts, and providing “secret” footage of Lu Zhiling and Bo Wang’s private meetings.
Xia Meiqing had fallen for it all, believing she held the killing blow. To find out now that she had been played for a fool by a “maid” would leave her beyond furious.
“No,” Jiang Fusheng shook her head quickly. “You were smart to arrange for my parents to work for the Old Lady. With her protection, Madam Xia wouldn’t dare lay a finger on me.”
“Good.” Lu Zhiling nodded. The Bo family Matriarch was the only shield strong enough to keep Xia Meiqing’s claws at bay.
“Xiao Qi, Fusheng.”
A voice, melodic and soft, drifted toward them.
The two women turned and froze. Gu Na was walking through the crowd, looking like a dream from a different era. Gone was the sharp, utilitarian director’s attire. She wore light, ethereal makeup and a white haute couture gown that clung to her curves in all the right places. Her short hair had been lengthened into long, chestnut waves, and shimmering tassel earrings danced at her jawline.
She looked radiant—and completely unrecognizable.
“…”
The entire hall seemed to dip into silence as she passed. Gu Na, usually the “Iron Lady” of the set, now exuded a gentle, haunting charm.
Gu Na reached them, a glass of red wine in hand. She looked at Jiang Fusheng with a soft smile. “Fusheng, you look beautiful. Keep working hard; you have the makings of a star. My eyes didn’t deceive me.”
During filming, when the budget was tight and actors were scarce, the little assistant had been pushed in front of the camera for several key scenes.
Jiang Fusheng immediately crossed her arms in a giant ‘X’ over her chest. “No, no, no! Being an actress is soul-crushing work! I’m just a lazy bum with zero dreams.”
She was dead serious. She had taken the job as a maid specifically because it was supposed to be easy. No one was going to trick her into having a “career.”
Lu Zhiling couldn’t help but laugh at her friend’s stubborn lack of ambition. She picked up a glass of juice and gently clinked it against Gu Na’s wine. “Director Gu, you are the one who is truly breathtaking tonight.
“Thank you. Want to chat?”
Gu Na gently clinked her glass against Lu Zhiling’s, the crystal ringing clear in the cool air. She took a lingering sip of the dark red wine and turned toward the exit.
“Yes.”
Lu Zhiling signaled for Jiang Fusheng to keep the guests occupied—a task the girl took to with a plate of appetizers—and followed Gu Na out.
The curved terrace was a sanctuary of peace, isolated from the thumping bass of the ballroom. Below them, the city was a sprawling carpet of neon veins and restless lights.
Gu Na stood at the railing, elegantly swirling the deep crimson liquid in her glass. A small, wistful smile played on her lips. “I used to be like this, you know. When your brother broke up with me, he told me I was too weak—that I wasn’t ‘good enough’ to stand beside him. I took those words to heart. I changed myself, inside and out, just to prove him wrong.”
“…”
In the two months of their grueling collaboration, they had been professionals. They had talked about lighting, scripts, and budgets, but never about the man who connected them.
Lu Zhiling had been dying to ask. She wanted to pull out every memory, to laugh about his quirks and mourn his absence. But she had been afraid—afraid that speaking his name would be like rubbing salt into a wound that Gu Na had spent years trying to stitch closed.
“What? You don’t want to talk about him?” Gu Na turned, her eyes sharp and knowing. “Are you afraid I’ll fall apart?”
“I didn’t know if you had truly let him go.”
Gu Na had worked like a shendun [a ‘superwoman’ or tireless workhorse] these past months. Lu Zhiling couldn’t tell if that drive was fueled by passion or the need to outrun a ghost.
“I don’t hate him anymore,” Gu Na said softly, the bitterness finally drained from her voice. She looked at the moon. “Did he ever… did he ever mention me to you?”
The dam finally broke. Lu Zhiling stepped closer, abandoning her juice on a side table. “He never mentioned your name directly, but he talked about you constantly in his own way.”
“In his own way?” Gu Na looked puzzled.
“For instance,” Lu Zhiling began, a teasing glint in her eyes, “he forced me to watch your graduation film over and over again until I could recite the credits. He never let me touch his precious motorcycle. And once, he stripped my third aunt’s garden of every single bloom. I never knew who was worth such a theft.”
Gu Na didn’t flinch. A faint blush touched her cheeks. “He gave them to me. So what?”
“And then there was the shizi [persimmon] tree,” Lu Zhiling continued. “I had spent weeks making a handmade model of one—to symbolize shishi ruyi [a Chinese pun meaning ‘may everything go as you wish’]. It was about this tall. My brother used every ounce of his authority as the eldest to bully the rest of us into giving it to him.” She glanced at Gu Na. “But I never saw it in his room again.”
Gu Na gave a soft, genuine laugh. “Yeah. He gave me that, too.”
“My brother’s room was always full of treasures—books, rare models, antiques. But toward the end, I watched it slowly go empty. One day, even his mattress was gone. He was sleeping on the cold floor.”
Gu Na couldn’t hold back a full laugh this time, her eyes shimmering. “Back then, I was filming my graduation project. I was so exhausted my back was in constant pain. He insisted on bringing his mattress over, swearing that sleeping on his specific one was the only cure. I couldn’t stop him. He was… quite something.”
“He was,” Lu Zhiling agreed, leaning against the cold stone of the terrace. She watched the way the tassel earrings caught the light on Gu Na’s face. “How did you two even meet?”
“A classic yingxiong jiumei [the ‘hero saves the beauty’ trope],” Gu Na said. “My family wasn’t wealthy. I have too many sisters, and my parents… well, they didn’t have much room in their hearts for me. I worked odd jobs just to survive. One night, I was targeted by some thugs on a mountain road. They were determined to ‘take me for a ride.’ I couldn’t shake them—until your brother appeared on that bike. He challenged them to a race right there on the cliffs. He won, of course.”
“That sounds exactly like him,” Lu Zhiling smiled, picturing her brother’s fierce, protective streak. “That motorcycle… I’m the one who bought it for him. If you want it, I’ll find a way to get it back for you.”
Gu Na looked at her, bewildered. “You bought it? And you’ll ‘find a way’ to get it back?”
Lu Zhiling’s smile turned bittersweet. “Well… that is a very long story.””Grandpa’s Buddhist prayer beads had been purchased by her, yet they no longer rested in her hands.
“You go first,” she murmured, her voice catching.
Gu Na leaned heavily against the terrace railing. The night breeze brushed against her eyes, cool and unforgiving. “Later, the two of them gradually became familiar. On the surface, he seemed so calm, so composed—but deep down, he was still a child. To get me to cook for him, he’d pretend to be hungry, pretend to have a stomachache, pretend to be pitiful… he used every trick in the book.”
Lu Zhiling felt a pang of recognition. Her older brother, the stoic Lu Jingcheng, had a side like that too. It seemed people in love truly operate on a different frequency.
“But I can’t cook,” Gu Na continued, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. “I fooled him a few times with microwaved meals, and then I tried to get him to cook for me.”
“…”
“He was even better at dodging than I was. He refused to touch a spatula, acting like a proper young master [a term for a pampered son of a wealthy family]. From the moment we got together until the day we broke up, I never even tasted a single bowl of instant noodles made by his hand.” Gu Na’s voice rose with a flicker of lingering, affectionate anger.
Lu Zhiling couldn’t suppress a laugh. “It’s not my brother’s fault, Gu Na. It really isn’t.”
Gu Na looked at her, blinking in confusion.
“Our entire family is cursed when it comes to the kitchen,” Lu Zhiling explained, her laughter growing as she recalled the domestic disasters of her youth. “Even my grandparents. Whenever they tried to cook, it was a catastrophe—completely inedible.”
“Cooking… clueless?” Gu Na was stunned.
“It’s true. It’s like a genetic defect. My aunts, my mother—one by one they married into the family, and not a single one of them could produce a normal meal.” Lu Zhiling realized that she, too, had inherited this ‘curse.’
“Later, when the family went bankrupt and we lost our professional chefs, we had to fend for ourselves. It was a nightmare. Everyone had stomach problems; we’d practically fight over the bathroom.” She recalled that bitter, noisy period with a bittersweet glint in her eyes. “Eventually, my grandfather grew desperate. He decreed that all seven siblings had to find partners who could cook. Whoever brought home a chef would be a hero of the Lu family and earn the right of first incense at the ancestral worship [a solemn ritual honoring deceased family members to ensure their blessing].”
Gu Na laughed, imagining the chaos. But as she looked at Lu Zhiling, she saw the sorrow hidden beneath the smile—a grief too heavy for outsiders to touch. “Your brother didn’t break up with me because of that, did he? Because I couldn’t cook?”
Perhaps not being able to cook was the very proof you belonged with us, Lu Zhiling thought. But she kept the words behind her teeth. “Of course not.” Her brother was gone; Gu Na deserved a life unburdened by his ghost.
“Never mind,” Gu Na sighed, draining her wine glass. “There’s no point in seeking answers now.”
She began to recount more stories, her voice thick with the past. Lu Zhiling stood in the shadows of the terrace, listening to this unknown version of her brother. He sounded so happy then. So carefree.
“I regret it, looking back,” Gu Na whispered, staring at the glittering city lights. “We argued so much. When I found out he was the heir to a massive conglomerate, I panicked. I thought he was playing with me, or that my background was too lowly. He invited me to your family’s gala over and over, but I was too terrified to go.”
She paused, her knuckles white against the glass. “But the first time he asked… I secretly enrolled in waltz classes. I practiced ten hours a day until my feet bled. The teacher said I was beautiful. But he never got to see me dance.”
Lu Zhiling watched her, the yearning in the air almost breathable. Finally, she broke her restraint. “My brother also practiced the waltz like a madman for a while. I know his steps. I can lead.”
Gu Na’s eyes flickered with a desperate, raw longing.
Lu Zhiling stepped back into the moonlight of the terrace. She placed one hand behind her back and bowed with the elegant grace of the Lu lineage. “Miss Gu, would you do me the honor?”
Gu Na stared. In that shimmering moment, the woman before her blurred. It wasn’t Lu Zhiling standing there, but the tall, handsome, and regal Lu Jingcheng.
Inside the hall, Bo Wang arrived to a scene of celebration, but his eyes immediately sought the glass doors. Through the reflection of the potted plants, he saw them.
He watched from the shadows, his face a mask of cold stone. Lu Zhiling was leading, her arm around Gu Na’s waist, moving with a fluid, masculine strength. She was charming, controlled, and wearing a smile he had never seen before. It was a look of pure relaxation—the mask of the “Mrs. Bo” role had finally slipped, revealing the real woman beneath.
“Wow, Zhiling and Director Gu are breathtaking together!” Jiang Fusheng chirped, appearing beside him with a bag of chips. She caught Bo Wang’s icy glare and nearly jumped out of her skin. “Young… Young Master… want a chip?”
Li Minghuai quickly swooped in, dragging the girl away. “Little darling, does he look like he’s in the mood for snacks?”
Bo Wang didn’t blink. His gaze remained fixed on the terrace.
The dance ended. Gu Na collapsed against Lu Zhiling’s shoulder, her strength spent. Lu Zhiling held her, feeling the damp heat of tears soaking through her silk dress.
“Xiao Qi… I miss him,” Gu Na sobbed.
“Director Gu,” Lu Zhiling whispered, her heart aching. “Bo Wang’s grandmother bought me an old house in Jiangnan [a scenic region south of the Yangtze River known for its traditional beauty]. I’ll take you there. You can see his room. And then… you have to let him go. There is still a long road ahead of you.”
When Lu Zhiling looked up, she saw Bo Wang standing in the doorway, his expression dark and turbulent. Why is he angry now?
She smoothed her expression and walked toward him, looping her arm through his. “Bo Wang, you’re here.”
“What were you doing?” he asked, his voice like cracking ice.
“Just talking about the past,” she said, her eyes bright with a genuine warmth that only seemed to irritate him further.
“Talking about the past requires clinging to each other?” Bo Wang’s eyes pierced Gu Na, who was busy wiping her face.
“I was dancing with her… for my brother,” Lu Zhiling whispered.
Bo Wang’s lip curled. “What is there to replace for a woman like you?” He gripped her hand, pulling her toward the crowd. “This director should disappear the moment filming wraps.”
Inside, the drunken cast of The Rich and Powerful began to jeer. “Mr. and Mrs. Bo! A toast! Give us a cross-cupped wine toast [a traditional wedding gesture where a couple intertwines arms to drink]!”
The room erupted into a rhythmic chant. Lu Zhiling, buoyed by the night’s emotions, handed a glass to Bo Wang and took one for herself. She intertwined her soft, slender arm with his powerful one. Her eyes locked onto his—intense, searching, and submissive. She took a sip, her gaze never leaving his.
Bo Wang stared at her for a long beat, his pulse visible in his neck. He downed the wine in one aggressive swallow. In that moment, with their arms locked and the light catching the curve of her throat, she looked like she belonged entirely to him.
The drive back was silent until Lu Zhiling spoke, her voice airy and light. “I’m especially happy today.”
“I can see that,” Bo Wang muttered, his hand gripping the steering wheel.
“It’s another day I get to spend with you,” she blurted out, the wine and the memories making her bold. “Isn’t that enough to be happy about?”
The car lurched violently. Bo Wang’s hand slipped, the tires screeching as the vehicle veered toward a flowerbed before he slammed on the brakes. He turned to her, his eyes dark with a predatory hunger that made her breath hitch.
“Lu Zhiling,” he growled, his voice dropping an octave. “You are not allowed to seduce me when my hands are busy.”
“Okay,” she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs.
“Come here.”
She unbuckled her seatbelt and crawled across the center console. She draped one hand over his broad shoulder, leaning in until she could feel the radiating heat of his body. She pressed her lips to his, a soft, tentative kiss.
Bo Wang didn’t move, but the tension in his frame was electric. He wasn’t satisfied. Sensing his unspoken demand, Lu Zhiling lingered, her tongue darting out to lick his lower lip with a slow, provocative stroke before she pulled away. “Let’s go home.”
Bo Wang’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. He slammed the car into gear, the engine roaring as they sped off much faster than before. Lu Zhiling pressed her hands to her burning cheeks. At this rate, she’d be covered in red welts [hickeys/love bites] by morning.
To distract him, she turned the conversation to business—to the power struggle within the conglomerate involving Yu Yunfei and Xia Meiqing.
“They’ve been in the company so long,” Lu Zhiling mused, her brow furrowing. “Did they really only play one card? It felt too easy.”
Bo Wang reached out, seizing her hand and crushing her palm against his. “Both groups contacted Gu Na.”
Lu Zhiling gasped. “How do you know?”
“Is it strange that I know?” Bo Wang’s tone was casual, yet dangerous. “Do you think I’d let you spend all your time on a set without eyes on everyone? I don’t trust ‘clean’ sets. I look for the traitors.”
“You suspected her?”
“I suspect everyone,” he countered. “Yu Yunfei wanted Gu Na to claim she was ganged raped by our people on the night of the premiere—to ruin the show and our reputation. Xia Meiqing wanted the same, but with the added twist of framing Yu Yunfei for the idea.”
Lu Zhiling felt a cold shiver. The depravity of their enemies was bottomless. “Why didn’t you stop her? It’s too dangerous for her to play double agent.”
Bo Wang’s expression was one of total indifference. “Why should I care about a director’s safety? As long as she didn’t actually betray us, it’s none of my business.”
Lu Zhiling realized then the vast gap between them. To him, people were assets or obstacles. She sat back, a sense of dread pooling in her stomach. If Gu Na was the “last card,” her betrayal of the villains wouldn’t go unpunished.
She grabbed her phone, her fingers trembling as she dialed Gu Na’s number.
Ring… ring…
No answer.