“You’re still thinking about him,” Ding Yujun murmured.
To the world, Lu Zhiling appeared to be a woman who thrived on chaos, weaponizing the Bo family’s reputation without a single care for her own safety. But the old matriarch saw deeper. She reached out, her weathered hand cupping Zhiling’s face.
“It gladdens me to see you two so intertwined. For years, Bo Wang endured countless underhanded arrows (covert attacks or betrayals) from his own kin, yet he was too indifferent to even speak of them. But now? He is standing against his father, time and again, all for you.”
Ding Yujun sighed softly. Once a person develops feelings, they become flesh and blood—vulnerable, yet truly alive.
“Grandma, I don’t want him to fail at the finish line because of me,” Zhiling said, her voice steady. Ding Yujun patted her hand knowingly.
“I will make a list of Zheng Rong’s preferences for you. Once his temper cools in a few days, I’ll speak to him again. He isn’t one to break his word, and now that Yu Yunfei has been ousted, there are vacancies in the core (openings in the high-level executive board) of the conglomerate.”
“Thank you, Grandma.” Zhiling took a silk tissue and gently wiped the tears from the old woman’s eyes. “Don’t worry for me. I’ll think twice before I act from now on.”
“You think too much as it is,” Ding Yujun countered gently. “What I want is for you to stop being so stubborn. Rely on those around you.”
Zhiling remained silent, offering only an obedient smile. She dared not rely on anyone. She knew all too well that once you surrender your heart, you are destined to be left with nothing but scars.
For five days, Lu Zhiling played the role of the repentant daughter-in-law. She prepared afternoon tea and coffee exactly to Bo Zhengrong’s liking. Though she was no chef, she spent hours in the kitchen, adding sugar and kneading dough just to ensure the offerings bore the mark of her own hands.
Every day, she was turned away.
The servants whispered in the corridors, their eyes tracking her as she waited patiently outside the study. She stood until her legs ached, then sat, then stood again. After exactly one hour, when the coffee grew stone-cold, she would leave without a word.
Finally, on the sixth day, a calm, authoritative voice drifted through the heavy oak doors: “Come in.”
In the master bedroom, Bo Wang stirred. His hand reached out across the silk sheets, finding only cold emptiness. His brow furrowed instantly. He sat up, his well-defined back muscles rippling as he ran a hand through his dark, messy hair. An irrational surge of irritation flared within him.
Was she trying to poison Bo Zhengrong with her cooking again?
He threw back the duvet, his trousers hanging low on his hips, and threw on a silk robe. Outside the door, a maid stood holding a bowl of Tong Sui (a sweet, Cantonese dessert soup).
“Young Master! The Young Madam noticed you had no appetite in the heat, so she had this prepared for you.”
It wasn’t a lack of appetite; lately, a heavy lethargy had settled over him, making him crave sleep even at midday. He glanced at the soup, his voice a low growl. “Where is she?”
“In the Master’s study, sir.”
Bo Wang’s eyes darkened. He snatched the bowl from the startled maid and walked toward the study. The door was slightly ajar. He paused, leaning against the cold hallway wall, and brought a spoonful of the chilled soup to his lips. The refreshing sweetness slid down his throat—she always knew exactly what he needed before he even knew it himself.
Then, her voice drifted out, soft and submissive.
“Father, this is my fault. Bo Wang was only protective because he feared the stress would harm the baby. Please, don’t hold it against him.”
Inside the room, Bo Zhengrong’s voice was like a whip. “I underestimated you. Are you smug, Lu Zhiling? Having my son so thoroughly under your thumb that he’d kidnap his own family and jeopardize the firm for you?”
“I never intended that,” she replied, pushing a cup of coffee toward him. “Please, give him another chance.”
“With you by his side? I wouldn’t dare give him the keys to the empire,” Bo Zhengrong laughed coldly. “He listens to you so blindly—when he takes power, will it be the Bo family in charge, or will it be you?”
A killing intent flickered in the patriarch’s eyes. The atmosphere turned frigid.
“If I promise to leave him before he takes office,” Zhiling said, her voice eerily calm, “will you give him his chance?”
Outside, the spoon in Bo Wang’s hand froze. His eyes turned black with a sudden, sharp fury.
“What do you take me for?” Bo Zhengrong sneered. “Trying to fool me with such childish lies…”
But he stopped mid-sentence. He looked into her eyes and saw no hesitation, no lingering attachment. She wasn’t making a desperate plea; she was making a business deal. She had already planned her exit.
“I can write you a formal guarantee,” she added.
“Lu Zhiling, get the hell out here!”
The roar shattered the tension. Zhiling’s heart lurched. She hadn’t realized the “maid” she heard swallowing in the hall was actually Bo Wang eavesdropping.
She barely stepped out of the study before his hand clamped around her wrist like a shackle. He dragged her to the end of the long corridor, pinning her against a marble pillar. His fingers dug into her shoulders with a bruising intensity.
“How exactly do you plan to write that guarantee?” Bo Wang hissed, his face inches from hers. His thin lips were curled in a sneer, his eyes radiating a lethal coldness.
Zhiling winced, her back pressed against the freezing stone. “I don’t want to be the reason you lose the conglomerate,” she whispered.
“Is being the successor so important to you?” Bo Wang leaned down, his aura completely enveloping her, his breath hot against her skin. “Tell me, Lu Zhiling—is the throne worth more to you than staying in my bed?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. His hand shifted from her shoulder to her jaw, forcing her to look at him. The air between them was electric with a volatile mix of hatred and hunger.
“If you ever think about writing a ‘guarantee’ to leave me again,” he growled, his voice dropping to a dangerous, silken rasp, “I’ll make sure you’re too exhausted to even pick up a pen.””If gaining so much requires a price, then I am willing to pay it,” Lu Zhiling said, her voice soft yet unbreakable. She dug her fingernails into her palms, the sharp sting helping her mask the tremors of her own heart.
Bo Wang’s breath hitched. Every word she spoke was a tribute to him; every sentence was a shield forged for his future. But the thought of her “price”—her departure—ignited a dormant volcano within him.
“Is that all you have to say? Have you forgotten what I told you?” He was on the verge of an explosion, his muscles coiled to strike or shatter something, when she suddenly collapsed into his arms. She wrapped her limbs around his waist, burying her face against the steady thrum of his heart.
“Bo Wang, please… don’t be angry,” she muffled against his chest. “I’ve already caused so much friction between you and Father. I want to see you become the man you were meant to be. I want our child to grow up carefree (unburdened by the family’s dark politics) under your wing.” Her voice broke, a jagged sob catching in her throat. “I don’t want to leave you. I just… I have to make a choice.”
Bo Wang stood frozen, his hand suspended in the air. He felt the stiffness in her body, the quiet terror that he might actually strike her. His eyes darkened to a void. Slowly, his hand lowered, not in a blow, but to brush against the hem of her clothes.
Did she truly believe he needed a throne to protect her? Or was it that the daughter of a tycoon (wealthy business magnate) could only respect a man who sat at the head of a Conglomerate?
“Fine,” he muttered, his decision hardening like steel. He pinched her chin, forcing her to look up. her eyes were wet, glistening like bruised flower petals. His voice dropped to a deep, magnetic vibration. “Want some sweet soup?”
The sudden shift dazed her. She glanced at the empty bowl on the railing. “But… it’s gone.”
Bo Wang’s gaze didn’t waver from her lips. He didn’t need a bowl.
Lu Zhiling understood. She reached up, hooking her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips to his. He opened for her instantly, welcoming her taste with a hunger that was cool, sweet, and utterly possessive. When she finally pulled away, a ghost of a smile touched her damp eyes. “It was sweet.”
Bo Wang’s lips curved into a wanton, lethal grin. The fury was gone, replaced by a dark, simmering intent. He squeezed the nape of her neck. “Go to the room. Wait for me.”
“What are you—”
“Be good,” he commanded.
Bang.
Bo Wang kicked out the chair in his father’s study and sank into it with insolent grace. He flicked the Buddhist prayer beads (a sign of high status or spiritual pretense often worn by Chinese elites) on his wrist and cut through the air like a knife.
“I want into the Core. The Shipping Division.”
Bo Zhengrong looked up, stunned. Shipping was the Bo family’s foundation, its ancestral heartbeat. For Bo Wang to demand it was to demand the crown jewels.
“You’re good at shedding blood,” Bo Zhengrong retorted. “But can you handle a legitimate ledger?”
“Losing a single penny—incurring a single debt—and I’ll walk away from the Bo name forever,” Bo Wang replied, his arrogance reaching the very marrow of his bones.
The patriarch was silenced. He saw it now: the “skirmishes” of the past were just games. Now, Bo Wang was playing for keeps. If Lu Zhiling had been the one to cultivate this hunger in his son, perhaps she was worth keeping as a catalyst—as long as her heart remained outside the family gates.
“Fine,” Bo Zhengrong conceded. “But remember: Ability first. The Bo family’s interests second. Anything else is to be abandoned. If you do anything foolish, you will taste the consequences.”
Bo Wang stopped at the door and looked back, a cruel, beautiful smile playing on his lips. “Consequences? Try it. If you dare touch a hair on her head, not a single soul in this family will survive to see the sunrise.”
When the news reached Lu Zhiling that Bo Wang had successfully claimed the Shipping Division, she was in the kitchen, stunned. Five days of coffee and apologies had done nothing, yet he had secured the position in minutes.
She found him in his personal study—a vast, cold room that looked more like a luxury showroom than a workspace. The lights were off. The only glow came from the cold blue light of a computer screen, illuminating the sharp angles of his face.
He wore a pair of frameless glasses, the silver temples tucked into his dark hair, giving him the look of a highly sophisticated predator. The sight of him was strikingly sensual, a mix of intellectual power and raw, physical danger.
Lu Zhiling stepped inside, carrying a small plate of fruit. The door clicked shut behind her, sealing them in the dark silence.
“You’re working,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on how the light caught the bridge of his nose.
Bo Wang didn’t look up, but his voice was a low, vibrating rasp in the shadows. “I told you to wait in the room. Why are you here, provocatively walking into my space?”
He turned the chair slowly, the glasses reflecting the dim light so she couldn’t see his eyes, only the predatory curve of his mouth. The air in the study suddenly felt very thin.