Ever since Xia Meiqing entered the picture, Bo Zhengrong’s heart had been quietly led astray. The affection that once existed between him and Yu Yunfei had thinned to the point where even the word breakup hovered constantly between them—just waiting to be spoken.
If not for the fact that she had borne him a son and a daughter, Yu Yunfei would likely have been driven out of the Bo residence long ago. She knew it well. And so, she needed a plan—something that would win Bo Zhengrong’s heart back before it was completely lost to another woman.
“Okay,” she said.
The servant nodded obediently and took out his phone to book a plane ticket.
At the next table, Lu Zhiling quietly lifted her glass of warm milk and took a sip, her expression calm and mild.
“Lu Zhiling! You’re still sitting here drinking milk? Come and see what you’ve done to Xiaozhen!”
Xia Meiqing’s shrill voice sliced through the room as she strode back, anger radiating off her.
Lu Zhiling hastily put down the glass, stood up, and said with a nervous tremor in her tone, “I’m sorry, Aunt Xia. I didn’t mean to… I really didn’t mean to…”
She stumbled backward in feigned panic—and bumped right into Yu Yunfei’s servant. Her hand shot out instinctively, gripping the servant’s arm for balance, and with a subtle flick of her wrist, she knocked the phone clean out of the servant’s grasp.
The phone hit the ground with a dull clack.
Xia Meiqing’s sharp gaze darted to the device. She was about to yank Lu Zhiling by the arm when something on the phone’s glowing screen caught her attention. She froze for a second, then bent down and picked it up.
Her eyes narrowed as she read what was on the screen. After a few seconds, her gaze lifted—cold and sharp—locking straight onto Yu Yunfei.
“Why,” she asked icily, “did you book a hotel room in Fenglin District?”
Yu Yunfei’s lips curved into a practiced, serene smile. “There’s a concert there,” she replied lightly.
“A concert?” Xia Meiqing’s tone dripped with disbelief. “Zhengrong will be back soon, and you still have the mood to attend a concert?”
The doubt in her eyes deepened. No—something wasn’t right.
Without another word, Xia Meiqing dropped the phone onto the table, her earlier fury toward Lu Zhiling forgotten, and turned to leave in haste.
“…”
Yu Yunfei’s delicate smile cracked. Her face stiffened with anger as she glared at the servant. “Useless! You can’t even hold on to a phone properly.”
The servant’s face turned pale, full of grievance. How could he have known that the “blind” young mistress would bump right into him like that?
Lu Zhiling, meanwhile, still stood where she was, her expression dazed and harmless. Only after Yu Yunfei swept away in a rush did she slowly straighten her back.
“I thought my heart would stop,” Jiang Fusheng whispered as she leaned close, still trembling from the tension. “Madam, that was… incredibly lucky. If Madam Xia had caught you, you’d be in real trouble.”
Lu Zhiling rubbed her ear lightly, a faint smile curving on her lips. “Yes,” she said softly. “I’m so lucky.”
The sun hung warm and pale over Jiangbei City, its rays spilling lazily through the car windows as the vehicle rolled along the quiet road lined with trees.
“I’m just visiting a patient. You don’t have to accompany me,” Lu Zhiling said gently from the back seat.
Jiang Fusheng, who was chewing on a red bean cake (a soft, sweet pastry commonly eaten for breakfast in China), spoke around his mouthful, “No, Madam. You’re not supposed to move around much, and the old lady instructed me to take care of you personally.”
Lu Zhiling said nothing. The old matriarch’s concern, though perfunctory, was still better than the rest of the Bo family’s cold indifference. At least, for now, she cared about the baby in her womb. During these nine months, no one would dare lay a finger on her.
The car came to a stop in front of a private hospital.
Supported by Jiang Fusheng, Lu Zhiling stepped inside. The morning light filtered through the glass dome overhead, pooling like liquid gold upon the polished floor.
They turned a corner—and a cautious, nervous voice drifted from the slightly open door nearby.
“Mr. Bo, you must control your strength when using the whip. Otherwise, you could easily injure yourself… Ah, sorry, I’m being long-winded. I’ll bandage you right away.”
The sound of that name—Bo—made Lu Zhiling pause mid-step.
She tilted her head slightly toward the half-open door.
Through the narrow gap, she saw a doctor in a white coat, mask half-slipping down his flushed face, his hands trembling as he carefully bandaged the man sitting across from him. Sweat rolled down his temples, as though the tension in the air had made the room suffocating.
The patient sat with one leg casually crossed over the other. From Lu Zhiling’s angle, she couldn’t see his face clearly. But the straight, crisp lines of his black trousers and the faint sheen of water on his skin caught her attention.
His hand rested on his knee—long, slender, the knuckles bruised and bloodied. The white gauze was quickly soaked with disinfectant, yet not a sound came from him. No groan, no hiss of pain.
He simply sat there—silent, composed, as if the sting of the wound meant nothing to him.
Lu Zhiling’s heart gave a quiet, almost imperceptible tremor.
Was that… Bo Wang?
Her breath caught as she took a slow step back, her senses tightening with wary curiosity.
She looked again—this time carefully, quietly.