Lu Zhiling frowned slightly.
“Don’t you think it’s terrifying?” Jiang Fusheng whispered, lowering her voice as if afraid someone might overhear. “The young master killed someone when he was only ten years old — and now, he’s even more reckless.”
“Even if he did,” Lu Zhiling replied calmly, “it’s not his fault.”
Her tone was soft, but her words were firm. A child raised in such brutal conditions — left without warmth, without love — could do whatever he wished and still not be to blame.
Jiang Fusheng was just about to take a sip of tea when she heard that. Startled, she froze and stared at Lu Zhiling, her eyes wide with disbelief.
“You’re taking the young master’s side?” she asked incredulously. “I thought you didn’t even like him — that you were just… making do.”
After all, the young master hadn’t come home once in the week since the wedding. She hadn’t called, hadn’t asked after him, hadn’t shown any sign of care — as though he didn’t exist at all.
“I’m only stating the facts,” Lu Zhiling said quietly.
That confrontation with Bo Wang in the car that night — his cold gaze, the knife glinting dangerously in his hand — had indeed frightened her. But even so, she couldn’t bring herself to say that the revenge of a boy who’d suffered so much was “terrifying.” Pity and fear had tangled together too tightly in her heart to be separated.
“So, is that why you’re asking me all this?” Jiang Fusheng teased, leaning forward with a grin. “You’re trying to get on the young master’s good side?”
Her thoughts wandered as she giggled, “Oh, right — you’re already husband and wife, and you even have a baby. If you two could be all lovey-dovey, that would be perfect!”
“…”
She was overthinking it.
Being lovey-dovey [(a playful slang used for couples who are overly affectionate or clingy)] was impossible. Getting along peacefully was already hard enough for them.
So now all Lu Zhiling wanted was to avoid unnecessary conflict.
Her marriage to Bo Wang would last only until the end of her breastfeeding period — less than two years. She planned to use that limited time wisely, to secure everything she needed before it was over.
Lu Zhiling looked up at the woman across from her and gestured lightly toward the cup. “Drink your tea.”
Only then did Jiang Fusheng lower her head and take a sip. The moment the liquid touched her tongue, her eyes lit up.
“Wow! Delicious!” she exclaimed, finishing the cup in one gulp before eagerly pouring herself another.
Lu Zhiling couldn’t help smiling. “Tea,” she said gently, “is meant to be savored slowly.” [(In Chinese tea culture, tea isn’t just a drink — it’s an experience of patience, reflection, and taste, meant to be appreciated sip by sip.)]
“But it really tastes good.”
Jiang Fusheng took another sip, savoring it with genuine appreciation. “There’s a faint bitterness at first — that’s the tea,” she said thoughtfully. “But it’s light, just right… and then comes this lingering sweetness. The whole flavor feels soft and mellow, like the air after rain — it fills my mouth completely. I can almost hear birds singing and smell flowers blooming around me.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
Lu Zhiling smiled faintly. “Then I’ll trouble you to properly learn how to brew tea in the coming days.”
Jiang Fusheng blinked at her, puzzled. “Why should I learn to brew tea? What happens after I learn it? Will it help you? Or someone else? If I keep good relationships, I can still help you earn money to buy those old relics, right?”
She frowned, clearly confused. “I really don’t understand.”
Lu Zhiling lowered her gaze, gently rotating the teacup in her hand. Her long lashes trembled slightly — like butterfly wings brushing against glass. Beneath them, her dark pupils glimmered faintly.
“My husband hasn’t been home for a week,” she said softly. “Shouldn’t a wife send something to show her concern?”
“…Oh.”
Jiang Fusheng’s expression froze for a moment — then she suddenly seemed to realize something.
So that’s it… you like him.
You really like him, don’t you?
…
Night fell, and the city center burst into a sea of neon lights — brilliant, dazzling, reflecting countless faces in the crowd.
Luxury cars rolled in one after another, stopping before Jiangbei City’s most exclusive club — the Black Spade Club.
A stream of elegantly dressed men and women flowed toward the grand entrance, above which hung a massive black spade-shaped emblem. Its sharp outline gleamed under the lights, bold and imposing.
Lu Zhiling stepped out of the car, adjusted the mask covering her face, and gazed silently at the lively entrance ahead.
“I heard the Spade Club is hosting the finals for their ‘King and Queen’ selection tonight,” Jiang Fusheng said, clutching the box of tea tightly in her arms. “All the rich and powerful from Jiangbei will be there to cheer for their favorites. It’s going to be quite the scene.”
She glanced around nervously. “But I still don’t get it — why did you have to pick tonight to deliver the tea? This place is huge. The young master comes here often, but… he’s not here tonight.”
“That’s better,” Lu Zhiling said quietly.
If Bo Wang were present, things would become complicated.
He still hadn’t let go of what happened that night — that honey trap, that humiliating misunderstanding. If he saw her now, he might smash the tea leaves to the ground without hesitation, ruining everything.
You can earn money through Bo Wang’s circle, she reminded herself silently, but you must avoid Bo Wang.
“Let’s go.”
Without another word, Lu Zhiling led the way inside.
She hadn’t planned to come personally at first. But after several days of practice, Jiang Fusheng’s tea-brewing still wasn’t quite good enough. In the end, she had no choice but to come along herself.
(In Chinese culture, tea-brewing — or gongfu cha — is not merely about serving tea but about poise, precision, and emotion. Every movement reveals temperament. To “learn tea properly” often implies learning patience, self-control, and refinement — traits deeply admired in traditional feminine virtue.)