“How could that be? Our tea is aimed at high-end customers. We only select top-quality leaves, so the cost price is naturally high.”
Lu Zhiling spoke seriously. As she took back the gift bag and handed over the invitation instead.
“Since you don’t trust me, forget it.”
“…”
Gong Zihua choked on her words again. After a moment of thought, she reached out, took back the gift bag, and pushed the invitation toward Lu Zhiling once more. Forcing a smile, she said, “How could I not trust you? I’ll buy it. Swipe my card.”
She handed over the card, her eyes gleaming with resolve.
She was determined to watch this show. Even if it cost three hundred thousand yuan (≈ a very large sum, equivalent to months or even years of ordinary income), she would watch it through.
After the card was swiped, Lu Zhiling smiled politely and personally walked Gong Zihua to the door.
“Take care.”
Gong Zihua carried the tea gift bag out, her heart aching more with every step.
She pulled out her phone and made a call.
“Dad, let’s make the Angel Fundraising Gala even bigger, okay? Ideally, I want the upper circles from both Jiangnan and Jiangbei to attend. I’ve prepared a major program…”
She lowered her voice, excitement barely contained.
“Trust me. It’ll be spectacular.”
As soon as Gong Zihua left, Jiang Fu angrily dragged Lu Zhiling upstairs.
“What kind of person is she? She’s gone too far! She clearly has ill intentions!” Jiang Fu said furiously.
Feng Zhen, who had witnessed everything from upstairs, stood to the side, secretly wiping away his tears.
His young lady was suffering every single day.
It was his fault—for being powerless, for being unable to support her.
Lu Zhiling, however, remained completely unmoved. She even found their reactions faintly amusing.
“What’s wrong with you two?” she said lightly. “Just attending a gala earns three hundred thousand yuan. That’s easy money.”
Three hundred thousand yuan—
an astronomical amount.
“What’s so good about it?” Jiang Fu snapped. “She’s obviously bored and wants you to become a laughingstock, humiliated in public!”
“Miss, you absolutely can’t go,” Feng Zhen said anxiously.
“I’m going,” Lu Zhiling replied.
Her voice was gentle, yet unwavering.
She held the invitation in her hand. Printed on it was a list of rare items to be auctioned.
And one of them has caught her breath—
A top-grade agarwood prayer bead bracelet (agarwood is an extremely rare and expensive incense wood, often used in Buddhist items).
She was deeply familiar with the carving patterns.
It had once been a gift from her grandmother to her grandfather when he was young.
Her grandfather wore it his entire life. Even after the Lu family went bankrupt, he refused to take it off. In the end, her grandmother had torn it from his wrist to use as collateral, saying that as long as the family stayed together, no old object mattered more than people.
Yet their shared hardship lasted only a few short days—
before a fire reduced everything to ashes.
Lu Zhiling clenched the invitation tightly.
The bracelet was right there.
She couldn’t not try.
…
That morning, after breakfast, Bo Wang did not return to the Bo family residence.
So Lu Zhiling felt unexpectedly lighter. As she threw herself wholeheartedly into making money. By the time the weekend arrived, after careful budgeting—and even including the money she had spent topping up her card at the teahouse—she barely managed to scrape together one million yuan.
For her current self, this was a considerable sum. Enough to live modestly.
But for an auction?
It was nowhere near enough.
Feng Zhen wanted to give her the money he had saved to pay off his debts. Jiang Fusheng even offered to borrow money from her parents.
But she refused them all.
She could earn money herself. She could bid on what she wanted—no matter how expensive it was.
If she couldn’t earn enough, then she didn’t deserve to bid.
She couldn’t plunder everyone around her. That would make everything meaningless.
At the night of the auction the night air was cool and still. The Gong family’s garden villa was brightly lit, streetlamps illuminating the entire road like daylight.
Lu Zhiling and Feng Zhen arrived there by taxi.
Just as she was about to get out, Feng Zhen grabbed her arm.
“Miss, if you don’t want my money… how about we let it go tonight?”
She turned her head slightly and smiled faintly.
“Let’s try first . What if no one else competes with me?”
What if—by sheer luck—she really won the bracelet?
“Miss—”
Feng Zhen’s heart felt unbearably heavy. He wasn’t worried about losing the bid.
He was worried about the so-called upper class inside.
Lu Zhiling knew exactly what he was thinking.
“Uncle Feng, I’ve been hiding for five years.”
Since she had already chosen to stop hiding, this day would come sooner or later.
Today or tomorrow—what difference did it make?
With that, she gently freed herself from his grasp, opened the car door, and took out her white cane.
Feng Zhen immediately followed her out and stepped forward to assist.
At the villa entrance, several servants were welcoming guests. Feng Zhen handed over the invitation.
Someone responsible for registering names looked up at Lu Zhiling with a polite smile.
“Hello, may I ask your name…?”
Lu Zhiling stood straight, her posture composed, and spoke each word clearly—
“Lu Zhiling. From the Lu family of Changlin District, Jiangnan.”
Inside the Gong family villa, the atmosphere was lively. Media had been invited, and a red carpet stretched across the entrance for guests to make their appearances.
The grand living room was divided into two areas—one for the auction, the other for socializing. Everyone was impeccably dressed, clinking glasses and laughing as if harmony itself had taken form.
At the center of the hall a massive white glass statue of Guanyin (the Buddhist Bodhisattva of Compassion) stood beneath the lights, shimmering faintly. And against the walls, partially hidden in dim shadows, was a European-style leather sofas for the guest to rest .
Still at the vast expanse of a leather sofa a man sat alone there, leaning back lazily. His black shirt was slightly wrinkled. The cool light from Guanyin swept across his sharp features. His eyes were closed, lashes dark as ink—so cold and striking that even the Buddha’s glow couldn’t soften him.
Nearby, Ji Jing was playing mahjong (a traditional Chinese tile game) with a few others, the tiles clattering loudly.
“Tonight I’m crushing all three of them! Nobody’s leaving!”
“Brother Jing, keep it down,” someone whispered, nudging him. “That guy’s asleep.”
Ji Jing glanced at Bo Wang, smirked, and flicked the cigarette in his mouth.
“It’s fine. He likes noise. Just don’t shout directly in his ear.”
Otherwise, with how dull things were, that man wouldn’t have bothered coming at all.
Ji Jing’s table quickly escalated into tens of millions, drawing more spectators. Despite the crowd, no one dared approach the sofa.
Several girls squeezed through. Someone asked to an another girl curiously,
“Where are you going?”
“To see if Lu Zhiling has arrived. Zi Hua said she’d come,” one of them said excitedly.
Ji Jing laughed and tossed his tiles aside.
“Who’s that? Never heard of her. Is there some drama in Jiangbei that I, Young Master Ji, don’t know about?”
“It’s the Lu family. The one that collapsed overnight years ago—everyone died except for one daughter. Zi Hua invited her. We all want to see what the former heiress of the most prestigious family in K Country looks like now.”
Ji Jing’s hand froze mid-air.
“The Lu family? The one that dominated Jiangnan, yet was insignificant in Jiangbei?”
At his words, everyone recalled that once-glorious aristocratic family.
Back then, when the Lu family was at its peak, all other Jiangbei families paled in comparison.
They thought the Lu family had vanished completely.
But it turned out—one daughter was still lived.
“They’re here! They really came!”
The mahjong table was instantly abandoned. Ji Jing stood up, turning casually—only to see that Bo Wang, who had been asleep, was now awake, sitting silently with no expression.
“Brother Wang, let’s watch the show together,” Ji Jing said ingratiatingly.
“You want me to look at the back of your head?”
Bo Wang glanced coldly at the crowd blocking his view.
Ji Jing immediately understood and pushed people aside.
Bo Wang remained seated, only tilting his head slightly. His gaze passed Guanyin’s jade arm—
And landed on a slender figure slowly emerging into view.
She wore a misty light-green dress that brushed her ankles, flat shoes beneath, her long hair tucked gently behind her ears. Her attire was simple to the extreme, yet it perfectly accentuated her understated beauty—like a woman of Jiangnan, soft and serene, carrying an almost ethereal grace.
She walked slowly, a cane in hand. Calm. Composed.
“She’s quite pretty…”
Ji Jing sat beside Bo Wang, eyes bright. “But her eyes—are they blind? What a pity.”
Bo Wang glanced at him, his gaze unreadable.
Lu Zhiling stood quietly at the entrance.
After a moment, Gong Zihua appeared from the crowd in a red off-the-shoulder evening gown. Smiling, she took Lu Zhiling’s arm.
“Zhiling, why are you so late? I’ve been waiting forever.”
She had waited deliberately—until everyone had scrutinized Lu Zhiling like a monkey on display.
“Am I late?” Lu Zhiling asked lightly.
“It’s fine. The auction’s about to start. I’ll take you there.”
Gong Zihua’s gaze drifted toward Feng Zhen, her voice suddenly rising.
“Your husband is here too? Come, come—join us.”
A stir rippled through the room. All eyes fell on Feng Zhen, his hair already silvered.
Lu Zhiling’s expression didn’t change.
But Feng Zhen flushed with anger.
“I’m only a servant. Please don’t misunderstand, Miss Gong.”
Gong Zihua paused, then smiled.
“Your husband is quite considerate. But when it comes to love, age doesn’t matter, right?”
Lu Zhiling neither denied nor agreed.
She simply asked, “Where should I sit?”
“This way.”
Gong Zihua led her to the auction area and seated her at a round table in the farthest corner.
“I’m sorry, the seating was arranged earlier. There aren’t many spots left. But don’t worry—your classmates miss you very much. They’ll come talk to you soon.”
And to tease you. She thinks internally.
“Alright.”
Lu Zhiling sat calmly, as if unaware of the deliberate humiliation.
“Zhi Ling’s husband, please sit as well,” Gong Zihua added warmly.
Feng Zhen clenched his fists and stood straight behind Lu Zhiling.
“Please respect our young lady, Miss Gong.”
“Where did Zi Hua disrespect Lu Zhiling?”
Two girls approached, hand in hand, contempt dripping from their voices.
“With her current status, she should be grateful just to be invited. Yet she has her husband pretend to be a servant. Lu Zhiling—after all these years, you’re still so hypocritical.”
Lu Zhiling looked at them quietly. She vaguely remembered them as former classmates.
“Mingyi, Guozi, don’t be like this,” Gong Zihua said gently, pretending to mediate. “She’s had a hard time these past years.”
“Hard time or not, don’t pretend,” one girl scoffed.
“If she were honestly poor, I’d respect her. But look at her—still acting like a rich lady. Does she think we don’t know her background?”
“Exactly. Today she clings to an old man for money, tomorrow she’ll cling to you like a leech.”
Mockery poured down on Lu Zhiling.
She remained seated, calmly adjusting her sleeves, a faint smile on her lips.
“You misunderstand. I’m blind. Uncle Feng accompanied me for safety. I didn’t pretend.”
Her tone carried no anger, no humility—only quiet indifference, as if their words were meaningless noise.
The two girls were displeased at her composure.
One of them dragged over a maid holding the donation box.
“Since you’re here, why not donate to children in mountainous areas abroad? Charity isn’t about the amount—just the intention. One or two hundred thousand would be fine.”
“My pleasure.”
Lu Zhiling stood, took five hundred yuan in cash from her pocket, and placed it inside.
They froze.
“Are you mocking us?”
This box was symbolic—there was a QR code for digital donations. Cash, especially only five hundred yuan, was absurd.
“Charity isn’t about the amount,” Lu Zhiling repeated gently, returning their words, and sat back down.
“You’re unbelievable.”
The girls were furious.
“Lu Zhiling, stop embarrassing yourself. This place isn’t for you. If you have any shame, leave.”
Silence fell.
Countless eyes turned toward Lu Zhiling.
She was no longer the privileged girl of the past. With her current status, she wouldn’t even qualify to work at this gala—let alone attend it.
This time, Gong Zihua didn’t intervene. She only smiled, watching closely, eager to see Lu Zhiling cry or explode.
Feng Zhen burned with anger—but Lu Zhiling spoke softly.
“Miss Gong, isn’t the auction about to begin?”
The room fell even quieter.
Someone sneered,
“I never thought the daughter of the top family in K Country would act like this. Sitting here with only five hundred yuan—does she think she can meet rich people this way?”
“How laughable.”
The voices grew sharper.
Yet Lu Zhiling sat still, untouched by the noise.
From afar, Ji Jing had witnessed it all.
“Such a waste of a pretty face,” he sighed.
“Girls whose families collapse overnight never know where they stand. They think pleasing a few rich people can bring them back, right?”
Bo Wang leaned back lazily, his narrow eyes resting on that slender figure—
cold, unreadable, and silent.