How could he accept the Buddhist prayer beads she had spent so much money on—
and with such a condescending tone?When had she ever said she was giving them to him?They belonged to her grandfather.
Lu Zhiling clutched the now-empty box and chased after him, though she dared not run. She could only feel her way cautiously along the wall. By the time she reached the living room, the glass doors reflected nothing but emptiness. The orange sports car in the garden was already gone.
“…”
Her stomach twisted painfully. She was so angry that it physically hurt.Lu Zhiling lowered her head, staring at the empty box in her hands, frustration surging until it left her breathless.Just then, a soft ding sounded at the entrance.She turned her head.
A screen lit up automatically, revealing Ji Jing’s face. He stepped back slightly, patting the exquisite gift box in his arms with exaggerated pride.
“Brother Wang, look—tonight I brought the Gong family’s most valuable treasure. A thousand-year-old sword stained with human blood. I think it suits your temperament perfectly!”
(The Gong family is an old aristocratic family; gifting weapons symbolizes power and dominance.)
“…”
Lu Zhiling remained silent.
Ji Jing waited for a response that never came. After a moment, he sighed.
“Brother Wang, I know you’re awake. Just let me in. Birthday gifts only matter if they’re received on the day itself—eh? What the hell… Brother Wang’s car?”
He abruptly turned his head, clearly seeing Bo Wang’s car driving away. He rubbed his temples in frustration.
“Great. Completely wasted trip.”
Soon after, the screen darkened.So today was Bo Wang’s birthday?
Lu Zhiling suddenly remembered the phone call outside the Gong residence. She had been talking to Jiang Fusheng about her birthday when Bo Wang’s car passed by—then reversed.
Had he only heard the latter half?
Had he assumed she endured an entire night of humiliation just to buy those prayer beads for him?
Ridiculous.What an absurd misunderstanding.
Annoyed and drained, Lu Zhiling put away the empty box and walked out through the glass doors toward the elevator. Sensing the presence of surveillance cameras, she fumbled for the button for the first floor.
“Facial recognition failed. Please swipe your card.”
The mechanical voice echoed in the enclosed space.
“…”
She was stuck here.
Lu Zhiling stepped back out and searched for the emergency stairwell, only to find it also required card access. Without authorization, she couldn’t even leave the floor.
With nowhere else to go, she wandered until she found a south-facing terrace.
The terrace was empty except for a single recliner there.She stood at the edge, resting her hands casually against the glass railing.
Below her, the city stretched out in silence. The Qingjiang River flowed like a ribbon of light, calm and shimmering. Beyond it lay Jiangnan (the southern region across the river, traditionally associated with elegance of a home).
The lights of countless homes reflected in the distance, like stars fallen onto the earth—beautiful, unreachable.
Lu Zhiling lifted her hand, slowly opening and closing her fingers in the air, as though she could grasp the lights drifting southward, as though she could catch the wind blowing from Jiangnan.
After the fire, Uncle Feng had taken her away from their old home in Jiangbei. She had never gone back since than.
Back then, crossing the river required long ferry rides. Now there were bridges, high-speed trains, airplanes.
She wondered how long it would take her to return there .
Not long, probably.
The Lu family’s old house had been deemed unlucky and never sold. She wondered what it looked like now. The saplings she planted with her parents must have grown tall. Weeds must have taken over. Her Third Aunt’s flowers were probably blooming wildly. The small stone bridge behind the pavilion—cracked from her Fourth and Sixth Brothers jumping on it—was it broken by now?
Leaning against the railing, Lu Zhiling gazed into the distance. The corners of her smiling eyes slowly reddened.
Feng Zhen and Jiang Fusheng had both asked her the same thing.
Had she suffered over the past five years?
Had she?
Compared to those barely surviving, she had lived fifteen years in luxury, loved deeply and abundantly. Even after losing everything, Uncle Feng had stayed by her side. Now she had food, clothing, and status as the Bo family’s young madam.
She wasn’t suffering.
She just hadn’t learned how to descend from extravagance into simplicity.
So she needed to go back—
to reclaim everything that belonged to the Lu family, and return to the place that meant luxury to her.
She wanted to return to Jiangnan City.
And live out her life there.Perhaps because of the pregnancy, her back began to ache for standing long. So she stepped away from the railing and lay down on the recliner.Being this close to home made her feel strangely at peace. That is why sleep overtook her.
In her dream, she sat on the stone railing of her home in Jiangnan, bare feet dangling, watching small fish swim through the clear stream below.
But as she enjoy that long lost peace a sound jolted her awake.
She reached up, touching her face—her tears were already cold.“Bang.”The sound came again.Bo Wang had returned.So her prayer beads—Lu Zhiling checked the time. It’s three in the morning.She rushed toward the living room as the glass door slid open automatically and Bo Wang staggered inside.
As the lights came on, the sight before her stole her breath.
Blood covered his face. His complexion was corpse-pale, lips drained of all color. His black shirt was slashed in several places, soaked dark red. His arms hung limply at his sides, blood dripping from his fingertips onto the floor.
One drop at a time.The Buddhist prayer beads on his wrist were soaked in blood.Lu Zhiling stood frozen at her place.
Bo Wang turned toward the counter, poured himself water, and drank without hesitation, blood smearing the glass as the liquid spilled down his neck and soaked into his collar.
“Bo Wang… is that you?”
He stiffened, then turned to look at her—clearly surprised she was still there.
“Come here,” he said hoarsely.
She approached.Seeing her cautious steps, he laughed softly.
“No one’s stopping you. Hurry.”She quickened her pace. Impatient, he pulled her into his arms, unsteady.The smell of blood was overwhelming.
“You’re injured?” she frowned, supporting his waist.Bo Wang looked down at her through bloodied lashes.
“What were you waiting for? For me to die—or for me to come back?”
“…Of course for you to come back.”How could she leave if he hadn’t?
Straining to support him, she said, “Can you stand properly? I’ll call an ambulance.”“No need,” he murmured, lips brushing her forehead. “You bandage me.”
“How? I can’t even see.”“Then forget it.”He released her and staggered toward the bathroom, blood marking his path.This much blood…
She was terrified he’d die in front of her.
After a brief hesitation, she followed.He collapsed into the bathtub. Blood smeared across the white porcelain like a crime scene.He reached for the shower with all his remaining force.Lu Zhiling grabbed his arm.“I’ll bandage you. Where’s the first-aid kit?”
“Behind you.”She deliberately fumbled, taking far longer than necessary, before finally finding it.When she turned back, he was lying there, watching her.
She ignored his gaze and knelt down.“You need to tell me where the wounds are.”Instead, he lifted the showerhead and drenched himself.
As water streamed down his face. His shirt clung to his body. His breathing became more heavy.He looked dangerously beautiful at this time. Almost lifeless.
He ripped his shirt away, the fabric tearing with a sharp sound that echoed his jagged breathing. Beneath the dim light, his torso was a map of violence—deep gashes and shallow cuts crisscrossed his skin, some still weeping crimson.
“Medicine. Far right drawer,” he commanded, his voice strained.
She found the bottle and pressed it into his hand. Without a second of hesitation, he uncapped it and poured the stinging liquid directly onto the raw flesh. His face went deathly white, his jaw locking so tight the bone seemed ready to snap, but he didn’t cry out. When the bottle was empty, he slumped back against the tub, eyes squeezed shut as he fought the fire in his nerves.
Is he trying to destroy himself? she wondered, her heart hammering. She reached for the roll of gauze, her movements calm despite the trembling in her soul. “Where are the other wounds?”
“No need,” he gritted out.
She didn’t listen. Moving closer, she let her fingertips ghost along the length of his arm, searching. He hissed as she found a jagged tear near his shoulder.
“Lu Zhiling,” he warned, a low growl of a threat.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, but her actions remained firm.
She pressed the bandage down—deliberately hard—finding the center of the wound and beginning to wrap. Each time he reached out to shove her away or grab her, she applied pressure to his injuries until his breath hitched and his strength failed him. It was a silent battle of wills; she was taming him through the very pain he courted.
By the time the last knot was tied, a fine sheen of sweat dotted her forehead. “Are there any more?”
“No.” He sat up abruptly, his movements jerky. He reached out and pinched her chin, his grip cold and bruising. “But I really want to cut you, Zhiling. I want to open you up so you finally understand what this feels like.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice a soft, sincere anchor in his storm.
He picked up a pair of discarded scissors, the metal cold as he slid the blade down the curve of her throat like a lover’s caress. “Didn’t you say you liked me so much you couldn’t help yourself?” he murmured, his eyes dark with a terrifying obsession. “Then stay. Suffer with me. Bleed with me.”
When the blade grazed too close, she stepped back. He clicked his tongue in mock regret, watching her with the hunger of a wolf.
She didn’t run. Instead, she picked up a heavy bathrobe and draped it over his trembling shoulders. “Get up. You can’t catch a cold while you’re healing.”
The simple, mundane care seemed to steady the chaos in his eyes. He stood, closing the distance between them until he was shamelessly close, his heat radiating through the robe.
“Nothing to ask me? No questions about where I’ve been?”
She ignored the bait, her fingers moving to the belt of his robe, tying it with a steady, practiced calm. “Only one thing: Don’t get hurt like this again.”
She guided him back to the bed as if he were a king and she his most loyal subject. He lay there, seemingly immune to the agony of his flesh, watching her every move. As she leaned over to pull the quilt over him, the scent of sandalwood rose from his skin—rich, ancient, and grounding.
Her eyes flickered to his wrist. The prayer beads were still there, intact. I will get them back, she promised herself. But not tonight.
“May I leave now?” she asked softly, her voice a plea for peace.
Before she could retreat, his arm shot out, hooking around her waist and hauling her into his arms. He pulled her down onto the mattress, pinning her against his side.
“Why leave?” he whispered into her hair. “Keep going. Finish what you started.”
She struggled against his hold, careful of his bandages. “No. You’re injured, Bo Wang. Rest.”
He leaned in and kissed her forehead—a weak, lingering touch—while a pale, ghostly smile played on his lips. “I’m injured. You’re pregnant. It’s perfect, isn’t it? A broken pair. Let’s just go to heaven together tonight.”
She pulled back just enough to look into the darkness of his gaze. “No. I want you to live.”
She leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of his eye, where the tension was held. “Even if I die, Bo Wang… you must live well.”
His hand, which had been clamped like a vice around her waist, slowly slackened. Whether it was the exhaustion of the blood loss or the quiet weight of her words, the madness in him finally receded. His fingers trailed off her skin, and he finally, quietly, let her go.