“There is a card at the door. Take it and get out,” his voice rasped, cold and sharp as a blade.
“I understand. Please, rest well.”
Lu Zhiling turned to leave, her gaze lingering with a heavy, unspoken reluctance on the Buddhist prayer beads [Fozhu—sanctified beads used by practitioners to cultivate calmness and ward off evil] resting near him. Her eyes traveled from the beads to the man himself. Bo Wang lay solitary upon the bed, his face a deathly, translucent pallor. His wounds had been dressed in haste, the scent of metallic blood still fighting against the bitter aroma of medicinal herbs. She looked at his stillness, wondering if his spirit was strong enough to pull him back from the precipice.
He seemed utterly indifferent to the boundary between the living and the dead, a man who had already discarded his soul.
“Happy birthday, Bo Wang,” she whispered, her voice a ghost of a sound. She closed the door softly, leaving him to the shadows.
In the silence of the room, Bo Wang’s eyes snapped open. They were not the eyes of a healing man, but dark, turbulent pools—like a stagnant abyss or a deep well where the light goes to die.
The next day as the morning sun arrived with a brilliant, deceptive cheer. In the quiet suburbs, the teahouse stood like a sanctuary, the delicate, roasted fragrance of tea leaves wafting through the air, inviting the soul to settle.
On the second floor, Lu Zhiling sat by the window. Her slender fingers idly traced the grain of an empty sandalwood box, opening and closing it with a rhythmic click-clack that betrayed her inner restlessness.
“Miss,” Feng Zhen approached, his expression shadowed with worry. “Several regular customers just called. They’ve cancelled their orders.”
Lu Zhiling didn’t blink. “Gong Zihua wanted to see me crawl. Since she didn’t get her show at the banquet, it’s only natural she’d try to strangle my livelihood instead.”
“Isn’t Miss Gong still a student? Instead of focusing on her books, she spends her days playing petty power games with old classmates,” Feng Zhen spat, his face flushing with indignation.
“This is just a small teahouse,” Lu Zhiling said, her smile faint and tinged with irony. “To someone like her, crushing us is as effortless as flicking a speck of dust off her sleeve. She doesn’t even need to speak; her sycophants will do the dirty work just to earn a smile from her. She’s simply waiting for the day we lock the doors so she can have a good laugh.”
“Then what do we do? Wait for the end?” Feng Zhen’s voice trembled. “Did we offend her too much that night? Perhaps telling her we outmaneuvered her was too direct…”
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Lu Zhiling replied, standing up to smooth her skirts. “She has hated me since our school days. I outbid her for a bracelet worth 2 million yuan [approx. $275,000 USD] and bruised her ego in front of the elite. No matter how humble I acted, she was never going to let this go.”
She reached out, patting Feng Zhen’s arm to steady him. “Uncle Feng, don’t worry. The Gong family is powerful, but they don’t own the sky over Jiangbei. Not every wealthy family dances to their tune.”
“You mean…?”
“We need momentum. A shield,” she checked the time. “Old Madam Ji is scheduled for tea today. She should be here any moment.”
Feng Zhen frowned, puzzled. “Old Madam Ji? But the Ji and Gong families are close allies. Young Master Ji Jing was even at the gala that night. Why would they help us?”
Lu Zhiling’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “The families have a ‘good relationship’ on paper, but the two matriarchs? They’ve been at each other’s throats since they were debutantes. They fought tooth and nail over the same man in their youth. Even though they both married others and moved on, that rivalry is baked into their bones. It’s an instinct now—if Grandma Gong likes something, Grandma Ji must despise it.”
Feng Zhen was stunned by the revelation. “How on earth did you learn that?”
“You forget, Uncle Feng,” Lu Zhiling laughed softly, “my own grandmother was the undisputed queen of gossip. She was refined and scholarly on the outside, but she kept a mental encyclopedia of every scandal from both sides of the Yangtze River.”
As they talk the sound of a luxury car pulling up broke the quiet. Lu Zhiling’s expression brightened. As she stepped out to greet her guest, she realized Old Madam Ji hadn’t come alone. Beside her was the matriarch of the Bo family—Ding Yujun.
“I heard that old hag from the Gong family invited you three times to her ‘Angel’ banquet and you didn’t give her the face of showing up!” Old Madam Ji’s voice was loud and hearty. She pulled Ding Yujun along, laughing with genuine spiteful glee.
Ding Yujun patted her friend’s hand with a helpless smile. “That’s because of you. If I had gone, you would have nagged me to death for ‘consorting with the enemy’.”
“Hmph! I just can’t stand her. What’s that phrase the kids use? A Green Tea Btch [Lücha Biao—a slang term for a woman who acts innocent and sweet to manipulate others while being calculating and malicious]. She was a little green tea btch when she was twenty, and now she’s just a fermented, aged green tea b*tch.”
Lu Zhiling blinked. So, these two were best friends.
She suddenly remembered her wedding to Bo Wang. It had been a blur of elderly relatives and hushed whispers. Old Madam Ji likely had been there, but the ceremony was so rushed and Lu Zhiling’s world was so dark that neither recognized the other now.
“Greetings, Old Madam Ji,” Lu Zhiling bowed with graceful precision. “And a pleasure to welcome you, Old Madam Bo.”
“Oh? How did you know she was a Bo?” Grandma Ji asked, surprised. Then she tapped her forehead. “Look at my memory! My grandson Ji Jing recommended this place. He told me the Bo family sources their private stock from you. You must have recognized her voice or the family scent!”
Lu Zhiling simply kept her professional smile in place.
Ding Yujun gave Lu Zhiling a long, piercing look. Her eyes were unreadable—neither shocked nor welcoming. After a tense silence, she finally spoke: “Yes. We use this tea at home.” She chose not to expose the girl’s identity.
“Please, enter,” Lu Zhiling ushered them into a private room styled in the Guzhu [Ancient Bamboo] aesthetic.
Despite the visual darkness of her world, she began the tea ceremony. Her movements were a fluid dance: the warming of the cups, the high pour of the water to “awaken” the leaves, and the precise scraping of the foam. She didn’t look at the tea, yet every movement was flawless.
“This young woman is a marvel,” Grandma Ji whispered to Ding Yujun. “Don’t let her blindness fool you; the soul she puts into the brew is something you won’t find elsewhere. I tried to hire her for our manor, but she has a stubborn streak—wanted to build her own brand.”
“I am merely a student of the craft,” Lu Zhiling demurred.
As the tea was served, Feng Zhen seized the opening. He sighed heavily. “The craft may not have a home for long. In a few days, when we’re forced to close, our young boss will be wandering the streets. I wonder if Old Madam Ji’s offer of a job still stands?”
Grandma Ji’s eyes widened. “Close? Why on earth would you close such a gem?”
Ding Yujun sat perfectly upright, sipping her tea. Her eyes widened slightly as the liquid hit her palate. The flavor was complex—earthy, lingering, and incredibly refined. This wasn’t the work of an amateur; this was the result of years of disciplined practice.
Feng Zhen relayed the story of the confrontation with Miss Gong. By the time he finished, Grandma Ji slammed her cup onto the table. “That spoiled brat! She wants to toy with people’s lives for sport?”
“At your age, mind your blood pressure,” Ding Yujun said, though her own gaze remained fixed on Lu Zhiling.
“I won’t have it! These ‘Green Tea’ types think they can dictate who breathes in this city?” Grandma Ji turned to Lu Zhiling. “Little boss, don’t you worry. That deal we discussed? The cooperation with my family’s auction house? I’m signing it today!”
Lu Zhiling stood and bowed deeply. “Thank you, Grandma Ji. I will not let the Ji family name down.”
“Good! I like a youngster with some fire!”
Ding Yujun shook her head at her friend’s impulsiveness. “You’re too hasty. Your auction house deals in high-value artifacts. A small teahouse might not have the infrastructure…”
“Trust me, she knows her stuff,” Grandma Ji whispered loudly into Ding Yujun’s ear. “Last month, my daughter-in-law brought home a ‘precious’ vase. I almost fell for it, but this girl—just by hearing the ring of the porcelain and hearing the history—subtly pointed out it was a high-grade fake. She has ‘Old Money’ instincts.”
Ding Yujun’s surprise deepened.
“If she wasn’t blind,” Grandma Ji sighed regretfully, lowering her voice, “I’d marry her to my grandson in a heartbeat. What a waste of a perfect wife candidate.”
Ding Yujun felt a sudden, sharp prick of annoyance—almost like a wife hearing someone flirt with her husband. Her voice turned icy. “Your eyes are failing you, old friend. Look at her hand. She’s wearing a wedding ring.”
“Young people wear rings as fashion these days! It means nothing,” Grandma Ji waved it off.
When Grandma Ji left for the powder room, the atmosphere in the private suite shifted instantly. The warmth evaporated, leaving only the thin trail of incense smoke between the two women.
Lu Zhiling stood before Ding Yujun, head slightly bowed, like a prisoner awaiting a sentence.
“I knew you had a business,” Ding Yujun said, her voice stern. “I assumed it was a quiet investment. I did not expect the Young Mistress of the Bo family to be pouring tea for strangers and begging for favors. You are pregnant with Bo Wang’s heir, and you are blind. If you tripped, if a guest was unruly… have you no sense of consequence?”
“I wish to be self-reliant,” Lu Zhiling replied, her voice a calm, steady stream.
“If the allowance the Bo family provides is insufficient, you need only ask,” Ding Yujun countered. “But to see a Bo daughter-in-law acting subservient to please people… it brings shame to our name.”
“If you don’t speak of my identity, and I don’t speak of it, the ‘Bo name’ remains untarnished,” Lu Zhiling said, her sightless eyes meeting Ding Yujun’s direction.
“You think a secret stays buried forever?”
“Why shouldn’t it? I won’t be the ‘Young Mistress of the Bo family’ forever, will I?”
Ding Yujun recoiled as if slapped. She struck the table with her palm. “What is that supposed to mean? Do you have other designs? Other intentions?”
“It’s not my intentions you should worry about, Grandma. It’s the Bo family’s intentions that I finally understand.” Lu Zhiling spoke slowly, each word deliberate. “The Bo family has ancient, strict traditions. A real bride would have knelt in the ancestral hall. Her name would be in every newspaper. But my wedding? It was a ghost ceremony. Only your inner circle was invited—people who don’t talk to the press. It was designed to be erasable.”
Ding Yujun remained frozen.
“The wedding happened even though Bo Wang wasn’t there,” Lu Zhiling continued, a sad smile touching her lips. “Its only purpose was to give the child a ‘legitimate’ label. I am just a placeholder. A formality. The bride’s name doesn’t matter, as long as the child has a father on paper.”
All of Ding Yujun’s pretenses were stripped bare. She felt a flush of genuine embarrassment. She had come here to lecture a “greedy girl,” only to realize the girl had seen through the entire cold-blooded arrangement from day one.
“Grandma, I will leave when the time is right. I won’t stay a second longer than I am wanted. Lu Zhiling runs this teahouse. The ‘Bo Young Mistress’ does not exist here. Please… grant me this small dignity.”
The silence in the room was deafening. Ding Yujun, who had spent a lifetime navigating the treacherous waters of high society, felt a rare pang of shame. She had assumed Lu Zhiling was a social climber, a girl from a fallen family looking for a payday. She had planned to discard her with a check after the birth.
But this girl wasn’t asking for money. She was building her own life because she knew she had no home with the Bo family.
“The tea is cold. Let me pour you a fresh cup,” Lu Zhiling reached for the pot, her hand brushing the table.
Suddenly, her wrist was caught. Ding Yujun’s hand was aged, lined with the history of her family, but it was warm and unexpectedly trembling.
“Answer me one thing,” Ding Yujun whispered, her eyes reddening. “If you wanted to be so independent… why did you agree to marry into this mess in the first place?”