Lu Zhiling lowered her eyes. She did not offer a direct answer, only a soft, weightless truth: “I have no choice than.”
She knew the unspoken reality of the Bo family. If she hadn’t agreed to the marriage, their ruthless efficiency would have descended upon her, forcing her to terminate the pregnancy to scrub her existence from their lineage.
Hearing this, the rigidity left Ding Yujun’s posture. Her grip on Zhiling’s hand tightened, no longer commanding but desperate. Her voice broke, thick with a rare, grandmotherly sorrow. “It is our Bo family that has wronged you, child.”
“It isn’t that much of a grievance,” Lu Zhiling said, turning her head toward the bustling teahouse. “The world thinks the Bo family supports me—that they source their tea from Guiqilou [Guiqi—returning to the essence]. That reputation alone is a gift; it’s why I have business at all.”
“Reputation only gets them through the door,” Ding Yujun said, her eyes tracing the girl’s features. The more she looked, the more she realized those sightless eyes weren’t dull; they were crystal clear, reflecting a soul forged in fire. “Without real talent, they wouldn’t stay. Your tea is truly exceptional.”
After a long pause, the matriarch sighed. “If you wish to be Lu Zhiling—the businesswoman, the independent soul—then do it properly. Grandma won’t stand in your way anymore.”
Lu Zhiling was momentarily stunned by the sudden thaw. “Thank you, Grandma.”
Seeing her so obedient, Ding Yujun felt a pang of guilt. “Actually, it’s not that I care about your lineage. It’s just that I know Bo Wang’s temperament…”
Before she could finish, a phone began to trill. It was Lu Zhiling’s. She pulled it from her pocket and silenced it instantly, her focus remaining on the elder.
“I can force him for a time,” Ding Yujun continued, her voice trailing off, “but I cannot force his heart forever—”
The phone screamed again, shattering the fragile intimacy of the moment. Ding Yujun gave a helpless chuckle. “You should answer that. It sounds urgent.”
“Forgive me.” Lu Zhiling checked the screen. It was an unrecognized number. She pressed it to her ear. “Hello? Who is this?”
“Come here.”
The voice was a low, sandpaper rasp—lazy, arrogant, and entirely devoid of politeness. Lu Zhiling froze. “Bo Wang?”
Ding Yujun’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. On the other end, there was no reply, only the heavy, rhythmic breathing of a man who expected to be obeyed, followed by the click of a disconnected line.
Outside, the chime of the door signaled Old Madam Ji’s return. Lu Zhiling bowed quickly to Ding Yujun. “Grandma, something has come up. I must go out for a while.”
Bo Wang’s reputation for ruthlessness was a shadow that loomed over the city; she dared not test his patience. Ding Yujun didn’t stop her either , and with a thoughtful, almost hopeful glint in her eyes she said . “Bo Wang wants to see you? Go, child. Go.”
As Lu Zhiling hurried out of the teahouse, she was intercepted by Jiang Fusheng, who was flushed with panic.
“Zhiling! The Young Master’s people came to the kitchen demanding your number. Are you okay?” Fusheng was trembling; she had been mid-prep when the Bo family housekeeper cornered her.
“It’s fine. He just wants to see me,” Lu Zhiling said, reaching out to gently pinch Fusheng’s cheek to calm her. “You’re covered in sweat, go inside and rest.”
“But you haven’t eaten!” Fusheng thrust a delicate lunchbox into her hands, wrapped in a beautiful silk Furoshiki [a traditional wrapping cloth used for gifts and bento]. “I followed a health recipe online—perfect for the baby.”
A taxi pulled to the curb. “No time, I’ll eat later,” Lu Zhiling said, sliding into the back seat. Fusheng shoved the warm box through the window. “You’re eating for two! Eat on the way,okay!”
The car sped toward Dijiangting [The Emperor’s Pavilion—an ultra-luxury residential complex]. Carrying her cane in one hand and the warm lunchbox in the other, Lu Zhiling navigated the high-security gates as she arrived there.
The elevator ascended silently to the 44th floor—the penthouse. She stepped out into a lobby that felt like a marble tomb: cold, vast, and echoing with silence.
“Bo Wang? I’m here.”
No answer. For a moment, a dark thought crossed her mind: Did he finally succumb to his wounds? Is he lying dead in there?
“Over here,” a voice barked from the master suite, sharp with impatience.
Lu Zhiling followed the sound. As she pushed open the bedroom door, the scent of antiseptic and stale medicine hit her like a physical blow.
Bo Wang was sprawled face-down on the bed. His dark hair was a bird’s nest against the white pillows. He was clad only in gray pajama bottoms, his upper body bare. Even in his weakened state, the lines of his back were staggering—the Latissimus Dorsi [large back muscles] rippled with raw power, tapering into a narrow, dangerous waist.
Lu Zhiling felt a heat rise in her cheeks. She looked away, knocking softly on the doorframe. “Are you better? Have you seen a doctor?”
She could already see the messy, blood-crusted bandages she had applied three nights ago. “Three days… “You haven’t changed your dressings once, have you?”?”
“Stop nagging,” Bo Wang growled, pushing himself up. His face was a ghostly white, his eyes bloodshot from insomnia. “Come here and change them.”
Lu Zhiling frowned. He had summoned her—a blind woman—to do a medic’s job. “You’re truly too lazy to care if you live or die?”
“Too lazy to move,” he muttered, leaning his head back against the headboard and closing his eyes, looking utterly spent.
Lu Zhiling set the lunchbox aside and found the medical kit. She sat on the edge of the mattress, the bed dipping under her weight. As she began to peel away the old gauze, her fingers brushed his skin. It was cool, yet there was a subterranean heat radiating from his muscles.
She worked with practiced gentleness, her fingertips acting as her eyes, tracing the edges of the scabs. Bo Wang didn’t make a sound, though his jaw tightened as the dry bandage pulled at his skin. She applied the fresh ointment, her movements rhythmic and soothing, a silent dance of care in the dim room.
“Done,” she exhaled, shaking out her cramped hands. She looked up to find him staring at her—a blank, unreadable intensity in his gaze. She quickly turned her face away. “You need to eat. Your waist… it’s thinner. You won’t heal like this.”
“I won’t die,” he snapped, his eyes falling on the silk-wrapped box. He reached out and pulled the scarf away, expecting more medicine. Instead, the steam of fresh food rose into the air.
He paused, his expression shifting into something complex—suspicion mixed with an unwanted flicker of warmth. Under the food containers, he found the medicine boxes she’d asked for: cold meds, patches, and… a box of blood pressure pills.
He held up the latter, a mocking tilt to his lips. “Do I look like I have high blood pressure?”
“It’s… for the future,” Lu Zhiling said, trying to maintain her dignity. “Better safe than sorry.”
Bo Wang tossed the box aside like trash. “I don’t need it. And stop touching things so much.”
Fine, Lu Zhiling thought. When your temper makes your blood pressure soar in ten years, don’t come crying to me.
Bo Wang reached for the chopsticks, preparing to eat right there on the silk sheets. Lu Zhiling’s internal alarm went off. Since childhood, her family had instilled a strict “no eating in bed” rule. It was a visceral, obsessive discomfort. She could hear every clink of the chopsticks, every bite.
“No,” she said, her voice soft but firm. She reached out and snatched the chopsticks from his hand.
Bo Wang looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. “Are you actually telling me what to do?”
“Eating in bed is bad for your digestion,” she said, grabbing the lunchbox back. “Let’s go to the terrace. You’ve been rotting in this dark room for three days. You need sun.”
Bo Wang’s eyes turned glacial. A harsh, jagged laugh escaped him. “Lu Zhiling, do you think you’re special now? I called you because you’re useful. If you don’t want to be useful, then get lost.”
Useful. The word stung, but it also brought a strange relief. If she was just a tool, there was no heart to break. She stood up, her voice regaining its professional, detached sweetness. “I’m sorry. I was merely concerned for my ‘business partner’s’ health. If my presence offends you, I will leave. Rest well.”
She tapped her cane and walked out without looking back.
Bo Wang sat in the sudden, crushing silence of the penthouse. The house felt empty—not just quiet, but dead. He picked up the chopsticks, but the food looked like ashes. With a curse, he stood up, his legs unsteady, and wandered toward the south terrace.
The midday sun hit him like a physical blow. He stood there, squinting against the brilliance, like a creature of the dark suddenly exposed. He hated the heat, yet he found himself leaning into it, chasing the lingering warmth of the girl who had just walked away.
By the river, Lu Zhiling sat on a bench, listening to the wind and the distant laughter of children flying kites. An airplane roared overhead, heading south.
Soon, she thought. Once the debt is paid and the child is born, I can fly away too.
Back at the teahouse, the news of the Ji family partnership changed everything. The “Green Tea” saboteurs faded away, replaced by serious collectors. Lu Zhiling threw herself into the work, preparing for the first auction. She was a perfectionist—demanding triple-screened security and better lighting, even if it ate into the profits.
“I don’t want a ‘barely finished’ success,” she told Feng Zhen. “I want it perfect.”
Ding Yujun became a fixture at the shop, watching the girl work with a mixture of pride and something like affection. One afternoon, she pulled Zhiling aside, pouring her a cup of her own tea.
“You’re anemic, Zhiling. Dr. Qin says you’re pushing too hard,” Ding Yujun said, her voice genuinely warm.
“I have to prove myself, Grandma.”
“I know. But tomorrow, I need you to make time.” Ding Yujun patted her arm. “Bo Wang’s father is returning. They are having dinner tonight, and you should be there.”
Lu Zhiling paused. “You want me to tell Bo Wang?”
“You are husband and wife,” Ding Yujun smiled, as if the previous weeks of tension had never happened. “It’s only natural.”
Lu Zhiling felt a hollow laugh in her chest. Husband and wife? She thought of the cold penthouse and the man who called her a “tool.”
“Grandma,” she said quietly, “I’m not actually that familiar with Bo Wang. I doubt I have the power to make him come anywhere.”